Twenty Plus Two

Chapter 18

A few moments later he stepped A out on the eighteenth floor and walked to the door of Linda’s suite. He pressed the door buzzer. She opened the door. Some of the fire was gone from her eyes, but she was not yet ready to surrender.

He walked in and closed the door behind him.

“That actor friend of yours was giving me the eye,” she began.

“Why not? You’re beautiful — and desirable.”

“Is that all that’s on your male mind?”

He took her into his arms and kissed her. She was yielding, warm and soft. She returned his kisses with passion. “I wish there’d never been anyone else, Tom. I wish it was eighteen years ago — when we first met.”

“Twenty,” he said.

“I love you, Tom,” she went on, ignoring his correction. “I love you more now than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

He patted her shoulders and felt her muscles tighten.

“You’re holding back,” she cried. “You won’t give in all the way!”

“I’m not a demonstrative man, Linda. I think you know that.”

“I know it, but I don’t have to like it. I wish—” She kissed him again and clung to him for a moment. “Did I do that much to you? Tom — it isn’t because I’ve... I’ve known other men?”

“No.”

“What, then? How am I lacking? Where am I failing you?”

“You’re not lacking, Linda. You’ve got everything a man could hope for in this world. You’re beautiful, you’re warm—”

“But I can’t get through to you. Not all the way. There’s a corner of you that won’t give in. Perhaps it’s your brain. It’s a machine. It runs so smoothly, so efficiently that it rejects any outside force. Like love.”

It wasn’t his brain, Alder knew that. Everything about Linda was right. She had beauty, poise. She was everything in a woman that he wanted. She loved him. She would be right for him. Her past did not matter. That she had been married, that there had been other men, was no hindrance. Not to him. Alder knew himself well enough for that. Those things left no physical disfigurement, no mental scars, not if the woman was Linda and the man was himself.

It was not his brain, for Linda was right when she called it a machine. It was that. Alder knew every cog of it. He was its complete master.

It was his heart.

A corner of it, a tiny piece, was dead. It was not warmed by his pulsing blood. It sent-no impulse to the rest of his heart, to his brain.

He said to Linda, “I love you.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You love me — as much as you can. I’ll take that much. But I wish it was — all the love you’re capable of.”

The door buzzer whirred. Linda shuddered a little. “Yes?” she called.

The door was opened by Walter Collinson. Harris Toomey stood beside and a little behind him.

Collinson said, “Linda, you know me well enough — I’d cut off my right hand rather than hurt you.”

“You need both hands to count your money,” Linda said and then apologized instantly. “That was beastly of me!”

“It’s all right.” Collinson came into the room. “My apologies to you, Mr. Alder.”

Alder nodded.

Toomey came into the room. There was no contrition in him. The look he sent Alder was a challenge.

“I don’t give in easy, Alder. You’re going to have a fight on your hands.”

“There’s nothing to fight about, Harris,” said Linda. She took Alder’s hand and faced Toomey proudly.

“I’ll lick you, Alder,” said the millionaire sportsman heavily.

“All right, you’ll lick me.”

“Please,” interrupted Collinson. “Let’s have a drink and talk. I’m more than a little worried.”

“So am I,” exclaimed Linda. “I know something terrible has happened to Nikki.”

Alder shook his head. “I think you’re overly alarmed, Linda. Mrs. Collinson can take care of herself.”

“You know Nikki so well?” asked Toomey testily. “You met her casually on the plane yesterday, but you know her better than her friends — or her husband?”

“Harris!” cried Linda angrily.

Alder said evenly, “Relax, Linda. I’ll phone for the drinks.” He went to the phone and said, “Room Service?... Linda... bourbon?”

“Daiquiri,” she said.

It had been her favorite drink in the old days.

“Bourbon straight,” Collinson said.

“On the rocks for me,” growled Toomey.

Alder added a bourbon straight for himself. He put down the phone and seated himself at the window end of the couch. The others sat down near him.

“Mr. Collinson,” Alder began, “how long have you and Mrs. Collinson been married?”

“Ten, almost eleven years. We were married in the spring of 1949.” He smiled wanly. “And my name is Walter, Walt.”

“What has the length of their marriage got to do with this?” Harris Toomey demanded. “Nikki didn’t run out. I can assure you of that. She’s devoted to Walt.”

“Has Mrs. Collinson taken trips without you on other occasions?”

“Of course. Many times.”

“Recently?”

Collinson thought for a moment. “About two months ago was the last time. She came to Chicago then.”

“Mr. Collinson,” Alder said, “please don’t take offense at my next questions. Linda and I discussed this earlier. It seems Linda doesn’t know your wife’s maiden name and she wasn’t sure that you knew it.”

“Now I’ve heard everything!” cried Toomey. “You and Linda discussed it! Is there anything you two haven’t — discussed?”

“Harris,” said Linda, “why don’t you shut up!”

Toomey sprang to his feet. “I’ve had about all I can stand of this. Alder—”

Collinson said in a surprisingly harsh voice, “Sit down, Harris. Alder is trying to be of help, and I want his help.”

“I’m not going to listen to him.”

“Shut up, Harris!” snapped Collinson.

Toomey’s mouth opened and closed like a mackerel’s out of water, then he seated himself abruptly. He hunched down on the sofa, resigning himself to the inevitable.

“Mr. Alder,” said Collinson clearly, “the answer to your question is yes... yes, I know Nikki’s maiden name. It’s Kovacs. But no, I have never met any of her family. Nikki felt that it would be awkward; her mother does not speak English very well and she would be too uncomfortable. I’m not proud of that — I should have insisted on meeting them, but I was very much in love with Nikki and did not want to embarrass her. No, embarrass is the wrong word.”

“You did not want to cross your wife.”

“That’s about right. I am not the sort of man to force my opinions on anyone. My father inherited great wealth and he was taught by his father that wealth has responsibilities. One of those responsibilities was not to use that wealth as a weapon or a cudgel to beat down people. I was very fond of my father. When she came back from her last visit, Nikki talked to me about her family. She thought we might visit them this summer.”

“You have their address?”

“Again I have been remiss. Her mother could not write English, her father could not write at all. I should have obtained their address from Nikki if for no other reason than to be able to notify them if... if anything happened to Nikki.”

“You thought something might happen to her?”

“Of course not. That was merely an expression.”

“Kovacs,” said Alder. “It is not too uncommon a name. Hungarian, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Alder reached to the phone stand, got the phone directory.

“It’s not Chicago,” Collinson said. “They live out some distance. A small town.” He winced. “I must tell you that I do not even know the name of it. But I do remember Nikki mentioning one time, during a storm, that she had difficulty getting to her family from Chicago.”

“I’m not going to call you names, Walt,” said Linda, “but if you had been my husband—” She left the sentence unfinished.

“You’re quite right,” agreed Collinson. He smiled. “However, if you had been my wife, I would have beaten you.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve had today,” Linda kissed her finger tips and blew the kiss at him.

Collinson’s smile spread to a grin.

He said, “Mr. Alder, something has happened to her? No — don’t spare me. Your attitude indicates your own belief.”

“Not necessarily. I think it has to be considered and prepared for. She did call Linda and she was concerned.” He turned to Linda. “Your turn. Please try to recall the exact words she used to you.”

Linda pursed up her lips, thought for a moment. She said, “‘I need your help, Linda. Something — something I can’t handle by myself.’ She repeated the something — I’m sure of that. It wasn’t her words that caught me so much as her... her tone. We didn’t joke, there were no light words, not the usual bantering. She got right to the point and said she needed my help.”

Alder said: “‘I need your help, Linda. Something... something I can’t handle by myself.’ She didn’t identify herself?”

“I recognized her voice, but — damn! She did say: ‘Linda, this is Nikki. I’m in Chicago!’”

“‘Linda, this is Nikki. I’m in Chicago. I need your help, Linda. Something... something I can’t handle by myself.’ What else?”

Linda chose her words carefully. “‘Come to the Palmer House. I can’t tell you more now,’ and then she added, ‘please!’ and if you’d heard that please, you’d know why I came.”

“‘Come to the Palmer House,’” repeated Alder. “‘I can’t tell you more now — please!’”

“That’s it. I’m certain she didn’t say one other word. She hung up.”

Alder looked at Collinson. “You heard. She did not say she was staying here — or anywhere else specifically. She merely told Linda to come here.”

“Naturally I assumed—”

“We can’t assume, Linda,” Alder said.

“You’re right, Mr. Alder,” Collinson said, his voice beginning to show strain. “Since she was not staying here, or did not say specifically that she was, do you think she’s out in the country with her family?”

Alder frowned. “Was the call from Chicago, Linda? Did the operator say so?”

“Perhaps not. When I heard it was long distance, I thought of Nikki and I could have assumed that she said Chicago.”

“Telephone calls can be traced,” Toomey said suddenly.

“Yes,” said Alder, “but Mrs. Collinson could have called from a pay phone. Or even here at the hotel. The call was yesterday — she could be a long ways from here.”

“Why?” exclaimed Toomey, getting back into it. “If it was so all-fired important that Linda come all the way from California, why couldn’t she have stayed here until she got here? Or left word?”

“She had trouble,” retorted Linda. “You don’t think things out like that when you’re in trouble. You don’t think of the other person, just yourself.” Then her white teeth bit her lower lip. “Although Nikki always considered you more than she did herself. That’s why I loved her.”

“Thank you, Linda,” said Collinson simply.

The waiter came with the drinks. Collinson signed the check.

Alder took his drink and sipped at it, standing. “If it’s all right with you, Mr. Collinson, I can get things in motion. I’ll trace the phone call and I’ll talk to a man I know here. A private detective.”

“A detective!” exploded Toomey. “Another Sherlock Holmes—”

“He’s a discreet man and extremely efficient.”

“If that is what you want to do, Mr. Alder,” said Collinson.

“Walt — you can’t,” cried Toomey. “They’ll crucify you. You know how you dislike publicity.”

“I want to find Nikki,” Collinson turned to Alder. “Do what you think is necessary — regardless of the expense. You don’t have to clear any of that with me.”

“This detective — Miller Hastings — was with G-2 during the war. There will be no publicity — not from Miller’s end of it. Of course if the newspapers, or the police, get wind of it, I can’t guarantee that.”

“I know.”

Alder drank the last of his straight bourbon, set down the glass and moved out.

“Where are you going?” exclaimed Linda, in slight alarm.

“I’ve got to make some phone calls,” said Alder. “I want to make them from my own room.”

“There’s a phone here — use the one in the bedroom.”

“I can work better alone.”

“Thank you,” said Collinson. “I’m going to my room in a few minutes. If you want me, I’ll be there. Room 1401-S.”

“We’re on the same floor.” Alder nodded to Linda. “Good night, Linda.”

She was not happy about it, but she yielded gracefully. “Good night, Tom.”

Harris Toomey did not even nod. He had his glass to his mouth when Alder’s eyes flicked toward him.

Alder rode down to his own room. He got the telephone and dialing the operator, asked for the night supervisor. He gave her the pertinent information on Nikki Collinson’s call to Beverly Hills, California, was transferred to two different departments and eventually got the information.

“The call was made,” said the telephone supervisor, “from the switchboard of the Palmer House.”

Alder called the hotel operator and after a moment got the one who had taken Nikki’s call.

“The party was not registered at the hotel and paid for the call in cash.”

“The party was a woman?”

“Yes, sir.”

Alder thanked her and broke the connection. He held down the prongs a moment, started to call the operator again, then changed his mind. He got the Chicago directory, looked up Miller Hastings’ night telephone number. He called it. The answering service replied. “I’ll take your number. Mr. Hastings phones in once or twice of an evening when he is out,” the service girl said. “I’ll take your number.”

“Has he called in this evening yet?”

“No. It should be soon, however.”