The Investigations of Avram Davidson by Avram Davidson Read Free Book Online

even went steady before. So far as anybody knows, the girl was perfectly happy with the marriage. Except for the fiancé, his brother, and the druggist, though, nobody seems to have seen her once she left the old lady’s sight.”
    Steinberg took up the tale. “The fiancé seems to be okay. Nobody knows anything against him, and even if they did, he’s been with some member of his own family all day long—brother, mother, father. He says she couldn’t’ve run off by herself. Crying like a baby, the guy was. At the same time he doesn’t want to admit she maybe met with foul play. So he says it’s got to be amnesia.”
    Bonn was dark and thin, Steinberg was red-haired and stocky. Captain Foley, who was pale and bald, asked, “What about the druggist? And don’t give me that line. He sold her vanishing cream.”
    Bonn said, “Well, as a matter of fact, Captain, he did. Vanishing cream, face powder, deodorant, hairpins—and a pack of chewing gum.”
    Foley shook his head. “That don’t sound like no suicide to me. I know, I know—people have committed suicide on the eves of their weddings before. But a girl who’s going to kill herself don’t buy deodorants and chewing gum. Even if the river is only five blocks away, I’m not buying suicide. No, either she made a voluntary disappearance—in which case she ought to have her butt smacked, not letting the family know—or else it was foul play. And if she was attacked, she’s most likely dead by now. They’ve been through every empty building in the neighborhood?”
    â€œNot only in the neighborhood, but in that whole section of the city,” said Steinberg. “How could she be the victim of violence in broad daylight, at ten o’clock in the morning, in a place where everybody knew her?” But Captain Foley said the violence needn’t have occurred in the neighborhood. A car pulls up to the curb, a guy offers her a ride, she gets in—what’s to notice? he asked. And then the car drives off. She wasn’t the kind of girl to accept a ride from a stranger? Then maybe it wasn’t a stranger.…
    *   *   *
    T HE STORY WAS in the morning papers, and the usual crowd had gathered (or rather, was circulating; the police wouldn’t let them stop) near the Benners’ house. Mrs. Benner was in her room, having failed to fight off the effects of a sedative the doctor made her take. Joe Benner and Bob, red-eyed, were sitting together in the kitchen drinking black coffee.
    â€œIt was amnesia,” Bob repeated for the thousandth time. “She wouldn’t run off. Not Sally. Her picture’s in the papers, somebody’s bound to see her.”
    â€œSure,” Sally’s father repeated, his face reflecting no such optimism. “Sure.”
    Bonn and Steinberg mingled with the crowd. They looked and listened.
    â€œThey ought to call in the FBI.”
    â€œCan’t do that unless there’s evidence of a kidnapping.”
    â€œThey oughta drag the river.”
    â€œEvidence—whadayacall evidence?”
    â€œThey must of had a quarrel. Don’t tell me. They had a lover’s tiff, and the boy friend’s ashamed to say.”
    â€œThey oughta drag the river.”
    â€œMy cousin he run out on his own wedding once. But a guy, that’s a different thing. Know what I mean?”
    The next day Mrs. Benner went on television and appealed to her daughter to return home, or—if for any reason she was unwilling to do this—at least to communicate with her family. For the afternoon and evening news she was joined by Bob Mantin. He begged Sally’s forgiveness if he had offended her in any way. He asked only that she notify them if she was all right. The minister of the Benners’ church issued a statement.
    But no one heard a word from her. The usual flow of evil communications began, by