Bartholdi’s eyes had gone dreamy again. Again he seemed to be listening for something, hearing something, a distant accompaniment to his own voice.
“That’s where I came in,” he went on after a moment. “I was out there within half an hour. Here, subject to revision, are the conclusions I’ve drawn: The victim was killed some time ago. In the light of what you’ve told me, I’d say it was probably Friday night, not too long after she disappeared. She had not been attacked, and so rape would appear to be out. She was, moreover, fully clothed. She was strangled either with a stout cord or a length of some kind of strong material, possibly a stocking or a necktie.”
“But why there?” Jay’s voice had a harsh, breathless sound, as if he himself were being strangled by invisible hands. “What was she doing in an unoccupied house? Surely she didn’t go to such a place to meet someone.”
“Not likely.” Bartholdi paused, looking beyond Jay at a point on the far wall. “She was taken there either before or after she was killed. I think it’s possible this was a kidnapping that got fouled up.”
“Kidnapping!”
“It’s still just a theory. Kidnapping victims must be rich to be profitable. Are you a wealthy man, Mr. Miles?”
Jay shook his head. “I live on my salary. But my wife’s father left her a small fortune.”
“Oh?” Bartholdi leaned forward. “Did you get a ransom note?”
“No.”
“It might still come in...” Bartholdi mused. “Yes,” he said slowly, “this might be a kidnap case, at that. It’s suggestive that the body was left in a place where, except for the nosiness of a couple of kids, it might have remained undiscovered for months. That would give a kidnapper plenty of time to negotiate for ransom.
“It might interest you to learn,” he went on, “that just on the chance I’ve taken certain precautions to keep a kidnapper, if there is one, from finding out that we know his victim is dead. I’ve threatened the two boys and their parents into silence, and I’ve given orders to every officer associated with the case. The news of this murder will be suppressed, if at all possible, for at least twenty-four hours. Not that I’m very hopeful. It’s likely that a kidnapper would have had the Skully house under observation. If so, he knows we’ve found the body.”
Jay was shaking his head. “I’m not sure about this kidnapping thing. My wife wasn’t in control of her money. She wouldn’t have been for another year. She’s been drawing a modest allowance from the interest on the estate.”
“Who administers the estate?”
“A lawyer in Los Angeles. His name is Maurice Feldman.”
“Wouldn’t he have paid a ransom from the estate if it meant saving your wife’s life?”
“Of course. There’s no question about that. But the kidnapper would have had to be aware of the circumstances, which I find questionable. Terry and I never mentioned her inheritance. I’m sure that not a soul in Handclasp knew a thing about it.”
“How can you be so sure? Women are not very good at keeping secrets. Did you, for instance, Mr. Moran, ever hear Mrs. Miles mention her inheritance?”
“Never,” said Farley.
“You’re positive?”
“Certainly. Jay told me about it yesterday, after Terry had gone. That’s the first I heard of it.”
“By the way, Mr. Moran, I believe you were going to tell me about an appointment Mrs. Miles may have had.”
“There isn’t much to tell, really. Terry dropped in to our apartment Friday afternoon, and while she was there she said she had an appointment at three o’clock. That’s all.”
“She didn’t mention a name? A destination?”
“No. As I recall, she made quite a point of not mentioning any.”
“So? That’s interesting. You said ‘our’ apartment, Mr. Moran?”
“Ben’s and mine. Ben Green. He’s working on a doctorate at the university. I’m in law school.”
“Why did Terry come to your apartment? Any particular reason?”
“She wanted to borrow three carrots.”
“Carrots?” Bartholdi’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you say carrots?”
“That’s right. For a ragout. She was going to put the ragout on to cook while she was out. That way, it would be ready when Jay got home in the evening.”
Bartholdi’s eyes slanted toward Jay. “And was it ready, Mr. Miles?”
“Yes. It was simmering in the electric skillet.”
“A man must find it satisfying to come home to a hot meal. I’m a bachelor who doesn’t, and I know.” After this irrelevant remark, Bartholdi returned his attention to Farley. “How long did Mrs. Miles stay in your apartment?”
“Not long. She left shortly after Ben did.”
“Where did Ben — Green, did you say? — go?”
“I wouldn’t know. Old Ben was mysterious about it. Not the first time, either. I have a notion he goes off for a little extra-curricular fun, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I do. When did he get back?”
“He didn’t. At least, he hadn’t when Jay and I left to come here. He said he’d be back some time this evening.”
“Interesting.”
“Oh, if you think there was any connection between Ben and Terry, you’re way off base. I’m sure there wasn’t.”
“Chances are, of course, that you’re right,” said Bartholdi easily. “A lively imagination is one of my worst faults. Just the same, we’ll have to prevail upon Mr. Green to let us in on his activities this weekend.”
“It would be more helpful to know who placed the Personal.”
“Personal? What Personal?”
“There was one in Thursday evening’s Journal. It was addressed to ‘T.M.’ and was signed ‘O.’ It arranged a meeting for three o’clock Friday afternoon. From certain terms used, we deduced that the place of meeting was the University library.”
If Bartholdi’s imagination was at work again, there was no evidence of it in his eyes. They were more dream-filled than ever as he turned them slowly upon Jay.
“When did you first know about this Personal?” he asked Jay.
“Friday night,” Jay said. “Farley and I had just finished eating the ragout, as I recall, and Farley and Fanny were looking around to see if they could find a note of the appointment Terry had presumably gone to keep. It was you who actually found the Personal, wasn’t it, Farley?”
“It was, come to think of it,” said Farley. “Fanny was looking through some magazines for a marginal note or something. I just happened to pick up the Journal, and there was the Personal.”
“Who,” said Bartholdi, still watching Jay, “is Fanny?”
“Fanny Moran,” Jay said. “Farley’s half-sister.”
“She lives upstairs,” Farley said.
“And how did it happen, Mr. Moran, just for the record,” said Bartholdi, “that you were with Professor Miles in his apartment at the time?”
“I had been invited by Terry to come over at six and share the ragout. Fanny just got into it somehow. Fanny’s always getting into things.”