Death at King Arthur's Court by Richard; Forrest

stayed around. I think we should find out.’
    â€˜It’s a big state and she could be anywhere,’ Rocco said.
    â€˜It’s a small state and she could be someplace nearby,’ Lyon countered.
    â€˜Check out the motels,’ Rocco said.
    â€˜That’s a police function, Chief. You have the staff and contacts to do it faster than I can.’
    â€˜Topless with Morgan, it boggles the mind,’ Rocco said as he shook his head and slipped from the booth to go to the bar, where he reached under the counter and pulled out a touch-tone phone. He sat on a stool near the beer spigots and punched in numbers.
    â€˜Helen, it’s the chief. I want you and whoever’s holding down communications to do a motel check for me. Lyon Wentworth is with me and will give you the description of the female Caucasian we’re looking for. Call me back at Sarge’s when you’ve made the survey.’ He handed the phone to Lyon.
    â€˜Hi, Helen … I’m just fine, and Bea’s well. How’s Henry? I missed you when I was by the station recently. Right, the description. Her name is Bambi Dolores but that’s an alias and she might register under a different name. She’s a tall woman with a very full figure. Her age is mid-thirties and she has a distinctive pile of red hair.’
    Sarge Renfroe looked up from a sink of soaking glasses. ‘I saw her.’ He dried his hands on a suspicious-looking bar rag. ‘I had to fill in for the evening barman and saw her come in,’ he said in his whiskey baritone. ‘Ol’ Red sidled right up to Clay Dickensen. They seemed to know each other.’
    â€˜Oh?’ Rocco said. His interest was piqued immediately. ‘Tell us more, Sarge.’
    â€˜Not much to tell, Captain. Clay was in here drinking a diet coke. You know he don’t touch hard stuff. And Red waltzes in here with long legs into next week and hair shaped like a pyramid. She’s got front works big enough to pierce a Bradley fighting vehicle. The night manager is having a fit, since he thinks she’s imported business wanting to score. But in ten seconds she and Clay are huddled in the corner talking. She knocks down a couple doubles before they leave together.’
    â€˜Did they drive off in her truck or Clay’s car?’ Lyon asked.
    â€˜Don’t know which one,’ Sarge answered, ‘but two people left here in one vehicle.’
    â€˜What was in the lot when you opened the next morning?’ Lyon asked.
    The retired master sergeant with the pocked face and bulbous nose thought a moment as he dried his hands again. ‘Nuthin’. I remember the lot being empty as Jody’s locker.’
    â€˜Which means they went off together and someone came back later to pick up a vehicle,’ Rocco said.
    â€˜Which one?’ Lyon wondered.
    To get to Clay Dickensen’s condominium from Sarge’s they had to pass Murphysville Green and go out toward Route 155. Two blocks beyond the center of town they passed a low office building that housed the Clay Dickensen Group, specializing in accounting services and computer technology for small businesses.
    Lyon wondered why Clay still retained him as a personal client. The young CPA’s firm seemed successful enough that its proprietor did not have to handle individual accounts as unimportant as the Wentworths’. He’d add that question to the lengthening list of items to ask Clay.
    The accountant’s town house condo was located in a cluster development designed and priced for upscale professionals more concerned over their personal health than propagating the species. Heritage Acres offered every possible recreational facility this section of the country could provide. Grouped around a man-made lake with a small island in the center that housed the kayak house, the project boasted a full-service clubhouse with indoor pool. A complete gym and jogging track were built next