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‘Can I have that again?’ Kamp asked, sitting bolt upright.

‘Blandish’s daughter was kidnapped by a homicidal mental degenerate,’ Travers said, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘She was in his hands for months before she was found, and you’ll remember she committed suicide — threw herself out of a window before her father could reach her. She died of her injuries.’

‘Yeah, I know all that,’ Kamp said impatiently.

‘This is what you don’t know: before she died she gave birth to a daughter. The father of the child was the kidnapper, Grisson.’

Kamp blew out his cheeks.

‘And this child is your patient — grown up? Is that it?’

Travers nodded.

‘The child, Carol, was exactly like her mother in appearance, and Blandish couldn’t bear to have her near him. Carol was brought up by foster-parents. Blandish never went near her, but she lacked for nothing. The fact that her father was a mental degenerate made Carol suspect, but for the first eight years of her life she showed no sign that she had inherited anything from her father. But she was watched and when she was ten she ceased to mix with other children, became morose, developed violent tempers. Blandish was informed and engaged a mental nurse to watch her. Her tempers became more violent and it soon became obvious that she wasn’t to be trusted with anyone weaker than herself. By the time she was nineteen it was necessary to have her certified. For the last three years she has been my patient.’

‘Just how dangerous is she?’ Kamp asked.

‘It’s difficult to say,’ Travers returned. ‘She has always been under observation, and in the hands of trained specialists who know how to look after themselves. I don’t want you to think she is violent or dangerous all the time — far from it. In fact, she is, most of the time, a very lovely, sweet-natured girl. She will go for months behaving normally, and it seems a wicked shame to have to keep her under lock and key. But without warning she’ll attack anyone within reach. It’s an odd kind of mental sickness: a form of schizophrenia.’ Seeing Kamp’s face go blank, he went on: ‘A split mind if you prefer it: a Jekyll-and-Hyde mentality. It is as if there’s a mental shutter inside her head that drops without warning, turning her into a dangerous homicidal lunatic. The trouble, as I have said already, is that there are no warning signs of the attack. It just happens and she goes for anyone with great violence and strength. She is a match for any man when she gets out of control.’

‘Has she ever killed anyone?’ Kamp asked, pulling at his moustache.

‘No, but there were two very ugly incidents which led to the certification. The final incident occurred when she came upon a fellow beating a dog. She is fond of animals, and before her nurse could make a move she had flown at the man and slashed his face with her nails. She has great strength in her hands and the fellow lost the sight of one eye. It was only with the greatest difficulty that the nurse and passers-by got her away from him. It is certain that she would have killed him if she had been on her own. He brought an action, and this led to her being certified. It was hushed up, and cost Blandish a pretty hefty sum.’ Travers ran his fingers through his hair, shook his head. ‘But now she is free to go where she likes, any unsuspecting person who happens to run into her could be in serious danger.’

‘Well, that’s a bright lookout,’ Kamp said. ‘And hunting for her in this pesky storm isn’t going to make things easier.’

‘She must be found quickly and without publicity,’ Travers said. ‘You may have heard that Blandish’s will has just been proved and that the estate is to be administered by trustees. It involves a sum of over six million dollars. But if it is known that she has escaped and is wandering about the countryside, some unscrupulous person may try to get hold of her and exploit her for her money.’

‘But if there are trustees the money’s safe enough, isn’t it?’

‘Not necessarily. We have a law in this State concerning certification. If a certified person escapes from an asylum and remains at liberty for fourteen days, re-certification is necessary before that person can be put under restraint again. I understand also that the terms of Blandish’s will direct that if the girl should leave here, and is no longer certified, she gains complete control of the money, and the trusteeship is automatically cancelled. You see, Blandish would never believe the girl was incurable, and that’s why he worded the will like that. I believe he regretted that he washed his hands of her in her early childhood, and this was his way of retribution.’

‘So if she’s not found within fourteen days you can’t bring her back?’

‘Not unless a judge issues an order for her detention and the order is supported by two doctors’ certificates, and they won’t consider her case on her past record. She’ll have to give them proof that she is certifiable before they’ll act, and that may be impossible if she moves from one State to another.’

‘Looks like we’ve got to find her quick,’ Kamp said. ‘Did she have any money on her?’

‘Not that I know of. I’d say no.’

‘Got a photograph of her?’

‘I don’t believe there’s one in existence.’

‘Then let’s have a description,’ Kamp said, pulled out a tattered note-book from his pocket.

Travers frowned. ‘She’s not easy to describe: not to do her justice. Let’s see. I’d say she was about five foot five; red hair and big green eyes. She’s an extraordinarily beautiful girclass="underline" good figure, graceful. At times she has a peculiar habit of looking at you from under her eyelids, which gives her a calculating, distinctly unpleasant expression. She has a nervous tic on the right side of her mouth, the only outward sigh of her mental disorder.’

Kamp grunted, scribbled in his note-book. ‘Any distinguishing marks?’

‘She has a two-inch jagged scar on her left wrist,’ Travers told him. ‘She got that when she tried to open a vein in a fit of temper when she first came here. The most obvious thing about her is her hair. It is the reddest hair I’ve ever seen: real red, not red-brown. It’s most unusual and attractive.’

‘And how was she dressed when she escaped?’

‘A dark blue wool dress and stout walking shoes are missing. My chauffeur reports that his trench coat, which was hanging in the passage outside his door, has gone. I think we can assume that she took that with her.’

Kamp stood up.

‘O.K., now we can make a start. I’ll notify the State Patrol and get them to watch all roads, and I’ll organize a search-party to comb the hills. Don’t worry, Doc, we’ll find her.’

But as Travers listened to the Sheriff’s car roar down the drive he had a presentiment that they wouldn’t find her.

The truck drifted to a stop before Andy’s café. Dan Burns climbed wearily from the cab of the truck, stumbled through puddles, his head bent against the driving wind and rain, pushed open the door. He fumbled his way through the overpowering heat and thick haze of tobacco smoke to a table away from the stove.

Andy, big, fat, boisterous, came over.

‘Hello, Dan,’ he said. ‘Glad to see you again. You look whacked, son. Not going on tonight, are you? Most of the boys are staying over. There’s room for you.’

‘Got to get on,’ Dan said. His face was stiff with fatigue and his eyelids kept drooping. ‘Let’s have a cup of coffee, Andy, and make it snappy. I gotta make Oakville by tomorrow.’

‘You’re crazy,’ Andy said in disgust. He went away, came back almost immediately with coffee. ‘You truck-drivers are all crazy. Why don’t you catch up some sleep? I bet you ain’t been to bed for days.’

‘Think I do it for fun?’ Dan growled. ‘With the freight rates as they are and me ten weeks behind in the truck payments, what the hell else can I do? I don’t want to lose the truck, Andy.’