Hellbox (Nameless Detective) by Bill Pronzini Page B

“I told you, it’s her favorite. If she’d been able to go get it, she would have.”
    “Maybe she tried, and couldn’t find it. You said so yourself you missed seeing it the first time you went down the slope.”
    “I wasn’t looking for it. It wouldn’t’ve been all that hard to spot if I had been. Besides, there wasn’t any sign that she’d been down there. I told you that, too.”
    “There might’ve been some that you missed. You were excited, you moved around down there calling her name. You could’ve accidentally covered up any she made.”
    “Except that I didn’t. There was no sign. I’d’ve found it if there was. I’m not an amateur when it comes to situations like this, Deputy.”
    “But you are the woman’s husband. Concerned, upset—”
    “There was no goddamn sign.” Frustration made me snap the words at him. “Not down there, not anywhere else around here. Just what I showed you.”
    “All right, take it easy,” Broxmeyer said. “I’m not saying it’s not possible somebody else was here when she came along. Just that it isn’t likely there was … an encounter. We’ve never had anything like that happen in Green Valley. Not a single incident along those lines.”
    “That doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.”
    “No, but all I have to go by is what I see and what evidence tells me.”
    I said between my teeth, “So what are you going to do?”
    “The only thing I can do under the circumstances. Get a search team out here, enough volunteers to scour the entire ridge, if necessary. If your wife is still somewhere in the area, they’ll find her.”
    “When? How soon?”
    “ASAP. Meanwhile, I’ll run you back to the Murray place.”
    “No. I want to be part of the search.”
    “Not a good idea. You’re unfamiliar with these woods, the terrain gets pretty rugged higher up—”
    “She wouldn’t’ve gone that far.”
    “—and you’ve worked yourself pretty hard already. The best thing you can do is wait at the house and let us do the job we’re trained for.”
    Distraught old man, tired old man—I could almost see the thoughts reflected in the deputy’s steady gaze. Other thoughts, too, the speculative kind I might be having myself if our positions were reversed. I resented what he was thinking, but I couldn’t blame him for it. Stubborn argument meant delay, and it wouldn’t do any good anyway. He had that ridged-jaw look law officers get when they’ve made up their minds to go by the book.
    “All right,” I said. “Your way.”
    *   *   *
    In his cruiser as we rode, Broxmeyer radioed his dispatcher to contact the list of search team volunteers. Neither of us had anything to say to each other until we pulled up in front of the house. One look was enough to tell me it was as deserted as I’d left it. I’d expected it would be, but I felt an inner wrenching just the same.
    He switched off the engine, turned toward me, and said with his eyes fixed on mine, “Mind if I come inside with you, have a look around?”
    I’d expected that. Good at his job, but not very subtle and pretty easy to read. It wasn’t that he necessarily disbelieved what I’d told him about Kerry’s disappearance or finding her sun hat; but even if he’d run a check on me, and he probably had, he didn’t know me or what I might be capable of. Without anything concrete to back up my story, he was inclined to be just a little suspicious, and careful, thorough, as a result. When a husband or wife goes missing under unexplained circumstances, there’s always the chance domestic foul play is involved. There’d been any number of high profile cases to make even a rural cop aware of the possibility. The bitter irony here was that Broxmeyer had retained that false suspicion and dismissed the much more likely one I’d given him.
    I didn’t call him on it. Or question him. Counterproductive; I needed him on my side. All I said was, “Come ahead,” and swung out. He was right behind