by Gwen Moffat
Lois Keller stood in the living-room smiling with appreciation: at the smell, Mozart, her neighbour’s unsuspected prowess – it was immaterial; Miss Pink recovered her equilibrium and went to turn off the stereo. Lois protested and it was tuned to a whisper. She was alone and appeared to be relieved when she was asked to stay to dinner.
Miss Pink regarded her guest benignly and forbore to ask where Chester was. ‘I seem to have got through the bulk of this while I was cooking,’ she remarked, as she poured the sherry. She felt the other’s eyes on her and guessed that Lois was reconsidering her decision to remain. And did she really want to hear Lois’s speculation on the latest developments? She smiled serenely and waited for the other to take the initiative.
‘Good sherry,’ Lois said. ‘I was wondering: do you work professionally? I mean, do people retain you to investigate – problems?’
‘Not exactly.’ Miss Pink recalled that a recent journey along a variant of the California Trail had been underwritten by a publisher concerned to find a missing author[*] but, ‘I’m not a professional investigator,’ she amended.
‘And probably all the better for that. You see, I have a problem; more than one, but the one that bothers me is, I had a gun and it’s disappeared. Do you know about Gayleen?’ Her tone didn’t change with the question and Miss Pink was taken by surprise.
‘Er – what aspect of her?’
‘I assume you know as much as we do.’ There was no sarcasm implicit in the statement; Lois’s presence at Quail Run demonstrated people’s desire, if not their compulsion, to talk to Miss Pink. ‘You know about the body being found?’
‘Yes.’ She was herself again. ‘Has it been identified?’
‘It’s Gayleen. Laddow called me. The manager of the motel identified her. She was shot. You know that? There’s the snag: the gun’s missing from my night table.’
‘Are you saying she was shot with it?’
‘I’ve no idea. And the police don’t know yet. They recovered the bullet but that doesn’t mean anything: it could have come from the same model but not from my gun. It could have been so deformed by the impact you can’t tell.’
‘What did you want me to do?’
Lois stared at the sea for a moment and then she laughed without amusement. ‘I came rushing along here to ask you to find the gun. At least, that’s what I thought I wanted you to do, but I’m moderately intelligent; what edge would you have over the police? They have all the advantages where finding things is concerned. And people.’ She shivered. ‘No, my subconscious reason for coming here was because you’re a stranger – basically uninvolved. You might be able to throw light on the subject, see it in perspective. Everyone else has an axe to grind, but you’ – she smiled, her eyes pleading – ‘you’re just the ship that passes in the night.’
‘Why did you keep the gun in your night table?’
‘Well, you never know; we’ve had the odd break-in on this coast, and I don’t keep a dog … Grace was happy for me to have it, so was Chester. It didn’t do any harm to keep a gun beside my bed. Of course one would use it only as a deterrent.’
‘What did your husband think of your keeping a gun in your bedroom?’
‘Oh, he gave it me. Because he’s away so much. Said he didn’t like to think of me in the house on my own.’ She smiled. ‘My husband is a sensible guy and he’s familiar with urban areas; he’s more aware of crime than most people.’
She stopped and appeared to be waiting. Miss Pink saw that, despite the avowed intention to seek some kind of revelation from herself, Lois needed prodding. ‘How do you find Laddow?’ she asked.
‘Charming. A perfect gentleman: an English type, in fact – no, a mix of Latin and Anglo-Saxon. But Hammett makes one feel somewhat uncomfortable: watching, not saying much. Laddow’s old-fashioned, even a bit redneck in his attitudes. He seems to be wondering if he’s strayed on to the set of some sophisticated movie: out of Marienbad by La Dolce Vita? A wife tolerating her husband’s casual affairs while she’s enjoying a liaison with an elderly roué. Two old ladies united in lesbian bliss, another old lady just taken on a new gigolo having put the last one out to grass; I tell you: Laddow feels a bit bewildered.’
‘Is any of that true?’
‘Of course not; it’s how he sees it.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because that’s how any outsider would see it.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You’re different; you have a high IQ. But Andy sees it that way.’
‘Does he? Your toleration of his affairs, the elderly roué?’
‘Well, the first – but not Chester. He and I are good pals and the friendship is platonic. Andy wouldn’t care anyway; now there is the only sliver of truth: we tolerate each other’s foibles and we lead separate lives, more or less.’
‘What are your foibles?’
Lois raised expressive eyebrows. ‘My work. It consumes me – when I get going, that is. I can’t even attend to my house guests properly.’ She pondered. ‘I shouldn’t have them when I’m into a book.’
‘You invite people to stay when you have a book on hand?’ Miss Pink was astonished.
‘Not at all.’ Lois drank the last of her sherry, put down the glass and glanced absently at the bottle. Miss Pink refilled their glasses. ‘I didn’t expect Andy to bring anyone to my birthday party,’ Lois went on. ‘But in this case things turned out all right, although I shall always wonder whether I drove Gayleen away. I must have shown my impatience that day when she was pouring out her woes— ’
Miss Pink had been momentarily puzzled but now her face cleared and she interrupted: ‘You mean, the day they left, the day they were last seen’ – she bit her lip – ‘by Carl.’ She went on more firmly, ‘You said she talked about herself, had all kinds of jobs, never kept one for long.’
‘I sanitised that part.’
‘Sanitised? You edited it?’
‘For the company. Actually what Gayleen was best at was being a stripper. She was proud of it: told me all about timing and the kind of music and how you pretend to despise the voyeurs (my word, not hers) and how they loved it: being treated with contempt. She was on crack too. Apparently Andy rescued her; he does things like that: picks people up, dusts them down, sets them on their feet.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I’m not saying it’s totally disinterested; the girls are always striking and my husband is no angel, I’m afraid, but do his motives matter if he gives them breathing space, long enough for them to recover some self-esteem?’
‘But not a very healthy activity.’
Lois gasped. ‘I don’t think she was suffering from anything like that – ’
‘I didn’t mean medically; I was thinking that if she was mixing with street people: being on crack and working as a stripper, it could be dangerous: being involved with her.’
‘For Andy, you mean. That’s not a pleasant thought, Melinda.’
‘You asked for objectivity.’ She got up and went to the kitchen. ‘Shall we eat now?’ she called. ‘There’s a bottle of rosé here in the refrigerator; if you’ll open it while I dish up … ’
‘The police will have asked you this,’ she said later, ‘but I don’t know what you told them. When Andy and Gayleen left, did they say anything that would throw light on where they intended to go?’
The ratatouille had been a success and now they were seated in the living-room, coffee and brandy at their elbows, watching the clouds turn pink as the sun set behind the fog.
Lois held her brandy as if her hands were cold. ‘Gayleen did say she didn’t want to go back but I related that to her enthusiasm over the house and everything. She thought the cabin was cute and the house was stunning. I rather wondered if she was angling for an invitation to stay on when Andy went back, but it didn’t occur to me that she might have a reason to fear returning to Portland.’
‘What did Andy say when he left?’
‘Nothing. I mean, literally. I didn’t see them go. Hear
d the car, that’s all. This is how it was: they were leaving that day and he went for a quick hike because Gayleen never woke up till past noon. When she finally got up that day she came down to the house. I was trying to work out a problem with plot and I wasn’t averse to listening to problems unconnected with my work. Besides, let’s face it, she was splendid copy. But she got stuck into a bottle of wine and stayed on; Andy didn’t come home and at some point I’d had enough so I told her she didn’t have to go but I was going upstairs to work. She said that was all right with her, she’d watch television, maybe go for a drive. I considered suggesting that she wasn’t in a fit state to drive but’ – Lois grimaced, acknowledging she had been at fault – ‘I let it go. I went to my workroom, put some music on the stereo and – quite honestly – I forgot all about her. Like I said, I can’t even look after my guests.’
‘When did you discover that they’d gone?’
‘I don’t know. Some time late. I finished work, wandered downstairs to get a bite to eat, saw she wasn’t there; it didn’t mean anything at the time. Why should it? We’re pretty informal in Sundown. I showered and changed, came down to the Tattler – oh, I did see the Chevy was gone, so I just assumed they’d left – for good or for the evening, I didn’t think. I was in such a dream at that moment I wasn’t really there.’
‘When did you find out the gun was missing?’
‘Oh, my God, the traditional scene! When Laddow asked me today if I owned a firearm and could he see it, I went upstairs and it was gone! It was like being punched in the stomach. The immediate reaction was that it had been stolen, but now I’m not so sure; if I can lose myself so completely in my work, could I have forgotten putting the gun, say, in a safer place, and it will come to light eventually?’
‘You’d much prefer to believe that.’
‘Why, of course. Wouldn’t you?’
Miss Pink didn’t respond immediately and when she did it was indirectly, and as if she arrived at the answer by communing with herself. ‘Guilt is like a cancer,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘and it spreads laterally. You admit you feel guilty about Gayleen: asking yourself if you rejected her in favour of your work. You retreated to your room. I don’t expect she felt rejected, or did she? I didn’t know her. Now you’re asking yourself if, by leaving a firearm in your bedside table – the obvious place – you made it available to the person who – But if that gun killed Gayleen, you know, as a criminologist of sorts, that when a person intends to kill, the weapon is immaterial; if he doesn’t find what he needs in one place, he’ll find another elsewhere. He’s an opportunist.’ She thought about that. ‘Is he? I was assuming premeditation … and it wasn’t a gun that was responsible for Gayleen’s death but the man who pulled the trigger. You can’t be taking the blame for him?’ Miss Pink turned her full attention to her guest.
Lois said coldly, ‘How could I do that? We don’t know who it was,’ but as she spoke her eyes widened, she swallowed and looked away.
Miss Pink said sadly, ‘And you came to me for comfort. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s been a help talking about it. Look’ – suddenly she was desperate, her eyes boring into Miss Pink’s – ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking. Isn’t there a crumb of comfort?’
‘For you, yes.’ Miss Pink was grave. ‘You’re not responsible. You’ve forgotten free will. No one forced your husband to take up a dangerous pursuit, and since he knows street people, what they’re capable of, he knows the risks better than most of us, definitely better than you do; you know crime only from theory.’ She considered repeating Leo’s assertion that Andy Keller was a man with a self-destruct button, and rejected it. Instead she said, ‘I have the feeling that if you’ve told the police what you’ve told me, they aren’t all that surprised either. I suspect you’ve always anticipated trouble yourself.’
‘Actually, I didn’t; I just drifted along: unheeding, happy – well, contented. We would have divorced in time, I guess, had one of us had enough energy to spare from our writing – remember he’s a writer too – enough energy left to start proceedings is what I meant to say. Meanwhile’ – she shrugged – ‘everything in my garden was lovely. And actually, it could have been in his too. Careless, that’s what he is. But this is utterly ridiculous! I’m being morbid. I’ve mislaid the gun – and Andy is in Hollywood. He left the car with Gayleen. She ran into trouble. She was expecting it. That’s the most likely scenario, isn’t it? All right, I see you’re having difficulty answering that one. I’d better leave you and go back to my work.’
‘Where’s Chester?’
‘He went home. He’s a bit of an old curmudgeon and – er – in this particular respect we’re not seeing eye to eye.’
Miss Pink didn’t have to ask which respect she was referring to: she had witnessed Keller’s boorishness and seen Chester’s face when he looked at Lois. There was no doubt where his sympathies would lie, and there would be anger too. Chester Hoyle wouldn’t have much time for his lady’s feelings of guilt. These two could well have quarrelled – and Lois had come running down to Miss Pink for sympathy, and got the same dusty response. But of course, thought Miss Pink, this isn’t merely a lovers’ tiff: the usual eternal triangle (ridiculous dated phrases); there was a murdered stripper involved, and Lois suspected her husband.
Chapter 8
‘You can’t put out a description on a guy who may be innocent and who could have influence.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
Miss Pink and Hammett, an unlikely couple, were strolling along the edge of the tide towards the cliffs of Cape Deception. Ostensibly they were discussing those features of the case that had been made public and were therefore debatable. In reality Miss Pink was hoping to discover what had taken Laddow away from Sundown again, leaving Hammett to do – what? Investigate the inhabitants by way of a show of friendliness?
He had found her on the beach taking photographs of the stacks. It was extraordinarily calm today, the fog had slipped back, the sun shone and the tide was making unobtrusively; a few miles ahead, under the point, the sea lions were singing their wild chorus.
She had exchanged a few remarks with Hammett about photography and then she had started on her morning’s walk, not really surprised when he accepted an invitation to accompany her. At this stage in the proceedings it was unthinkable that a detective should be given the day off. He appeared to be idle but this meeting wasn’t fortuitous, of that she was sure; he wanted something from her, but since he remained silent and appeared to be waiting, she had to start the ball rolling. In the guise of local resident, however temporary, she asked the obvious question: what was being done to find Andy Keller?
Walking along the firm sand at the edge of the water he said, with a show of reluctance, ‘We’re looking for him, of course. After all’ – his eyes were ingenuous behind the wire-rimmed spectacles – ‘he could be a victim.’
‘There was always that theory: that they had picked up a hitch-hiker who killed both of them.’ Her eyes followed an oyster-catcher. ‘But he couldn’t get two bodies in the trunk. So that means— ’ She checked, pondered, and became chatty. ‘Tell me: when you went away yesterday morning, did you discover anything on the road north?’
‘We came back because we learned that a girl’s body had been found in Portland.’
She sighed. He was a harder nut to crack than his boss. ‘I know that, but bodies are being found all the time in large cities. What made you think that this one related to the body that had been carried in the Chevrolet?’
‘It was possible. A female body had been in the trunk; there was make-up: traces of lipstick, powder, hair gel, so we needed to follow up all reports on female corpses. This one was found Thursday. We did some phoning Saturday but it was the weekend; some people keep their weekends sacred in Oregon.’ The tone was censorious. ‘However, we did manage to find the pathologist Sunday morning. He hadn’t made the connection yet but there was this suggestion it could be the same girl: the
one on the lot could be the one was in the Chevy at some time. He was right: the woman at the motel identified her. She was worried; they were supposed to be back on the Monday, and she was bothered about her rent.’
‘Gayleen was alive on Tuesday afternoon,’ Miss Pink murmured, ‘and the body was found – when on Thursday?’
‘First light, near enough. Night watchman going home. It had to have been dumped in the dark because it was obvious to anyone passing in the daytime.’
‘Did rigor set in when she was in the trunk of the car or afterwards?’
He didn’t question that. Had Laddow checked up on her experience in such technical matters? It was immaterial. He said, ‘The position of the body when found suggested that it was in the trunk when rigor set in.’
She blinked at his choice of words. ‘And lividity?’
‘It would appear— ’ He stopped and – amazingly for him – he giggled.
She smiled. ‘What were the conclusions, Mr Hammett? I don’t mean the pathologist’s findings; what do you think?’
He sobered but he remained circumspect. ‘We figure that, from the location of lividity and rigor, she was put in the trunk soon after she was killed and probably kept there until the body was thrown out on the vacant lot.’
‘So someone was driving around for over twenty-four hours— ’
‘Could be as much as thirty-six hours. The place was badly lit but it wasn’t remote. There would be people about in the evening. Probably dumped in the early hours of Thursday, shortly before it was found.’
‘And it was driven around – Portland? – all the time. That seems amazingly reckless. Suppose he’d been involved in an accident before he could get rid of the body?’
‘Criminals do stupid things, ma’am.’
‘Quite. Was there any luggage in the car when it was found?’
‘None. It had been stripped of everything valuable.’
They walked a little way in silence until he glanced ahead, then sideways. ‘The tide’s coming in,’ he said uneasily. ‘How far did you intend to go?’
