Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,8

use? Green; I still get a chuckle over that boneheaded concept.”

Rosco was beginning to wonder just how retired Gudgeon was if “Young Walt” wasn’t allowed to paint the fleet another color if he chose to. “What can I help you with Walt?” he asked.

Gudgeon looked down at his hands as they rested in his lap and fiddled with his thumbnail. “I’m not sure where to start with all of this, but I guess what I’d like you to do is find a missing person.”

“All right.” Rosco picked up a pen. “Are we talking about a friend or acquaintance from your past . . . or a family member, or—?”

“Not a family member, no.” The words jumped out, and the nervous movement of Gudgeon’s hands increased until he clenched them purposely together.

Rosco put down his pen and leaned slightly back in his chair. “Have you contacted the police?” It was a natural question, but he gathered the answer would be in the negative.

“No,” was the hurried reply.

“Well, the police department is where most folks start when someone goes missing—”

“I don’t want . . .” Gudgeon interrupted in the same jerky rhythm, “I mean, I can’t . . . well, this is a private matter. That’s why I’m here. You’re a private eye. I need to keep this information between the two of us.”

“I see.” Rosco regarded his visitor; experience had taught him that silence was often a good method for gathering information. People who possessed secrets usually had a need for sharing their stories.

“It’s not that I’ve done anything illegal . . .” Gudgeon continued, “It’s just that my kids . . . well, they worry about me . . . think I’m getting old and kind of loopy . . . if they knew about . . .” The words ceased; Walt Gudgeon stared at his hands while Rosco waited. Then after a moment he added, “We can keep this just between us, can’t we?”

“Of course, Walt. I wouldn’t be in business if I didn’t keep my clients’ information confidential.”

Gudgeon thought, then finally leaped ahead. “Okay, the person . . . the girl, I mean . . . her name is Dawn. Dawn Davis.” Then he corrected himself. “Woman, really, not a girl. She’s twenty-six or -seven. It’s not what it sounds like, though, a romance of some kind, but, well, I’m sure that’s how my kids will view the situation—an old guy like me . . . Dawn’s been gone for almost four weeks. At least, it was over three weeks ago when I lost track of her . . .” Again, the speech trailed off.

Rosco sat back in his chair, studying the older man. When potential clients claimed that they were innocent of illicit behavior and hadn’t been involved in unfortunate romances, usually they were lying on both counts. “And you want me to find this Dawn Davis, is that it?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m here.” Gudgeon’s voice had started to verge on the shrill. “I mean, she was so sick . . . And now she’s just plain gone.”

“Maybe you need to begin from the beginning here, Mr. Gudgeon—”

“Walt.”

“Walt. I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re after.”

“I told you. I want you to find Dawn.”

“But you don’t want to contact the police or have your family involved.”

“That’s correct. The situation needs to be kept between the two of us. Just us.”

“Even though she’s a sick woman, as you stated—which I’m guessing refers to a physical illness rather than a mental one? Or am I mistaken?”

“Physical.”

Rosco was starting to believe he’d embarked on an endless game of twenty questions. He sighed and retrieved his notebook, but Walt spoke again before Rosco could formulate his next query.

“Her last name is Davis, like I said. I-I don’t have her address, Or phone number. That’s part of the problem. I don’t know where to start looking. As I told you, she’s twenty-six or -seven; about five-foot-four or maybe five-five, slim, good figure, attractive, with auburn hair that falls midway down her back. Curls a little bit at the ends—especially when the weather’s damp.”

Rosco heard the wistful tone. No romance, he thought, tell me another one.

Rosco said, “Caucasian? Hispanic? African-American?”

Gudgeon thought for a moment. “Caucasian.”

“And obviously you’ve tried the phone book?”

“Yes.”

“And no Dawn Davis, either listed or unlisted? It’s not an uncommon name.”

“There’s three in the book. I called and hung up because it wasn’t her. The vocal quality wasn’t the same.” Gudgeon shook his head. “You see, she always