looking, too, not to mention trustworthy and loyal."
Hell, if he went to the police now, all that would happen would be that they'd arrest H.J. Even if she showed them the photos Rick Dell had taken, they'd probably still lock her up and charge her with something. Plus which, he still wasn't absolutely certain she was dumb enough to go up against these people. It could be she was simply going to stay off by herself for a day or two and wrestle with her conscience. Away from him, so he wouldn't be able to argue with her.
"By tonight, though, if you haven't heard from her and haven't been able to find her then, damn it, you have to see the police. Even if that means her getting arrested."
He walked up the path to the house. It was unlikely she was in there, but he wanted to make sure. He was on the porch, taking hold of the doorknob, when a calm voice behind him said, "Just stay right there, if you would. Don't make any sudden moves."
Chapter 17
Â
V ery slowly and carefully Ben turned around. A pale blond man in a wrinkled tan suit was standing at the bottom of the steps watching him. He was just under six feet and just a few months from forty.
Ben said, "Morning, Ryerson."
"Well, Ben. I didn't recognize you from the back." Detective Ryerson smiled faintly. "But I guess this makes sense."
"Our running into each other?"
The policeman reached inside his coat, took out a fat canvas-covered notebook. "You used to be married to Helen Mavity," he said. "The fact is, I remembered seeing her picture the one time I was at your house. That's how I made a tentative identification."
Ben suffered a sudden chill. "Tentative identification," he managed to say. "Has something happened to her?"
"Not as far as I know." Ryerson flipped open the notebook. "Were you expecting otherwise?"
"It sounded as though you'd found her in some condition that made positive identification impossible."
"I haven't found the lady at all, though I'd like to. Is she at home?'
"I'm not exactly certain. I was going to knock."
"Do that," suggested the policeman.
Ben knocked. 'What exactly are. . ."
The door had swung inward when he hit it and was now standing half open.
Ryerson stepped up onto the porch. "Miss Mavity, are you at home?" he inquired into the opening. There was no response from within the house. "You try calling her."
"H.J., It's me."
Continued silence.
Detective Ryerson pushed the door all the way open and waited, listening for a few seconds. Then he crossed the threshold. "Anybody home?"
Ben followed him in. "Again?" he murmured when he got a look at the living room.
The books he'd helped his onetime wife put back on the shelves were on the floor again, furniture was knocked over, a lamp was broken.
Ryerson scanned the disordered living room. "Why'd you say again?"
Ben swallowed. "H.J. was never much of a housekeeper and at first I thought she'd left her place in a mess again," he ad-libbed. "But I can see now there's been some sort of break-in."
"Are you and your wife getting back together?"
"We happened to run into each other again recently. She suggested I drop over sometime."
"And you picked this morning?"
"Happened to be passing by."
"That your car in the driveway?"
"Mine, yes."
"Engine's cold."
"She borrowed it earlier, and I actually stopped by now to pick it up."
"Where might she be at the moment?"
"Well, probably out in her own car."
"She's got a car, but she borrowed yours?"
"Hers was in the shop. She got it back, though, earlier this morning."
"How'd you get here?"
"Cab."
Ryerson nodded and took a sheet of folded paper from between the pages of his thick notebook. "This is Helen Mavity, isn't it?"
Ben unfolded the sheet. It was a fuzzy copy of a photograph of H.J. She was wearing jeans and a pullover sweater, staring down at a thin man who was kneeling on the mosaic flooring of the Eastport Mall. Dell hadn't been an especially good looking man. "Vague resemblance to her I suppose, but it's tough to
Hell, if he went to the police now, all that would happen would be that they'd arrest H.J. Even if she showed them the photos Rick Dell had taken, they'd probably still lock her up and charge her with something. Plus which, he still wasn't absolutely certain she was dumb enough to go up against these people. It could be she was simply going to stay off by herself for a day or two and wrestle with her conscience. Away from him, so he wouldn't be able to argue with her.
"By tonight, though, if you haven't heard from her and haven't been able to find her then, damn it, you have to see the police. Even if that means her getting arrested."
He walked up the path to the house. It was unlikely she was in there, but he wanted to make sure. He was on the porch, taking hold of the doorknob, when a calm voice behind him said, "Just stay right there, if you would. Don't make any sudden moves."
Chapter 17
Â
V ery slowly and carefully Ben turned around. A pale blond man in a wrinkled tan suit was standing at the bottom of the steps watching him. He was just under six feet and just a few months from forty.
Ben said, "Morning, Ryerson."
"Well, Ben. I didn't recognize you from the back." Detective Ryerson smiled faintly. "But I guess this makes sense."
"Our running into each other?"
The policeman reached inside his coat, took out a fat canvas-covered notebook. "You used to be married to Helen Mavity," he said. "The fact is, I remembered seeing her picture the one time I was at your house. That's how I made a tentative identification."
Ben suffered a sudden chill. "Tentative identification," he managed to say. "Has something happened to her?"
"Not as far as I know." Ryerson flipped open the notebook. "Were you expecting otherwise?"
"It sounded as though you'd found her in some condition that made positive identification impossible."
"I haven't found the lady at all, though I'd like to. Is she at home?'
"I'm not exactly certain. I was going to knock."
"Do that," suggested the policeman.
Ben knocked. 'What exactly are. . ."
The door had swung inward when he hit it and was now standing half open.
Ryerson stepped up onto the porch. "Miss Mavity, are you at home?" he inquired into the opening. There was no response from within the house. "You try calling her."
"H.J., It's me."
Continued silence.
Detective Ryerson pushed the door all the way open and waited, listening for a few seconds. Then he crossed the threshold. "Anybody home?"
Ben followed him in. "Again?" he murmured when he got a look at the living room.
The books he'd helped his onetime wife put back on the shelves were on the floor again, furniture was knocked over, a lamp was broken.
Ryerson scanned the disordered living room. "Why'd you say again?"
Ben swallowed. "H.J. was never much of a housekeeper and at first I thought she'd left her place in a mess again," he ad-libbed. "But I can see now there's been some sort of break-in."
"Are you and your wife getting back together?"
"We happened to run into each other again recently. She suggested I drop over sometime."
"And you picked this morning?"
"Happened to be passing by."
"That your car in the driveway?"
"Mine, yes."
"Engine's cold."
"She borrowed it earlier, and I actually stopped by now to pick it up."
"Where might she be at the moment?"
"Well, probably out in her own car."
"She's got a car, but she borrowed yours?"
"Hers was in the shop. She got it back, though, earlier this morning."
"How'd you get here?"
"Cab."
Ryerson nodded and took a sheet of folded paper from between the pages of his thick notebook. "This is Helen Mavity, isn't it?"
Ben unfolded the sheet. It was a fuzzy copy of a photograph of H.J. She was wearing jeans and a pullover sweater, staring down at a thin man who was kneeling on the mosaic flooring of the Eastport Mall. Dell hadn't been an especially good looking man. "Vague resemblance to her I suppose, but it's tough to
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