April 26 1975

Jim Lennox left his stuffy New York rented apartment at dawn, fully aware Lieutenant Parker was sending him on a hopeless journey; just a phony ploy to get him out of the department. Parker had not placed a specific time limit on the search but had suggested Lennox use his remaining weeks of service if necessary. Lennox made a silent bet with himself that Captain Jeavons had given Parker permission for this charade.

     He smiled at his reflection in the driving mirror. It was just inside six weeks to retirement. It could not come fast enough. There was no doubt the death of his wife Marjory in '72 from cancer, followed by his six-year-old daughter, Susan, being killed in a traffic accident some months later, had blunted Lennox' capacity for police work. It seemed to him that searching for people who were intent on staying hidden was not a job for him - not now.

     When retirement came, he figured taking a month or two off work and then trying  a security job - or something like that. He drove steadily to Bordville and picked up lunch at a drive-in cafe. The midday sun was raising the temperature and gradually turning the snow into piles of grey, mottled slush. Munching his second ketchup-riddled cheeseburger, he glanced at his stainless steel plated wristwatch. It was one o'clock. He telephoned Steve Hawkins, having arranged with Hawkins earlier from New York to do so.

     "Yeah?" said Hawkins on the line. "You are speaking to The Hawkins Detective Agency. What can I do for you?"

     "This is Jim Lennox, you big stiff."

     "Ah, Jim! Where are you?"

     "I'm at the Red Circle Drive-in having lunch."

     "Right - you are two blocks from me. Do you come see me, or do I come see you?"

     "I come to you and I bring you hamburgers and coffee."

     "Who pays?"

     "I do."

     "Then make it quick," Hawkins said.


     Hawkins looked old and worn. Sixty-one years of raucous living had lined his sallow face and left blue pouches under brown eyes. His back ached from a displaced disc.

     "You're looking good, Steve," said Lennox, handing over a couple of hamburgers in a bag, and a large carton of coffee with a lid on it.

     "The hell I don't," Hawkins growled. He bit into hamburger then stirred sugar in the coffee from a battered tin he kept in a cupboard. He returned to the elm desk, sat down, and studied Lennox. The man was massive, around six and one half feet tall, with a slight paunch, otherwise he looked okay. "You're chasing Amy Chalmers, huh?"

     Lennox relaxed on a chair that was too small for him. "Yeah. Apparently Mrs Chalmers came to you to re-investigate what happened to Amy. You said to hell with that and suggested she talk to Parker. He also said to hell with it and dropped it into my lap. Unfortunately, there's nobody around for me to give the case to, so tell me about Amy."

     Hawkins thought back to the late fifties. "I remember Amy when she was a kid. She grew into a terrific-looking blond, had a great figure. Saw her around Bordville a few times with the local College gang. She was a girl you would not forget. I never figured her to be the disappearing type, but it just shows how wrong you can be."

     "What about Johnny Benson, the boyfriend? Did you get a lead on him?"

     "No." Hawkins sighed heavily. "Both of them were young and they were clean. He was twenty-one, she was twenty. Neither of them were trouble. They had good high school records, had begun dating when she was fifteen." Hawkins started on the second hamburger. It was hot: he blew on it. "Mrs Chalmers gave me two sets of postcards Amy sent her. One set was '60; the other set '59. The kids vanished in '60 after reaching Croft, North Dakota, but in both years    they followed a similar route and appeared to stay at some of the same motels. In '59 they reached Seattle and stayed a couple of days with a friend of Johnny's. In '61 I started my search and interviewed Johnny's friends here in Bordville. One of them gave me the telephone number of this person in Seattle. I called him and he said Johnny nor Amy had turned up in '60, although they were expected. Therefore, after Croft, North Dakota in '61, I wound up with nowhere to go, although I did travel to Levin, Montana, seeing as they had been there in '59. I drew blank at Levin. Nobody recalled seeing Amy or Johnny. Maybe they made a quick call, mailed a postcard home and without staying over, carried on west."

     "After they reached Levin in '59, where did they go then - before arriving at Seattle, that is?"

     Hawkins rubbed his chin at that one. "They stopped off at other places in Montana, then Idaho and finally travelled to Washington State and on to Seattle. Check this with Mrs Chalmers."

     "Did they have their own transport?"

     Hawkins shook his head. "No - sometimes they travelled coach but generally they hitched a ride." He stopped Lennox butting in by holding up a hand. "I know what you think, Jim. Hitching a ride is asking for trouble. Well, it sure is, but you can't tell kids that - they just go their own way, as we did when we were kids."

     Lennox nodded agreement. "You searched no further west than Levin in '61?"

     "That's right. I tried an extra day or so at my own expense but Levin was a tiny stopover. I should not have bothered. I batted zero. I told the Chalmers couple I had done all I could do. She understood, but her old man took it bad. I believe he died a couple of years back; saw it in the local newspaper." Hawkins screwed the hamburger bag and tossed it into a wastepaper basket under his desk. "There's nothing more to tell you. Hell - this is 1975, Jim! If Amy is still around she will be mid-thirties by now."
Hawkins used a toothpick. "I couldn't believe it when Mrs Chalmers called and asked me to re-investigate. I said there was no point trying, but that woman is a fighter. She will hang on to the end. I hope the ending is the one she is looking for."

     Lennox checked the time. "I've promised to visit her at three o'clock. How do I get there?"


Lennox pulled up outside the Chalmers residence, impressed by its size and location. Curtains moved at a window. He walked carefully down the snow-covered drive. A stately middle-aged woman opened the door.

     Lennox showed his badge, "I'm Jim Lennox. You are Mrs Chalmers?"

     She nodded, smiled and stepped aside to let him in. He wiped his shoes on a doormat. She closed the door and offered coffee. He could smell its strong exquisite aroma and accepted. She prepared two large cups, and handing him one, lead him to the lounge sofa. They sat together, divided only by a small table. Lennox wasted no time and asked for details of Amy. Next Mrs Chalmers, on the sofa, lay two portraits. She handed them to him. Lennox found himself staring at a beautiful blond girl. Her beauty sent a shiver down his spine, her eyes peering at him from the photograph, searching his as though there were secrets between them that only they knew. The other portrait showed a handsome dark-haired young man.

     "Those pictures are of Amy and her boyfriend, Johnny Benson," Mrs Chalmers said. If you look on the backs you'll see they were both taken at a photo studio in 1959. There is a name, along with the date, stamped on them but I cannot make it out. I don't think the stamp had much ink on it."

     Lennox tried deciphering the stamped marks of the name but could read only the first two letters - a capitol A followed by a small l. However, the year 1959 was clear to see. He glanced at Mrs Chalmers. "Do these letters mean anything to you?"

    "I'm afraid not. I had not seen these portraits until the other day. I found them in Amy's room."

    "So, if you have only recently found them, Steve Hawkins did not have this pictures to work with?"

     "That's right."

     "Surely you gave him other photos?"

     "We did, but they were only small snapshots, and most of those are College photos. Amy had changed quite a lot since her early days but I must say this portrait does her justice."

     Lennox studied the pictures again. They were good quality. He glanced up at Mrs Chalmers, thinking how beautiful she must have been when younger. Her voice was soft. She had poise and although not similar looking, reminded him of his own wife, Marjory. He looked again at the portraits. "May I take these pictures with me?"

     Her face brightened. "Does that mean you will look for her?"

     "Yes, but fifteen years is a long time to pick up her trail. I work in New York, but this investigation extends from Pen State right across to Seattle. Pardon me for saying this, but that's one hell of a distance to look for somebody."

     "You will look for her, won't you?"

     Her tone stirred Lennox. The loss of Amy and the torture of wondering what had happened to her had given Dorothy Chalmers deep strain lines round her mouth. Her anxious blue eyes implored him to find Amy. He had seen this look on so many faces: had seen a similar expression on his wife's face when a doctor told her she had terminal cancer. It was the desolate look of lost hope. He was considering turning down the search until he saw that look. He remembered the hurt of losing his own wife, and, shortly after, the shock when six-year-old daughter, Susan passed away after a traffic accident. He had not recovered from those losses; had tried valiantly to shove them aside and concentrate on his own life, but he had failed. But, maybe he could help Dorothy Chalmers - maybe ease her pain, maybe give her life back the happiness it had once had, and for this reason alone, he asked to see the postcards.

     She had them to hand in a small bag. "They are in the order Amy sent them to me. You may take them with you, if you wish."

     Lennox laid the cards on the table next his coffee and sifted through them. Some of the place names were the same as Hawkins had said, but the 1960 cards ended at Croft. Lennox guessed the answer to Amy and Johnny's disappearance lay far beyond North Dakota. He placed the cards into an inside pocket of his brown leather jacket. "Okay, I'll try my best but I can't promise anything. It will help if you can tell me of Amy's temperament, things like that."

     Mrs Chalmers gazed pensively at Amy's portrait. "She was a good swimmer. In fact, she first met Johnny at the local college swimming gala. They also walked miles together. At weekends they stayed out for whole days sometimes."

     "You never worried about that?"

     "No - Johnny was a lovely young man. We knew his parents. Both families were happy for them to be together."

     "And you had no concerns about them travelling to Seattle?"

     "No."

     "Did Amy have friends in Seattle?"

     "No, but Johnny did. I suppose she must have befriended someone there but she never spoke of it."

     "Did she mention any particular place in 1959 that had attracted her, at where she might have wanted to settle in the future?"

     Mrs Chalmers shook her head resolutely. "No, she never said anything like that, but I must say she was a private girl. Kept her thoughts very much to herself."

     "What were her favourite things - such as clothes, shoes, magazines, hobbies? does anything come to mind?"

     "Her favourite colour was sky-blue. she often wore that colour, her headbands were all sky-blue."

     "Apart from swimming and walking, was she an athlete? How was she physically? Tall? Well built? Or was she small and slight?"

     "She was five feet ten inches, or thereabouts. A lovely figure I would say, but it was her hair attracted you the most. She was a gorgeous strawberry blond."

     Lennox smiled. "A strawberry blond wearing a sky-blue headband? That's a fine combination. He rose. "Thanks for your help. ma'am and for the coffee. I'll see what I can do."

     She reached for another handbag close to her feet. "If it will help I can write you a cheque."

     Lennox smiled again. "I'm paid by the New York Police Department, ma'am. It will be payment enough if I can find Amy for you."

     Mrs Chalmers packed each portrait into a separate transparent folder and handed them to him. She smile faintly. "I wish you the best of luck, Mr Lennox."

     She stayed at the door and watched him pull away in a silver Pontiac, the tyres digging up slush and showering it onto the sidewalk.


Lennox joined a main highway heading west after having sorted the running order of the postcard routes of '59 and '60. He was surprised the first stop would be Steers Cafe, Cleveland, some four hundred and fifty miles from Bordville. Surely they had stopped before then? Unless, of course, they had travelled bus. He shrugged and headed for Cleveland and said to his reflection in the driving mirror: "Where do I really start, huh? Tell me that, mirror. Are Amy and Johnny still alive? And if so, where? Is it America? Europe maybe? Could be Asia, huh? Or how about some small island in the Pacific?" The drive to Cleveland was a tough one, with heavy traffic. He found Bronx Avenue, but did not find Steers Cafe. The building had been demolished in 1970.
     With the next stop being Chicago, three hundred and fifty miles west, Lennox pulled in at the Sundown Motel and booked a one night stay.


                                                  

The Sundown Motel provided a twenty-four hour cafe service and Lennox ordered beer and a pastrami sandwich. He paid the bill and headed for Chicago. The Windy City was living up to its name as Lennox found the Optimum Hotel, where Amy and Johnny had stayed on each of their journeys. The head receptionist, Edith Waverley, studied the two portraits Lennox passed her. Edith said she was sorry but she did not recognise them. She asked a couple of other staff members who had been at the Optimum over twenty years, but their reactions were the same: no recognition. 
     With the time showing four-thirty, Lennox forced himself onto the next leg - a four hundred mile drive to Minneapolis. He arrived on the Twin City outskirts at exactly midnight and unhesitatingly stayed overnight at a roadside cafe.

                                                  
     At six-thirty in the morning Lennox awoke after a sleepless night caused by an uncomfortable bed and persistent thoughts of Amy Chalmers. A cold water wash, a change of clothes, a large mug of strong coffee and a breakfast of ham omelet and beans removed the twinge of pain at his temples. 
     The Minneapolis postcards had been sent from yet another motel and Lennox found the property near the main highway into Minneapolis. He went through the same procedure: photographs shown to the motel owner who had owned the site over twenty years. "Do you recall these youngsters calling here in '59 or '60?"

     "Do I recall people from ten or fifteen years years back?" growled the owner. "Buddy, I have seen so many folks pass through here that I could not remember them if they came here yesterday. Sorry, pal, but that's memory for you."

     Lennox left Minneapolis feeling dejected. This was a journey to nowhere. The next stops he had written on a slip of paper dangled from a clip on the dashboard. He knew them well. Fargo, then north to Grand Forks. Then more stops in North Dakota at Penning, Minford, Belington and then Croft. Leaving Croft and travelling west would take him to Levin, Montana. Croft was the last siting of Amy and Johnny on the 1960 trip. Lennox wondered if he need travel that far. What was it Lieutenant Parker had said? Use your discretion on this one. 

     His discretion appeared to fail him as he drove highway 94 to Fargo, found nothing, journeyed north on highway 29 to Grand Forks and turned up zero. From Grand Forks he hit highway 2 heading west with the whole width of North Dakota to cross. Croft lay on the western border, next Montana. He checked out three stopovers and had no luck. Croft was the next stop.
     He found it nestling in a valley of trees north of Lake Sacajawea. Sandy granules grated against the windscreen as he drove through gusting wind and stopped at a knocked-out gas station on the town outskirts. He asked a mature garage hand to fill the tank. With the tank full and gasoline paid for, Lennox showed the man the portraits. He need no have bothered.

     "Never seen either of them," said the man. "Are they on the run?"

     "Yeah, been running fifteen years."

     The garage hand studied Lennox, his wizened face creased with certainty. "Well, you won't find them here. I've lived in Croft fifty-five years, mister, and I've never seen those kids." Lennox showed him the '59 postcard, a faded photograph of a dowdy wooden building at a road junction at Croft. The man glanced at the picture and turned it over, his face showing interest. "This is a picture of Ma Lincoln's place. She used it as a general store cum cafe and hotel. You could hardly call it a hotel. The damn place only had two bedrooms. Mind you, visitors used to stay there overnight on occasion. You see, people don't stay here to take in the scenery. they usually load up with gas and pass right through."

     "Is Ma Lincoln still around"

     "She is, but she don't run the business now - shut it down ten years ago."

     Lennox said thanks and drove into town.


     With its wooden structures and timbered sidewalks the centre of Croft reminded Lennox of the old Wild West. He noted a building that still had Ma Lincoln's name painted in a now peeling brown over its door. He got out into stifling heat. An old-timer sitting in a worn armchair had his booted feet resting on a veranda rail. He glanced at Lennox.

     "Hot day, ain't it, mister?"

     "Sure is."

     "Just passing through?"

     Lennox smiled, handed the photos to the man. "You're right - I'm passing through. Have you seen these youngsters before?"

     The old-timer's lips worked a cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other side - and back. He squinted at the pictures then readjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. "Have these kids done something wrong?"

     "No - just gone missing. I'm looking for them."

     The old man rechecked the photos. "They sure are fine-looking youngsters. Why are you looking for them? Are you a bounty hunter?"

     "Do I look a bounty hunter?"

     The old man grinned, took the crumpled homemade cigarette from his mouth. "Maybe you ain't a bounty hunter, son, but you sure look like a cop or a private dick to me."

     "Okay, Pop. Have you seen these kids or not?"

     "I've never seen them."

     "You're sure?"

     "I'm dead sure."

     "Okay, where do I find Ma Lincoln?"

     Pop shoved the cigarette back between his lips and jerked a thumb at a door behind him. "Knock on that door, mister. Ma is taking siesta right now, but if you want to risk your neck then try waking her. I do not advise it. She can get mighty awkward when the weather is hot and she is tired."

     Lennox knocked on the door. It sounded hollow in the room beyond. A mumbling voice from inside said, "Yeah, what is it you want?" Lennox knocked again. Something moved behind the screen door and a massive, elderly woman dressed in purple eased the door open. Sleep clogged her eyes. She scowled at Lennox, liking what she saw. "Okay, whatever it is you want, big boy, it had better be good."

     "May I come in?"

     She stepped aside. "Daddy, make yourself at home."

     Lennox found himself in an untidy lounge. There hung a faint smell of cooked bacon. A spinning ceiling fan with a noisy motor cooled the air.

     She sat on the edge of a large chair. "Okay, so what do you want?"

     Lennox handed her the photographs. "These pictures are of two youngsters who passed through here in '59 and in '60. I know it's a long way back but do you remember them?"

     Ma Lincoln rubbed sleep from her eyes. "'59 and '60, you say? What is this - a high school test? What's the problem? Are you their pa or something?"

     "I'm acting on behalf of the girl's mother. She and her boyfriend either stopped or passed through here in '59 and in '60. They went missing in '60 and this is the last town we have traced them to." Lennox handed her the '60 postcard of Croft.

     Her large brown eyes gleamed. "Would you take a look at this - it's one of my old postcards." She turned it over and read aloud the writing on the back: Dear Ma, we've called at Croft, North Dakota. May stay overnight at Ma Lincoln's place. Our next stop will be Levin, Montana, where we stopped last year. love, Amy. Ma studied Amy's picture. "This girl sure is beautiful but I don't recall seeing her, or the boy. As for Levin, that's two hundred miles from here. It's possible she wrote this card here, posted it, and took off for Levin."

     Lennox nodded. "That is possible."

     Ma handed back the card and the photographs. "How were they travelling?"

     "They were hitchhiking, Ma."

     Ma frowned, shook her head, wobbling her jowls. "That is risky."

     She accompanied Lennox to the door and watched him drive off. She heaved a heavy sigh. She loved big men of any colour or creed with a bit of weight round the belly.
       

                                    CHAPTER TWO COMPLETED.