by Parnell Hall
37.
I HAVE A SLIGHT EGO problem. My problem is, practically everything that happens to me is a blow to my ego.
MacAullif said talk to the boyfriend. I’d scoffed at the idea. MacAullif said you always kill the one you love. MacAullif said in violent crimes the most likely suspect was always the husband or the boyfriend. But I hadn’t even been willing to consider the possibility. Instead, I’d gone chasing off after some harmless old man.
But none of that was my main concern at the moment. From the time Dexter Manyon turned around, my main concern was getting out of that room alive.
I’d only seen Dexter Manyon once, that time at the party. When I’d seen him, he’d been drunk and he’d been sitting down. Now he was sober and standing up. And, presumably, a murderer.
Which made my perception of him entirely different. His face was slender and sensitive, yes, as I had first observed. But without the effect of drink and tears, it was also lean and hard. And his body was by no means frail. He was, in fact, broad-shouldered and muscular. He was inch for inch as tall as I was. And perhaps an inch more. In short, yet another guy who could take me apart.
He made no move toward me, though. Instead, he frowned and said, “Who are you?”
That was something. Unless he was acting, he didn’t remember me at all. Of course, he’d been pretty drunk.
I wondered if I should jog his memory. I wondered if that would be wise. At the moment, I wasn’t sure if anything would be wise. Except, perhaps, running like hell.
I chose a neutral course. “I’m Stanley Hastings,” I said.
My name meant no more to him than my face had.
“Oh yeah?” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
He frowned. “Pardon me, but who are you?”
I decided to go for it. “I guess you don’t remember me,” I said. “I saw you at the party.”
“The party?”
“You probably don’t remember. You’d had quite a bit to drink.”
He frowned again. “Oh yeah. The party. I seem to remember someone spoke to me at the party. Was that you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then who are you?”
I decided to leave it neutral, so I could go either way. “I’m a detective,” I said. Which could mean police or private.
He took it as police. At least I think he did. His eyes narrowed. “I see,” he said.
He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a polo shirt and slacks, so he wasn’t carrying a gun. And he was across the room from me and I was by the door, so if he made a move on me I could run. And he hadn’t made a move on me yet. So I figured it couldn’t hurt to push him some, get him on the defensive.
“How’d you get in here?” I said.
“Huh?”
“The apartment. How’d you get in?”
“Oh,” he said. “I have a key, of course. I used to live here, you know.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “I knew she was your girlfriend, but I didn’t know you lived together.”
“Well, we did. Not like I moved in permanent, I still had my own place. But I stayed here. I had a key.” He frowned. “But you didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
“I told you. I’m a detective. I’m investigating the murder.”
“You a cop?”
Damn. The guy was sharper than I thought. And it was the type of question, if I answered it wrong I might wind up dead. And I only had a split second to make the decision.
I opted for the truth. I didn’t want to lie to him, somehow. And saying I wasn’t a cop had worked well with Luke Brent. Maybe it would work with him.
Or maybe it was just that confronted with the direct question, I was too chickenshit to pick a lie I’d have to carry through.
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m a private detective.”
He looked puzzled. “Then why are you here?”
“Because I knew Sherry,” I said. “Not well, I just met her. But we were on a jury together. And I’d been driving her to court.”
He thought that over. I saw comprehension in his eyes. “Then you’re the one who found the body.”
“That’s right. How did you know?”
“From what the cops said. They wouldn’t tell me much, but that much I found out.” He frowned again. “But what are you doing here?”
“Investigating the murder. Not officially or for anyone. Just personally, ’cause I knew her.”
“You got a key?
“No.”
“Then how’d you get in?”
“You left the door open.”
“Yeah, maybe I did. But if you don’t have a key, how were you gonna get in?”
“I wasn’t. I just came to question the neighbors. Then I saw the open door.”
He thought that over. I couldn’t tell if he was buying it or not. I suddenly realized, since I’d told him I wasn’t a cop, I was as much a suspect to him as he was to me.
Unless he knew better because he’d done it.
“All right,” I said. “Your turn. What are you doing here?”
“Oh,” he said. “I just came by to get some things.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I spoke to Sherry’s parents. Her father’s flying in tomorrow to pack up her stuff. What they want to send home. The rest will go to Good Will, I guess. So I wanted to get my stuff out first.”
“What stuff?”
He took a deep breath. Sighed. “Nothing much. Keepsakes, really. Sentimental value. I had a bracelet with my name engraved. Athletic award from high school. Baseball team. I gave it to her and she never gave it back.” He jerked his thumb at the dresser. “That’s what I was looking for when you came in.
“And some pictures. Of me and her together. I didn’t have any, but she did. I just wanted one.”
He turned, picked up a snapshot from the top of the bureau, held it up.
I couldn’t see it from where I was in the doorway. And I didn’t really want to walk into the room.
But there was no help for it. He was sharp. If I ignored the picture and stood there poised for flight, he’d figure out that’s what I was doing.
I strolled casually into the room. Or as casually as I could. I felt I was walking on egg shells.
I took the photo from him and looked at it. It was a Polaroid. He had his arm around Sherry’s shoulders and she was snuggled against his chest. Her face was turned to the camera with a big smile. Happy, contented.
He wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking down at her. That look spoke volumes. That look spoke love.
It was enough to break your heart.
And it was something else.
To me, it was proof positive of a love strong enough, obsessive enough to kill for.
I handed the photo back. He looked at it, sighed. I could see tears welling up in his eyes. He put the photo down, looked back at me.
“If I don’t find the bracelet it’s too bad, but I think what I really wanted was this.”
“I see,” I said. I wasn’t sure what I saw, but I needed to keep the conversation going. “You say her father’s coming in tomorrow?”
“That’s right.”
“The funeral’s tomorrow, then?”
“No,” he said. “The funeral isn’t here. They’re shipping the body back home to Atlanta.”
“What?”
“The funeral’s in Atlanta,” he said. “This Sunday. I still can’t decide if I should go.”
“Cincinnati,” I said.
He looked at me. “What?”
“She’s from Cincinnati.”
He shook his head. “No. She’s from Atlanta.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. Come on. You say you knew her. Didn’t you notice the southern drawl?”
“I thought it was an affectation. Because she was an actress.”
He smiled sadly, shook his head. “Just t
he other way around. She tried to hide the drawl. Thought it would limit her in casting. But when she’d get excited about something, she’d get careless, let her guard down, and the accent would come through.”
“When was she in Cincinnati?”
He frowned. “Cincinnati?”
“Yeah, was she in college there?”
He shook his head. “She never went to college. After high school she came straight to New York to make it as an actress. Why?”
“She mentioned a friend of hers from Cincinnati. Girl named Velma.”
“Velma?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded. “I’ve heard the name. I’m sure she mentioned a Velma now and then. I think it was someone she knew from acting school.”
“Acting school?”
“Yeah. I don’t remember which one. It wasn’t the Neighborhood Playhouse. But which one was it?”
“You mean an acting school here in New York?”
“Of course.”
It smacked me in the face. My stomach felt hollow. I ran my hand over my head. “Oh, good lord.”
“What’s the matter?”
I had to take a breath. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just realized I’ve been incredibly stupid.”
He picked up the picture and his eyes misted over again. He chuckled softly, sadly. “Join the club,” he said.
I could feel sorry for him then, knowing he wasn’t a suspect anymore.
38.
IN THE MOVIE The Verdict there’s a great scene where Paul Newman’s been up all night in his office thinking about the case and getting nowhere, and now it’s morning, and there comes the plop of letters being slid through the slot in the office door. He walks over, picks them up and riffles through them, and one of them is the phone bill. He holds it and looks at it, and you know he’s thinking something but you don’t know what. Then you cut to the house of the woman who’s been holding out on him, and he’s breaking into her mailbox and stealing her phone bill, since what he realized was everyone’s phone bill arrives the same day, and there among all the long-distance charges is the phone number of the witness she’d been trying to hide.
I’m not the type of guy to go breaking into people’s mailboxes. But I didn’t have to. ’Cause I had MacAullif.
Not that he was overjoyed to see me.
“Oh, shit,” he said when I walked into his office on the lunch hour. “Not again.”
I held up my hand. “Last time. I promise.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Sorry to bother you, but you said you’d do one thing for me. Well, I want it now.”
“That figures,” MacAullif said. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You struck out with the boyfriend and the neighbors, and you want the dope on the old man.”
“Not at all,” I said. “The old man’s out of it.”
“What?”
“Oh yeah. That was a stupid idea to begin with, don’t you think?”
MacAullif eyed me suspiciously. “I certainly do. I’m a little surprised to hear you say so. So whaddya want?”
“I want Sherry Fontaine’s phone bill.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Her phone bill. I don’t need the whole thing. I’m really just concerned with last week.”
“Last week? That bill won’t even be made up yet.”
“I know that.”
“So you can’t get it.”
“I know that too. It’ll take a police officer making a specific request.”
MacAullif looked at me in exasperation. “You can’t just ask for someone’s phone bill. There’s such a thing as invasion of privacy.”
“Yeah, but there are legal ways to obtain it, and if you’re a cop and you want it, you can get it.”
“And if it doesn’t pertain to something you’re investigating, it’s not entirely kosher.”
“Right,” I said. “One unauthorized, extralegal bit of police procedure. That’s what you promised me, and that’s what I want.”
MacAullif took a breath. “All right,” he said. “Why do you want it?”
I shook my head. “I’m not going to tell you.”
His jaw actually dropped open. “What?”
“If I tell you, you’ll tell me I’m being stupid and try to talk me out of it. I’m not up to that. I’ll tell you after it checks out.”
“What if it doesn’t check out? Then you’ll be back here after me for something else.”
“It’ll check out.”
“Then tell me now.”
“No way.”
MacAullif scowled. He looked ready to jump over his desk and bite my head off.
I held my ground. “You gonna do it or not?”
MacAullif took a breath. He leveled a finger at me. “After which, you’ll tell me what this is all about, whether you’re right or not?”
“Absolutely.”
“And if this turns out to be just another one of your stupid theories, you’ll sit here and tell me your stupid theory, and then you’ll say you’re sorry you bothered me, and you’ll walk out of here and you won’t bother me again?”
“You got it.”
MacAullif rubbed his hands together. “You got a deal.”
“Fine,” I said, and walked out.
After that, the afternoon court session was unbearable. It was sheer torture to sit there, knowing what I knew now. I couldn’t focus in on any of it. I could barely hear a word. All I could think about was the murder case, MacAullif and the phone bill.
When Judge Davis finally let us go, I raced back to MacAullif’s office to see if he’d gotten it.
He had. He picked up a piece of paper from his desk, looked at it. “Getting this was no picnic, believe me. It’s not an official phone bill, but a printout of what’s gonna be on it.” He looked at it again and passed it over.
I grabbed it and checked the calls. The area code 513 leaped off the page. I let out a sigh.
MacAullif was watching me carefully. “That what you wanted?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Confirm your theory?”
“Yes, it does.”
“So, what is it?”
I shook my head. “I gotta check it out first.”
MacAullif scowled. “Son of a bitch.”
“I’m sorry to be a hardass,” I said. “But you’re the one who took the hard line with this, givin’ me my one shot. Well, I’m takin’ it, but I’m not tellin’ you what it is and taking a lot of crap from you before I got the facts to back it up. I promise I’ll call you tonight and tell you the whole thing.”
“I won’t be here tonight.”
“I’ll call you at home.”
“I don’t want you to call me at home.”
“There’s no help for it. After I crack this thing, we’re gonna have to move fast. You know Sergeant Thurman’s home number?”
“Not offhand.”
“Better get it. After I call you, you’re gonna have to call him.”
“I don’t wanna call him.”
“You’re gonna have to. ’Cause he’s not gonna listen to me.”
“He’s not gonna listen to me either.”
“He will if you’re handing him a bust.”
“Damn it,” MacAullif said. “I knew it. I said I’d do one thing for you. I did it, now you’re askin’ me to do something else.”
I put up my hands. “Sorry,” I said. “I take it back. I’m not asking you to do shit. I’m suggesting you have Sergeant Thurman’s phone number handy just in case you feel like giving him a call. Because I have a feeling, after I talk to you, you just might want to do that. But that’s entirely up to you. You’re a big boy, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
I got out of there before he threw a chair at me.
39.
ALICE WAS WAITING BY THE door when I got home.
The avenging angel.
“Did you get it?”
“Yes.”
“Was it t
here?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did you call yet?”
“Not yet. I gotta do it now.”
Tommie came bouncing out of his room, wanting me to play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on his Nintendo system. Alice intercepted him and herded him into the living room, leaving me to make the call.
I went into the kitchen, took out the paper MacAullif had given me and punched the number into the phone.
Three rings. Four rings. Shit, she’s not home. Five rings.
Then a click, and a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”
“Hello? Velma?” I said.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name’s Stanley Hastings. I’m a friend of Sherry Fontaine.”
“Oh?” she said. “A friend of Sherry’s? I don’t think she ever mentioned you. But I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Yes,” I said. “Then I guess you haven’t heard.”
“Heard what?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Sherry Fontaine is dead.”
There was a silence on the line. Then a small gasp. “What?”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Dead?” she said. “Oh, no. It can’t be. I just spoke to her last week.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why I’m calling.”
“What? I’m sorry. This is too awful. I don’t understand.”
“I know. This is very hard. Just listen a minute.” I took a breath. “Sherry’s death was no accident. She was murdered last Thursday night.”
“Oh, my god!”
“I know,” I said. “Velma, listen. I know this is very painful, but it’s important. I’m investigating the murder, and I need your help. See, I know Sherry called you last Tuesday night, and I know why. And I know you’re not gonna want to talk about it. But you have to. Because someone killed Sherry, and he cannot get away with it. I will not let him get away with it. And you can’t let him get away with it either.
“I know this is all sudden, and it’s a terrible shock, so I’m asking you. Take your time. Think about it. And then talk to me. I’m asking you. For Sherry. Talk to me. Please.”
She did.
40.
RALPH WAS BACK TO HIS OLD grouchy self. “You can’t do it,” he snapped. He seemed pleased at making the pronouncement.
