“You have their address?”
“Again I have been remiss. Her mother could not write English, her father could not write at all. I should have obtained their address from Nikki if for no other reason than to be able to notify them if... if anything happened to Nikki.”
“You thought something might happen to her?”
“Of course not. That was merely an expression.”
“Kovacs,” said Alder. “It is not too uncommon a name. Hungarian, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Alder reached to the phone stand, got the phone directory.
“It’s not Chicago,” Collinson said. “They live out some distance. A small town.” He winced. “I must tell you that I do not even know the name of it. But I do remember Nikki mentioning one time, during a storm, that she had difficulty getting to her family from Chicago.”
“I’m not going to call you names, Walt,” said Linda, “but if you had been my husband—” She left the sentence unfinished.
“You’re quite right,” agreed Collinson. He smiled. “However, if you had been my wife, I would have beaten you.”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had today,” Linda kissed her finger tips and blew the kiss at him.
Collinson’s smile spread to a grin.
He said, “Mr. Alder, something has happened to her? No — don’t spare me. Your attitude indicates your own belief.”
“Not necessarily. I think it has to be considered and prepared for. She did call Linda and she was concerned.” He turned to Linda. “Your turn. Please try to recall the exact words she used to you.”
Linda pursed up her lips, thought for a moment. She said, “‘I need your help, Linda. Something — something I can’t handle by myself.’ She repeated the something — I’m sure of that. It wasn’t her words that caught me so much as her... her tone. We didn’t joke, there were no light words, not the usual bantering. She got right to the point and said she needed my help.”
Alder said: “‘I need your help, Linda. Something... something I can’t handle by myself.’ She didn’t identify herself?”
“I recognized her voice, but — damn! She did say: ‘Linda, this is Nikki. I’m in Chicago!’”
“‘Linda, this is Nikki. I’m in Chicago. I need your help, Linda. Something... something I can’t handle by myself.’ What else?”
Linda chose her words carefully. “‘Come to the Palmer House. I can’t tell you more now,’ and then she added, ‘please!’ and if you’d heard that please, you’d know why I came.”
“‘Come to the Palmer House,’” repeated Alder. “‘I can’t tell you more now — please!’”
“That’s it. I’m certain she didn’t say one other word. She hung up.”
Alder looked at Collinson. “You heard. She did not say she was staying here — or anywhere else specifically. She merely told Linda to come here.”
“Naturally I assumed—”
“We can’t assume, Linda,” Alder said.
“You’re right, Mr. Alder,” Collinson said, his voice beginning to show strain. “Since she was not staying here, or did not say specifically that she was, do you think she’s out in the country with her family?”
Alder frowned. “Was the call from Chicago, Linda? Did the operator say so?”
“Perhaps not. When I heard it was long distance, I thought of Nikki and I could have assumed that she said Chicago.”
“Telephone calls can be traced,” Toomey said suddenly.
“Yes,” said Alder, “but Mrs. Collinson could have called from a pay phone. Or even here at the hotel. The call was yesterday — she could be a long ways from here.”
“Why?” exclaimed Toomey, getting back into it. “If it was so all-fired important that Linda come all the way from California, why couldn’t she have stayed here until she got here? Or left word?”
“She had trouble,” retorted Linda. “You don’t think things out like that when you’re in trouble. You don’t think of the other person, just yourself.” Then her white teeth bit her lower lip. “Although Nikki always considered you more than she did herself. That’s why I loved her.”
“Thank you, Linda,” said Collinson simply.
The waiter came with the drinks. Collinson signed the check.
Alder took his drink and sipped at it, standing. “If it’s all right with you, Mr. Collinson, I can get things in motion. I’ll trace the phone call and I’ll talk to a man I know here. A private detective.”
“A detective!” exploded Toomey. “Another Sherlock Holmes—”
“He’s a discreet man and extremely efficient.”
“If that is what you want to do, Mr. Alder,” said Collinson.
“Walt — you can’t,” cried Toomey. “They’ll crucify you. You know how you dislike publicity.”
“I want to find Nikki,” Collinson turned to Alder. “Do what you think is necessary — regardless of the expense. You don’t have to clear any of that with me.”
“This detective — Miller Hastings — was with G-2 during the war. There will be no publicity — not from Miller’s end of it. Of course if the newspapers, or the police, get wind of it, I can’t guarantee that.”
“I know.”
Alder drank the last of his straight bourbon, set down the glass and moved out.
“Where are you going?” exclaimed Linda, in slight alarm.
“I’ve got to make some phone calls,” said Alder. “I want to make them from my own room.”
“There’s a phone here — use the one in the bedroom.”
“I can work better alone.”
“Thank you,” said Collinson. “I’m going to my room in a few minutes. If you want me, I’ll be there. Room 1401-S.”
“We’re on the same floor.” Alder nodded to Linda. “Good night, Linda.”
She was not happy about it, but she yielded gracefully. “Good night, Tom.”
Harris Toomey did not even nod. He had his glass to his mouth when Alder’s eyes flicked toward him.
Alder rode down to his own room. He got the telephone and dialing the operator, asked for the night supervisor. He gave her the pertinent information on Nikki Collinson’s call to Beverly Hills, California, was transferred to two different departments and eventually got the information.
“The call was made,” said the telephone supervisor, “from the switchboard of the Palmer House.”
Alder called the hotel operator and after a moment got the one who had taken Nikki’s call.
“The party was not registered at the hotel and paid for the call in cash.”
“The party was a woman?”
“Yes, sir.”
Alder thanked her and broke the connection. He held down the prongs a moment, started to call the operator again, then changed his mind. He got the Chicago directory, looked up Miller Hastings’ night telephone number. He called it. The answering service replied. “I’ll take your number. Mr. Hastings phones in once or twice of an evening when he is out,” the service girl said. “I’ll take your number.”
“Has he called in this evening yet?”
“No. It should be soon, however.”
Chapter 19
It was time enough for a Major General in the Pentagon to have acquired the data Alder had requested. He put in a call to the Chevy Chase, Maryland, number and spent two minutes talking to Gladys Mattock. She sensed his urgency and did not hold him too long. The General was still at the Pentagon.