by Gwen Moffat
‘No one’s suggesting Joanne was a victim,’ Miss Pink pointed out.
Semple’s mouth opened and closed. Vogel’s eyes narrowed. He smiled. ‘There was nothing left to the relationship. She were free to go whenever she liked; I wasn’t stopping her.’
‘No one’s accusing you, Brett,’ Lovejoy said.
‘No one’s accusing anyone.’ Miss Pink addressed Semple. ‘But where’s Timothy?’
‘Oh come on!’ Lovejoy spluttered. ‘How would Julius know?’
‘I don’t think he does,’ she said, surprised.
‘You were looking at him.’
‘I was wondering where Timothy is, not asking anyone in particular.’
‘He’s in Hollywood,’ Lovejoy said wildly. ‘Why’re you smiling, Brett? Did I say something?’
‘I think the Mafia got to him.’
Lovejoy started to laugh, then sobered. ‘You shouldn’t joke about it. Most likely thing is he’s holed up, pretending to write and drinking himself to death. That’s not funny.’
‘Who was in Texas recently?’ Miss Pink asked.
‘Texas?’ Lovejoy shrilled. ‘Why?’
The other two had tensed, hanging on the answer. ‘The police mentioned something,’ she said vaguely. ‘It couldn’t relate to Timothy; he drove straight from Missouri to here. Joanne?’ She was as ingenuous as a child. ‘Did Joanne come from Texas?’
‘Did she?’ Lovejoy looked at Vogel.
‘Could be. She’d been all over.’
‘You’re from Texas,’ Semple said harshly.
‘ ’Course I am. I were raised in Fort Worth. What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Did you mean recently?’ Semple asked Miss Pink. ‘Someone came from Texas in the last few months.’ He was excited. ‘Do drugs figure in this?’
‘Why drugs?’ Miss Pink asked.
‘That’s how they come into the country: across the Rio Grande into Texas.’ Semple stopped as if Texas was a cue.
Vogel accepted it as such. ‘And these consignments come along the border, through New Mexico and Arizona, cross the Colorado, and they comes into Dogtown which is the main distribution point for California.’ He was smiling.
‘Ask a silly question,’ Miss Pink said.
Semple’s head was high, exposing his scraggy throat. His succeeded only in looking foolish. ‘What are the police doing now?’ he asked.
‘They didn’t take me into their confidence,’ Vogel said.
‘Did they search your place?’
‘Now why would they do that?’
‘Looking for Joanne.’
Miss Pink stared. Lovejoy said: ‘But Joanne –’ and stopped, looking scared. Vogel, who was shorter than Semple but young and hard, had gripped the man by the front of his shirt, pulling him close. ‘Joanne,’ he said tightly, ‘went over the pass and down to Bakersfield. She were alive and well. Why would they search my place, man?’
Semple’s head was high, exposing his craggy throat. His eyes were half-closed, his arms hanging loosely. Lovejoy and Miss Pink made no attempt to interfere. Vogel twisted his fist in the bunched shirt. ‘Why would they want to search my place, Julius?’
‘There’s – only the logger’s word – about Joanne. It coulda been another girl on the Pacific slope.’
The fist opened. Semple stepped back. He passed his tongue over his lips like an embarrassed cat.
‘You’re a fool, Julius,’ Vogel said.
Semple turned and shambled out of the restaurant. They watched him go and then Miss Pink turned back to Vogel.
‘What did she take with her?’
‘Oh no! Not you too!’
‘She was seen after she left your place. But no one knows why she left. If she didn’t take her clothes she could have been forced to leave without warning – or she could have left Timothy’s campsite in such a hurry that she didn’t have time to come back to your place and pick up her possessions.’
‘They’re still at my place.’ His eyes glazed. ‘All her stuff –’ He trailed off.
‘Where did Timothy camp?’
‘How would I know? In one of the canyons, I guess.’
‘He packed up and left,’ Lovejoy reminded Miss Pink. ‘When you found the Jeep it was loaded, wasn’t it?’
She nodded absently, her eyes on the screen door.
‘Timothy was here for only eight days but during that time Joanne was ostensibly living with Vogel, and there was something going on between her and Hiram Wolf, and with Semple. How did she manage the logistics?’
Rose snorted. ‘Logistics? How do they apply? Are you talking about arrangements, timing, stuff like that?’
‘I’m after information.’
Still thirsty, Miss Pink was drinking beer in Rose’s living room at the back of the hotel. The room faced east and through the open windows they could see the corral and the horses dozing in the balmy shade. The shadow of the Sierras reached almost to the top of the Rattlesnake Hills and the crests were glowing red-gold in the last of the light.
‘Kind of time she liked – likes,’ Rose observed dreamily. ‘Me, too: warm and soft, and the dark coming. She wasn’t a hooker, you know, whatever anyone says.’
‘You’re determined to convince me of that.’
Rose drained her beer and reached behind her to open the refrigerator. On the table in front of her were three empty cans; Miss Pink was drinking from a glass.
‘You get women like her,’ Rose said, popping a fresh can. ‘She adores men, or should I say: adores having them around? And because she’s so striking she can take her pick. Actually there was no one here good enough for Joanne.’
‘Not Timothy?’
‘He was all strung out: the drink problem, smoking. Joanne likes a drink, she hates smoking. They used to fight over that; she’d move away when he lit up. Joanne’s an extrovert: very young and out for a good time. Ask me, Timothy suited because he was good in the sack, and he was English, kinda familiar?’
‘What was Vogel’s attraction for her?’
‘Basically security – until someone better came along. She met him on the road and shacked up with him because he was offered this job in a remote place, away from the authorities. She had no Permit to Stay, no green card – and no money. She wasn’t bothered, except she didn’t want to be deported. She loved the life here, said England was cold and drab. But she’d soon have found someone to marry her. She told me that.’
‘Why didn’t she get Vogel to marry her?’
‘Hell, she could do better than that! Dogtown was just a staging post on the way to the coast. She wanted to be rich too; she’s sick of roughing it – at least in winter-time – so she was going to try and get into the movies.’
‘Had she come here from Texas?’
‘Texas? She never mentioned it.’
‘Someone said she met Vogel there.’
‘I didn’t know that. He’s from Texas, of course; can’t you tell by the twang?’
‘I must have misheard something. Where do Semple and Wolf come into the picture, with Joanne?’
‘They don’t, not how you mean. Julius was terrified of her – and Hiram Wolf couldn’t get anywhere. Hiram went to pieces when she was around and she treated him like she would a big dog. Exactly like one, I mean. She’d plant a kiss on his nose – she was tall enough – stroke his back … I was waiting for gas one time, Joanne in front of me at the pumps, and Hiram was talking to her and she looked up from filling the tank, saying something. He took a step towards her and I thought: Uh, uh, now what? and she said it: “Stay!” He stopped as if she’d hit him and she laughed and put the pump up and got behind the wheel and blew him a kiss. It was awful. I mean, it was deliberate, like a command to a dog. Lorraine in the office too. God, it was embarrassing. I didn’t know how to face him, what to say. He knew I’d seen it all. Trivial you’d think, but it wasn’t trivial. Fortunately he sloped off, back to the garage.’
‘And Lorraine?’
‘When I c
ame to pay she was looking at a magazine; you’d never believe anything had happened.’
‘Are you saying Joanne played with men?’
‘I don’t think she realised the effect she had on them. She’d be so used to it, never known any other reaction. Why, even the boys weren’t immune: Earl and Verne – and I guess you’ve realised the relationship between them. Actually it’s Earl liked her, but Verne was careful not to show any antagonism. I mean, with a girl like that, Earl could have gone off with her, it’s not impossible is it? – what do they call it: ambidextrous? Anyway, Verne wouldn’t care to upset Joanne, she could be very outspoken. But I never saw her tease either of the boys; she knew what’s what.’
‘In that case she did know what she was doing when she teased Hiram Wolf. And Julius – how did he react?’
‘I said: scared stiff. Metaphorically he hid behind Charlotte, who’s big enough, again metaphorically speaking.’
‘What was it specifically that frightened Julius? You’re not suggesting he thought she’d accost him in public, or come to the museum, make a scene perhaps?’
‘Well, she visited … ’ Rose gave the matter some thought. ‘No, there’s no way she’d attach herself, take the initiative; she didn’t have to. But men are pretty stupid on the whole, aren’t they? They misinterpret behaviour. I mean, to most guys, at least these out here in the sticks … If they weren’t born in the sticks, they got that kind of mentality or they wouldn’t gravitate to places like Dogtown: emotionally immature, unworldly, men like that, the way Joanne behaved was a kinda promise, an indication. For them she was flashing signals.’ Miss Pink was silent. ‘But she was – is very beautiful,’ Rose insisted, as if that explained everything. ‘You shoulda met her.’
‘I may do yet.’
‘You figure she’ll be back? Never. She’ll have learned a lot from Timothy but she didn’t need to learn much: just a bit of finesse is all. She’s moved on.’
‘What intrigues me is how everyone keeps dropping into the past tense when they talk about these two people.’
Rose shrugged and waved her beer, spilling some. ‘Nine days’ wonder. A bright spot in our lives. We’ll never see them again ’cept on our television screens. Ships that pass in the night.’
‘Why do you think the Jeep was sent over the edge?’
‘Ah.’ The exaggerated astonishment could be attributed to four beers. ‘Now there you have me. The Jeep I can’t explain. I’m aware that the inter – inference – ’ she was slurring her consonants, ‘ – is that Joanne was – is responsible for Timothy’s disappearance, and that she put the truck in the creek, but no one can tell me she would – what? Hit him over the head just because, fr’instance, she didn’t like him smoking? She’d have packed her bags and left.’
‘They could have quarrelled, come to blows and someone hit harder than he intended. An accident.’
‘Come on! Over passive smoking?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘Over a man?’
Chapter 10
‘You been holding out on us. You never thought that was deer blood on Joanne.’ Charlotte’s hair, newly rinsed, flamed titian in the morning sun. Miss Pink had found her on the back stoop of the museum, scrubbing rust off an old pick with a wire brush. From her cabin across the yard came the sound of television voices. ‘You’re not interested in the Joplins,’ she added calmly, busy with the brush.
‘They’re connected. Timothy was following their trail, Joanne left with Timothy.’
‘I doubt he was bothered with the Joplins after he met Joanne; she was much more exciting than a bunch of old ghosts. Julius tells me you said they broke into a cabin up at Palmer Meadows.’
‘Someone broke in, but it looks as if it was only one person: just one dirty plate and mug. And Joanne was on her own when she met the logger.’
‘Did you think of it this way: they could have separated on top, in the forest, and Timothy got lost, but Joanne found her way to the cabin?’
‘Timothy got lost?’
‘Yes, it sounds unlikely. Sprained his ankle perhaps?’
‘Then why didn’t Joanne go back to look for him instead of abandoning him, never mentioning him?’
‘But she did! She told the logger she was with a man who threw her out of a truck, told her to walk –’
‘That was the story about the deer, which can’t be true, given Timothy’s good manners.’
‘That’s so, she had to say something to account for the blood. Maybe she took up with someone else, after Timothy, and that guy threw her out of a truck, wouldn’t pay her price, hit her, gave her a bloody nose?’ Miss Pink was frowning. Charlotte stood up. ‘Why are we talking about a slut on a lovely morning like this? Come and have a coffee.’
Miss Pink followed her across the yard to the cabin where all the doors and windows were open to the air. The interior smelled of lemons. In the living room people in gaudy evening clothes chattered on the television screen. Charlotte switched off the sound. Miss Pink sat on a sofa and surveyed her surroundings. There were a few books but the walls were virtually covered with pictures, Remington and Russell prints of the Old West: bucking broncos, taut-roped steers, arroyos, buttes, sunsets, tanned cowhands sprawled round camp-fires. The stuffed furniture sported flouncy chintz, and there were lace curtains at the windows, tastefully draped, secured by bows. Everything was as clean as it could be in this country where dust rose in clouds behind every vehicle.
Charlotte brought coffee and brownies on a plastic tray. ‘Timothy’s alive and well –’ she began comfortably, but checked herself. ‘He’s alive; he may not be well. How can anyone figure what an alcoholic will do? A man who’s just plain drunk is unpredictable, but one like Timothy, comes off the wagon – there’s no reason, no logic behind his actions at all. You can’t say: he’d have done this, he wouldn’t have done that; he wouldn’t have got lost, they should have come down together. He could do something quite wild, the sort of thing would never occur to normal people. And when he surfaces he could be stupefied, then full of guilt, wallowing – he’d be capable of anything. And then Joanne’s reaction to him would appear irrational.’
Miss Pink was astonished. ‘I never thought of it that way, not following through to that extent.’ She regarded her hostess intently. ‘Did he confide in you? You said he didn’t, but were you keeping something from me? Was he drinking while he was here?’
‘Not that I know of, and I didn’t keep any facts from you, just, you know, feelings. He was pretty tense: one of the reasons I thought Joanne’d be good for him. Man of his age, falling heavily for a girl, particularly one as uninhibited as Joanne, he might relax some. She’d be therapy for him.’
‘You’d hardly have a feeling about that,’ Miss Pink observed, smiling. ‘You make it sound more like fact. By feeling, did you mean something – ominous?’
‘Before he met Joanne he was all screwed up: bothered about where he was going – literally too. Which canyon did the Joplins go up? Rose Baggott says it’s Breakneck, Fortune says it’s Danger to keep him out of Crazy Mule; Vogel says it was anywhere else but Danger because he don’t want anyone round that ranch –’
‘Why not?’
‘Guys like Brett Vogel always have something to hide. Now what did I say?’
‘What do you know about his employer?’
‘Granville Green? He traces old pioneer trails. It’s his hobby. You’ll meet him, you stay around. They’ll be here in a few days, following the Joplins. Granville’s retired from the Marines. He’s got loads of money, lives in St Joseph, Missouri, but he’s moving out here, probably next spring. He built the ranch house for retirement, it’s not a hunting cabin. Why are you interested in Granville?’
‘I’d like to meet him. If I’m to take over Timothy’s book, I’m interested in anyone who can tell me more about the Joplins.’
‘I doubt he can tell you anything we don’t know.’ Charlotte was affronted.
‘
It’s another angle. Tell me, was Joanne in Texas before she came here?’
Charlotte thought about this. ‘She didn’t say. She could have been. What makes it important?’
‘I wondered where she met Vogel – and incidentally, why she teamed up with him in the first place.’ Miss Pink looked worried. ‘I’m not altogether happy about those two. As you say, people hide in the canyons. Asa Fortune is a likely recluse; he has a hermit’s attitude towards authority, and blatant hostility towards invaders of his territory, to people who may not be well-disposed towards wild animals. Asa is a type. But Vogel? He’s not a wilderness man.’
‘Don’t ask questions.’
‘Is that a warning?’
Charlotte nodded solemnly. ‘It’s all right here –’ She pondered that. ‘Yes, Dogtown’s safe, but don’t ask questions of Brett Vogel. You saw how he was with Julius yesterday. That man’s violent.’
‘What does he do when he goes away? Where does he go?’
‘Look –’ Charlotte lowered her voice, ‘– the road out to the highway doesn’t come through here. In fact, if you’re not looking that way you can’t see headlights at night. We don’t look, know what I mean?’
Miss Pink raised an eyebrow. ‘But if he’s into something illegal, Joanne had to be in it too. And where does that put Timothy?’
‘Timothy,’ Charlotte repeated heavily, ‘Timothy was asking questions.’
‘For God’s sake, Melinda, James is climbing up the wall! Where are you phoning from? Can you – er –’ Martin Jenks trailed off in embarrassment.
Miss Pink was soothing. ‘I’m calling from the airfield at Endeavor. I expressed a letter to you today with the details, but this is just for my benefit. Has James heard anything from Timothy?’
‘No, nothing. And you?’
‘The same. Consensus is that he’s on the binge, with a lady.’
‘What do you think?’
‘It’s the obvious explanation.’ There was a pause. ‘I’ll track him down,’ she said airily. ‘As I said: the details are in my letter. I’ll be in touch. ’Bye.’
In London her agent replaced the receiver and stared at it. She was still bothered about open lines so why had she rung? Who had given whom information? She had initiated the conversation and she’d had only one question … she’d wanted to know if Timothy had communicated with Dorset. That meant she hadn’t found him, was probably no further forward. Did an airfield have any significance, he wondered. Morosely he started to dial Dorset’s number.
