Thomas Perry - Vanishing Act

Dave’s face was beginning to show the strain. "I don’t know. Talking to him isn’t going to do you much good. The car is what it is, no matter what he says. Take the car to your own mechanic. Have him look it over."

"I just drove in today. I don’t have a mechanic."

"I can recommend a couple."

She just looked at him sadly, and he saw the problem. The town was just too small, and anybody she picked could be a friend of his. "I’ll go look at the papers and see if we can get him on the phone."

She followed Dave inside and watched him finger through the drawers in his single filing cabinet. At last he pulled out a manila envelope and shook it out over the desk in front of Bob. Whatever Bob’s function was, it didn’t include moving or even looking down. He never took his eyes off Jane.

There were an owner’s manual, a couple of slips of white paper with seals and computer printing on them, a pink slip, and a yellow bill of sale. He snatched it up and stared at it for a moment. "There," he said. "Annabel Cabins in Lake Placid. Let’s give them a call." He was pursuing this with stoical determination now. She had made him decide he was going to prove there was nothing hidden by his sheer persistence in uncovering it. He dialed the number he read off the paper.

"Hello," he said. "This is Dave Rabel down at Dave’s Cars in Saranac Lake. How are you this afternoon?" He listened for a second, then said, "No, I’m not trying to sell you anything. I just wanted to get in touch with a fellow who’s staying there. His name is John Young. He still with you?" There was a long pause while wrinkles appeared on Dave’s forehead. "You sure? Well, thanks for your time." He hung up, shrugged, and looked at her.

"He’s not there?"

He shook his head. "I’m sorry. Well, we tried."

She decided she could take the risk of not letting go. "He checked out, or he’s never been there?"

Dave looked indecisive, but he sensed that he wasn’t going to be able to get past it. "I remember he said that was where he was going, but I guess they didn’t have a vacancy or something." She could tell he was wondering why John Young had been able to give him the phone number but hadn’t used it to call for reservations.

"What if it’s stolen?"

Dave smiled. "No, there are built-in safeguards. His name was on the pink slip, and I saw his license and it had the same name. Besides, when you register a sale, they run the I.D. number of the car on the computer."

Jane backed away from the desk. "Well, I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble."

"You mean you’re giving up?"

"I just wouldn’t be able to feel comfortable unless I knew more about the car’s history."

Dave was fighting his frustration now. "It doesn’t have any history. It’s brand-new. Anybody can see that."

"I’m sorry," she said. "But that’s the thing that’s worrying me. I know it’s probably silly, but ... Well, thanks for trying."

She headed for the door, but Dave couldn’t bear it. "Wait," he said. She turned and looked at him. Her shamefaced expression wasn’t forced. She hated putting this nice man through hell for nothing.

He said, "Maybe we can dig him up. He wouldn’t have driven across the country just to sell me a car. He’s got to be staying around here."

"But how could I find him?"

"Let me make a few calls. If he’s looking for a car, there aren’t that many places to look. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you if I have any luck."

She said, "I’m at the Holiday Inn down the road. My name is Janet Foley."

He grinned. "But you’ve already checked in, right? You’re not going to disappear like he did?"

"No," she said. "Room two forty-three."

She had lunch in a small restaurant on the way back to the hotel, then walked back to her room. The telephone was ringing when she opened the door.

"Janet?" he said. "It’s Dave Rabel. It’s pretty much what I was trying to tell you. John Young bought a used Ford Bronco up at Taylor’s Used Cars in Lake Placid. He must have decided he needed a big, roomy car."

"Did they have his address?"

"I got his hotel from them, but he checked out three days ago."

"I give up," said Jane.

"You mean you’ll buy the car?"

"No," said Jane. "I mean I can’t. I appreciate your trying so hard, but I’ll just have to wait until I see a car I’m sure about."

He sighed. "You’re passing up the best used-car deal in the north country." He waited for her answer and nothing came, so he decided to end it on a friendly note. "But I guess you get hurt less by being too careful than not careful enough."

’’Thanks,’’ she said. "I knew you’d understand," and hung up. She said aloud, "Where were you when I met John Felker, Dave?"

She kept her key but picked up the suitcase she hadn’t unpacked, went downstairs, and then drove to Lake Placid. She parked the car and began to walk from store to store in the small downtown section. She knew exactly what clothes he had because she had bought them. His suit and sportcoat would be useless here, because they would make him stand out. He had a couple of pairs of jeans and some shirts, but he would need a warm jacket for spring in the Adirondacks. James Michael Martin would not have bought one on the way here. He would have waited so he could choose something that local people were wearing, and buy it where they had bought theirs.

At the first store, Jane showed the young man at the cash register the picture of Felker she had taken. The clerk was in his thirties, wearing shorts like the ones she could see on the rack near the door and a T-shirt that said LAKE PLACID. He barely glanced at the picture, so she had to force out a few tears. "He’s my boyfriend and we had a fight and ..." The clerk was alarmed enough to reassure her. "No. Honest. I’d remember. He hasn’t been in here."

At the second store an older woman said, "Are you a policewoman?" When Jane tried the tears, the woman seemed to harden. "I don’t think chasing a man around is any basis for a relationship. If I had seen him, I’d be doing you a favor to keep it to myself." Jane could tell that she hadn’t.

The part about the policewoman gave her an idea. She went back to the car to dig out the prison file. At the third store, she showed the mug shots. "Have you seen this man?" The clerk looked closely, and said, "No, ma’am," very quickly.

The fifth establishment was a big sporting-goods store. As soon as she produced the picture, she knew she had crossed his trail. The girl at the cash register looked as though she was in high school, and at the sight of the mug shots she turned pale. "What did he do?"

Jane pressed her. "Have you seen him?"

"Well, yes. He bought some things. About three, four days ago."

The manager was thin and alert, not many years older than the girl at the register. He had been labeling stock in the back of the store when he realized something out of the ordinary was happening. He hurried to the front. "Darlene," he said officiously. "I’ll handle this." But when he saw the picture, he looked worse than the girl had. "Oh yeah. What did he do?"

Jane was stern. "Did he buy anything?"

"Yes," said the manager. "Lots of things."

Jane said, "He would have paid cash. Large denominations, probably hundreds."

"He did," said the manager. Jane could tell that his mind was running quickly through the list of crimes that hundred-dollar bills proved without a doubt.

"Do you, by any chance, have any of the money on hand?"

"No," he said helplessly. "It went to the bank."

"What bank?"

"Winslow Federal." His mind tripped over the conclusion she had placed in front of him. "Is it counterfeit?"

"If it is, we’ll let you know." She hurried to bury the "we" in the middle of the conversation. "What did he buy?"