The Soft Centre

Val said, ‘Thank you… the newspapers…‘?‘You don’t have to worry about them. I know how to deal with reporters,’ Terrell said. ‘Dulac tells me your husband isn’t very well. He didn’t go into details. Would you care to tell me a little more about him?’

‘Why, yes… if—if you think it is necessary,’ Val said.?‘What exactly is the matter with him?’?‘Two years ago he had a motor accident. He suffered severe head injuries. He was unconscious for over five months. Before the accident he was a brilliant man and worked with my father. When he came out of the coma, he—he… well, to use my father’s words, he acted like a Zombie.’ Val paused and looked out of the window, struggling to control her tears. ‘He spent months in a sanatorium. Nothing anyone did seemed to help him. There was nothing physically wrong with him, but he just lost interest in everything… including me. He remained in the sanatorium for about eighteen months. He neither got better nor worse. I decided I couldn’t leave him there, and against my father’s wishes, I insisted that we should try to give him a more normal life in the hope, away from the sanatorium, he would make a recovery. The doctors agreed. So I brought him here. We have been here a week, and he did begin to show a little improvement.’

‘In what way?’ Terrell asked.?‘He began to take an interest in certain limited things. Before he came here, he would just sit and stare into space for hours. Here, he found a copy of Oliver Twist and he began to read it. He asked me to get him the complete works of Dickens which I did. He planned to read right through Dickens. He also began to show interest in the people here: discussing them with me.’

‘Did he show any awakening interest in you?’

Val lifted her hands helplessly.?‘No.’

‘I understand he has consulted Dr. Gustave,’ Terrell went on after a pause. ‘Why did he do that?’

‘He has been in the hands of doctors for two years. He hasn’t any confidence in himself. He seems to feel lost without a doctor close at hand.’

‘I know Dr. Gustave well,’ Terrell said. ‘He is a good man. What did he think of your husband?’

‘Oh, he said he showed signs of improvement, but it would take a long time.’?‘He didn’t warn you that your husband could suddenly run off like this?’?‘No.’?‘Wasn’t your husband nervous about driving a car when he came out of the sanatorium?’ ‘That is one of the things that is worrying me. He hasn’t touched a car since the accident… until this morning. I have always done the driving.’

Terrell thought for a moment, then got to his feet.?‘As soon as we have found him. I’ll let you know. Perhaps it would be better for you to come to headquarters and bring him back here yourself. I guess Dr. Gustave should be alerted. I’ll handle that. You must try to relax. It won’t take long to find him. I have men patrolling all the main highways leading out to Miami.’

When he had gone, Val sat down near the window where she could watch the drive below, and began her long wait.

CHAPTER TWO

Sergeant Joe Beigler ran stubby fingers through his close cut hair, a frown of concentration on his freckled face. He sat at a battered desk in a large room that contained other desks at which uniformed policemen worked, talked into telephones or scribbled in notebooks.

Beigler was reading through a report to do with a minor jewel robbery. He was the senior Sergeant and Terrell’s right hand man. Unmarried, aged thirty-eight, an addict to coffee drinking and cigarette smoking, he was regarded by his Chief as the best Sergeant he had had in years.

The telephone bell tinkled and he dropped a large, hairy hand on the receiver, picked it up and growled, ‘Yeah? Beigler,’

‘The Chief’s just come in,’ the Desk Sergeant said. ‘In his office now.’

Beigler grunted, tossed the file he had been studying into - his Pending tray and walking with heavy strides, he made his way to Terrell’s office.

He found Terrell about to pour coffee from a can one of his men had just brought to him. Seeing Beigler in the doorway, Terrell took another cup from his desk drawer and filled that too.

‘Come on in, Joe. Anything on the Burnett business?’

Beigler came in, closed the door and sat on the straight back chair before Terrell’s desk. As he reached for the cup of coffee, he said, ‘Nothing yet. Every patrol has been alerted. What’s the excitement about?’

Terrell began to fill a blackened and well-used pipe.?‘Important people. The guy’s the son-in-law of Charles Travers, and in case you don’t know who he is, he’s the one who built the New York Palace hotel, a Ferry bridge, a dam in Havana and a number of Little items of the same weight and standing.’

Beigler drank some of the coffee, then lit a cigarette.?‘So?’?‘So we have to find the guy. There’s a complication.’