I knew Betsy viewed scores of non-abduction cases, any of which Howie could solve in a minute. Unsolved murders, robberies, burglaries and all matter of crimes occurred daily but Howie turned a deaf ear to expanded involvement. He remained content to leave such criminal havoc in the hands of the police. I was surprised the FBI didn't press us on some of these more prominent cases. If pressure was applied to Daniel Brennan, it was never passed on to us.
Howie enrolled at Keene State College. He'd settled in quite well and even purchased a car. He left early each Friday afternoon, often returning late on Monday morning.
"Where does he go?" Betsy asked after once more, he'd left early.
"I heard him on the phone," Martha answered. "He was talking to someone in Boston."
"Why drive down there?" I asked. "That's eighty or ninety miles."
Betsy smiled. "Maybe he has a girlfriend." I could see another storm cloud looming on the horizon.
A sort-of confirmation occurred on Monday when I answered a phone call from a young lady.
"Sorry to bother you, but I have a message for Howard," she said. I told her Howie hadn't yet arrived at the office, but she seemed to know. "Just tell him he forgot his cell phone. I'd call him, but of course he wouldn't be able to answer!" She laughed in a delighted way.
"Who should I tell him called?" I asked, immediately realizing the stupidity of the question. "I mean . . ."
The young woman laughed even harder. "Let's make it multiple choice. Tell him it's either, Julie, or Rita or . . . Tamara!"
"Sorry. That was a pretty blatant case of prying, wasn't it?"
"I guess it means he hasn't told anyone about me."
"We're just co-workers and Howie deserves his personal life."
"Bull shit! He loves you guys! But I should have guessed. Howie is his own person. He'll own up to us in his own time." She suddenly became serious. "Don't tell him I said so but you have to stop working him so hard. I don't understand what all you do, but he takes it very seriously. He has these god-awful nightmares and wakes me up thrashing around. I've got a black and blue mark on my ribs from his version of Saturday night fever."
"Yes, Howie is . . . high strung."
"Slack off the pressure or have the poor man visit a head-guy. Let him know I'll take good care of his phone. He can pick it up next weekend. Oh, and tell him I swear not to look at what other girl's he's been calling . . . cross my heart, like fun!" Julie or Rita or Tamara hung up.