Fadeout
“Wearily. He'd been using it all afternoon. His hand was cramped. His ear felt bruised. He shook his head at the man standing in the doorway, lean, erect and ruddy. Only his white hair hinted at his age. Late sixties. He was Dave Brandstetter's father and the man Dave Brandstetter worked for. He dropped into a hairy white goat's-hide chair. His voice was as handsome as the rest of him. "God knows," he said, "you've tried." "The police haven't turned up any Ferrari in Fresno. That would be the ...nearest town to Pima with an airport you can call an airport. Just the same, I've had three of our people check all flights from there starting zero hours October nineteen. Also from the bay area. No luck." "Obviously Sawyer owns a passport. Does 0lson?" "I couldn't reach his wife to confirm it. Nor McNeil, his what—boss, manager? Both away somewhere this afternoon. But I doubt he had one. He'd been poor until pretty lately. Bureau says no application is being processed for him. Which leaves Mexico or Canada." "And explains why the car hasn't turned up abandoned somewhere.MoreLess
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