Act of Fear by Dennis Lynds

up-and-down as she came in, and then looked at the grey one, who shrugged. My man arrived promptly at nine forty-five. I figured he ran a loose ship.
    ‘You the manager?’ I asked, trying to sound official.
    ‘Walsh,’ he said. I’m the manager. What …’
    ‘It’s private,’ I said.
    He hesitated, then nodded. ‘Okay, come on in.’
    His office was nothing to brag about, but it was private and it had four windows. He took his time about getting settled and asking me to sit down. I saw the pictures of his wife and kids, three, on his desk and a pretty good-sized cabin cruiser beside them. The picture of the boat was better framed than the picture of his wife. He waved me to a seat, and the telephone rang. While he answered I had a good look at him. He was tall, handsome, in a seedy way, and well dressed. His face was heavily tanned, which helped him a lot. It tended to hide the bald spot on his skull and gave him an athletic appearance. His face was thin, he wore a pencil moustache, grey now, and he had a habit of rubbing his bicep with his free hand. He seemed to be feeling his own muscle.
    ‘So,’ he said when he hung up, ‘what can I do for you, Mr …?’
    ‘Dan Fortune. You can tell me where I can find Miss Driscoll.’
    ‘Nancy—?’
    His voice gave him away when he tried to stop. The ‘Nan’ part of Nancy came out fast and surprised. The end of the name was modulated and trailed off. His jaw muscles clamped hard to prevent any more involuntary sounds. I could see the knots of muscle along his jaw. I had also seen the surprise. The name had hit him unprepared. Exactly why it was a shock I didn’t know, but I could guess. Judging from the way he ran his office, Mr Walsh liked young ladies. But I was not interested in the manager’s love life unless it related to Jo-Jo Olsen.
    ‘Miss Nancy Driscoll, right,’ I said as if remembering some official report that had sent me here to the travel bureau. ‘I’d like to talk to her.’
    ‘I’m afraid she’s not here,’ Walsh said.
    There was a tone in his voice that started a small alarm in my brain. Walsh was being cautious. And something else. The manager had a faint question in his voice. The caution could be caused by his interest in the girl, if he had an interest. But what was the question I heard?
    ‘When do you expect her?’ I said. I decided to be cautious too.
    ‘I, ah, couldn’t say, Mr Fortune,’ Walsh said. ‘May I ask what your interest is?’
    ‘I can’t say,’ I said as brusquely as I could, trying to sound like a policeman. ‘But I have to talk to her. Maybe you can tell me where she is.’
    Walsh squeezed at the bicep muscle of his left arm with his right hand. ‘Well, I’m not sure …’
    I had a thought. ‘How long since she’s been to work, Mr Walsh?’
    ‘What?’ the manager said. ‘Oh, well, about a week. Yes, this is Friday, and she hasn’t been in since last Friday. I mean, she was here all day last Friday, but not since.’
    ‘In other words, she didn’t show last Monday and hasn’t been in all week.’
    ‘Yes,’ Walsh said. ‘That’s it.’
    ‘Has she called in?’
    ‘Er, well, no,’ Walsh said.
    There it was again. The caution and question in the voice of the manager. Did he think I was a snooper hired by his wife? That was more than possible. He was nervous about something. I began to think that the manager had more than a passing interest in Nancy Driscoll. He was acting very much like a man with a lot on his mind and a hot potato in his pocket. But just at that moment I had more on my mind than an office scandal.
    The Driscoll girl had not been to work all week. She had not called in sick, if Walsh were telling the truth. And Jo-Jo had done his fadeout last Friday. I felt a lot like swearing. After all I had done so far it could turn out that Jo-Jo Olsen was just off with the Driscoll girl. There could be a hundred reasons why he would not tell about it. No, there had to be more. My two shadows