“Offer still stands,” I said.
“Oh, well, very well. It’s kind of you.”
I gestured to the bartender.
“Martin,” I said, “a glass of white wine, for the lady.”
“You’ve been here before,” she said.
“I’ve been everywhere before,” I said in perfect imitation of Humphrey Bogart.
She didn’t seem to recognize it.
“Really?” she said.
Martin brought the wine and looked at my beer. I shook my head.
“Sure, the other guy is Gary,” I said. “Impressive, isn’t it.”
She smiled politely. Badinage didn’t seem her strongest suit. She drank nearly half of her new glass of wine. Maybe that was her strongest suit. I didn’t say anything. She looked around the bar again. I had a swallow of beer. She drank most of the rest of her wine. I nodded at Martin. She checked the doorway, looked at her watch, finished her wine, and Martin brought her another one.
“Oh, I really couldn’t,” she said.
“Okay,” I said.
She looked at the fresh glass of wine. A trickle of moisture ran down the side of the cold glass.
“I don’t mean to be ungracious,” she said.
“No offense,” I said.
She looked at the wine. I swallowed a little more beer. She picked up the wine and drank some.
“No point in being stubborn,” she said and smiled at me thinly.
She was wearing black sandals and a loose ankle-length black dress with pink and yellow flowers printed on it. Her hair was pulled back tight to her head and culminated in a long braid. Her skin was pale, and she had on no makeup except some pink lipstick.
“How are you doing in your, ah, investigation,” she said.
“Depends on how you define progress,” I said. “I’m no closer to finding out whether Robinson Nevins got jobbed in his tenure bid, but I have found out that Prentice Lamont was a blackmailer, and that he was murdered.”
“Murdered?”
“Un huh.”
“How do you know that?”
“I detected it.”
“And what’s this about blackmail?” Lillian said.
She was nearly finished with her third glass of wine and when Gary went by she gestured him for a refill.
“He was blackmailing homosexuals who would rather not be outed,” I said.
She finished her previous glass and handed it to Gary as he set the new glass down.
“My God,” she said.
“Exactly,” I said.
She looked at me uneasily for a moment.
“Did you come here to talk to me?” she said.
“I followed you here,” I said.
“Followed?”
“Yep. I need to know who told you that Lamont’s suicide was connected to Robinson Nevins.”
“I have already told you that is confidential information.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “I haven’t gone to the cops yet, because I’m trying to save everybody a lot of grief. But if I can’t solve this myself, I will take it to the cops, and you can tell the homicide guys, who, by the way, are nowhere near as charming as I am.”
“Homicide?”
“You are going to have to tell, Professor Temple. You can tell me, now, or you can tell the cops soon.”
She looked at the door again, and around the bar, and at her watch, and drank some wine and turned to me and said, “Difficult choices.”
“Not really,” I said. “One’s easy, one’s hard, same outcome.”
She stared at me for a moment, looked away, looked down at her wine, looked back at me, but couldn’t hold the look.
Staring at the wineglass she said, “Will he have to know I told?”
“Probably not,” I said. “I can’t guarantee it, but I won’t tell if I don’t have to.”
She nodded, still staring into the wineglass.
“Amir,” she said.
“Amir Abdullah?”
“Yes.”
“He told you Prentice Lamont and Robinson Nevins were having an affair?”
“Yes. And that Robinson broke it off cruelly and Prentice killed himself.”
“He say how he knew this?”
“No.”
“And you took it and reported it whole, as he told it.”
“I had no – have no – reason to doubt him. Amir is a very principled man.”
I had some reservations about exactly how principled Amir Abdullah was, but I let them slide, because Bass Maitland had arrived. He was strolling in from the front door. By the way Lillian was looking at him he might have been walking on water.
“Bass,” she said.
“Hi, Lil,” he said in his big round satisfied voice.
He was wearing a seersucker jacket, well-faded blue jeans, a black polo shirt with the collar turned up, and deck shoes, no socks.
Lillian said, “You remember Mr… the detective we talked to.”
“Spenser,” I said.
“Oh, absolutely. How are you?”
He gave me the kind of big firm handshake that a big firm man would give. He was so pleased with himself that it was infectious. I almost liked him.
“Is this a coincidence,” he said with a big smile, “or are you staking us out?”
“Holding your place for you,” I said, and stood up.
“Appreciate it.”
He took my seat and smiled again, like an affable crocodile. He was probably a very principled man, too. So were they all, all principled men. And women. There were few things more annoying than a visibly principled person. Or more troublesome. Most of the ones I’d met could have used a little uncertainty to dilute their principled-ness. But it didn’t seem a fruitful topic to discuss with Bass and Lillian, so I said good-bye and went off to get my dog.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The call came from KC Roth just after I had settled in to watch the Sox and the Angels from the West Coast.
“Come quickly,” she said. “Please. I need you.”
She sounded teary.
“What’s your problem?”
“Louis.”
“What about Louis?”
“He came back.”
“Really?”
“Oh, please, come quickly. Please.”
“Why?”
“He, he… please come.”
“What did he do?”
“He… violated me.”
“Do you mean he raped you?”
She was silent.
“Did he rape you?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Have you called the police?”
“Oh, God no, I can’t talk about this with the police. I, please, I have to see you, you’re the only one.”
“When did this happen,” I said.
“Just now. He just left.”
“He’s gone.”
“Yes. He beat me and he violated me.”
“Have you been to the doctor?”
“No. I told you. I can’t…”
“Don’t take a shower,” I said. “Don’t bathe or wash yourself. Stay still. I’ll be there in half an hour. Will you be all right until then?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. When I get there I’m going to take you to the doctor.”
“No.”
“Unless you agree to that I won’t come.”
“I… I can’t…” She was crying.
“You’ll have to promise. Otherwise I’ll hang up and call the Reading cops and it’ll be you and them.”
“No… oh why are you so awful?”
“Promise?”
She was silent, sobbing. I waited.
“Oh yes, goddamn you,” she said and hung up.
I got dressed and drove up to Reading. She was hugging herself looking out the door waiting for me. Until I saw her I thought she might be making it up. Now I was pretty sure she wasn’t. Someone had slapped her around pretty good. Her upper lip was swollen and one eye was puffed
. It would be shut by morning. She had on a white tee shirt and gray sweatpants and moccasins. Her hair was a mess.
“Oh God,” she said, and backed away as I came in.
“Come on,” I said. “Hospital.”
“You’re really going to make me?”
“You bet,” I said.
I took her arm. She flinched away for a moment. But I kept hold and she relaxed enough to go with me.
The on-call gyno who showed up at the emergency room was a young woman with red hair and a good backside who whisked into the examining room, took one look at KC, and whisked me out with one brisk all-inclusive gesture. I sat in the waiting area and looked at people with bruises and cuts and breathing problems and stomach pains as they came and went. I read several ancient copies of People magazine, which left me feeling like I’d eaten too much fudge.
After about an hour, the gyno came out and said, “Mr. Spenser?”
“Me,” I said.
“Come in please.”
I went in. KC was in a johnny and those silly slippers that they give you. Her hair had been combed and her face washed and she seemed a little foggy. A large black woman in a nurse suit hovered around and looked at me disapprovingly.
“I’m Dr. Tripp,” the red-haired woman said. “Mrs. Roth says I may speak freely with you. What is your relationship to her?”
“Employee,” I said.
“In what capacity?”
“I’m a detective. She hired me to prevent this from happening to her.”
“She may wish to rethink that,” Dr. Tripp said.
“She may,” I said. “Was she raped?”
“She was.”
“No doubt of it?”
“None. There’s vaginal bruising. There’s semen. The police have been notified.”
KC stared at her.
“No,” she said thickly. “I don‘ wan’ that.”
“Mrs. Roth, I’m required to,” she said. “Neither you nor I have a choice.”
“Tranquilizer?” I said.
“Valium. You’re not with the police.”
“No. I’m a private detective.”
“Really,” she said. “Do you know who did this?”
“I think so,” I said.
“No. He din’t,” KC said. “I will swear he din’t.”
Dr. Tripp stared at her.
“You’ll protect the man who did this?”
“I don‘ know who did,” KC said.
Dr. Tripp looked at me. I shrugged.
“I would like to keep her overnight,” Dr. Tripp said.
“I think that’s a good idea,” I said. “Maybe you can put the cops off until tomorrow.”
“One reason I want her to stay,” Dr. Tripp said.
“Will you stay wi‘ me?” she said to me. “I won’ stay ‘less you stay wi’ me.”
“It’s permitted,” Dr. Tripp said.
“Oh good,” I said.
Spending the night sitting in a chair by KC Roth’s bedside was about as appealing as a Howard Stern film festival. I took in a lot of air through my nose and let it out the same way. Dr. Tripp and the black nurse and KC all stared at me with various degrees of male-oriented hostility.
“Sure,” I said. “Be glad to.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
In the morning, under the stern gaze of Dr. Tripp, the Reading cops were solicitous, and KC was uninformative, and I was tired. KC insisted that she didn’t know her assailant. The cops clearly did not believe her but couldn’t figure out why she’d protect him, and neither could I. They had a young female assistant from the Middlesex DA’s office who seemed bright and sympathetic and was pretty clever in some of her questions but not bright enough, or apparently sympathetic enough. KC refused to change her story and finally resorted to crying, which worked. The crying may have been sincere. She had been beaten and raped, but I also knew that she could cry at will, and life had made me cynical.
After the cops left and the bright young sympathetic DA went with them, Dr. Tripp told KC that a social worker would stop by to talk with her in a while. And that Dr. Tripp felt that KC should stay another night. KC nodded. Her crying had dwindled to sniffling. She patted her unswollen eye with a Kleenex and blew her nose and sat up a little higher in the bed.
“Keep that eye cold,” Dr. Tripp said as she went out.
We were alone. I handed KC one of the compresses from the tray on her bedside table. She held it against her nearly closed eye.
“No one here but you and me,” I said. “I won’t tell, you have my word on it, but I have to be sure. You said it was Vincent.”
She started to cry again. Not boo hoo, more sniff sniff, but still crying. She seemed to be hiding behind the cold compress.
“Dip that in the ice water,” I said. “It was, wasn’t it?”
She cried some more.
“Damn it, KC, yes or no? You don’t have to speak. Just nod. You said it was Vincent.”
Nod.
“Thank you,” I said.
We were quiet. She sniffled a little more and stopped.
“Will you kill him for me?” she said.
“No,” I said. “But I’ll make sure he leaves you alone.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.
“I think he’s a little crazy,” she said. “You know how it’s crazy time when a romance breaks up.”
“Um hmm.”
“I can count on you, can’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.”
“You haven’t,” I said, “and you’re a little crazy yourself, right now. But you’ll be better.”
“Of course I’m crazy,” she said. “What I’ve gone through. I have a right to be crazy.”
“Of course you do,” I said. “But only for a while.”
The social worker stuck her head around the partly open door.
“Can I come in?” she said.
“Tell her yes,” KC said to me.
“Come in,” I said.
The social worker was a thin-faced black-haired woman wearing round glasses with green rims.
“I’m Amy Coulter,” she said, “from Social Services. Dr. Tripp asked me to come and see you.”
“Sit down,” I said. “I’m leaving anyway.”
“Where are you going?” KC said.
“Home,” I said. “Sleep.”
“You’ll come back?”
“Like esophageal reflux,” I said.
I always tried to make my similes appropriate to the ambiance. Surprisingly neither Amy Coulter nor KC remarked on it. Too bad Dr. Tripp wasn’t there. She’d appreciate my kind of quality medical humor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I stopped for coffee and a couple of donuts, and then went straight to Susan’s house and let myself into her living space. I submitted to five minutes or so of lapping and jumping about from Pearl before I got her quieted down enough so I could take off my clothes and lie on the bed in my shorts. Always game for a nap, Pearl jumped up on the bed, turned around several times, and got ready to lie down beside me. I was asleep before she did. When I woke up Pearl was gone. I looked at my watch. It was 6:20 in the evening. I got up and walked around the house. I noticed that Susan’s purse was on the front hall table, and Pearl’s leash was gone. I went back into the bedroom and took a long shower and shaved in the shower and put on clean clothes from the wardrobe stash I kept at Susan’s place, and was pouring two ounces of Dewar’s over a lot of ice in a tall glass when Pearl and Susan came back from their walk. Pearl bounded about the way she does when she knows supper is imminent, and Susan, more restrained, came over and gave me a kiss on the mouth.
“Good to see you up and about,” Susan said. “When I came up from the office and found you I thought you might be dead.”
I poured club soda over the ice in my tall glass, getting it as close to the top as I could, without it being so full I couldn’t pick it up without spilling.
/> “Did you have a plan for how to deal with that?” I said.
“If you were still dead when I came back from walking the baby,” Susan said, “I was going to call someone.”
I got a bag of Kibbles ‘N Bits dog food out of the cupboard and put a cup and a half’s worth into Pearl’s bowl. I knew it was Pearl’s bowl because it said Pearl in violet script on the outside.
Susan said, “She likes it with cheese, remember.”
I got some shredded cheese out of the refrigerator and sprinkled some over the food and put it down on the floor. Pearl did like it with cheese. She also liked it without cheese, or with sawdust. Susan went into her bedroom, and I sat at the counter and sipped my scotch and soda. Susan came out in a while barefooted, in a dark blue tank top and white shorts, with her hair combed, and wearing fresh lip gloss.
“Got any snacks?” I said. “I appear to have slept through lunch.”
Susan got an elegant wine goblet sort of the color of sea mist from another cabinet and poured some Merlot into it, and took a small sip.
“I have some rice cakes,” Susan said. “And some broccoli sprouts, and…” She got up and opened her refrigerator door and gazed in. “… half a bagel.”
“Gee, a cornucopia,” I said.
Susan had great glassware and wonderful china and beautiful silverware and no food.
“And some shredded cheese, but that’s for the baby…” She closed the refrigerator and opened the cupboard. “… and some bite-sized shredded wheat.”
She turned and looked at me optimistically, as if I might like shredded wheat and broccoli sprouts with my scotch and soda.
“That’s okay,” I said. “We can order out.”
“Chinese?” Susan said.
“Yes, a bunch of everything, and tell them to hurry. In a little while it will be a medical emergency.”
Susan called and ordered a bunch of everything including some broccoli, sauce on the side, and steamed rice. Then she came back and sat across the counter from me and took a sip of her wine.
“What I don’t get,” I said, “is this creep beats her up and rapes her and she won’t tell the cops.”
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