Moonlight Becomes You (38 page)

N
EIL AND
R
OBERT
S
TEPHENS DROVE TO THE REMOTE ROAD
where Maggie's station wagon was still parked. Now it was surrounded with police tape, and as they got out of their car they could hear the yapping of search dogs in the nearby woods.

Neither man had spoken since they left the police station. Neil used the time to think through all he knew so far. It amounted to very little, he realized, and the longer he felt in the dark, the more frustrated he became.

It was good, even essential, to have the understanding presence of his father, he realized. Something I didn't give to Maggie, he told himself bitterly.

Through the heavy woods and thick foliage, he could make out the figures of at least a dozen people. Policemen or volunteers? he wondered. He knew they had found nothing so far, so the search had spread out over a wider area. In despair, he realized that they were expecting to find Maggie's body.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and bowed his head.
Finally he broke the silence. “She can't be dead,” he said. “I'd know it if she were dead.”

“Neil, let's go,” his father said quietly. “I don't even know why we came out here. Standing around here isn't helping Maggie.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Neil asked, anger and frustration showing in his voice.

“From what Chief Brower said, the police haven't spoken to this guy Hansen yet, but they found out he's expected at his office in Providence around noon. At this point they consider him small potatoes. They'll turn over the fraud information Norton left with his note to the district attorney. But it wouldn't hurt for us to be at Hansen's office when he comes in.”

“Dad, you can't expect me to worry about stock deals now,” Neil said angrily.

“No, and at this moment I'm not worried about them either. But you did authorize the sale of fifty thousand shares of stock that Cora Gebhart didn't own. You certainly have a right to go to Hansen's office and demand some answers,” Robert Stephens urged.

He looked into his son's face. “Don't you see what I'm driving at? Something made Maggie mighty uneasy about Hansen. I don't think it's just a coincidence that he's the guy who fronted an offer on her house. You can get him on the defensive about the stocks. But the real reason I want to see him right away is to try and find out if he knows anything at all about Maggie's disappearance.”

When Neil continued to shake his head, Robert Stephens pointed to the woods. “If you believe Maggie's body is lying out there somewhere, then go join the search. I happen to hope—to believe—that she's still alive, and if she is, I bet her abductor didn't leave her in the vicinity of the car.”

He turned to leave. “Get a ride from someone else. I'm going to Providence to see Hansen.”

He got into the car and slammed the door. As he was turning the ignition key, Neil jumped in on the passenger side.

“You're right,” he admitted. “I don't know where we'll find her, but it won't be here.”

78

A
T
11:30, E
ARL
B
ATEMAN WAS WAITING FOR
C
HIEF
Brower and Detective Haggerty on the porch of his funeral museum.

“The casket was here yesterday afternoon,” Bateman said heatedly. “I know, because I gave a tour of the place, and I remember pointing it out. I can't believe anyone would have the insolence to desecrate an important collection like this just as a prank. Every single object in my museum was purchased only after meticulous research.

“Halloween is coming,” he continued, as he nervously thumped his right hand on his left palm. “I'm positive a bunch of kids pulled this stunt. And I can tell you right now that if that's what happened, I
will
press charges. No ‘boyish prank' excuses, do you understand?”

“Professor Bateman, why don't we go inside and talk about it?” Brower said.

“Of course. Actually I may have a picture of the casket in my office. It's an item of particular interest, and, in fact, I've been planning to make it the focal point
of a new exhibit when I expand the museum. Come this way.”

The two policemen followed him through the foyer, past the life-sized figure dressed in black, to what obviously had been the kitchen. A sink, refrigerator, and stove still lined the far wall. Legal-size files were under the back windows. An immense old-fashioned desk stood in the center of the room, its surface covered with blueprints and sketches.

“I'm planning an outdoor exhibit,” Bateman told them. “I have some property nearby that will make a wonderful site. Go ahead, sit down. I'll try to find that picture.”

He's awfully worked up, Jim Haggerty thought. I wonder if he was this agitated when they threw him out of Latham Manor that time? Maybe he
isn't
the harmless weirdo I pegged him for.

“Why don't we just ask you a few questions before you look for the picture,” Brower suggested.

“Oh, all right.” Bateman yanked out the desk chair and sat down.

Haggerty took out his notebook.

“Was anything else taken, Professor Bateman?” Brower asked.

“No. Nothing else seems to have been disturbed. Thank God the place wasn't vandalized. You should realize that this could have been done by someone working alone, because the catafalque is missing too, and it would have been no trouble to wheel the casket out.”

“Where was the casket located?”

“On the second floor, but I have an elevator for moving heavy objects up and down.” The telephone rang. “Oh, excuse me. That will probably be my cousin Liam. He was in a meeting when I called to tell him what happened. I thought he'd be interested.”

Bateman picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said, then
listened, nodding to indicate that it was the call he had been expecting.

Brower and Haggerty listened to the one-sided conversation as Bateman informed his cousin of the theft.

“A very valuable antique,” he said excitedly. “A Victorian coffin. I paid ten thousand dollars for it, and that was a bargain. This one has the original breathing tube with it and was—”

He stopped suddenly, as though interrupted. Then in a shocked voice, he cried, “What do you mean Maggie Holloway is missing? That's impossible!”

When he hung up, he seemed dazed. “This is
terrible!
How could something happen to Maggie? Oh, I just
knew
it, I
knew
she wasn't safe. I had a premonition. Liam is
very
upset. They are very close, you know. He called from his car phone. He said he just heard about Maggie on the news, and he's on his way down from Boston.” Then Bateman frowned. “You knew Maggie was missing?” he asked Brower accusingly.

“Yes,” Brower said shortly. “And we also know she was here with you yesterday afternoon.”

“Well, yes. I'd brought her a picture of Nuala Moore taken at a recent family reunion, and she was very appreciative. Because she's such a successful photographer, I asked her to help me by suggesting visuals for the television series I'm going to do about funeral customs. That's why she came to see the exhibits,” he explained earnestly.

“She looked over just about everything,” he went on. “I was disappointed that she hadn't brought her camera, so when she left I told her to come back on her own at any time. I showed her where I hide the key.”

“That was yesterday afternoon,” Brower said. “Did she come back here last night?”

“I don't think so. Why would she come here at night?
Most women wouldn't.” He looked upset. “I hope nothing bad has happened to Maggie. She's a nice woman, and very attractive. I've been quite drawn to her, in fact.”

He shook his head, then added, “No, I think it's a safe bet that
she
didn't steal the casket. Why, when I showed her the place yesterday, she wouldn't even set foot in the coffin room.”

Is that supposed to be a joke? Haggerty wondered. This guy had that explanation right on tap, he noted. Ten to one he'd already heard about Maggie Holloway's disappearance.

Bateman got up. “I'll go look for the picture.”

“Not yet,” Brower said. “First I'd like to talk to you about a little problem you had when you gave a lecture at Latham Manor. I heard something about Victorian cemetery bells and your being asked to leave.”

Bateman angrily slammed his fist on the desk.
“I don't want to talk about that!
What's the matter with all of you? Only yesterday I had to tell Maggie Holloway the same thing. Those bells are locked in my storeroom, and there they'll stay.
I won't talk about it.
Got it?” His face was white with anger.

79

T
HE WEATHER WAS CHANGING
,
BECOMING SHARPLY
cooler. The morning sun had given way to clouds, and by eleven the sky was bleak and gray.

Neil and his father sat on the two upright wooden chairs that, along with a secretary's desk and chair, were the
sole furnishings in the reception area of Douglas Hansen's office.

The one employee was a laconic young woman of about twenty who disinterestedly informed them that Mr. Hansen had been out of the office since Thursday afternoon, and that all she knew was that he had said he would be in by about ten today.

The door leading to the inside office was open, and they could see that that room appeared to be as sparsely furnished as the reception area. A desk, chair, filing cabinet, and small computer were all they could see in it.

“Doesn't exactly look like a thriving brokerage firm,” Robert Stephens said. “In fact, I'd say it looks like more of a setting for a floating crap game—set up so you can get out of town fast if someone blows the whistle.”

Neil found it agonizing to have to simply sit there, doing nothing.
Where is Maggie?
he kept asking himself.

She's alive, she's alive, he repeated with determination. And I'm going to find her. He tried to concentrate on what his father was saying, then replied, “I doubt he shows this place to his potential clients.”

“He doesn't,” Robert Stephens answered. “He takes them to fancy lunches and dinners. From what Cora Gebhart and Laura Arlington told me, he can put on the charm, although they both said he sounded very knowledgeable about investments.”

“Then he's taken a crash course somewhere. Our security guy who ran the check on him told me that Hansen's been fired from two brokerage houses for just plain ineptitude.”

Both men spun their heads sharply as the outer door opened. They were just in time to catch the startled expression on Douglas Hansen's face when he saw them.

He thinks we're cops, Neil realized. He must already have heard about his uncle's suicide.

They stood up. Robert Stephens spoke first. “I represent Mrs. Cora Gebhart and Mrs. Laura Arlington,” he said formally. “As their accountant, I'm here to discuss the recent investments you
purport
to have made for them.”

“And I'm here to represent Maggie Holloway,” Neil said angrily. “Where were you last night, and what do you know about her disappearance?”

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