The old man shook his head. "No, it just went dead on us. Boss jiggled the receiver for about ten minutes, to make sure. He tried it again this morning."
"How far is it to the nearest phone?" Fenton asked.
"Hell, you got to go back to the road you turned off from and drive for about fifteen minutes. There's a gas station—"
"Never mind," Fenton said. "Do you think you could go back to sleep again, if I asked it as a special favor?"
"I told you ... I don't want no trouble with the police," the old man said. "I got a grown daughter and two grandsons—"
It was a difficult decision for Fenton to make. If he walked back to where he'd parked his car and drove to the gas station twenty-five minutes at least would have to be written off. It might take even longer. And after that, he couldn't count on police cars arriving at the wharf within the optimistic time limit that had come into his mind a short while before. It was nothing that he could be sure of. It would depend on how many squad cars were in the immediate vicinity, and how fast the message went out.
It might be an hour before the police could get to the wharf.
Fenton wasted only about a minute making up his mind. He tapped the old man lightly on the shoulder. "All right. Just close your eyes again and stay put. One more question, first. When is the boss expected back?"
"Not for another couple of hours," the old man said. "His sister-in-law took sick. That's why he ain't here now."
"He has a car?"