The Soft Centre

Leaving the booth, he got into his car. He lit a cigarette, tipped his hat over his eyes and sat for some moments, thinking. When Hare had said he wanted the bloodhound treatment he was referring to Karsh’s uncanny knack of discovering the undiscoverable. It was almost as if Karsh was psychic. Time after time he had been able to solve a case simply because he had this odd feeling that he would find the necessary clue if he looked in a particular place. He looked and he found it.

While he sat smoking, he completely relaxed, his eyes closed, his ferrety face in repose, then after some minutes, he straightened his hat, started the car and drove rapidly back to the Park Motel. At the entrance of the motel, he U-turned and then started to drive towards the North Miami Beach highway, some fifty miles ahead of him.

He drove at a steady thirty miles an hour and his mind was like an antenna, groping for something that would home him on to the thing he sought.

It was growing dusk when he was within three miles of where Burnett had been found. He had explored every side road, reversing when he had found nothing and returning to the highway. Now, he suddenly became alert. A dirt track to his right led off the highway and into dense woodland. It was more of a cart track than a road and Karsh had no hesitation in turning his car up the track, and as the car bumped over the uneven surface, he began to whistle under his breath. He had this sudden strong feeling that he was about to find what he was looking for.

Halfway up the track he came to a small clearing in heavy forest land. On the clearing stood a white and blue Ford Lincoln. It had a deserted appearance and he stopped his car, got out and walked over to the Lincoln.

He wandered around the car, inspecting it closely, then he took from his hip pocket a pair of well-used pigskin gloves which he put on. Then he opened the driver’s door and slid under the wheel. He examined the licence tag hanging from the steering column. He learned the car was owned by U-Drive Car Hire Service, Miami. He turned around and looked on the back seat. On the seat, neatly folded, inside out, was a man’s sports jacket. Still whistling, Karsh lifted the jacket and laid it across his knees. In the inside pocket was a slim, expensive-looking wallet. This he examined. It contained two fifty dollar bills and three one hundred dollar bills, a driving licence made out in the name of Chris Burnett of New York, and a snapshot of a nice-looking girl in a smart swim suit. On the back of the snapshot, scrawled in pencil was the one word: ‘Val’.

When Karsh unfolded the coat he got a shock that abruptly stopped his whistling. The front of the coat was heavily encrusted with dried blood. Karsh was too old a hand not to recognise the rust-like stains. He sat for some moments staring at the coat, feeling sweat gathering on his low forehead, then he hurriedly refolded the coat and getting out of the car, he went over to his car and locked the jacket in his boot. He returned to the Lincoln and although he spent twenty minutes going carefully over every inch of the car, he found nothing else. By now it was seven-twenty-five o’clock and getting dark. He returned to his car, lit a cigarette, brooded for about three minutes, then U-turned and drove back to the highway. He reached Miami a little after eight-thirty, having driven fast and carefully, his mind busy.

He decided to call on the U-Drive Car Hire Service before contacting Hare. From long experience, he knew Hare never thanked him for coming up with only half the information necessary to swing into action.

The Manager of the U-Drive Hire Service was a willowy blond man with heavy bags under his eyes and a frown of perpetual worry creasing his forehead.

Karsh gave him his business card and then draped his small frame into a chair.?‘Came across one of your cars.’ he said. ‘Seems abandoned. Licence No. Mean anything to you?’

The Manager, whose name was Morphy, frowned at him.?‘Abandoned… what do you mean?’?‘Up a dirt road off the North Miami Beach highway,’ Karsh explained. ‘Dumped in a wood clearing… no driver no nothing. I thought you might be glad to know.’

Morphy reached for his register. He thumbed through the pages, found an entry, read it, frowned some more and then sat back.

‘I don’t understand. We hired the car to Miss Ann Lucas for five days. Maybe she was taking a walk in the woods or something.’

‘You got a map of the district?’ Karsh asked.

Morphy produced a map from his desk drawer.

Karsh examined it, then marked the map with a pen.?‘That’s where the car is. If after five days you don’t get it back… that’s where you’ll find it.’

Morphy seemed to be getting uneasy.?‘You don’t think she was talking a walk or something?’?‘I wouldn’t know. I get hunches. I got the idea the car’s been dumped. Who is Ann Lucas anyway?’