The Wayward Widow

by William Campbell Gault

I went out to the pool for a while and soaked in the warm afternoon sun. Guilt nagged me; I was loafing on Mrs. Greene’s time, but I needed peace of mind enough to consider this case rationally.

  It didn’t seem logical to me that Carol Destry or Hawley had been able to kill Elmer Duggan in the length of time they had stayed out at the car that night. Of course, they could have stabbed him before they came home.

  That was highly doubtful, though. Unless Lieutenant Ortega was a lot less efficient than I believed him to be, Hawley and Miss Destry had been checked in detail for their actions of that evening.

  I picked up some groceries at the supermarket and made my own dinner. I was reading a Los Angeles paper I had bought when Mona Greene phoned.

  “Hello,” I said cheerfully. “Was that your car I saw over near the country club?”

  “It was. Why?”

  “I just wondered. You were out on the pier talking to Slauson, weren’t you?”

  “I was. Are you checking me?”

  “No. Was your conversation with the chief anything I should know about?”

  “I don’t know. I can tell you this, though. He is also president of the Halcyon Country Club and they’ve been leasing the land from me and he wanted to know if they could buy it now. I guess the club is finally solvent.”

  “I see,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “At the moment, I’m talking to you. I’ve just finished a dull book. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I’m bored.”

  “So am I,” she said. “Why do you think I phoned?” I felt less bored. I said nothing. She said, “I’ve let the maid use my car to go into Ventura to see some relatives. She’ll be back around two o’clock. I told her not to come back any earlier than that.”

  “I’m on the way,” I told her. When I got there, she was on the balcony looking out at the ocean. Beyond the ocean, the hills were beginning to hide the setting sun.

  “Mix us a pair of drinks,” she said, “and come out here and tell me about your day.”

  I did as she suggested. When I’d finished telling her about my day, she said, “You really didn’t have much fun until you fought with this Hawley person, did you?”

  “I wouldn’t call that fun,” I said. She chuckled. “Not for a reasonable human being. But I’ll bet you enjoyed every second of it, particularly when you hit him.”

  “Get off my back,” I said. “Nobody’s perfect. Do you know young Malcolm?”

  “I know his father very well. They’re a fine family. So his son was one of those three hoodlums?”

  “He’s a good kid. That Lenny punk, Hawley’s nephew, had young Malcolm on the wrong road for a while, but he’s off it now. I don’t suppose you know Hawley? Even if he belonged to the right clubs, he’d be out of your clique.”

  “I don’t belong to any clique, Mr. Puma. Anyone who was friendly with Carol Destry would naturally be outside my circle of acquaintanceship.”

  “Naturally,” I said wearily. “Why don’t you call me Mr. Puma when we’re making love?”

  She stared at me, the blue eyes frigid. “Why don’t you get off the vulgarity kick for one evening?”

  “You bring it out of me,” I said. “You and your everything for appearances. For an intelligent, communicative woman, you can occasionally get unbearably stuffy.”

  She continued to stare at me. Then the eyes softened. “I’ve been told almost exactly that before.” She paused. “By another man, a man I knew long ago.”

  “Dennis Greene?” She shook her head. She stared out at the water.

  “I like you,” I said. “I think a lot of you and think of you a lot. But you should be married.”

  She smiled sadly. “Is that an offer?” I shook my head. “I could never marry a rich woman. It would destroy me.” I finished my drink and stood up.

  Maybe it was the memory of that other man, the man who had made her sad, but she was a tiger that night. Demanding, active, artful, noisy and writhing, insatiable and full of physical fury.

  It was almost as much fun as fighting Hawley. I won’t lie; it was more.

  And when we’d finished, she asked a strange thing. She asked, “Do you love me, Joe Puma?”

  “Now I do. Right now and ever since we finished that drink. But I love easily; I love at the drop of an eyelid, so maybe my loving you now isn’t much of a compliment.

  “Now’s enough for now.” She smiled, and then began to cry a little.

  “What was he like?” I asked her, “this man who told you almost exactly what I did?”

  “Don’t pry,” she said. “Don’t be a detective when you’re off duty.”

  Something clicked in my mind, fighting for cognizance. I reached for it mentally and it disappeared. I said, “I wasn’t being a detective. It’s one-thirty, Mona. The maid will be back soon.” She nodded. “You’d better go. And Joe, don’t be disheartened about your apparent lack of success. You’ve learned a lot and you’ll learn more.”

  • • •

  I was back at the motel in ten minutes and sound asleep five minutes after that. And it seemed like ten minutes after that when somebody rang my front doorbell, incessantly and insistently.

  I got up swearing and stubbed my toe before I could find the light switch. I stumbled to the door and opened it.

  And there stood Sergeant Purvis. The silly son-of-a-bitch had a mean smile on his face and a gun pointed right at my belly.

  “Get some clothes on,” he said. “I’ve finally got you where I want you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  AND WHERE IS THAT?” I asked him mildly.

  “In front of my gun. Come on, move! You’re on your way to Headquarters.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can be charged with murder and held for trial.”

  “Take it easy,” I said. “Come in; I’m getting cold.” He came in, the gun steady in his hand. He closed the door behind him without turning around.

  “Let’s make some sense,” I said. “If I’m to be charged with suspicion of murder, I’d like to know which murder.”

  “Don’t talk, he said, “Just get dressed. Don’t stall or talk or make any unnecessary moves or I’ll consider it resisting arrest.” His voice was trembling.

  The bastard wanted to shoot me; it hadn’t been fear that had made his voice tremble. I dressed without talking or stalling or making any unnecessary moves, and went out with him to the car.

  Another officer was in the car, a uniformed man. He drove, and I sat in back with Purvis, saying nothing, trying to imagine which murder he could possibly connect me with. It had to be Elmer Duggan’s.

  When we came into the station, I said to the man at the desk, “I would like to talk with the man in charge.”

  The man at the desk smiled. “You’re with him, Mr. Puma. He brought you in.”

  Some town, a lousy sergeant in charge at night. Some town.

  Purvis said, “This way, Puma.”

  “I’d like to make phone call,” I said. “I’m permitted to make one call, am I not?”

  “Later,” Purvis said. “Are you coming?” His voice trembled.

  “Here I come,” I said lightly, “ready or not.”

  “And keep some respect in your voice,” he said. “Is that clear?”

  I nodded and followed him down the hall. At the far end, he opened a door to his right, and we went into a small and lighted and occupied room.

  The occupant was a uniformed man. But he didn’t have his jacket on. He was a big man, an ugly man, pockmarked and slope-shouldered and in need of a shave — a sloppy cop. A sloppy, mean cop, I would guess.

  There was a small table in the room and a couple of straight-backed chairs and one stiff, wooden chair with arms and a high back. The unshaded 250-watt bulb was above this and slightly in front of it.

  “Sit there,” Purvis said, “and start talking.” He pointed at the chair with arms.

  The fat officer moved it back a few inches, so the light would be more directly in
my face.

  I sat down and looked between them. Fatso licked his lips like a hungry cat. I looked at the floor.

  Purvis said, “We’re waiting.”

  “I don’t know what to talk about,” I said. “This sort of thing might be okay in Georgia or Miami, Sergeant, but Chief Slauson won’t stand still for it.”

  “What sort of thing?” he asked quietly.

  “Threatening me. Trying to pull a fast one with lard-ass here in the middle of the night, just because you’re in charge. You won’t get away with it.”

  The fat man moved over to stand directly in front of me. “What did you call me?”

  I looked up at him. “Nothing. Do you want to identify yourself? We might meet again.”

  The back of his hand came around and caught me high on the cheek. My head thudded against the hard back of the chair and I started to get up.

  “Don’t move,” Purvis said. “Don’t move a muscle.” I stopped, half in, half out of the chair. I stared at the gun in his hand and sat back quietly. I said softly, “I want a lawyer. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull and I’m not going to say anything until I get a lawyer.”

  The fat man said, “Just tell us where you were between midnight and one o’clock. Just tell us that and we’ll check it and maybe you won’t need a lawyer.”

  Between midnight and one o’clock. So that was Purvis’ game. He must have known where I was and wanted to discredit me and smear her and completely alienate Lieutenant Ortega. I asked, “Tonight? What difference does it make where I was between midnight and one o’clock tonight? What happened then?”

  “You know what happened,” Purvis said.

  “A lot of things might have happened. But when you picked me up, you said the charge was suspicion of murder.”

  He nodded. “Tell us about it.”

  “I’ll try to,” I said, “if you’ll tell me which murder you’re talking about, Greene’s or Duggan’s.”

  “I’m not talking about Greene or Duggan,” he said, “and you know it. I’m talking about the murder Doc West said took place between midnight and one o’clock tonight.”

  “It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” I said. “Who was killed?”

  “Don’t lie to us,” Fatso said. “There’s been nothing but trouble in this town since you came. Start talking and save yourself some lumps.”

  I said nothing. Somewhere a switch clicked and there was the whirring sound of a fan. The room was already hot; I assumed it wasn’t the heating system fan.

  “Lost your tongue?” Purvis asked.

  “Not my tongue, my mind,” I told him. “This whole scene is ridiculous. I must be dreaming.”

  “It’s simple enough,” he said. “We just want to know where you were tonight.”

  “Get me a stenographer,” I said, “and let me phone a lawyer and we can all get together for a statement.”

  I could feel the draft of the blower now, and it had been a heating fan. Warm air poured into the hot room. It had been a debilitating evening and a short sleep; nausea stirred faintly in my stomach.

  Fatso said quietly, “He wants to play it cool, Sergeant. He’s stalling. He’s tricky.”

  Sergeant Purvis nodded. He smiled and pulled one of the other chairs over closer to mine.

  I said, “Could I have a drink of water? I’m a little nauseous.”

  He nodded and went out. Fatso moved closer and I could smell his B.O. now. My nausea grew.

  He said, “The sergeant is trying to be a gentleman. I don’t figure a police officer has to be a gentleman around a crummy shamus.”

  “You’ve got a point there,” I said politely. “As soon as I’m properly represented by an attorney, I’ll tell you anything he advises me to tell you. Phone Mr. Winters of Winters, Delamater, Hartford and Smith. Or let me phone him.”

  He laughed quietly. “Winters? He wouldn’t be seen in the same room with a slob like you, Puma. Who you trying to kid?”

  “Phone him,” I said. “Or get Lieutenant Ortega or Chief Slauson. They should be down here, anyway, if there’s been another murder. Haven’t they been notified?”

  “Sergeant Purvis is in charge,” he said softly.

  “Okay. Throw me into a cell, then, and I’ll wait for them. Or a lawyer. I didn’t kill anybody and I think you both know it. I want to go to sleep. I’m tired and I’m sick.” Sweat ran down my chest.

  “You can get sicker,” he said. Then Sergeant Purvis came in with a big paper cup full of water and I drank it down without stopping.

  And knew as I finished that it had held something besides water. Anger moved through me, and I fought it, knowing it was the drug that was killing my caution. My hands began to tremble violently.

  I took a firm grip on the arms of the chair and said evenly, “I need a doctor. Please! Quick!”

  Fatso laughed and came over to slap my face. The world exploded into a red flame and I was up and out of the chair, reaching for his fat neck.

  He hadn’t expected that quick a reaction; he stumbled, trying to back up and my right hand found his neck and my knee found his groin. He went down and I was on top of him.

  And in that second, I thought of Purvis standing over both of us, an armed Purvis. And though it was usually an advantage, being on top of a man, I didn’t think it was an advantage at the moment. I rolled to the right as Fatso got halfway up.

  The bulk of him must have been between Purvis and me, though I couldn’t see either of them clearly. But I heard Purvis shout, “Out of the way, Schultz!”

  But Schultz had been kneed in the groin and choked and he wasn’t thinking too well at the moment. Rage had replaced whatever reason he normally operated on. The bulk of him was shadowed by the big bulb overhead as he closed in on me.

  I was up against the wall and my knees were starting to bend and only the wall was holding me now. Schultz came in and something smashed against the side of my face and my head bounced against the wall and I groped at it futilely, scratching the smooth plaster with my fingernails, fighting for any support that would keep me aloft and functioning.

  Then I was down and he was booting me in the ribs. And just before the darkness came, I thought I heard someone shout, “Stop that! God damn it, stop that!”

  And it didn’t seem to be Purvis’ voice but maybe it was only a hallucination, the wishful dreams of a doomed man. The night came down like thunder.

  • • •

  The hospital was north, on the highway leading out of town. It was in the real country and I could see the hills to the north and east through my window and a new housing development that had sprung up around the new school to the north.

  Four ribs had been broken and one of them had bothered the head staff man here; they had thought it might have pierced my lung. But it hadn’t, and I was alive and almost human. I was glad of that, and surprised, too.

  The first time I came to, Ortega was there. He told me who had died. Hawley. He had been found in the lake on the Halcyon Country Club property, his feet above the surface, strange as that may seem, and his head in the mud at the shallow end of the lake. There had been a rock tied around his neck.

  A real rational killer. First a screwdriver and then this.

  Ortega said, “Naturally, considering the fight you had with him in the afternoon that the Devlin boy told us about, Purvis went directly to your motel to pick you up.”

  “Don’t say naturally, Lieutenant. And who is the Devlin boy?”

  “Hawley’s nephew.”

  “Oh yes, Lenny.” He nodded. “And why shouldn’t I call it natural?”

  “Because there’s nothing natural about your sweet Sergeant Purvis. He’s a sick man, Lieutenant.”

  “You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble by simply telling them where you were between midnight and one o’clock.”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “Do you want to tell me where you were then?” I shook my head. “I want to tell Chief Slauson. Would you tell him I’d
like to speak with him? Would you tell him he’s the only man from the San Valdesto Police Department that I’ll ever talk to?”

  He flushed. “It might interest you to know that both Sergeant Purvis and Officer Schultz are under temporary suspension. It might interest you to know that if I hadn’t come down to Headquarters when I did, Schultz might have done you a lot more damage.”

  “I can believe,” I said evenly, “that Chief Slauson suspended Schultz and Purvis. But you didn’t save my life; Schultz did.”

  He stared at me, frowning. “You’re still not well, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”

  He colored again. The light of resentment was once again in his eyes.

  He said, “I’ll tell the chief you want to see him. I’m sorry you feel about me as you do.”

  I closed my eyes. It was a number of seconds after that when I heard my door close.

  Chief Slauson came that afternoon, the man who was built like Gregory Peck and combed his hair like Herbert Hoover. He smiled and said I was looking better than he had expected I would.

  I said, “Do you want me to tell you where I was between midnight and one o’clock of the fateful night?”

  “I already know,” he said. “Mrs. Greene came in and talked with me, and I believe her implicitly, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said. “But would you believe her just as implicitly if she didn’t own the land your lousy country club was on?”

  He smiled. “I see you’re not a golfer.”

  “What you see is that I’m a poor man. I guess you can’t help that; it was a thing you were automatically conditioned to notice.”

  He took a deep breath and stared at me. He sat down in the straight chair and said quietly. “Let’s get to the beginning of this new attitude. When did it start?”

  “It started on the first day, when I drove up to Halcyon Heights to see Miss Destry. It was buttressed by Ortega warning me that Purvis had some big connections in this town, by your admission that too much trouble would be caused by an exhumation of Dennis Green’s body, by Ortega’s regard for Doctor West, by all the pussyfooting that has been going on ever since — ” I stopped and put a hand to my head. “You’re giving me a headache.”