“Perhaps permanently, so far as his wife and child are concerned, yes.” The resentment in her tone was emphatic. “I’ll have to take you into my confidence a bit, for you to understand how I feel, Mr. Quinn.”
“This office has heard a good many things, off the record. We try to keep them that way, unless it’s against public interest to do so.”
“It would be against my interest, if you let it be known I’ve come here to talk to you. More than likely he’d try to kill me. Or some of his ratty friends would, if he really is dead. You know the Government’s after him for tax fraud?”
“I know they indicted him in Federal Court. He’s waiting trial now, out on bond, isn’t he? Evasion of half a million or so?”
“Seven hundred thousand. You can see why it would pay him to vanish — if he could skip with most of his money.”
“Hard thing to do. Particularly for a man as well known as Coley Prosser. You must have some definite reason for supposing he’s tried to pull a disappearing act.”
“Indeed I have.” Her eyes narrowed with bitterness. “This is Friday. Monday afternoon he left our home in Buffalo to drive to Newport, Kentucky, where he has a bunch of friends and associates, too, I expect. Of course he never let me in on any details of his business, but I think he owns an interest in one of those gambling clubs right across the river from Cincinnati.
“Anyhow, he told me he meant to stay in Toledo Monday night, then drive down through Vulcan City here on Tuesday, reaching Newport Tuesday night. I never heard from him, though he always calls me when he’s away more than a day or so, to see if there have been any phone calls or wires for him. The only news of him came yesterday from a bank treasurer in Buffalo. His wife is one of my closest friends. He told me Coley had drawn out all but six hundred dollars of his funds — two hundred thousand dollars, to be exact.”
“Quite a mite of expense money for a short trip.”
“He left me with thirty dollars in cash,” she said venomously. “And our boy’s tuition is due. He’s in a private school in New Jersey and I haven’t even enough money to keep him there unless I can get in touch with Coley right away — or find out what’s happened to him.”
“Did he have all that cash with him when he left Buffalo?”
“Oh, no. He cashed a check for it here at the Vulcan City National.”
“Ah! When?”
“Wednesday morning.”
“That would suggest he hadn’t meant to drop out of sight when he left home, wouldn’t it? It would’ve been so much easier to draw out the money before he left. Not customary to walk into a bank and collect a fifth of a million in cash just by presenting a piece of paper.”
“The bank here called up my bank treasurer friend in Buffalo to make sure the check was good.” Mona Prosser tossed her head indignantly. “I get so mad every time I think of what a fool I’ve been — to stick by him through all his troubles, to try and be nice to his peculiar friends! It wouldn’t have been so bad if he cared the least bit about me, but he’s never even bothered to hide the fact that he doesn’t.”
“Has he ever suggested divorce? Or a separation?”
Men sometimes did run away from their wives as a last resort — if it was the only way to get free from an unwanted mate.
“No. I’ve thought of it. Even mentioned it. But he wouldn’t — for Eddie’s sake, he said. He thinks the world of Eddie. That’s one reason I’m so upset about not hearing from him. I called up the school in New Jersey to find out if he’d telephoned Eddie. But he hasn’t. So either he’s trying to hide out, or something has happened to him.”
“Isn’t it possible he did get to Newport and — maybe on account of the nature of his business — is simply staying under cover for a few days?”
“I guess it could be.” She nodded impatiently. “But he’s not registered at the hotel there where he usually stays. I’m going on down to Newport, to get in touch with one of his friends who’d be sure to know about him. But before I do that, I want to see that body I read about in the paper here, this morning.”
Quinn did his best to appear sympathetic. “Afraid that wouldn’t do much good, Mrs. Prosser.”
“Oh!” She seemed suddenly frightened. “He was — it was mangled?”
“I’d like to spare your feelings, but the truth is the remains were frightfully crushed. The limbs had been dismembered from the body—”
“Oh!” She winced. “It didn’t say anything about that in the paper!”
“It wouldn’t have made nice reading. But the fingers, for instance, were mashed so any identification from prints would be out of the question.”
“But surely” — she looked sick — “his face? His head?”
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Prosser. You’ll have to believe me when I say there’s nothing distinguishable.”
“His clothing?!”
“Had all been removed before the body was — mutilated. About all they’ve been able to determine so far is that the corpse was that of a man about forty-five.”
“Coley’s forty-two.”
“What would you say he weighed?” Tony recalled the medical examiner’s guesstimate of one hundred and eighty pounds.
“I don’t know for sure. Around one hundred and seventy-five, I think. Was the dead man as heavy as that?”
He couldn’t add to her burden of worry without something more definite. “Doubt if they can be sure of his height or weight.”
“But I have to know!” she cried. “You must see I can’t be left like this, not knowing! My hands would be simply tied. I couldn’t get any money. Or even his insurance, without being sure!”
“I understand. It’s a bad spot. We’ll do everything we can to relieve your anxiety as quickly as possible. Mrs. Prosser. But I can’t hold out too great hopes. What kind of a car was your husband driving?”
“A Cadillac. Black. This year’s model.”
He made notes on a pad. It always seemed to help people in distress to know that the official machinery was taking over.
“License?”
“New York KM 916–221. It had white-walls.”
He wrote that down. “Sometimes it’s easier to trace a big car like that, than a man.” He stood up. “Our Police Department’s hot car squad will get right on it. What is the name of your banker friend in Buffalo?”
“John Siwenoe. He’s with the Drovers Trust. You can call him and tell him I’d like him to help you, if he can.”
“That may be necessary. You’ll let me know what you learn in Newport?” He went to the door with her.
After she’d gone, Silk came into the office. “It’s gettin’ to be a epidemic, sir,” he murmured.
“You got another good-looker waiting to see me?”
“Uh-huh. I got a call from Doc Gresch. He’s got another of them.”
“A dead man?”
“All mushed up like the body had been worked over by a steam hammer — just like the one they dragged out of Saylor’s Creek. This one was in Harris Run, that little riffle out by the West Fork. Couple of kids playing hookey found it.”
Tony went back to his desk. The press photographer who had described him as a grim-jawed fighter would have recognized the look of concentration on his face. “I wonder,” he said musingly, “whether any other lords of the underworld have been reported missing within the last forty-eight hours. Let’s find out.”
Chapter III
Glancing up from a pile of dossiers Tony Quinn smiled at sight of the spun honey bob beneath the perky red hat.
“Hi, gal! Beginning to think something’d happened to you.”