“But then,” Molly said gleefully, “what do you know? You never eat anything.”
“I cleaned my plate! I was hungry for a change.” He told her about painting the living room. “Of course, it was just a start. I got the second coat to do, and all the trim.… Listen, I saw the bird you brought over. He’s recovered. He can fly all right, but he doesn’t want to leave.”
“Sounds like you’re doin’ all right,” said Molly. “I’m glad to hear that. Now Joe’s off the phone I can tell you he’s not the easiest person to get along with. Hell, I don’t care if he is listening. I’ve told him to his face: he’s too bossy. That’s why he never found a girl who would marry him.”
“Funny,” Lloyd said. “I thought he was easygoing.”
“To another guy. If you were a girl you’d see. He’d be running everything you did. You see how he acted when I showed up in my good clothes? I guess I was supposed to ask him what to wear?”
“The position I’m in,” Lloyd said, “I couldn’t be critical no matter what.”
“Oh, I’m not criticizing. I’m just making a point. Joe’s my favorite relative. Trouble is, he knows it. Well, I got to get back to the rig. I’m at Dexter. Remember? Where we got the fill-up on the way out? I was wondering about how you were getting along, that’s all.”
“I’m fine,” said Lloyd.
“I’ll seeya day after tomorrow, if you want.”
“I’ll be here,” Lloyd said. “Don’t worry about that: I’m not going to lose your bail for you.”
“Hey, come on! That’s not what I mean.” She snorted. “I hope you ain’t gonna pick up any of old Joe’s sarcasm.”
Lloyd suddenly felt concern for her. “I hope you’re going to be careful out there. Because of me, you don’t have your gun any more.”
“Oh, you had your reasons,” said Molly. “I’m sure of that. And it’s nice to have you thinkin’ about me. But don’t worry: I got me a double-barreled sawed-off my dad used to carry in the rig before he got the three-fifty-seven.”
“Oh,” said Lloyd. “Oh, good. Well, thanks a lot for calling, and get back safe, Molly.”
“It’s real nice of you to say that. I’ll seeya, Lloyd.”
Lloyd quickly swept the floor and then went out to join Joe, whom he found at a stack of boards behind the shop. The back door to the building was narrow, so care had to be taken to guide the planks through. Lloyd could have carried more than two at once, since they were light though long, but Joe told him two were the optimum number that could be easily negotiated through the clutter inside, en route to the place where there was room for restacking. Molly might have called this bossy, but it was a sensible instruction: it was Joe’s shop and Joe’s lumber.
Only when the task was completed—soon, with the two of them—did Joe ask about the phone call. “She ain’t in some trouble, is she?”
“Oh, no,” said Lloyd. “I’m sorry, I should have told you. She was just calling to say hi. Nothing’s wrong.”
Joe leaned against one of his machines. “She was probably worried how I was treating you. She don’t have a high opinion of the way I operate.”
“She thinks the world of you.”
“She does?” Joe showed his broad smile. “Well, I do of her too, but we always fight a lot. I worry about her out on the road by herself, and she sees that as a lack of confidence.”
“I guess you know she carries a gun.”
“That three-fifty-seven mag is way too big for her,” Joe said, his smile converting to a downturn of disapproval. “But you can’t tell her nothing. She can’t shoot it worth a damn, you know. Uncle Bob’s got a lot of land back of his place up there, and her and me been out back with that gun, and she can’t hit a can at fifteen feet. But she’s got to be the tough guy. Somebody her size oughta carry a thirty-two at most.”
“She’s got a sawed-off shotgun on this trip.”
“Oh, for Chrissakes,” Joe cried. “That’ll knock her on her butt!” He lowered his long head and shook it at the concrete floor. When his face came up his mood was changed. “Say, Lloyd, I don’t want to be outa line here, but I been thinkin’. I know that you say her and you are just friends, and I ain’t calling you a liar, but she never brought anybody else around here before. I don’t think she even dated much…. Now my uncle Bob’s laid up, she don’t have anybody else to look after her, so I guess I been elected. So it’s me who’s got to ask you: just what are your intentions with regard to this young girl?”
“She’s just been nice to me,” said Lloyd. “I don’t know why.”
The statement did not sit well with Joe, who scowled and asked, “Just how nice you mean?”
Lloyd hastened to clarify. “Not in that way! She’s just been kind, like bringing me over here.” He was not ready to say more unless he was pressed further.
“You don’t know why?” Joe asked. “She’s got a big crush on you, that’s why.”
“I don’t know about that,” Lloyd said, looking away. “You said yourself how nice she is to everybody and everything.”
“Well, you ought to see the difference.… She’s awful young.”
“We’re the same age, so far as that goes,” Lloyd said. He brought his eyes back to Joe’s. “Look, I haven’t touched her. I’m not interested in her that way.”
“You got trouble with the law, right? Those guys that came today, they were cops.”
Lloyd nodded and said nothing.
“You don’t have to tell me why or how,” Joe went on, showing the angle of his sharp jaw, “but I done some time myself as a juvenile offender, not hard time but in a correctional facility, see, but I still remember what cops look like. It’s like swimming—you don’t forget. I still don’t feel good when I see ‘em, and I’ve kept my nose clean for years. They were right to bust me. Armed robbery, at fifteen? Lucky for all concerned it was just a pellet gun. If I could of got a real piece, I was so cocky I might of killed somebody who called me. So the cops probably saved a life or two, including mine. That’s what they’re supposed to do, right? But I tell you, I think what they do is right, but I still can’t stand the sight of them. I don’t like to be reminded, I guess. That’s my problem, not theirs.”
“My problem,” said Lloyd, “isn’t the police.” Nor was it as simple as self-pity, much as it might have seemed so to Donna. “You’re right: they’re only doing their job.” He was suddenly and briefly enlightened. “I envy them.” He quickly glanced around the shop. “Have you got anything more for me to do out here? How about sweeping up?”
Joe raised a narrow eyebrow. “I don’t think Molly would like me using you for just flunky work.”
“Don’t worry about her,” Lloyd said. “I can still speak for myself. When it comes to being a flunky, that’s the only work I know how to do.”
“She warned me you might say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Yeah,” said Joe, smiling wryly. “That’s just the way I used to be. But at the same time, along with this no ability at anything, I had a real high idea of myself. I thought I was way better than everybody else—and not because of not having a chance to show what I could do or whatever. No, I thought I was superior because I was useless.” He laughed with an open mouth, looking foolish as he expressed wisdom.
“You were awfully young then.”
“Old enough to try to rob a discount beverage store.” Joe rolled back his upper lip with a little finger. “Three in front are false. Guy came out from behind the counter, knocked the pellet gun out of my hand, and hit me so hard in the mouth that he knocked out three teeth. Lucky for me they have to destroy all juvenile crime sheets. Guy who knocked my teeth out, for some reason he took pity on me, probably due to my age, and he used to come see me at the correctional facility. He sure didn’t bear a grudge. I stayed a little cocky till the time when I told him he wouldn’t of jumped me if the gun was real, and he says, ‘It wasn’t?’ Till then he didn’t know it! I asked him why would he risk hi
s life to save what was in the cash register, and he said, ‘Because it was mine. You didn’t have no right to the money I worked for. I didn’t steal it. You’re not gonna take it from me without a fight.’” Joe pushed himself away from the machine on which he had been leaning. “When I got out, he give me my first job, and I kept my nose clean because I was scared of him, not of getting beat up or anything: I was scared he’d think less of me if I screwed up. I couldn’t stand having a man like that think of me as a punk.”
The situation was familiar to Lloyd, but there were significant differences when the person whose esteem you sought was a woman and you were furthermore obstructed by taboo.
17
If LeBeau attended the funeral for Patrolman McCall, he was not among the contingent of detectives, in uniform for the occasion, at either church or cemetery. Daisy O’Connor would have been in another division than Moody’s, amid the large turnout from the city force, and he might not have seen her anyway.
Aside from the front pews occupied by McCall’s relatives, the white-haired mayor, and accompanying officials, the nave of St. James’s was solid blue.
At Brookside Cemetery the local cops were joined by a variegation of visiting officers from other jurisdictions, county sheriffs in khaki, state troopers in seam-striped breeches and campaign hats, patrolmen from big cities and little villages, and there were certain shoulder patches from other states, not all of them contiguous.
After the firing squad and the bugler had done their respective duties and the casket was lowered into the earth, Moody decided now was not an opportune time to say a word of condolence to Jack Marevitch, whom he had known since way back, even if he could have located him within the massed uniforms, so he sidled through the rear elements of the crowd, found his car after a brisk walk, and managed to get away before the traffic could clog the exit route.
Today was when he and LeBeau, assisted by whichever helpers the captain would provide them, were to search for the plastic garbage bags in which the super had discarded the rubbish from Lloyd Howland’s studio apartment. The dump had at last been established as the Department of Sanitation’s No. 3, out where Highland became Route 1-B. It was the newest and largest such facility. Thinking of its vast acreage could make the heart fall, though there was some small solace in the precise identification of the quadrant used exclusively by the trucks that collected from the neighborhood of the shabby building in question. This area was probably no more than a quarter mile in each direction. The DOS would lend them coveralls, rubber boots, and heavyweight protective gloves, but they would be on their own if they wanted respiratory masks.
Dennis was at the desk across from his by the time Moody arrived at the bureau after a stop home to shed the uncomfortable uniform, still painfully tight at the waist even after the latest alterations.
“I would have been late for the church service,” LeBeau explained, with eyes that sought more than usual from his partner. “I could have gone to the cemetery, I guess, but I thought I’d get some work done here. Lab didn’t find any traces of blood on the utility knife.”
Moody made no acknowledgment either in voice or gesture, though he had met his partner’s glance straightforwardly. He sat down now.
“What I was thinking about the dump,” LeBeau went on, “is if we could get the garbage-truck guys to give us some idea of how big a typical day’s haul is. If we just had an estimate of how much they haul per collection, per neighborhood, we might be able to figure out about where the stuff from last Tuesday would be dropped.” He tapped a pencil. “Some specific idea, you know? I mean, we got the general area, but if there was some way to zero in…” He stared across at Moody. “You got a right to be steamed about the apartment. I grant you that.”
“I don’t give a shit about the apartment.”
“Sure you do.”
“Don’t tell me what I care about, goddammit!” Moody shouted. “You don’t know me that well.”
“Have it your own way,” LeBeau said stoically. “What you don’t have a right to be is a judge of my private conduct. You’re not Crys’s father.”
“I’d rip your guts out if I was.”
“And you’re not Daisy’s father, either, though you might think you are.”
“In other words, I’m not supposed to have any reaction at all?”
LeBeau looked away. “I didn’t mean that.”
“You’re going to have to decide what it is you do mean,” Moody informed him. “You’re a mess, Dennis.”
LeBeau reared back. “That’s your theory, is it?”
“Well, look at yourself.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“I don’t set myself up as an example,” said Moody. “Except as something to be avoided.”
LeBeau grimaced. “You might just listen to my side of it. It’s real, Nick. I’m not just playing around. I never did that. I’m in love with her. But that doesn’t mean I don’t also love Crys and the kids. I can’t just walk out on them. You’re right. It is a mess.”
“Listen to me for a minute.” Moody dropped the indignant tone. “This is an idea I came up with. Before you do anything you’ll be sorry for, just think about maybe trying this. You and, uh, her”—he could not bring himself to utter Daisy’s name and so acknowledge their illicit connection—“why don’t you just try this: set a time limit on it, see. Like as of a certain date, if you still feel as you do now, then see what happens. Say like the end of the month. That should give you time enough to make an intelligent—”
“What are you talking about?” asked LeBeau. “Did you hear what I just said? I’m in love, Nick.”
Moody shrugged. “Yeah, and this is my answer. Think about it. That’s all I ask. Take a little time.”
“Don’t you think I’ve been thinking about it?”
“I just now told you.”
“Not what you said,” LeBeau cried. “I’ve been thinking about the situation. I can’t sleep because of it.… How in hell can I tell Crystal?”
“Don’t,” said Moody. “Like I say, give it more time.”
Dennis leaned forward. Moody had never before seen him in a beseeching role. After the momentary novelty, it was degrading. “Nick, you don’t.… Look, it’s okay if you disapprove. Hell, you can say what you want about me, I probably deserve it. But I was just wondering if you could say something to Crys. It might be easier for her that way. She thinks the world of you. You know, she was always on your side when it came to Dawn. She never could stand her.”
He was referring to Moody’s second wife. This was as good an example as any of how naive Dennis was in matters concerning the relations between the sexes. Moody didn’t want to hear criticism of Dawn from anyone else: he had married her. He shook his head at his partner. “Man, you’re hopeless. I’m supposed to explain what I don’t understand myself?” After a pause he said, “I think it’s wrong. I think it’s stupid. I don’t think it’s love. I think it’s crap. I’m not going to say anything to Crystal. I’m not going to say anything more to your girlfriend, and I’m never going to mention it to you again, you can count on that. From now on, our partnership is strictly professional.”
LeBeau’s face hardened. He leaned so he could get a hand in his pocket. “Here’s your keys.” He threw them clattering over onto Moody’s desktop.
Moody dropped the keys into the waste can at his knee. He sneered across at LeBeau. “I already had the locks changed.” He stood up, adjusting the gun clipped to his belt. “Come on, let’s go to the dump.”
Lloyd had a good night’s sleep on the air mattress, though it was not as comfortable as the prison bunk. He got up when a shaft of bright sunlight reached his face: long after dawn, for the sun had to climb over the topmost trees in the tall grove at the front of the property.
Having assumed that his host would be an early riser, he was surprised to hear a snore issuing from beneath the heaped blankets on Joe’s bed as he passed the open doorway en route to the bathroom.
Lloyd breakfasted on instant coffee and dry graham crackers from a half-depleted box found in a kitchen cabinet. He dunked the grahams in the coffee mug and usually succeeded in getting the wetted portion to his mouth before it fell off, an exercise he had not practiced since childhood. After washing and drying the mug and cleaning away such crumbs as had fallen, he went to the living room.
He had painted about half the longest wall before Joe finally appeared, in jeans and T-shirt, but barefoot, fists grinding into eyes, gaping, still not wide awake.
“Lloyd! I forgot you were here.” He squinted. “You do all that already this morning? Takes me a while to get going.” He yawned, crucifying his sinewy arms. He went closer to the area of new paint, peering. “You done a real nice job cutting in around the molding. Do that freehand? Not bad.” He gave Lloyd the once-over. “I was gonna say you can borrow a pair of coveralls, but I don’t see a drop of paint on you.”
“When you’re wearing the only clothes you got, you’re careful,” Lloyd said. “Look, I owe you some explanation—”
“No, you don’t. Molly—”
“Picked me up hitchhiking. She’s known me for all of two days. I’m under suspicion of murder. They’re just looking for enough evidence to charge me.”
Joe studied his face for a while. “Are they gonna find enough?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know.”
Joe’s right eye became heavy-lidded. “Lemme get this straight. You don’t know if they’ll find it, or you—”
“I don’t know whether or not I’m guilty.” Lloyd had managed to say something that only a moment before he could not have imagined putting into words for another person. “I was drunk, drunker than I ever had been in all my life. I was all upset about losing still another job. I can’t remember what I did for half a day and a whole night. All I know is I woke up next morning in a pool of piss and my face had this scratch.” He touched his cheek. “It’s healing up. It looked a lot worse originally.”
“Nobody saw you during this time?”
Suspects Page 22
