I didn’t think a Max-devised alibi would ring true to Carol. Max has a habit of elaborating to the point of fantasy. But I said, “Okay, Max. I’ll see you at the office.”
I went back to the dark kitchen and sat near the window. I thought that perhaps I could understand Lynn’s resentment, now. She liked to think of herself as a freedom-loving child of the night; the newspapers were going to make her out a home-breaking tramp in a sordid love nest. It was her own picture of herself that was in danger.
I went into the bathroom and filled the tub with water as hot as I could stand it. I soaked myself in that until the water began to cool.
But it was still a restless sleep and I came back to life with the sun. I put the coffee on to perk and put on a robe before going out to the driveway to pick up the Times.
I was mentioned in the Times account of the death of Tom Edlinger, mentioned as the man who had discovered Tom’s body. Lynn was not mentioned, nor any of the gang at Heeney’s.
I scrambled three eggs and fried some bacon and made toast and tried to interest myself in the sport pages but failed.
At 8:30 I was at the office, the first to arrive. Max came in a little later, looking tired and worried.
He stared at me a few seconds, and shook his head. “You jerk.”
I said nothing.
“She’s a dish, all right,” he went on. “I’ll grant you that. But Jim, next time, spend a hundred dollars. Get a professional. You’d be amazed at the class of the hundred-dollar girls in this town.” He smiled sadly. “Next time, come to Uncle Max, huh?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I told him. “It isn’t like that. That kind of talk makes me sick, Max.”
He stared at me. “Isn’t …? You still lust for this doll?”
“I like her and respect her.”
He took a deep breath. “Gawd …! Oi … Jesus, Jim boy …” He expelled his breath and walked over to the window.
Finally, he turned to face me again and his voice was quiet and level. “You come from Iowa to this — this phony, phony Southern California. You work too hard and maybe you fret because you think you’re missing something. You’ve got partner trouble and maybe — maybe domestic trouble?”
I shook my head.
“Okay,” he said, “but you got what all marriages got, too much of the same thing and not enough of the big thing. That’s all right; who hasn’t? So the first chance you get, you kick over the traces and spend a night off-limits. This is historic?”
“To me.”
“To you, maybe. But not to anybody else you know, I’ll bet. So your situation has complications and will need a little finagling. But no, you’re an honorable man, and nobody must get hurt.” He paused. “Wait … Maybe you plan to marry this Bedloe doll?”
I shook my head. “I love Carol, Max, and I love my kids.”
He nodded. “Good. And the big thing is to save that, right?”
“That’s right, Max. But in my way. Let’s not talk about it any more right now.” I went to the cooler to get a glass of water. I said, “Colonel Dean was in yesterday.”
“Oh …? Something good?”
“A fortune, Max.” I told him all about it.
Max’s voice was a whisper. “Devon’s … How about the local merchants, Jim? They’ve been fighting Bullock’s and Robinson’s.”
“I don’t think anybody in this town wants to fight Colonel Dean,” I said.
‘That’s right. Yes, of course …” He looked at me smilingly. “And I’ll bet the Colonel wasn’t too hot about your including Max Schuman in this, either.”
I shrugged.
Max’s voice was still low. “But maybe you insisted, Jim?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t insist. He said I could decide either way.”
“So you decided my way, like the honest Iowa boy you are.”
“We’re partners, Max.”
“I know. And it means something to me, too, Jim.” He went back to the window, to look out. “Jim, my — father wasn’t in the — the — ah — investment business. He was a pawnbroker.”
I wondered what it had cost him to say that. I said, “So, isn’t that the investment business?”
He turned back to smile at me. “You always say the right thing, Jim. You’ve a talent for it.”
“Oh, I’m just a nice guy,” I said. “If it would help business any, I’d hang three balls out in front right now.”
He shook his head and chuckled.
From the doorway, somebody said, “Pardon me!”
The door had been open and we hadn’t seen Miss Padbury come in.
I nodded. “Did you talk to your Mr. Chopko last night?”
“He’s not my Mr. Chopko, Mr. Gulliver. He’ll be in at ten.” She went to the closet to hang up her coat. She went to the outer office without looking at me again.
I thought of Max making the confession and was touched a little. And I thought that perhaps Adele had told him she’d told me, and wondered if I was anti-Semitic; or less pathological, if I was only anti-Max?
Max stuck his head through my doorway to say, “I’ll go and pick up a Star, Jim. And I might get a cup of coffee. Nothing hot cooking, is there?”
I shook my head and he went out.
He was back in less than five minutes and he had a paper with him. He spread it on my desk, and I saw the picture of Lynn looking startled and frightened and my angry face over her shoulder.
The Caption Read: LOAN BROKER CLAIMS LOVE NEST ALIBI IN CANYON KILLING.
“The Star ran a series on moneylenders about a month ago,” Max went on. “Maybe circulation is down again and they’ll start a new series with this.”
I read aloud, “… a partner in the firm of Gulliver-Schuman.” I looked up at Max. “They didn’t overlook anything.”
“Personally,” Max said, “they can hurt you. But not the business. People who come to us want money, Jim, not character references. What gets me is who gave them all that dope?”
“Detective Sergeant Dyke, out of the West Side Station. A real, first class son-of-a-bitch.”
Max looked startled. “Jim, that doesn’t sound like you. This guy must have really annoyed you, eh?”
“The first man in a long time,” I admitted. “But I haven’t had much experience with policemen before. What did he gain?” I asked. “Now he’s made an enemy and is no closer to the truth of the case than he ever was. And what good can a newspaper do him, especially one as anemic as this?”
Max smiled. “Relax, baby. I know you don’t like the paper. Most Republicans don’t. But they do have over two-hundred thousand circulation. I read it all the time.”
My phone rang, and it was Colonel Dean. He didn’t give me much time to say anything. He talked for less than a minute, and hung up.
My heart pounded and I couldn’t say anything for seconds.
“Colonel Dean?” Max asked.
I nodded.
“We’re out?”
“We’re out. He was sure I could understand why. No breath of scandal must endanger a deal as delicate as this one.”
Max laced his hands and clenched them. Then he smiled.
“You’re planning something,” I said, “Don’t, Max. Don’t ever cross Colonel Dean. He could ruin you in this town.”
Max continued to smile. “Jim, I’m a lot of things you don’t like. But I’m not gutless. Colonel Dean doesn’t impress me the teeniest goddamned bit. He’s just old and rich and lucky and he’s built up a reputation for being sharp. We’ll see about that.”
I shook my head. “I lost you this deal, Max. The Colonel didn’t cut you out; I did.”
“You cut me in,” he corrected me, “and the Colonel cut us both out. We’re still in, though, Jim. I’ll see you later.” He waved, and started for the door.
“Wait — Max …” I called.
He didn’t turn around; he went out and through the outer office and I heard the hall door close.
I didn’t know what he meant
to do, unless it was to go and face Colonel Dean. I had a feeling he was about to do something stupid.
At ten, Miss Padbury brought Mike Chopko into my office. She didn’t look at me; she seemed hurt. By now she had probably seen the Star.
Mike Chopko was a handsome man, broad-shouldered and genial. He waited until Miss Padbury closed the door before saying, “I can guess by the papers that you got tangled up with Sergeant Dyke.”
I nodded. “Know him?”
“Oh, yes. Anybody who ever worked out of the West Side Station knows him very well. A very ambitious man.”
“It hasn’t seemed to do him much good. Or is a sergeant’s rating better than I think it is?”
“It depends on how it’s used. A man can make a dollar on it. What stymies Sergeant Dyke is that people don’t like him very well, including his superiors.”
I thought of the man who’d taken dictation. I was silent.
Chopko said, “What did you want me to do, Mr. Gulliver?”
“Investigate the backgrounds of a group of people for me.”
“Why?”
“I want to know about them. Perhaps it could even give us a line on this murder.”
Chopko looked doubtful. “Maybe. And if it should …?”
“We’d be helping the police. Frankly, Mr. Chopko, I asked Miss Padbury to send you in before I talked to Sergeant Dyke last night. I thought, perhaps, if he knew I was co-operating with him, this morning’s headlines wouldn’t have happened. Now, they have happened — but I still want to know about these people. And I still want the killer of Tom Edlinger uncovered.”
Chopko appeared no less doubtful. “First, private investigators aren’t supposed to mess around murder cases. And second, I haven’t had much experience in the field.” He grinned. “I sound like a bad businessman, don’t I?”
“You sound like an honest one,” I corrected him. “And it’s refreshing to hear. Are you telling me you don’t want the business?”
He shook his head. “I’m not that rich. But I thought we should go into this agreement with your eyes open.”
I gave him all the names I had, Tex and Jackie and the Paiges. I told him I’d get the names of the others. I told him about Mrs. Edlinger.
He put them down in a notebook and said, “And of course, you’ll want a complete report on Miss Lynn Bedloe?”
“I hadn’t thought of it. I — well — it seems a little cold-blooded.”
“This is a murder case, Mr. Gulliver.”
“Okay,” I said. “Including Miss Lynn Bedloe.”
He nodded. “Anything else?”
“One thing.” I hesitated. “I have complete faith in Miss Padbury, you understand, but I don’t think this investigation is any of her business.”
He stood up. “Don’t worry, Mr. Gulliver, I lead two lives. And my professional life is a secret between me and my client.” He smiled. “Besides, Joyce can be a little stuffy at times. She still isn’t completely sold on the indispensability of men.”
He went out, and after the hall door closed, Miss Padbury came in. She stood near the doorway, looking embarrassed.
I waited, saying nothing, pretending to ignore her.
Finally, she said, “Mr. Gulliver …”
I kept my face blank. “Yes?”
“I’ve — seen the Star — and I — just wanted to say that, well — anyone can make a mistake.”
“Thank you, Miss Padbury,” I said. “Will you bring in the file on the Hillview loans we’ve placed?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and went out looking faintly disappointed.
I tried to keep my mind busy but was unsuccessful. At a little after eleven, I phoned Lynn.
“I’m — sorry about last night,” she said. “I was unreasonable.”
“It doesn’t matter. Have you seen the Daily Star?”
“No, but Janis Paige has and she phoned me. It’s horrible, isn’t it, Jim?”
“It’s pretty bad. Are we still friends?”
“If you want to be. I — damn it, I keep thinking of you.”
“I’m glad,” I told her. “We probably won’t see each other today. It seems sensible to guess there will be enough trouble to keep me occupied well into the night.”
I could hear her sigh. “Oh, God — Jim, you’re too nice to have something like this happen to you. It’s monstrous.”
“Nothing bad has happened to me, yet,” I said. “Let’s not anticipate trouble. It makes it twice as bad if we look forward to it.”
“All right. Jim, if you can, phone me, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I promised. “Chin up, lady.”
“I’ll try. I think I’ll go to the beach.” A pause. “And Jim, I’ll be holding my thumbs for you. Luck — honey.”
She didn’t seem to be worrying about her reputation; she was mostly concerned with mine. And probably with Carol’s attitude. But Carol was an adult; this didn’t necessarily mean she’d throw over all the good years for one silly, alcoholic night. And Carol couldn’t be sure I’d been unfaithful.
My phone rang and it was my attorney. He said, “You promised to drop in this morning, Jim.”
“I didn’t want to bother you. How are you feeling?”
“A lot better. My temperature’s down. Don’t you need me, Jim?”
“Maybe. Could we sue the Star with any hope of collecting?”
“The Star …? You mean the local paper? Did they say something about you?”
I told him about the picture and the story.
He said slowly, “I’d have to see how it was worded, Jim. But at a rough guess, it doesn’t sound like they’ve gone overboard, except for the headline. What would it gain us?”
“A sense of responsibility among their editors, possibly.”
He chuckled. “Aren’t you being a little stuffy? You stuck your neck out, Jim, and it’s logical to expect an axe in a situation like that. What we can hope for is to salvage what’s left of your reputation. It wouldn’t seem — reasonable that you’d be the man best fitted to give the Star a lesson in morality.”
I was annoyed for only a moment. Then I said, “I guess you’re right at that, Earl. Take care of yourself, and I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Do that. And don’t go tilting at any windmills without advice from counsel. I’m always available, night and day.”
I sat in the office thinking back on it. All along, my timing had been wrong. If Earl hadn’t been sick, he would probably have come down to my interview with Dyke. And Earl’s prestige might have done some good there. If Tom hadn’t been killed, no one would have known I’d spent the night at Lynn’s. If the family hadn’t gone to Arrowhead, I never would have dropped in at Heeney’s.
Added up, it seemed to make me a victim of circumstance. But there was one fallacy in the reasoning, a major one. I didn’t have to drive down Mesa Road. I didn’t have to look up Lynn Bedloe.
So far, it had cost me some reputation and the Colonel Dean deal. It had caused Lynn unnecessary anguish. All this, I could survive. The thought of Carol was the frightening one.
And how would it hit the kids? That was probably more important than Carol’s attitude. Carol knew what was going on in the world. But this was a hell of a way for the kids to find it out.
I’d warned Lynn not to anticipate trouble; it was time to take my own advice. I took the Hillview file out to Miss Padbury and told her, “I’m going to lunch. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. What time did you plan to eat?”
“I’ll have it sent in, Mr. Gulliver.” She didn’t look at me directly.
“Max will probably be back soon,” I said, “and then you can go. Or you can close the office for an hour. It doesn’t seem like we’ll miss any potential business.”
“I’ll have my lunch sent in, Mr. Gulliver. I really don’t mind eating here.”
Somehow she made it sound like the sacrifice of the year. I went out, nettled. What the hell had I done to deserve all this unwanted sympathy?
There wasn’t any reason to go to Heeney’s but that’s where I went. Heeney wasn’t behind the bar; the same bartender who had worked last night was there.
I asked him, “What’s wrong with Heeney?”
He shrugged. “Just a vacation, Mr. Gulliver. Heeney gets a little fed up at times.”
“If he’s a moralist,” I said, “he’s in the wrong business.”
The man shrugged again. “Aren’t we all?”
I looked at him steadily, but his face was bland. I asked, “Don’t you want my business?”
He looked surprised. “Of course, Mr. Gulliver. I didn’t mean to … Did I give you the wrong impression, maybe?”
“I guess.” I sighed. “Perhaps I’m too touchy.”
“Oh, Mr. Gulliver …” he said sympathetically. “I mean, what the hell — who reads the Star?”
“Two-hundred thousand Democrats,” I said. “What’s good for lunch?”
“The short ribs. Best in town, so help me.”
I took a corner booth, faintly embarrassed, dimly resentful. I ordered a double bourbon with water, and the short ribs. None of the gang were here. In a booth at the other side of the room, a dark, attractive woman was reading the Star. She had a drink on the table in front of her.
She put the paper down and her eyes met mine, and I looked away. The waitress brought my drink, momentarily blocking my vision.
When the waitress went away, the woman in the booth was still staring at me. I returned her stare for a moment and then realized how adolescent that was.
I looked away and was conscious, somehow, that she was leaving the booth. I looked back to see her heading my way. She was walking with care and exaggerated dignity, like a drunken person. She had olive skin and lustrous eyes and that overripe look of some Latins in their thirites. She was beautifully dressed.
She came over to stand in front of me, the drink in her hand. “Mr. Gulliver?”
I nodded, conscious that the bartender was watching us closely.
The woman smiled, “Edlinger’s my name, Mrs. Rita Edlinger. You’re new to the Heeney gang, aren’t you?”
Square in the Middle Page 7
