You Live Once

by John D. MacDonald

  “Would somebody kindly tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “Don’t you know yet? They found Raymond this morning. Early. A couple of kids were cutting across the Pryor farm, going out on an all day hike. His car was on one of the farm roads. He’d taken his tow rope, climbed up on the roof of the car, heaved the rope over a limb, made it fast, tied it around his neck and swung off the car. The kids couldn’t reach the rope even if they’d felt like it. They left him hanging there and ran to the farm. He had the Olan girl’s pocketbook in one pocket and the missing key to your apartment in the other. Kruslov got hold of Mrs. Raymond right away. When she found out what had happened she admitted that she had lied about the night when the Olan girl was killed. Apparently Raymond was out until five in the morning. And she told Kruslov that Raymond, as your boss, had fixed you up with dates with the Olan girl so he could see her oftener. She told Kruslov that she was positive her husband had rented a room or apartment somewhere where he could have been seeing the Olan girl. Here’s a note. Turn it in at the police garage on Fourth Street and they’ll release your car to you. Charges against you have been dropped.”

  “I thought of Dodd, but I couldn’t believe that …”

  “Nice guy. If his nerve hadn’t broken, you’d be holding the big bag, young man. Your check for three hundred will take care of my activities in your behalf.”

  “I’ll mail it Monday.”

  “Thank you. I have to be off.” We shook hands and he hurried out, important and busy.

  I finished my coffee, paid the check and found the police garage. After a bored look at the note they told me my car was around in back. Just go down the alley, mister. I drove back to the apartment and phoned my office.

  Toni answered, “Mr. Sewell’s office.”

  “This is Mr. Sewell, Miss MacRae. I phoned to tell you I won’t be in this morning.”

  “Clint! Is it true then? There’s a rumor around that Mr. Raymond …”

  “Are there enough people there to cook up a rumor?”

  “Clint, tell me and stop fooling. Are you out?”

  “I’m out, and you shouldn’t be working on Saturday. This is a picnic type day. Where will we go?”

  “Clint!”

  “Look, darling. I won’t be able to pick you up at the plant. I’ve got to get cleaned up and then I’m going to go see Nancy Raymond. Suppose I pick you up at your place at about two.”

  “Where are you phoning from?”

  “My apartment.”

  “Well … you see, dear, I live there.”

  “What?”

  “Mrs. Timberland threw me out, with harsh words. I had a long talk with Mrs. Speers. That was what I didn’t have time to tell you. We thought it would be simpler if …”

  “Mrs. Speers is knocking on my door right now, it so happens.”

  “She’ll tell you then. I’ll see you, dear.”

  I let Mrs. Speers in. Staring awed at my whiskers, she said, “I heard it over the radio. About Mr. Raymond. I told those stupid … ah … flatfeet that you hadn’t killed that girl. She came from a fine old family, but she was no good. All that drinking.”

  “I certainly appreciate your attitude.”

  “It horrifies me to think that anyone would hide a body in my house. Mr. Sewell, I had a long talk with your Miss MacRae. That Timberland biddy threw her out, bag and baggage. We talked about you, Mr. Sewell. She’s a splendid girl. We decided that it would be easiest if she would live here while we … made every attempt to aid you in your predicament.”

  “She told me that over the phone.”

  “Oh, you’ve talked to her! That makes it easier. I didn’t want you to think I’d been too free in letting her use this apartment. Naturally you can’t both stay here. I won’t have that sort of thing going on. You’ll have to take a hotel room until she can find other accommodations, Mr. Sewell.”

  “Yes I …”

  “You know, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed they released you so quickly. Isn’t that dreadful of me? I haven’t had so much excitement in … in just years and years. I imagine you want to get cleaned up after that horrid jail, don’t you? Poor Mr. Raymond. She must have driven him insane. Her mother was a lovely person, poor dear. Her father was quite a rounder, though. Remember about that hotel room. Don’t forget now!” She wagged a coy finger at me, smirked and backed through the doorway.

  I showered, shaved and dressed. I couldn’t help having a holiday feeling. It went away when I turned into the Raymond drive and parked near the side door. Mrs. Raymond’s heavy old car was there, back from the lake.

  The muscular Irish nurse opened the door to me. I said that I wanted to see Mrs. Dodd Raymond. The nurse whispered and took me into a small study to wait. I waited five minutes before Nancy appeared in the doorway. She wore black and she moved like an automaton.

  She held a cold hand out to me. “So good of you to stop by, Clint.”

  “Nancy, I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Do sit down, won’t you? Mother Raymond is taking this very badly. The doctor left just a little while ago.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I’d thought of asking you to be one of the pall bearers, but then I decided that under the circumstances we’d better not have any. The funeral will be on Monday at two P.M. The Upmann Funeral Home.”

  I couldn’t get beyond the social glaze. She was saying the formal proper thing.

  “Nancy!”

  She looked at me and her eyes widened a bit. “I’m all right. I’m really all right. I’m standing it very well, Clint. I made the formal identification of the body this morning at nine. They’ll release the body to Upmann some time today after they’re through with it.”

  “You don’t act all right.”

  “I’m perfectly all right. I don’t know what you mean. The family burial plot is here in Warren, of course. Mr. Upmann said he would make the necessary arrangements. Mother Raymond wants the Reverend Doctor Lamarr to give the service. I phoned him. He was a little reluctant at first, but he agreed. He said it would be in good taste. Mother Raymond has always been a good friend of the church. I think he thought it would be difficult because the Pryors belong to the same church.”

  “Nancy, remember me? Clint. I’m your friend. I didn’t come to pay the normal sympathy call.”

  Her face broke and she began to cry. She cried herself to exhaustion. She lay on the leather couch in the small gloomy study and I sat beside the couch and held her hand. It took a long time before she could talk again.

  “I hadn’t cried before,” she said tonelessly.

  “It’s a good thing to do.”

  “I was going to go away. I was going to leave him.

  And he was in trouble. He should have told me.”

  “He couldn’t tell you that.”

  “I failed him somehow, Clint. I didn’t … measure up. He wanted more than I had to give.”

  “He wouldn’t find it with Mary Olan.”

  “I should have guessed something. He’s been acting so strangely.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t think he slept more than two or three hours the last three nights. Roaming the house at all hours. I tried to call him twice at the office but he wasn’t in. He didn’t seem interested in the plant any more. He seemed to be thinking something over, making his mind up about something. He wouldn’t talk to me. Then yesterday afternoon he talked … wildly. I couldn’t make any sense out of it. He shouldn’t have been home in the middle of the day. He didn’t seem to care. His hands were all dirty when he came home. He didn’t seem to notice the dirt until I mentioned it. Then he looked at his hands and smiled in a funny way and said, ‘Dust of years gone by, darling. Or call it gold dust. That’s just as good.’ He washed his hands and then came out to the kitchen where I was. He acted as if he’d made up his mind about something. He said, ‘I’ve got it made, baby.’ He wouldn’t explain what he meant. He had a wild-looking smile. ‘C.P.P. ca
n go to hell,’ he said. ‘We’re going to really be in business.’ He kept nodding and smiling to himself. He left after dinner. He didn’t tell me where he was going. He made a phone call before he left, but I didn’t hear who he talked to or what he said. I … I won’t ever see him alive again.”

  “Easy, gal.”

  She looked into space. She held my hand tightly. “It’s all over, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It’s over, Nancy.”

  She turned her face away from me. “I keep thinking of something awful,” she said in a small voice.

  “Like what?”

  “Like waiting until this is all over. Six months. Or a year even. And then going back and finding a way to have the good years.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She turned abruptly toward me, her eyes almost fierce. “We must be almost the same age, Clint. I’d know how to be good for you, in the job and everything. I know the life. We had tests, you know. It wasn’t me, I can have children. It would be right this time. Young people all living together. And transfers to new places. I know it all. You could be proud of me, people like me. I was always active on committees and things. I made every new place look good. It was all good until we came here. That’s the horrid thing I keep thinking.”

  I didn’t say anything and I didn’t release her hand. She turned her face away again.

  “Stupid, wasn’t it?” she said.

  “You’re upset.”

  “It isn’t you. I just want that way of living back. I just want to be like that again, only this time with children. I’m sorry, Clint.”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  “You wouldn’t try it, would you?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She took her hand away. I stood up and said goodby to her. She didn’t move or answer or look at me. I let myself out. Just as I reached my car, Kruslov drove in. He and another man started toward the house. I cut over and intercepted them.

  “Now what?” Kruslov asked. He looked square and dull and tired.

  “Now I want to know how proud you are, Kruslov. I want to know how big a charge you got out of slapping me around.”

  He eyed me coldly. “Want an apology?”

  “You might try one for size.”

  “Never, you damn fool. You found a body and moved it. What the hell right has a civilian like you got meddling in police work? You complicate my job, mess up the evidence, shoot off your mouth and then come prancing around looking for an apology. There’s statutes that cover what you did, and if I get too damn annoyed at you I may see if I can make some of them stick. Now get the hell out of my way.”

  I got out of his way before he bounced me out of his way with a heavy shoulder. He went on into the house. I felt like a spanked child. I got into my Merc and drove away.

  I had won my argument with Toni and moved some of my stuff into a second class hotel room. I won it by telling her that if I knew C.P.P., I wouldn’t remain in my job for more than another few days. We had taken a bag of cheese and liverwurst sandwiches and a cold six-pack of beer far into the country. Before we left, I had brushed off two reporters with more dispatch than finesse.

  From the grassy bank we could toss crumbs into the river. Minnows struck the crumbs ferociously. I lay back and her slack-clad thigh fitted the nape of my neck as though designed for that special purpose.

  “Stop frowning,” she said softly.

  “Can’t help it.”

  “It’s all over now.”

  “A cold guy, Toni. A type who figured all the angles. A ruthless guy. Could he kill? Yes, if it would give him a big gain, and if he was logically certain he could get away with it. Would he kill himself? Perhaps, if he was aware that he would be caught. So how does it fit? Not at all. No gain in Mary’s death. And he wasn’t about to be caught.”

  “In the immortal words of the bard, leave it lay.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Maybe it’s all different than it looks, Clint dear. So what? We’re out of it. You don’t owe anybody anything. Now we just think of us.”

  “Female reasoning. Ten thousand years ago you’d have your own lady-weight club leaning against the cave wall, just inside the door. And uninvited guests—boom.”

  “And ten thousand years ago you’d be seeing how close you could get to a saber-toothed tiger. Hah! Male reasoning.”

  “But I can’t let go of it, girl. The package is too neatly wrapped. The string is too carefully tied. Maybe too carefully tied around Dodd’s throat.”

  “Don’t!”

  “I’m not in love with his memory. I’ve got no yen to vindicate him. Good sense says to do as you suggest. Leave it lay. And spend a lot of the tag ends of the hours of my life wondering.”

  She ran a gentle thumb along one of my eyebrows and then the other. She sighed heavily. “Meddler.”

  “I know.”

  “Big fool.”

  “I know that too.”

  “If you gotta, you gotta.”

  “Mmmm. You are a special deal, MacRae.”

  “The large economy size deal.”

  “Three dimensional, color, bite-sized, built-in flavor.”

  We kissed until the river ran uphill. The minnows goggled at us. All the trees applauded, and a brown and white cow strolled down to the river edge to watch with benign gravity. We gave her a spare sandwich. She ate it with the dignity of a baroness. Then we went back to the car. She took hold of my arm. Her fingers bit in. Her dark eyes spotwelded my soul.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  Yes, I would be careful. But it was something I had to do. I had to know. They had changed me—Kruslov and his hands, the damp cell, the dead girl. Before I had changed I could have said that it was none of my business. But I had changed and become more involved with life. As with John Donne and his talk of no man being an island.

  Death had come very close to me, black gauze wings grazing my face. I could not tell myself it was all over. Not while I had these nagging doubts. I could not let Dodd Raymond be buried with that mark on him.

  And I would be careful. Because afterward, there would be Toni.

  chapter 10

  There are few places where a man can dirty his hands with the dust of the past. After I left Toni off—a rather disconsolate but understanding girl—I went to the Warren Public Library. It was the same vintage as the police station. The young lady who came to my assistance wore a white angora sweater that struggled to contain two of the most enormously unreal breasts I have ever seen. She marched trimly behind them, using them as weapons of offense. I wondered how anybody ever remembered what question they had come to ask. They had a life of their own—mammalian, incredible—objects far beyond the realm of desire, creating only awe and consternation.

  I managed to stammer my question about old records and newspapers. She pointed toward a side stairway with those breasts and said that they had booths up there and micro-film projectors and a girl who would help me. I went up the stairway.

  The upstairs girl was of different construction. Between the two of them they had two sets of normal equipment. She explained the setup to me and told me that if I knew what I wanted, she would get the rolls and I could sign for them. I told her I didn’t know what I wanted. I told her I wanted to see any rolls a Mr. Dodd Raymond had looked at yesterday afternoon. She became skeptical and uncooperative. She had heard about Mr. Raymond and had recognized the name at once. I confessed that I was not with the police. Finally she allowed as how she could look at the records and tell me. She came back from her desk in a few minutes and, with a relieved icy smile, told me that Mr. Raymond had not signed for anything. It was what I expected. Miss Ice kept her domain spotless.

  I thanked her and went back down the stairs and out—not without trying for a last look at Miss Angora. She had disappeared.

  The Ledger Building was a three story oblong, quite new, of tan stone and aluminum. A quote about freedom of the press was lettered in bronze beside the main door. I got ther
e a few minutes after five. The business end of the paper, the people with regular hours, were leaving. Trucks were swinging out of the side alley with the afternoon final.

  A girl behind the classified counter on the main floor stopped applying raspberry lipstick long enough to tell me, with calculated insolence, that it was late and maybe I could find what I wanted on the second floor.

  The file of bound editions was in a small room next to the morgue. A bouncy, swarthy little girl with rhinestones set into her glasses frames looked at me carefully and told me I could help myself.

  “Do you keep any record of who uses these?”

  “Oh no. Nobody uses them very much any more except the news staff sometimes. The public library has them on micro-film going all the way back to 1822 when the Ledger first started to come out as a weekly. Why don’t you use theirs? They’re handier and cleaner.”

  “Well, as long as I’m here.”

  “That’s okay. Handle the old ones carefully, won’t you? They’re pretty brittle.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She left me in the small room. One set of bound copies covered one wall of the room, with boards locked across the fronts of the volumes so they could not be taken out; another set was unconfined. I had to find out which volume Dodd Raymond had been interested in—if my guess was right. I found the switch that controlled the overhead light and moved close to the books. The recent years’ copies were quite free of dust. I ranged back over the years. One volume stood out, most of the dust gone from the spine. I slid it out and carried it over to the table.

  Just as I set it down two men came in, so involved in a heated argument about the Giants that they barely glanced at me. They picked one of the recent volumes, spread it out, turned the pages with silent intensity. Then one pointed with his thumb and said, “Hah!”

  “So okay. So I was wrong.”

  “So you buy.”

  They put the book back and left. I began to go through my volume. The paper was yellowed, the corners brittle, the type face more quaint than in the current editions.