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He started back up the stairs to his apartment.
I wonder what the hell that was all about?
Jesus! Kidnapping?
Did somebody kidnap Susan Reynolds? That would involve the FBI.
And they must have talked to Daffy.
And she told them Susan had left with me, because that’s what she told Susan’s parents.
Goddamn her!
Wait a minute. Don’t leap to conclusions.
Daffy told Susan’s mother that Susan was off somewhere with me.
Susan’s mother, or father, told Dad’s pal, Lawyer Emmons, that Susan had gone off with me.
One of them, probably Lawyer Emmons, went to the FBI, and told the FBI the same thing.
The FBI is investigating the kidnapping, or at least the disappearance and possible kidnapping of Susan Reynolds.
So soon? She only turned up missing at two A.M. this morning.
The victim is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Reynolds. Reynolds, a multimillionaire, is president of Tomar, Inc.
And important enough to get the FBI working on a weekend.
Goddamn Daffy!
I am, if not a suspect, then the last person known to have seen the victim.
Those FBI clowns were just doing their job. I probably shouldn’t have given them such a hard time. But they are such an arrogant bunch of bastards! “I am Special Agent Jernigan of the FBI, Mr. Payne. We’d like to talk to you. May we come in?” and then that “Where are you employed, Mr. Payne?” bullshit. Translation: “We’re going to get you in trouble with your boss, wise guy.”
Fuck them! All they had to do was tell me they were looking for Susan Reynolds, that they thought she might have been kidnapped. Even if I was the kidnapper, that wouldn’t have hurt their investigation. And I would have told them everything I know . . . except, of course, that I don’t think she spent the night in her room, because I went into her room and the bed hadn’t been slept in.
Goddamn it, going into her room was really stupid!
He reached the top of the stairs, crossed to his couch, slumped into it, and put the telephone in his lap.
“Hello?”
“Daffy, curiosity overwhelms me. Where did your pal Susan finally turn up?”
“Matt,” Daphne Browne Nesbitt said solemnly, “I am so sorry.”
“So sorry about what?”
“Can you keep your mouth shut?”
“Of course.”
“She was there all the time,” Daffy said.
“She was where all the time?”
“In her room. She didn’t want to answer the telephone.”
