Martin, depressed, is of no use to anyone, especially himself. Left to his own devices, he will sink into a swamp of despair. His mind ceases to function, leaving me in charge by default. My mind is fully capable of handling any deductive work that should fall my way, but my diminutive size and relative lack of strength tend to hamper my investigative efforts. In short, I need Martin in top form, if for no other reason than to do the sweat work. Of course, to give him his due, he does comes up with the occasional clever idea.
What I needed was to get him stirring. Inaction would create a self-fulfilling prophecy. Unfortunately, I was not able to think of anything that would spark his inner fires, and he spent the evening moping.
The next morning was a contest of wills. Getting Martin out of bed was only the first of many hurdles. He moved at a glacial pace, often stopping entirely for minutes at a time, staring vacantly into space.
When he entered this near-comatose state in the shower, I played a dirty trick on him. I reached inside with my tongue, which, being as long as Martin’s arm, was ideal for the purpose, and turned off the hot water. His shriek was instantaneous. Frantically, he grabbed for the knob. When his hand contacted my tongue, he let out a howl of anguish and bolted from the shower, shivering. He then proceeded to threaten me with dire consequences if I ever so much as thought of doing such a thing again.
Getting him dressed was a comparative improvement, although he kept a wary eye on me the whole time. Breakfast was the easiest of all—we simply skipped that part. I think he was afraid of what I might do to his food if he didn’t eat quickly enough.
The first indication of life I saw in Martin occurred as we were turning into our parking space at the office. There was a stunning redhead with green eyes just getting out of a small Ford as Martin parked his car. His eyes automatically fastened on her… unfortunately neglecting the concrete stop in front of us. The car hit the stop, canted sharply upwards, then slammed back down as the wheels dropped over the other side. The shock absorbers were unequal to the task; the car bounced violently.
“Excellent way to make a good first impression on a woman,” I noted calmly.
Martin delivered me a withering glare. “Listen, torpedo-head, next time you want to drive, just say so.” He shifted the car into reverse and was about to try to undo the damage when the redhead appeared at his window. “Goodness, are you all right?”
“Just testing the suspension,” Martin answered breezily. “It’s been squeaking a bit, and I wanted to see if I could get it to do it again.”
“I wish I had known about that trick a month ago. My car was making a funny noise, but I couldn’t make it do so when I took it to the dealership.”
Martin looked faintly embarrassed. “Um, actually, I wouldn’t try that on any of the newer cars. They don’t have enough ground clearance.”
She nodded in understanding. “I see. Listen, could you tell me which of these buildings Martin Crofts works in?”
He abandoned his efforts to get the car back across the stop. “I’m Martin Crofts.”
She leaned down further to look across at me, practically inviting Martin to stare down the top of her blouse. “Then you must be Victor,” she said.
“I am,” I answered gravely.
If I expected a reply, I was destined to wait in vain. She and Martin were staring raptly into one another’s eyes from six inches distance.
I think I neglected to mention that Martin has this unholy effect on women. Something to. do with the fact that he is slightly over six feet tall, athletically built, with black hair and intense green eyes. He is a north magnetic monopole, and all women are south.
Unfortunately, by definition, the attraction is mutual.
“Um, folks, can we go on inside?” I asked, after giving them sufficient time to plumb the depths of each other’s souls.
“Oh… sure,” Martin answered, stepping out of the car.
I let them get a good ten feet before I called out, “Forgetting something, Martin?”
He stopped dead in his tracks, then scurried back and unwound me from the seat belt, apologizing profusely. “I don’t know what I was thinking, little buddy—”
“I know precisely what you were thinking, and the way you were staring, chances are that she does, too.”
That earned me a dirty look.
“She’s waiting for you,” I observed blandly.
His eyes widened. “Oh, yeah.” He unceremoniously dumped me on the asphalt and hurried back to her, leaving me to close the car door myself. Having had trouble getting the door to close in the past, I hit it with everything I had.
Naturally, it swung noiselessly shut without even a hint of resistance, and I fell flat on my face in the parking lot. Martin must have oiled the hinges without telling me.
After sorting through various affronts to my bodily health and dignity, I pushed myself to my feet and went galloping after Martin and the drop-dead redhead. Fortunately, they were too busy getting acquainted to have noticed my momentary loss of equilibrium.
Martin did remember his manners long enough to carry me to the top of the stairs, but, once at the top, I was left to fend for myself. By the time I waddled into the office, they had sequestered themselves in Martin’s inner office, and the door was firmly closed.
No problem. There was enough to do out front to keep me occupied for a while. If all else failed, I could read a book. Reading is one of the best ideas humans have come up with; no other species has anything that even remotely compares.
It was just past noon when they came back out of Martin’s office. As they passed, Martin informed me that they were going out for lunch.
“Ah, Martin, we have a case pending,” I reminded him.
I might as well have saved my breath. The door had already closed behind them.
I fully expected Martin to take a two-hour lunch. I was wrong. It was only an hour and a half—but he brought her back with him and they sealed themselves in his office again.
I passed the time by working my way through the few remaining leads we had pertaining to Elaine. I tried to find the mother in New Orleans, but failed. Either her mother’s last name wasn’t Hinds, or, more likely, there simply wasn’t a mother anywhere in the state of Louisiana.
Dead ends multiplied like dead flies on the window sill. Some petered out immediately, others lay there twitching feebly for a bit before expiring.
Several times I was tempted to interrupt Martin, but there really wasn’t anything he could do about the situation. Barring a call from Grombaugh to tell us that he had remembered something new, we were rapidly reaching the end of what we could do for him.
Just on the off chance that Bird, by some unforeseen circumstance, did not find out about the missing money within the next few days, I started a few new lines of inquiry. I didn’t expect them to bear fruit, at least not in time, but it was worth a try.
At a quarter till five, Martin and the redhead came out of his office. His eyes were shining. He escorted her to the door, then stood there watching her walk down the corridor.
After she was out of sight, he turned to me and sighed, “God, did you see those legs?”
I affected a snort of derision. “I don’t recall that you gave me the opportunity to see much of her at all.”
He leaned against the door frame, smiling dreamily. “I’m taking her out to dinner tonight.”
“I’m overjoyed,” I said sarcastically. “I don’t suppose that you remember that we have a case, Martin. One with severe time constraints. By any chance, did the young lady with the red hair happen to bring us a paying case? Because if she didn’t, you’re going to have trouble meeting your rent, since we haven’t been able to produce Elaine for Grombaugh.”