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Page 25.
Chapter 19.
 In the morning, Jeff, while still at home, called McCarthy. "Anything yet?"
"It's premature," McCarthy said. "Publishing works like molasses. You ought to know that. We've got our eye on the Box-Is-U the guy is using. So far, one package has been dropped off there. It's from Jonathan Grace..."
"Lexa Whiston's company," Jeff interrupted. "Vince, I wanted to talk to you about that. She's Beering's granddaughter."
"I know."
"She signed the rejection slip."
"What?"
"Yes. I spoke with her yesterday. She told me she did. She could be the next victim."
"I'll have to put someone on her."
"I was going to ask you to do that. McCarthy, why isn't OUR packet in that P.O. box?"
"It is on its way," McCarthy said.
"Let's get this asshole and nail him," Jeff said. He had only one thought now: Save Lexa; she was next!
Before he left for the office, Jeff donned his Walther PPK automatic with shoulder strap. It was illegal, but who cared.
He made the drive in record time, through the clock tunnel, into the city. In his office, he closed the door and logged into the computer system. He felt a need to get Mr. Armaday, whoever that was, behind lock and key first.
As he played with the computer, he kept thinking of Lexa. Where was she right now? Probably in her office. Maybe thinking of him? Stop it, Jeff. He forced himself to concentrate on matters at hand. How did someone come up with a pseudonym like Armaday? From a novel? From a casual reading of some obscure article, like maybe the kind you found in the puke pouch on an airliner?
He searched through a half dozen data bases related to the city, and found no reference to anyone named Armaday. Even the simple phone book had not a single Armaday. Likewise, he found Albert Beering, but no Louis; indeed, not another Beering for miles around.
He called McCarthy. "Hey, are you having any luck on those names?"
"Nothing so far. We're still checking. There's a Bernice Armaday upstate, but she's ninety and in a rest home. No living relatives. And no Thomas in the family, a hundred years back."
"I have an idea," Jeff said. "If it IS a rare name, maybe we could do a nationwide search."
"The FBI's on that angle already."
"Okay. Just trying to be helpful. Anything more on our pal?"
"Nix. We're watching his box, but nobody has come to claim the two packages that are there."
Jeff sat in his office, frustrated. He placed a call to a company specializing in genealogical services; a twenty-minute search by a helpful clerk indicated an ancient Norman family with branches in France and the U.K., both of whose lineages had gone extinct during the 1700's. Another dead end.
A phone call interrupted. "Dr. Maxxon?"
"Yes?"
"My name is Max Dusenbery. I hope I am not interrupting--?"
"No, no," Jeff said quickly. Lexa's clairvoyant?
"Good. Mr. Beering told me a little bit about you. He said you're working on a wonderful book about Raritania City. He also said you are helping Mr. McCarthy."
"Yes." Jeff remembered that Lexa thought Dusenbery a fraud.
"I might be able to help you, Dr. Maxxon."
"Oh?"
"I know that I do not possess your demonstrated erudition." Dusenbery sounded old, but strong. His tone had a bite to it. "Perhaps what I have to offer would seem a bit overwhelming if I were to sit with you and simply lay it all on the table. So perhaps I can whet your appetite. What is the one thing you would like to know most right now?"
Jeff snorted. "Who the tell is Thomas Armaday? Who is Louis Beering? And what, if anything, do they have to do with one another?"
"I'll tell you what, DOCTOR Maxxon." The title was smeared on like a cheap cheese spread, coming from one who evidently felt superior, but lacked the credentials, and wanted to rub it in. "Why don't you check the County Hall of Records and get back to me?"
Jeff said: "Isn't that something the police would already have done?"
The voice was thick and ironic. "Why? For what reason? I repeat, why don't you do some checking on your own?" He hung up.
Jeff, stung by the loud dial tone, looked into the phone, then slammed it angrily down. And just as soon, began thinking.
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