Trevayne saw that Fowler was sincere. It was a problem. It was also insane. Why would anyone want to incriminate four young girls to the extent of throwing away such an enormous sum of money? It was an extraordinary gesture.
Phyllis Trevayne came down the stairs and walked into the living room. Her husband stood in front of the huge glass wall looking out over the sound. It was long after midnight, and the moon was an August moon, shining brightly on the water.
«The girls are in the adjoining guest rooms. They’ll be talking till dawn; they’re scared out of their wits. Can I get you a drink?»
«That’d be nice. We both could use one.»
Phyllis crossed to the small built-in bar to the left of the window. «What’s going to happen?»
«Fowler and Walter worked it out. Fowler will release the finding of the packages and the fact that they were uncovered as a result of telephone tips. He’s forced to do that. But he won’t mention any names or locations on the grounds that an investigation is under way. If he’s pressed, he’ll say that he has no right incriminating innocent people. The girls can’t tell him anything.»
«Did you talk to the Swansons?»
«Yes. They panicked; Walter calmed them down. I told them Jean would stay with us and join them tomorrow or the day after. The others are heading home in the morning.»
Phyllis handed her husband a drink. «Does it make any sense to you? At all?»
«No, it doesn’t. We can’t figure it out. The voice on the phone was moneyed, according to Fowler and the desk sergeant. That could mean any of thousands; narrowed somewhat because he knew the Swansons’ guest house. That is, he didn’t hesitate calling it ‘the guest house’; he didn’t describe it as a separate building or anything like that.»
«But why?»
«I don’t know. Maybe someone has it in for the Swansons; really in for them, a quarter of a million dollars’ worth. Or …»
«But, Andy,» Phyllis interrupted, remembering and choosing her words carefully. «The man who called used Pam’s name. Not Jean Swanson’s.»
«Sure. But the heroin was left on the Swansons’ property.»
«I see.»
«Well, I don’t,» said Trevayne, raising his glass to his lips. «It’s all guesswork. Walter’s probably right. Whoever it was was probably caught in the middle of two transactions and panicked. The girls came along; on the surface, rich, spoiled, easy scapegoats for an alibi.»
«I can’t think like that.»
«I can’t either, really. I’m quoting Walter.»
The sound of an automobile could be heard in the circular driveway in front of the house.
«It must be Steve,» said Phyllis. «I told him not to be too late.»
«Which he is,» added Trevayne, looking at the mantel clock. «But no lectures, I promise. I liked the way he behaved himself tonight. His language left something to be desired, but he wasn’t intimidated. He might have been.»
«I was proud of him. He was his father’s son.»
«No, he was just calling it as he saw it. I think the word is ‘bummer.’»
The front door opened, and Steven Trevayne walked in, closing it slowly, firmly behind him. He seemed disturbed.
Phyllis Trevayne started toward her son.
«Wait a minute, Mom. Before you come near me, I want to tell you something… I left the Swansons’ around ten-forty-five. The cop took me downtown for my car. I drove over to Ginny’s, and we both went to the Cos Cob Tavern. We got there about eleven-thirty. I had three bottles of beer, no grass, nothing else.»
«Why are you telling us this?» asked Phyllis.
The tall boy stammered, unsure of himself. «We left the place about an hour ago and went out to the car. The front seat was a mess; someone had poured whiskey or wine or something all over it; the seat covers were ripped, ashtrays emptied. We figured it was a lousy joke, a really lousy joke… I dropped off Ginny and started for home. When I got near the townline intersection, I was stopped by a police car. I wasn’t speeding or anything; no one chased me. This patrol car just flagged me down at the side of the road. I thought maybe he was stuck, I didn’t know… The cop came over and asked me for my license and registration, and then he smelled the inside and told me to get out. I tried to explain, but he wasn’t buying any of it.»
«Was he from the Greenwich police?»
«I don’t know, Dad. I don’t think so; I was still in Cos Cob.»
«Go on.»
«He searched me; his partner went over the car like it was the French Connection. I thought they were going to haul me in. I sort of hoped they would; I was sober and everything. But they didn’t. They did something else. They took a Polaroid shot of me with my arms against the car—they made me stretch out so they could search my pockets—and then the first cop asked me where I’d come from. I told him, and he went to his patrol car and called someone. He came back and asked me if I’d hit an old man on the road about ten miles back. I said of course not. Then he tells me this old guy is in critical condition in the hospital…»
«What hospital? What name?»
«He didn’t say.»
«Didn’t you ask?»
«No, Dad! I was scared to death. I didn’t hit anyone. I never even saw anyone walking on the road. Just a couple of cars.»
«Oh, my God!» Phyllis Trevayne looked at her husband.
«What happened then?»
«The other policeman took more pictures of the car and a close-up shot of my face. I can still see the flashbulb… Christ, I was scared… Then, just like that, they told me I could go.» The boy remained in the hallway, his shoulders slumped, the frightened bewilderment obvious in his eyes.
«You’ve told me everything?» asked Trevayne.
«Yes, sir,» replied the son, his fear clouding his nearly inaudible voice.
Andrew walked to the end table by the couch and picked up the telephone. He dialed the operator and asked for the number of the Cos Cob Police Department. Phyllis went to her son and led him into the living room.
«My name is Trevayne, Andrew Trevayne. I understand one of your patrol cars stopped my son on … where, Steve?»
«Junction Road, at the intersection. About a quarter of a mile from the railroad station.»
«… Junction Road, near the station at the intersection; no more than a half-hour ago. Would you mind telling me what the report says? Yes, I’ll hold.»
Andrew looked at his son, sitting in a chair, Phyllis standing beside him. The boy shivered and took several deep breaths. He watched his father, afraid, not understanding.
«Yes,» said Trevayne impatiently into the telephone. «Junction Road, Cos Cob side… Of course I’m sure. My son is right here!… Yes. Yes… No, I’m not positive… Just a minute.» Andrew looked at the boy. «On the police car; did you see the Cos Cob name?»
«I … I didn’t actually look. It was off on the side. No, I didn’t see it.»
«No, he didn’t, but it would have to be yours, wouldn’t it? He was in Cos Cob… Oh?… I see. You couldn’t check it out for me, could you? He was stopped in your township, after all… Oh? All right, I understand. I don’t like it, but I see what you mean. Thanks.»
Trevayne replaced the telephone and took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
«What is it, Dad? Wasn’t it them?»
«No. They have two patrol cars, and neither one has been near Junction Road for the past two hours.»
«Why didn’t you ‘like’ but ‘understand’?» asked Phyllis.
«They can’t check the cars of the other towns. Not without a formal request, which has to be recorded in the violations file. They don’t like to do that; they have arrangements. In case police cars cross municipal lines going after someone, they just haul them back informally.»