The Chill

by Ross Macdonald

  “Did he say anything about running out on her?”

  “No.”

  “I hope he’s changed his mind.” I told Godwin about my meeting with Kincaid senior, and Alex’s departure with his father.

  “You can’t entirely blame him for falling by the wayside momentarily. He’s young, and under great strain.” Godwin’s changeable eyes lit up. “The important thing, for him as well as Dolly, is that he decided to come back.”

  “How is she?”

  “Calmer, I think. She didn’t want to talk tonight, at least not to me.”

  “Will you let me have a try at her?”

  “No.”

  “I almost regret bringing you into this case, doctor.”

  “I’ve been told that before, and less politely,” he said with a stubborn smile. “But once I’m in I’m in, and I’ll continue to do as I think best.”

  “I’m sure you will. Did you see the evening paper?”

  “I saw it.”

  “Does Dolly know what’s going on outside? About the gun, for instance?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you think she should be told?”

  He spread out his hands on the scarred desk-top. “I’m trying to simplify her problems, not add to them. She had so many pressures on her last night, from both the past and the present, that she was on the verge of a psychotic breakthrough. We don’t want that to happen.”

  “Will you be able to protect her from police questioning?”

  “Not indefinitely. The best possible protection would be a solution to this case absolving her.”

  “I’m working on it. I talked to her Aunt Alice this morning, and looked over the scene of the McGee killing. I became pretty well convinced that even if McGee did kill his wife, which I doubt, Dolly couldn’t have identified him as he left the house. In other words her testimony at his trial was cooked.”

  “Alice Jenks convinced you of this?”

  “The physical layout did. Miss Jenks did her best to convince me of the opposite, that McGee was guilty. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the main motive power behind the case against him.”

  “He was guilty.”

  “So you’ve said. I wish you’d go into your reasons for believing that.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. It has to do with the confidences of a patient.”

  “Constance McGee?”

  “Mrs. McGee wasn’t formally a patient. But you can’t treat a child without treating the parents.”

  “And she confided in you?”

  “Naturally, to some extent. For the most part we talked about her family problems.” Godwin was feeling his way carefully. His face was bland. Under the lamp his bald head gleamed like a metal dome in moonlight.

  “Her sister Alice made an interesting slip. She said there was no other man in Constance’s life. I didn’t ask her. Alice volunteered the information.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I thought so. Was Constance in love with another man at the time she was shot?”

  Godwin nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “Who was he?”

  “I have no intention of telling you. He’s suffered enough.” A shadow of the suffering passed across his own face. “I’ve told you this much because I want you to understand that McGee had a motive, and was certainly guilty.”

  “I think he was framed, just as Dolly is being framed.”

  “We agree on the latter point. Why can’t we settle for that?”

  “Because there have been three killings, and they’re connected. They’re connected subjectively, as you would say, in Dolly’s mind. I believe they’re objectively connected, too. They may all have been done by the same person.”

  Godwin didn’t ask me who. It was just as well. I was talking over my head, and I had no suspect.

  “What third killing are you referring to?”

  “The death of Luke Deloney, a man I never heard of until tonight. I met Helen Haggerty’s mother at the L.A. airport and had a talk with her on the way down here. According to her, Deloney shot himself by accident while cleaning a gun. But Helen claimed he was murdered and said she knew a witness. The witness may have been herself. At any rate she quarreled with her father on the issue—he seems to have been the detective in charge of the case—and ran away from home. All this was over twenty years ago.”

  “You seriously think it’s connected with the present case?”

  “Helen thought so. Her death makes her an authority on the subject.”

  “What do you propose to do about it?”

  “I’d like to fly to Illinois tonight and talk to Helen’s father. But I can’t afford to do it on my own hook.”

  “You could phone him.”

  “I could. My sense of the situation is that it would do more harm than good. He may be a tough nut to crack.”

  Godwin said after a minute’s thought: “I might consider backing you.”

  “You’re a generous man.”

  “A curious one,” he said. “Remember I’ve been living with this case for over ten years. I’d give a good deal to see it ended.”

  “Let me talk to Alex first, and ask him how he feels about laying out more money.”

  Godwin inclined his head and remained bowing as he stood up. He wasn’t bowing to me. It was more of a general and habitual bow, as if he could feel the weight of the stars and was asking their permission to take part of the weight on human shoulders.

  “I’ll get him out of there. He’s stayed long enough.”

  Godwin disappeared down the hallway. A few minutes later Alex came back alone. He walked like a man in a tunnel underground, but his face was more serene than I’d ever seen it.

  He paused in the doorway. “Dr. Godwin said you were here.”

  “I’m surprised to see you.”

  Hurt and embarrassment flickered across the upper part of his face. He brushed at it impatiently with his fingers. Then he stepped into the office, shutting the door behind him and leaning on it.

  “I made a fool of myself today. I tried to chicken out.”

  “It takes guts to admit it.”

  “Don’t gloss it over,” he said sharply. “I was really lousy. It’s funny, when Dad gets upset it has a peculiar effect on me. It’s like sympathetic vibrations: he goes to pieces, I go to pieces. Not that I’m blaming him.”

  “I’m blaming him.”

  “Please don’t. You have no right to.” His eyebrows knitted. “The company’s talking about bringing in computers to handle most of the work in the office. Dad’s afraid he can’t adjust, and I guess it makes him afraid of things in general.”

  “You’ve been doing some thinking.”

  “I had to. You started me off with what you said about annulling myself. I felt that way when I went home with Dadas though I wasn’t a man any more.” He pushed himself clear of the door and balanced himself on his feet, his arms swinging slightly at his sides. “It’s really amazing, you know? You really can make a decision inside yourself. You can decide to be one thing or the other.”

  The only trouble was that you had to make the decision every hour on the hour. But he would have to find that out for himself.

  “How is your wife?” I said.

  “She actually seemed glad to see me. Have you talked to her?”

  “Dr. Godwin wouldn’t let me.”

  “He wouldn’t let me, either, till I promised not to ask her any questions. I didn’t, but the subject of the revolver came up. She’d heard two of the aides talking about some newspaper story—”

  “It’s in the local paper What did she have to say about the gun?”

  ‘It isn’t hers. Somebody must have hidden it under her mattress. She asked me to describe it, and she said it sounded like her Aunt Alice’s revolver. Her aunt used to keep it on her bedside table at night. Dolly was sort of fascinated by it when she was a little girl.” He breathed deeply. “Apparently she saw her aunt threaten her father with it. I didn’t want her to go in
to all that stuff but I couldn’t prevent her. She calmed down again after a while.’”

  “At least she’s stopped blaming herself for Helen Haggerty’s death.”

  “She hasn’t, though. She still says it was her fault. Everything’s her fault.”

  “In what way?”

  “She didn’t go into it. I didn’t want her to.”

  “You mean Dr. Godwin didn’t want you to.”

  “That’s right. He’s calling the shots. I guess he knows more about her than I ever will.”

  “I take it you’re going on with your marriage?” I said.

  “We have to. I realized that today. People can’t walk out on each other when they’re in this kind of trouble. I think maybe Dolly realizes it, too. She didn’t turn her back on me or anything.”

  “What else did you talk about?”

  “Nothing important. The other patients, mostly. There’s one old lady with a broken hip who doesn’t want to stay in bed. Dolly’s been sort of looking after her.” It seemed important to him. “She can’t be so very sick herself.” It was an implied question.

  “You’ll have to take that up with the doctor.”

  “He isn’t saying much. He wants to give her some psychological tests tomorrow. I told him to go ahead.”

  “Do I have your go-ahead, too?”

  “Naturally. I was hoping you’d take that for granted. I want you to do everything you can to settle this thing. I’ll give you a written contract—”

  “That won’t be necessary. But it’s going to cost you money.”

  “How much money?”

  “A couple of thousand, maybe a good deal more.”

  I told him about the Reno end of the case, which Arnie and Phyllis Walters were handling, and about the Bridgeton situation which I wanted to explore. I also advised him to talk to Jerry Marks first thing in the morning.

  “Will Mr. Marks be available on a Sunday?”

  “Yes. I’ve already set him up for you. Of course you’re going to have to give him a retainer.”

  “I have some savings bonds,” he said thoughtfully, “and I can borrow on my insurance policy. Meantime I can sell the car. It’s paid for, and I’ve been offered two five for it. I was getting pretty tired of sports car rallies and all that jazz. It’s kid stuff.”

  chapter 18

  THE FRONT DOORBELL RANG. Someone trotted past the office door to answer it. It was getting late for visitors, and I went out and followed the aide along the hallway. The four patients were still watching the television screen as if it was a window on the outside world.

  Whoever had rung the bell was knocking now, rather violently.

  “Just a minute,” the aide said through the door. She got her key into the lock and opened it partly. “Who is it? Who do you want to see?”

  It was Alice Jenks. She tried to push her way in, but the aide had her white shoe against the door.

  “I wish to see my niece, Dolly McGee.”

  “We have no such patient.”

  “She calls herself Dolly Kincaid now.”

  “I can’t let you in to see anyone without doctor’s permission.”

  “Is Godwin here?”

  “I think so.”

  “Get him,” Miss Jenks said peremptorily.

  The girl’s Latin temper flared. “I don’t take orders from you,” she said in a hissing whisper. “And keep your voice down. We have people trying to rest.”

  “Get Dr. Godwin.”

  “Don’t worry, I intend to. But you’ll have to wait outside.”

  “It will be a pleasure.”

  I stepped between them before the nurse closed the door and said to Miss Jenks: “May I speak to you for a minute?”

  She peered at me through fogged glasses. “So you’re here, too.”

  “I’m here, too.”

  I stepped out under the outside light and heard the door shut behind me. The air was chilly after the hot-house atmosphere of the nursing home. Miss Jenks had on a thick fur-collared coat which made her figure massive in the gloom. Droplets of water glistened in the fur, and in her graying hair.

  “What do you want with Dolly?”

  “It’s none of your business. She’s my flesh and blood, not yours.”

  “Dolly has a husband. I represent him.”

  “You can go and represent him in some other constituency. I’m not interested in you or her husband.”

  “But suddenly you’re interested in Dolly. Does it have anything to do with the story in the paper?”

  “Maybe it has and maybe it hasn’t.” In her language, that meant yes. She added defensively: “I’ve been interested in Dolly since she was born. I know better than a lot of strangers what’s good for her.”

  “Dr. Godwin isn’t a stranger.”

  “No. I wish he was.”

  “I hope you’re not thinking of taking her out of here.”

  “Maybe I am and maybe I’m not.” She dug some Kleenex out of her purse and used it to clean her glasses. I could see a newspaper folded small in the purse.

  “Miss Jenks, did you read the description of the revolver that was found in Dolly’s bed?”

  She replaced her glasses quickly, as though to cover the startled look in her eyes. “Naturally I read it.”

  “Did it ring any bell with you?”

  “Yes. It sounded like the revolver I used to have, so I came into town to the courthouse to have a look at it. It looks like mine all right.”

  “You admit that?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? I haven’t seen it for over ten years.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  Of course I can prove it. It was stolen from my house before Constance was shot. Sheriff Crane theorized at the time that it might have been the gun McGee used on her. He still thinks so. McGee could easily have taken it. He knew where it was, in my bedroom.”

  You didn’t tell me all this this morning.”

  “I didn’t think of it. It was only theory, anyway. You were interested in facts.”

  “I’m interested in both, Miss Jenks. What’s the police theory now? That McGee killed Miss Haggerty and tried to frame his daughter?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him. A man who would do what he did to his wife—” Her voice sank out of hearing in her throat.

  “And they want to use his daugher to nail McGee again?”

  She didn’t answer me. Lights went on inside, and there were sounds of movement culminating in Godwin’s opening the door. He shook his keys at us, grinning fiercely.

  “Come inside, Miss Jenks.”

  She stamped up the concrete steps. Godwin had cleared the front room of everyone but Alex, who was sitting on a chair against the wall. I stood unobtrusively in the corner beside the silent television set.

  She faced him, almost as tall in heels as he was, almost as wide in her coat, almost as stubborn in her pride. “I don’t approve of what you’re doing, Dr. Godwin.”

  “What am I doing?” He sat on the arm of a chair and crossed his legs.

  “You know what I’m referring to. My niece. Keeping her cooped up here in defiance of the constituted authorities.”

  “There’s no defiance involved. I try to do my duty, the Sheriff tries to do his. Sometimes we come into conflict. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Sheriff Crane is right and I’m wrong.”

  “It does to me.”

  “I’m not surprised. We’ve disagreed before, on a similar issue. You and your friend the Sheriff had your way on that occasion, unfortunately for your niece.”

  “It did her no harm to testify. Truth is truth.”

  “And trauma is trauma. It did her incalculable harm, which she’s still suffering under.”

  “I’d like to see that for myself.”

  “So you can make a full report to the Sheriff?”

  “Good citizens cooperate with the law,” she said sententiously. “But I’m not here on the Sheriff’s behalf. I came here to help my niece.”

  “How do
you propose to help her?”

  “I’m going to take her home with me.”

  Godwin stood up shaking his head.

  “You can’t stop me. I’ve been her guardian since her mother died. The law will back me up.”

  “I think not,” Godwin said coldly. “Dolly’s of age, and she’s here of her own free will.”

  “I’d like to ask her that question for myself.”

  “You’re not going to ask her any questions.”

  The woman took a step toward him and thrust her head forward on her neck. “You think you’re a little tin god, don’t you, masterminding my family’s affairs? I say you’ve got no right to keep her here under duress, making us all look bad. I’ve got a position to keep up in this county. I spent the day with some very high-level people from Sacramento.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow your logic But keep your voice down, please.” Godwin himself was using the slow weary monotone that I had first heard on the telephone twenty-four hours before. “And let me assure you again, your niece is here of her own free will.”

  “That’s right.” Alex came forward into the verbal line of fire. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Alex Kincaid, Dolly’s husband.”

  She disregarded his hand.

  “I think it’s important for her to stay here,” he said. “I have confidence in the doctor, and so has my wife.”

  “I’m sorry for you then. He had me bamboozled, too, until I found out what went on in his office.”

  Alex looked inquiringly at Godwin. The doctor turned his hands out as if he was feeling for rain. He said to Miss Jenks:

  “You graduated in sociology, I believe.”

  “What if I did?”

  “From a woman of your training and background, I’d expect a more professional attitude toward the practice of psychiatry.”

  “Im not talking about the practice of psychiatry. I’m talking about the practice of other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “I wouldn’t soil my tongue with them. But please don’t think I didn’t know my sister and what went on in her life. I’ve been remembering things—the way she used to primp and preen Saturday mornings before she came in to town. And then she wanted to move here, to be closer.”