Джеймс Чейз - The Way the Cookie Crumbles

This was something to work on and raised Terrell’s hopes.

He had already sent three of his men out to all the wholesale opticians within a radius of a hundred miles as a start.

‘Never mind that it’s Sunday. Find out where the top man lives and get him to open up the factory,’ Terrell said. ‘I want to know who those lenses were supplied to and I want to know today!’

He had told Jacoby to call the hospitals and eye specialists listed in the classified telephone book.

Another three men were trying to trace the factory that had made the plastic frames of the spectacles. Here again, this would be no easy task as the factories would be shut for the weekend, but Terrell would listen to no objections.

He now picked up the report on the plaster casts of the heel impressions found near Coral Cove. The report was brief but interesting. The man they were looking for was close on six feet tall and weighed 190 pounds. The number 10 shoes he was wearing were practically new. They were supplied by ‘The Man’s Shop’, a swank outfitters in Paradise City. A police officer was already on his way to try to find the assistant who had recently sold such a pair of shoes.

Putting down the report, Terrell said, ‘What’s your next move, Fred?’

‘I guess I’ll go out to Coral Cove and see what the boys are doing. It’s light enough now for a good look around. Okay with you, Chief?’

Terrell nodded and when Hess had gone, he poured more coffee into his paper cup and looked over at Beigler.

‘I was hoping something would break after last night’s broadcast.’

‘Saturday night’s a bad night. Most folk are out. There’s a repeat in five minutes. I’ll get back to my desk,’ Beigler said, moving to the door.

When he had gone, Terrell took a towel and shaving kit from his desk drawer and went along to the Men’s room.

Beigler found Lepski sitting in the Detectives’ room, smoking and dozing. Jacoby was talking on the telephone. As Beigler sat down and lit a cigarette, Jacoby replaced the receiver and swung around in his chair.

‘Dr. Hunstein has two patients with eyes that match our prescription,’ he said. ‘A girl of twenty-three and another of twenty-five. Both blondes. Both local girls.’

‘Find out if they are missing and find out if they’ve ever owned a pair of blue plastic spectacles,’ Beigler said, then looked at Lepski as Jacoby began to dial. ‘Those spectacles need not have anything to do with the stiff. Thought of that?’

‘You’re paid to do the thinking, Sarg,’ Lepski said with a grin. ‘I’m only paid to do the leg work.’

Ten minutes talking by Jacoby produced the information that neither of the girls were missing and neither of them had ever owned a pair of blue plastic spectacles.

‘Keep at it,’ Beigler said, drawing a line through Dr. Hunstein’s name.

The telephone bell rang. Beigler sighed and lifted the receiver. Then began a stream of useless information inspired by the broadcast appeal that had to be checked and that poured into Beigler’s ear for the rest of the morning.

At lunchtime, Terrell ate a sandwich and then decided to go to Coral Cove to see what Hess was doing. As he got into his car, he thought that the morning had gone like a flash and they were no further to finding out who the girl was than if they had all spent a nice relaxing morning at home.

He remained with Hess for two hours. Every inch of the hummocks and the surrounding ground had been searched and had produced not one single clue.

‘A stiff ’un,’ Hess growled, wiping his sweating face. ‘I’ll come back with you, Chief. Maybe by now there’s a lead on those spectacles.’

Back at headquarters, they found Beigler with the first of the lists of names and addresses that had just come in.

‘Believe it or not, we have thirty-two girls between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five who wear spectacles of our prescription,’ he told Terrell. ‘Three of them live here. Ten in Miami. Twelve in Jacksonville. Three in Tampa and the rest along the Keys. None of them have been reported missing, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t missing.’

Terrell grunted.

‘Get Max onto it. Let’s find out if they owned the spectacles.’

Beigler gave the list to Jacoby who went over to the telephone, a resigned expression on his face.

‘There’s a guy on his way in who might be interesting,’ Beigler went on to Terrell. ‘He claims he saw a girl and a man driving towards Coral Cove around eight o’clock in the morning on the 17th of last month. that would be six weeks ago.’

Terrell’s face brightened.

‘Fine. When he arrives, bring him to my office.’ Seeing Lepski was about to light a cigarette, he said, ‘Give Max a hand with that list. I want some action around here!’

When he had gone, Lepski lifted his eyebrows.

‘Getting the old man worried?’ he asked.

‘It’s getting me worried!’ Beigler snapped. ‘Get going! Do some work!’

Lepski joined Jacoby and pulled another telephone towards him. He examined the list of names and addresses, then said, ‘Hey Joe! You see the Devon girl is on this list?’

Beigler looked at him, an exasperated expression in his eyes.

‘Yeah. I can read. What of it? We know she’s not missing. So what?’

Lepski stubbed out his cigarette and lit another before saying, ‘Only she doesn’t wear spectacles.’

‘So what?’ Beigler snapped. ‘Get on with it, Tom, for Pete’s sake! The trouble with you is you prefer to yak than to work!’

‘I said she doesn’t wear spectacles, Joe,’ Lepski said, patiently. ‘I’ve seen her four or five times driving her car. She doesn’t wear spectacles!’

Beigler stared at him, sudden interest in his eyes. He reached forward and picked up the Lab report on the lens. Then he stared at Lepski again.

‘I may like yakiting,’ Lepski said dryly, ‘but I’m a damn fine cop. The nickel dropped yet, Joe?’

‘It says here the owner of the spectacles has to wear them constantly,’ Beigler said, frowning. ‘You say her name’s on that list supplied by Dr. Weidman and she doesn’t wear spectacles?’

‘You’re coming along fine, Joe. Watch you don’t bust a vein in your brain.’

Beigler got to his feet and went over to where Lepski was sitting. He picked up the list and studied it.

‘That’s right. Norena Devon, Graham Co-Ed School, Miami.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Could be a mistake. I’ll talk to Weidman.’

He crossed back to his desk and put a call through to Dr. Weidman’s office in Miami.

The answering nurse said Dr. Weidman was out and wouldn’t be back until nine o’clock. She sounded a little hurt that anyone would want to talk to the doctor on such a nice, sunny Sunday afternoon as this one was.

‘This is Paradise City police,’ Beigler said. ‘I want information on one of Dr. Weidman’s patients.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss Dr. Weidman’s patients with anyone over the telephone,’ the nurse said primly. ‘You must come and see the doctor if you need information,’ and she hung up.

‘Cow!’ Beigler said and slammed down the receiver. ‘Hey, Tom! Get off your arse. Go out to Miami and find Dr. Weidman. We can’t wait until he comes back. Talk to him. You know what we want.’

Lepski jumped to his feet. Anything was better than staying in the hot, stuffy, Detectives’ room.

‘Okay, Sarg, I’ll find him,’ he said and hurried off.

The telephone bell rang.

Charley, the desk sergeant, said, ‘Joe, I’ve got Mr. Harry Tullas down here. He says you want to see him.’

Tullas was the man who had phoned in, claiming to have seen a girl and a man driving towards Coral Cove.

‘Shoot him up, Charlie,’ Beigler said.