by R. R. Irvine
The two-way radio crackled to life. Romney acknowledged the sheriff’s call.
“Grady’s dead all right. We’ve taken photos of the scene and are bringing him into town now.”
Chief Romney relayed Manwaring’s suggestion about the bullets.
“That’s a good idea,” the sheriff said. “We’ll stop by Stacie’s on the way in and pick it up.”
Manwaring lost another six dollars at checkers before the sheriff returned. It was after midnight by then and time to call Ross Eccles.
“Make sure it’s collect,” the sheriff said; “otherwise the mayor will dock my pay.”
Nodding, Manwaring punched in his AT&T calling code. More than ever he felt as if he was only a conductor of information, that without a phone he would cease to exist.
“I’m in my car and in a hurry,” Eccles said as soon as he heard Manwaring’s voice. “So this had better be good.”
“I need my crew back. I’ve got a murder on my hands.”
“Just one. L.A. has them by the hundreds.”
“I was standing right next to Grady O’Dell when someone shot him.”
“You’re talking about a fifteen-second on-camera reader. Now if you’d been shot, that would be another matter. We could turn you into a martyr, our intrepid newsman struck down in the line of duty.”
“The murder and the fire have to be connected.”
“Who says?”
Manwaring looked at Sheriff Nichols for help, but the man only shrugged.
“Get me proof,” Eccles went on. “Until then, let me get some goddamned sleep.”
“Tell lcky to plead my case.”
“Call her yourself,” Eccles said and hung up.
The sheriff said, “Personally, I liked Grady, but you’ve got to remember he was a drunk. A bit of a berserker, too. Ask anybody who had the misfortune to cross him. What I’m saying is, he had enemies. So I can understand someone getting mad enough to shoot him, but wiping out an entire community is another matter.”
“Don’t forget, they shot at me, too.”
“People around here know guns. A good shot wouldn’t have missed.”
28
VICKI HAD just switched off the late movie and was on her way to bed when the doorbell rang. Seen through the wide-angle peephole, Van Sutton’s smile looked a foot across. How the hell did he know where she lived? She wasn’t in the phone book, and everyone at the news bureau had strict orders not to give out home phone numbers or addresses, though that probably didn’t apply to network vice presidents. She tightened the sash on her robe, covering her pajamas, and opened the door.
He smiled broadly and smelled of breath freshener. “There are some things I didn’t want to discuss at the office. „For your ears only,’ as Reisner put it.”
As soon as he crossed the threshold, she knew she’d made a mistake letting him in. As he passed close to her, the smell of whiskey overrode his mouth spray. At the same time she was suddenly conscious of the difference in their size. She was five-three in her low-heeled slippers, while he towered over her. You’re a fool, she told herself, yet she’d had no option really. You don’t leave network brass standing on your doorstep.
“I’ll make some coffee,” she said, intending to get dressed first.
He waved away the offer. “It’s time we reached an understanding about the anchor job. Reisner and I have to know if we can count on you when it comes to doing what’s necessary.”
“Is this about Manwaring?”
Sutton caught hold of her sleeve. “He’s not important. I’m talking about your performance, here and now.”
Vicki caught her breath. “I think you’d better leave.”
“I’m offering you my support on the co-anchor with Lee Aarons.”
“That’s a News Group decision,” she said stiffly.
“Don’t be foolish. With rating points worth tens of millions of dollars, ABN’s board of directors makes the final decision . . . and I’m a member.”
As nonchalantly as possible, Vicki reached into the pocket of her robe. The touch of the panic button reassured her. All she had to do was press it and her apartment’s alarm system would alert the police.
“You have a great mouth,” he said, wetting his own lips. “You know what I say to myself every time I see you on the news? „Van,’ I say, „there’s a mouth to make a man happy.’”
To hell with the panic button, she thought. Kick him in the balls right now and be done with it, just like the fire chief. She would have, too, only a vice president, even one in Broadcast Standards, could get her fired.
“No more games,” he said. “You know what it takes to get ahead. They all do. You’re no different. They come into my office saying, „I’ll do anything to get the job.’ I tell them what they want to hear. The two great show biz lies. „Your check’s in the mail’ and „I won’t come in your mouth.’”
She turned her back on him and started to walk away, but he caught her from behind, his fingers wrapping around the muscles at the base of her neck, squeezing until the pain blinded her. She flailed at his hands, but her nails were too short to do much damage. He moved close enough so she could feel his erection, then pressed down on her shoulder blades. His strength terrified her. Her knees wobbled, then gave way altogether as he forced her to kneel on the carpet.
One of his hands came away from her shoulder. She heard the sound of his zipper just before he moved in front of her.
Saving her job was no longer a consideration. She’d bite him if she had to, if there was no other way. She triggered the panic button, then showed it to him.
He laughed. “I hear response time in L.A. can be hours.”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Jesus Christ,” he spat, releasing her and backing away.
By time Vicki got to her feet he was zipped up and smiling as if nothing had happened.
When she opened the door, Ross Eccles took one look at Sutton and said, “I been worrying about you. Vic, ever since this gazooney asked for your home address and then went off in a cab. I followed him but got hung up in traffic, or I would have been here sooner.”
“He tried to rape me.”
Sutton snorted. “She was coming on to me all day. She said she’d do anything if I helped her career.”
“He’s lying.”
“What’s the big deal? You both know what it takes to get ahead in this business. Besides, it’s her word against mine.”
“I’ll lie,” Eccles said. “I’ll say I’m a witness.”
Vicki stared at the bureau chief as if she’d never seen him before.
Sutton tried to widen his smile, tried to put on a good front, but she could see his heart wasn’t in it. “All right. What do you two want?”
“It’s up to you, Vic,” Eccles said. “Say the word and I’ll go all the way on this. If we give him to the police, the network will dump him no matter what the outcome.”
Even if they got him fired, she knew, the network would never forgive her or Eccles.
“We’ll take an IOU,” she said. “In writing. Then we’ll tell the cops it was a false alarm.”
Sutton shook his head. “I’m not that crazy. You’d own me forever.”
A siren wailed in the distance.
“You don’t have much time,” Eccles said. Sutton went over to Vicki’s desk and sat down. “What do you want me to write?”
“A carte blanche would do nicely.”
29
AFTER TWO hours in bed, Manwaring gave up trying to sleep. He swung his feet over the edge of the motel mattress and rubbed his eyes hard enough to create flashes on his retina. A mixture of adrenaline and exhaustion had left his hands shaking; the rest of his body merely quivered.
“Go back to sleep,” Holland said from the next bed.
“I’m wide awake.”
“Do it quietly, then.”
Manwaring wiggled his toes on the linoleum. His feet felt distant and slightly numb when he put weight on them and hobble
d into the bathroom. Bracing himself on the sink, he leaned his forehead against the mirror and closed his eyes. Grady O’Dell’s dead face was there, in the dark of his imagination, waiting for him.
Manwaring groaned, stepped out of his shorts, and turned on the shower. The feel of the warm spray revived him, reminding him of the joys of being alive.
At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking about dogs barking in the night. Why were they so noisy so early? Why were they barking when the fire was still hours away? That was the question O’Dell had asked.
Jess had been one of those dogs, Manwaring reminded himself. No doubt he’d been barking at whoever shot him.
The hot water began to run out. Shivering, Manwaring stepped from the shower and dried himself quickly. Even dressed, he continued to feel cold.
The moment he opened the motel door, the chill morning air sent him jogging across the asphalt parking lot to the Big I Cafe, where Fire Chief Romney appeared to be waiting for him. The chief swung off the end stool of an otherwise full counter and escorted Manwaring to an empty table. Until that moment, Manwaring hadn’t realized just how big the chief was, well over two hundred pounds.
“After what happened to O’Dell,” Romney said, “me and the sheriff figured you needed looking after.” His clothes, though clean and precisely pressed, smelled of smoke. His carefully combed gray hair showed the ringlike mark of his service cap.
Manwaring shivered. “I need some food to warm up. What do you say I buy us some breakfast?”
“I’ve already eaten, but I’ll have another cup of coffee to keep you company.”
Once a large stack of pancakes had chased away the cold, Manwaring settled back and ordered a second cup of coffee. He added canned milk, which the cafe kept for locals, and held the cup under his nose to savor the aroma the way his grandfather had done.
Finally he said, “While we’re sitting here, Chief, why don’t you tell me what you know about Defiance.”
Romney spread his leathery hands. “Ever since my wife ran off to live there, I haven’t been much of a socializer. I do my job and that’s it. People’s everyday comings and goings around here are beyond me; they always were for that matter. I’ve heard the stories, of course. But you can’t trust them any more than you can trust the stories about me. Me, mothers use me to keep their kids in line, like the bogeyman. „Stop your crying or the old fireman will come out of his firehouse and get you.’ Things like that. As to the real workings of Defiance, I’m not the man to talk to.”
“What about Bonneville Industries, then?”
“Ask me about fires. That’s what I know.”
“Maybe you can point me in the right direction.”
Romney nodded toward the counter, where four men were sitting side by side. “You see Abe Strong there? He’s the one nearest the cash register. He owns the service station here in town, which means he knows everybody and their business.”
Without waiting for Manwaring to say anything, Romney got up from the table and whispered in Strong’s ear. The man immediately swung around on his stool to glare at Manwaring.
Manwaring forced himself to smile.
After a moment, Strong slid off his stool, retrieved his coffee mug, and came over to the table with the fire chief following close behind.
Strong was a lean man, maybe fifty years old, with a deeply wrinkled sun-darkened face. He wore jeans and a tan work shirt with Abe embroidered in red over the breast pocket. He sat down and wrapped both hands around his coffee cup. “The chief says you want to talk to me.”
Manwaring nodded.
“I don’t like being threatened.”
Looking sheepish, Romney remained standing behind his chair. “You know me, Abe. I’m all talk. I just wanted to help out Mr. Manwaring.”
Strong leaned forward a couple of inches and peered into Manwaring’s eyes. “I suppose you want gossip like every other reporter who stopped at my service station. You might as well know up front, after what happened to my daughter, I’ve got good reason to hate everyone and everything connected with Defiance.” He half turned in his chair to glance at the clock above the door. “I open the station in five minutes. I’m the last gas jockey left in town, so without me nobody moves.”
“Tell me about your daughter,” Manwaring said.
He sighed and looked down at his cup. “Jessica went out there against my will. She told me to think of it as summer camp. Now she’s dead and there’s no one left alive to blame but myself.”
“Maybe she escaped the fire,” the fire chief said without conviction. “Maybe she ran off.”
“My wife says the same thing. She prays for it all day long. Only where would she go?” Strong shook his head. “John Ashcroft is over at the house right now, praying with my wife and Reverend Campbell. John’s boy, George, is among the missing too, you know. If you ask me, he should be thinking of his obligations to his neighbors. People depend on him and his store. Without the Feed and Seed animals could go hungry. Hellsakes. You think I want to pump gas at a time like this? No, by God, but you do what has to be done just the same. Look at our fire chief here. He lost his wife and you don’t see him moping around with the Reverend Campbell.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Romney said. “She was gone from me already . . . to another man.”
“Who was that?” Manwaring asked quietly.
Romney looked away, so Strong answered. “We might as well tell him, Chief, and get it over with. It was young Ned Oswald. He lived out in Defiance, so he’s a goner too. I hate saying this to your face, Chief, but I never figured your Ida for that kind of woman. No offense.”
Romney pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. “She always said I wasn’t an easy man to live with.”
“Maybe so, but Oswald was young enough to be her son. But then, they say that’s the way it was out in Defiance, everybody switching around and changing partners despite their ages.”
“Come on, Abe,” Romney said. “You don’t believe that. Those are just stories, like the ones about me.”
Strong shrugged. “I wish the sheriff would get off his ass and give us an accounting. Put us out of our misery, for Christ’s sake. We won’t feel right until we’ve buried our daughter.”
“„Tell me what you really know about life in Defiance,” Manwaring said. “Facts, not rumors.”
„“Swapping wives and husbands, you mean, things like that?”
Manwaring nodded.
“Until Ida ran off with Ned, I’d have said it was nothing but gossip. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Amy Tuttle ran the other way,” Romney said. “She left Defiance and took up with the sheriff’s brother.”
Strong blew on his coffee. “I can understand someone like Amy wanting to leave Defiance. She could tempt most men, and pickings were short out there.”
“Ned had the same effect on women,” Romney said.
“Staying power, that’s what counts. Or maybe stubbornness. Whatever you call it, it’s paid off for me. I’ve been married thirty-five years and outlasted the other service stations. But if Bonneville doesn’t move in, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in business.”
“Tell me about Bonneville,” Manwaring said.
“There’s nothing to tell. They’re going to build a plant and hire people. People with jobs can afford cars and gasoline.” Strong squinted at Manwaring. “The fact is, some of the businessmen in town called me as soon as they heard about Grady O’Dell. We’ve decided to keep quiet about it for the moment. The Herald has agreed to go along with us, too. What about you, Mr. Manwaring? Are you willing to help us?”
“I was standing right beside Grady O’Dell when he was shot. I can’t keep quiet about something like that.”
“If stirring up trouble could bring back the dead, I’d agree with you. Since it won’t, we have to think about ourselves, our families. What are you thinking about, your news story and your own career?”
“Back off,” Romney said. “Mr. M
anwaring has a job to do.”
“You never did know who your friends were, Chief.” Strong stood up. “Your wife could testify to that. If you weren’t so damned crazy, somebody would have beat the shit out of you a long time ago.”
Romney snorted derisively. “Speaking of shit, do you still have that piece of Jap crap for sale?”
“If you’re talking about that classic Datsun I’ve got out back, you’re damned right I do.”
“I’m told that Mr. Manwaring here is in the market for a car.”
“Stacie Wagstaff loaned him her truck and look what happened to it. Shot to hell. I had to tow it into the station at first light this morning.”
“I’ll pay for the damages,” Manwaring said.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Let’s get back to the Japsun,” Romney said.
“Yesterday I might have discounted it.” Strong smiled at Manwaring. “Today, the price just went up.”
As soon as Abe Strong left the cafe, Manwaring and Romney followed him down Main Street. By now, the sun had cleared the Bitterroots, dispelling the morning chill.
“It’s going to be a scorcher,” the chief said. “I can feel it in my bones.”
All Manwaring could feel was an ache. “Does Abe take credit cards?”
“I don’t know, since I don’t have one myself.”
“What about checks?”
Romney shrugged. “I always pay cash.”
Stacie’s pickup truck was on the lift when they reached the service station. All four of its tires, he noticed for the first time, needed fixing.
“How soon will it be ready?” Manwaring asked.
“That’s between me and Miz Wagstaff,” Strong said.
“She loaned me the vehicle.”
“The sheriff had me tow it in. For all I know, it’s evidence.”
“Are you saying I can’t have it?”
“Miz Wagstaff will have to sign for it. Besides, I don’t have four tires her size in stock. I’ll have to order them from Idaho Falls.”
“Come on, Abe,” Romney said, “don’t be an ass.”
“How much for the Datsun, then?” Manwaring asked.
“Like I said before, it will be a collector’s item one day.”
