A Matter of Time

by Glen Cook

  “Where do you want to eat?”

  Her grip tightened. She started to say something, choked on it. Her fingers quivered. “I still think I should take a rain-check. We’ve got to be back in here at eight.”

  “Yeah. Right. Well, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Leaning in her window, he said, “Thanks again. I really don’t know what I’d do without you, Beth. You shouldn’t put up with the crap I dump on you. That we all do.”

  “I don’t mind. For you. At least you... Well, you know. You’re nice about it. I’d better go.”

  “Sure. Thanks again. Bye.”

  He thought about Beth all the way home.

  More and more, he suspected something was happening. It was flattering, tempting, and terrifying. If he formally recognized the condition at all, there would be pain and trouble no matter what course he followed. The wise thing, he supposed, would be to cool it by completely ignoring it. That would minimize the potential for pain.

  Annie had fallen asleep watching Johnny Carson and rereading MacDonald’s The Girl in the Plain Brown Wrapper. He wriggled himself a seat and gently woke her, presented the books he had picked up downtown.

  “Struck out again, huh?” she mumbled.

  “Yeah.”

  “Keep plugging, honey. It’ll come.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder.”

  Cash’s depression carried over into Tuesday. Lack of sleep was no help, and spending morning and afternoon being bored or angered by lawyers badgering witnesses or protesting one another’s antics was a classic downer. He kept stifling an urge to stand up and scream, “But what about justice!” The concept seemed to have vanished from the American courtroom completely. All that remained was a highly ritualized barristry.

  There were moments when he wished the Good Lord would send down a plague able to take no one but ambulance chasers. They were a pestilence themselves, a pustulant wound on the corpus of humanity. Directly or indirectly they controlled everything.

  These dreary courtroom passages often brought on moments of paranoia when he felt as intensely about attorneys as had Hitler about Jews. He fancied very similar conspiracies.

  Beth had but one bit of progress to report when he returned to the station. Railsback had contacted Miss Groloch’s attorney about the possibility of the old woman undergoing a polygraph test. The man had refused. Of course.

  John had completed his courtroom purgatory by noon recess. He had spent his afternoon digging. He now arrived, looking sheepish.

  “Got an idea,” he said. “Illegal as hell. Well, shady. You got your contacts in the outfit. I thought maybe you could get them to help.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to like this.” Cash guided Harald into his office, closed the door.

  “Suppose we jump the old lady?” John asked. “Anything, just so we get her to move. We got a good idea she’ll make it down to that pay phone. Maybe some of O’Lochlain’s people could snatch her for a while. And some others toss her place. Like with metal detectors and stuff. We could loan them the gear.”

  “I knew I wouldn’t like it.”

  “What about it?”

  “In a word, illegal. John, something like that could get us crucified.”

  Cash was tempted. Unbearably. Otherwise he would have responded with a simple no.

  “Only as a last resort, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ll think about it?”

  “How can I help it now that you’ve brought it up? But I guarantee you I won’t pull anything like that unless Judge Gardner keeps turning me down. He doesn’t, we can do it ourselves, legal. Subject closed.”

  “Okay. You don’t have to bite my head off. Now, how about your little brown brother?”

  “My who?”

  “Major Tran. When’s he coming?”

  “Not sure yet. Sometime this week. Why?”

  “Carrie and Nancy have had their heads together. Near as I can figure, they want to come over and do the welcoming party cooking for Annie. As a surprise.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Know what you mean. If they get going on Michael. And the kids making like Indians... Maybe we could get sitters.”

  “Maybe. Their hearts are in the right place, anyway. Let’s worry about it when the time comes.”

  “Okay. I’m heading home now. Oh. We’re having a barbecue Sunday, if it doesn’t rain. Bring your own beer and pork steaks. And if Annie wants, she can make one of those green cakes.”

  “The pistachio?” Cash’s stomach lusted. He loved barbecued pork. “Me, I’ll have to make it with the all-beef hot dogs again. Sounds good, though. I’ll see if I can’t come up with a watermelon for the kids. Hey, all right if I bring Matthew? He might come down this weekend, to meet the Trans.”

  “You have to ask?”

  As John left, Cash noticed Tony something-or-other Spanish, Beth’s guy, in the outer office. What a loser, he thought.

  He examined the reaction for the taint of jealousy. It wasn’t there. But there was a lot of envy in it.

  Desirable as Beth might be, his feelings seemed primarily paternal, protective. His reaction to that was both one of relief and one of mild self-deprecation.

  Next morning the card with the four names arrived. He hadn’t encountered a one of them before. He slipped the card into his desk, on impulse dug out the phone number of the man conducting the UFO investigation.

  Those people had found nothing, though the man spent a quarter of an hour getting around to the admission. Cash told him of the additional disappearances. Then he rang Judge Gardner’s court and left the same information. Not pressed with any other business, he then spent an hour playing bureaucratic double shuffle with the local treasury department people. The Secret Service proved to be very uninterested in fifty-four-year-old counterfeit money. The attitude was much the same as that expressed by Judge Gardner Monday. The stuff couldn’t be passed anyway, so who cared?

  He found Beth in his doorway when he hung up.

  “John called while you were on the phone. He said he talked to that mailman. He says the old lady has gotten three or four real letters the past few months. The reason he noticed was because the sender used all real old two-and three-cent stamps. Postmarked in Rochester, New York. No return address.”

  “Hmm. We’re getting something stirred up, then. Wish we could spook her into giving herself away.”

  “Norm, how come you want to get her so bad? You used to get on John. Now I think you don’t care anymore. Not even how, so long as you take her down. How come?”

  “Beth, I wish I knew. I worry about it too. Really. And I don’t much like me for it. But I’m sure I’m right. I have to do it. I think part of it comes from everybody else being so damned eager to kill the case.”

  “Phone’s ringing.” She darted out. A moment later, “It’s your wife.”

  “I’ll take it in here. Yeah?”

  “Mail came. There’s an invitation.”

  “Huh? What to?”

  “A funeral.”

  “Come on, Annie....”

  “Really. From that Sister Mary Joseph.”

  He was silent for a long time. Then, “Beth, when did Hank release my stiff?”

  “Early Monday morning. I thought you knew.”

  “Son of a bitch. Me and him are going to have words over this.”

  “Norm?” Annie was trying to get his attention again.

  He snapped his fingers. “Honey? Where? What time? Let me get a pencil here.”

  “You’re going?”

  “Damned right. I’ll bet Miss Groloch was invited too. And I’ll bet she shows. No matter what part she’s played, she’s got to be damned curious about this thing.”

  He wrote demonically as Annie relayed the information. “Thanks, love. I’ve just got to run. Love you. Bye. Beth! Put out the word for John to call me.”

  A half hour later they had it set up. John was able to confirm, from his chat wit
h the postman, that Miss Groloch had received an invitation that morning.

  Cash parked a half block short of the Groloch house. Castleman was one-way, eastbound. Any cab would have to pass them if already called. They had arrived, they judged, forty minutes before the woman would have to leave to make the funeral.

  “This’s crazy,” Harald insisted. “I just don’t see why you think she’ll go.”

  “Call it a hunch.” The sun beat down. The car quickly evened up. He didn’t feel communicative.

  “How’s she going to get a cab?”

  “She’s going to walk down to that pay phone. If she hasn’t already.”

  Passersby gazed at them curiously. The neighborhood hairy youth appeared on his front porch, stared, ducked back inside. Even plainclothes cops were easily recognized by their suits, semi-military haircuts, and blackwall tires.

  “Bet that jerk thinks it’s him we’ve got staked out.”

  “Want me to go roust him?”

  “What for?”

  “He must’ve done something.”

  “Shit, John. Probably got a little pot put away. What’s the dif?”

  Harald shrugged, changed the subject. “What the hell do we get out of this even if she does go?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems to me that, long as we can keep her breaking her pattern, chances are she’ll slip up. I want to be there when it happens. You ever see a dog go after one of them little box turtles you find in the woods? That turtle is safe... as long as Rover don’t con him into sticking his head out.”

  “Shit. Can’t we move up? That sun’s murder.”

  “Soon as somebody pulls out from under a tree.”

  “How about I walk over to Lambert’s and get us a couple of Cokes?”

  “You really got the fidgets, don’t you? Yeah, sure. Here. I’ll buy.”

  “Hang on. Here we go.”

  Miss Groloch was on the move. She was brisk, businesslike, as she strode eastward, quite alert to her neighbors’ reactions. Few of them had ever seen her. Those who had been out surreptitiously eyeballing the cops now watched her.

  “Now?”

  “No. After the cab comes. We’ll follow her now. Make sure she uses that phone.”

  “Norm, I’m beginning to think this maybe isn’t such a hot idea.”

  “It was yours.”

  “Yeah. That’s why. No. Only sort of. And it’s not legal. I’d rather have crooks do the crooked stuff. What if somebody spots me and calls the cops? Lot of people out here. Could we talk our way out of it?”

  “What do you mean, ‘we,’ white man?”

  “Norm, if it was anybody else sitting over there, I wouldn’t admit it. But I’m scared. Last time I had the shakes this bad was the day Michael...”

  “Want some outside backup?” Cash started the car, began creeping down the block. “Smitty might do it.”

  “No. Shit no. We can’t get anybody else involved. Even you shouldn’t be. Twenty-three years is a lot to risk.”

  “Nah. No problem. We can bullshit our way out.” But he, too, had begun to feel that peculiar twisting of the guts remembered from the Ardennes and several occasions when he had approached women with less than honorable intentions. He dithered at the intersection with Klemm till another vehicle rolled up behind him.

  He turned right, went over to his own street, then east a block to Thurman. He parked beneath the huge elm on the corner. In the distance, Miss Groloch turned on to Thurman and strode purposefully toward the service station.

  Cash said, “Guy that lives here on the corner is going to run for alderman next year.” As John grunted his disinterested response, Norm turned to peer out the back window. They had parked in front of the house next to his own. He wondered if Annie had noticed. “Maybe you knew him in school. Name’s Tim Schultz.”

  “It’s the service station all right. She’s crossing over. You going to cruise past?”

  “No. She might make us. Don’t want her changing her mind now.”

  Miss Groloch vanished behind the bulk of the station.

  “I figure you should have a good two hours,” Cash continued. “Plenty of time. I’ll leave you off, then head for the funeral. Soon as you finish, hoof it over here. Annie’ll be home. She never goes anywhere anymore. I’ll pick you up when I get back.”

  The funeral was small and quiet. The priest didn’t have much to say. He, Cash, and two men from the funeral parlor did the pallbearing. Sister Mary Joseph was accompanied only by two nuns. No one else came.

  Except Miss Groloch, who watched from a distance, from the shadow of a grove of young maples. Her cab awaited her on a cemetery road behind her.

  After depositing the casket next to the grave, Cash positioned himself so he could observe the principals. Sister Mary Joseph showed neither warmth nor coldness. Earlier, she had greeted him only with a curt nod. Miss Groloch seemed more interested in the surrounding cemetery than in the funeral, though there was no one in sight except an old man, off among the fancier monuments, who appeared to be a caretaker.

  Once the casket had been lowered and he had deposited his handful of earth, Cash started the old woman’s way.

  “Sergeant?”

  He stopped, turned. “Sister?”

  “Thank you for coming. Even if you had to.”

  “Had to? I didn’t. It just seemed right.”

  “Did she?...”

  “Miss Groloch? Yes. She was in those trees over there.” The cab had departed while his back was turned.

  The sister squinted.

  She was nearsighted, Cash realized. No wonder she hadn’t noticed.

  “She’s gone now. Do you need a ride back to the convent?” He cast a sour look at the gravediggers. They were sidling nearer already, not trying to hide their impatience. Didn’t anyone have any respect anymore?

  “I’d appreciate that. We came out in the hearse. There’s something I want to tell you anyway.”

  But she could not seem to get started. After a half mile, Cash asked, “I’ve always wondered. How come Miss Groloch upsets you so much? You seem to have adjusted to... to...”

  “Jack’s disappearance? It’s all right, Sister Carmelita,” she told the younger of the nuns in the back seat. The woman had placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I liked Jack, Sergeant. Even when I knew what he was. He was that way. Nobody could really hate him.

  “I had no illusions. I knew something would happen, the way he lived. I think I was used to the idea before it did.

  “No. I don’t hate her for Jack’s sake. It’s Colin that did it.”

  “Colin?”

  “My boyfriend. Colin Meara. If you can have a boyfriend when you’re that young. The kid I was with the last time I saw Jack.”

  “I remember now. But I don’t understand.”

  “The whole neighborhood knew about Jack. Because of the yelling and screaming and all that. Well, Colin decided he’d play detective. So he snuck into her house one night. And...”

  “And?” Cash prompted after fifteen seconds.

  “He never came out. Never. Nobody ever knew what happened but me. His parents thought... his dad was really rough on him. Because he was afraid Colin would be like Jack. He adored Jack. They said all sorts of crazy things, but mostly they just thought he ran away. He was an only child. I never could tell them the truth. Not even his mother when she was asking for him when she was dying. Couldn’t ever tell anybody. Till now.”

  Sister Carmelita patted her shoulder.

  Cash almost ran a red light. “Why?”

  “I was waiting outside. We stayed awake and snuck out after everybody was asleep. I remember it so clearly. It was after midnight, almost a full moon. Not a cloud. The stars were so beautiful.... We were going to do it together. Only I got scared. So he told me to wait outside. And he never came back.”

  A silent sob racked her thin frame.

  “Sergeant, fifteen minutes after he went in... that woman came to the door. Then she came outs
ide, all the way out to the gate. I couldn’t run. She just stood there and stared at me for maybe five minutes. It was like looking the devil in the eyes. Then she just smiled and nodded and went back inside.”

  “She didn’t say anything?”

  “Nothing. Not a word. God in heaven. I was scared. Of her, of my father, if he found out I snuck out nights, of Colin’s father.... I’m still scared. I can still see that evil smile....”

  Lord, another one, Cash thought. The Groloch place was a slaughterhouse.

  “I thought you’d come today. I prayed you would. Last night I wrote it all down. I borrowed a school typewriter and put down everything I could remember, all the stuff I didn’t tell you before. Maybe it’ll help.”

  “Everything’s a help.” Something akin to elation coursed through Cash. It was starting to come. Finally, the information was breaking loose.

  He had been home a half hour and had read the sister’s deposition twice before he thought to ask, “What happened to John?”

  “I haven’t seen him,” Annie replied. “Was I supposed to?”

  “Yeah. He was supposed to meet me here. Hey. Maybe he found something and grabbed a cab back to the station.”

  “Found something?”

  Cash evaded by ducking back into the memoir. It was richly detailed, yet told him nothing Sister Mary Joseph hadn’t covered orally.

  “Honey, you ever hear of Miss Groloch having another boyfriend after O’Brien?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Just curious. Been wondering, off and on.” He phoned the station. Old Man Railsback answered. “Is Beth around? Well, have her call me when she gets back. At home. Never mind what I’m doing here. Just do it.”

  Hank’s father was making himself useful, more or less, while Beth was in the can.

  The phone rang within five minutes. “Beth? Yeah. Do me a favor, will you? Check the O’Brien autopsy sheet and see what he had in his stomach.” He wasn’t sure, but didn’t think the report jibed with the sister’s statement. She claimed his last meal had consisted of cold roast beef and cold boiled potatoes, washed down with homemade beer.

  Beth took another five minutes. Then she asked, “You still there?”

  “Gathering cobwebs.”