by Jack Lynch
"What's it like?" she asked.
"What's what like?"
"Being a detective. I have a whole shelf over there filled with detective stories." She waved her hand in the direction of a low bookcase. It was the hand holding her drink, and some of the amber liquid slopped down across her taut, white sweater. "Is it exciting, the way they write about it?"
"No. It's mostly a lot of very dull phoning and walking around talking to people and researching land deeds and going through court records. The only time it gets a little exciting is when somebody resents one of the questions you ask and takes a smack at you."
She leaned some in my direction. "Do you carry a gun?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you have one on you now?"
"Nope."
She leaned back with another twist of her mouth. "Is there much sex?"
"While working?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Oh." She took a drink from the glass. "Not ever?"
"Hardly ever. Look, Miss Benson..."
"Laurel."
"Okay, Laurel. Like a lot of other jobs it can be about what you want to make of it. If you're in a business where you come into contact with a lot of people of the opposite sex you're obviously going to meet a certain number who have whatever chemistry attracts the two of you to each other. Or else people who are lonely, oversexed, inebriated or any combination of those. If you're the sort of person who needs that all the time then you take advantage of it. If not, you go on about your job."
"What do you do?"
"Since I didn't just enter puberty the day before yesterday I usually go on about my job. But that isn't what I came up here to talk about." I was getting a dry throat from all that talking and had some of the bourbon.
"I guess you think I'm terribly nosy."
"I hope you are. You'll be able to tell me more about Jerry Lind that way."
"You might be a little disappointed. I don't know him all that well. He's a likeable boy. That's all."
"How was he at his job?"
"All right, I guess. He went out and came back and made his reports."
"Were his reports like all the other reports?"
"Pretty much. They weren't as terse as some of the others, but the boss seemed satisfied."
"That's something else. What sort of fellow is Stoval?"
"Easy to work for. A little stuck on himself, maybe. But then it's a pretty responsible job for somebody his age."
"I understand there used to be a fellow named Harry Sund who worked there."
She took a sip of her drink and stared at me. "I thought you wanted to talk about Jerry."
"We are talking about Jerry, and the people in his life. I understand Sund quit. There was some sort of scene. Can you tell me about it?"
She giggled. "I was home sick that day. The other girls said Harry threatened to punch out Mr. Stoval. Harry was ranting something about his wife. I could hardly believe it when they told me. I still can't, really."
"Why not?"
"I just don't think Mr. Stoval is that way. He's never made the slightest pass at any of the girls working there."
"Are you sure of that, Laurel? It could be important."
"Yes. I'm sure. We're a gossipy bunch. He really hasn't. That's why we feel Harry Sund must have made some sort of mistake. Maybe his wife told him a story. Because there are some girls in the office who are—let's say available, and they sort of let fellows know about it. In a nice way, of course."
"Sure."
"But Mr. Stoval never makes a move. So why would he try anything funny with the wife of somebody who works for him? Besides, he's got his hands full with his own wife. She's a beautiful girl. She does a lot of modeling in the city under the name Faye Ashton. I see her in Macy's ads all the time."
"Was it like Jerry to leave town on a job without telling you or somebody else at the office where he was going?"
"No, but he did a lot of outside work. If he decided over the weekend to go somewhere, he might just get an early start without coming in or phoning first."
"Did Jerry ever joke around with the available girls in the office?"
"I like the way you put that, joke around."
"Did he?"
"No. Jerry was sort of a pet. I mean he was a little clumsy and things. He's the sort of boy that arouses a girl's mother instinct. I think he did that everywhere he went."
"How do you mean, Laurel?"
"Oh, you know, he was just that sort." She lifted her glass again. There was nothing left but ice. She got up and went back across to the kitchen. I followed her.
"You said this afternoon you were married once."
"Yes. Johnny was a big goof," she said, tilting the bourbon bottle. "In fact Jerry reminded me of him in ways. He was older, but he had the same apparent helplessness in lots of things."
"Apparent?"
"Uh huh. After a while I finally doped out that there was a lot of laziness beneath it all. But we don't have to talk about that, do we? I've been trying to forget that part of my life."
"I'd be interested only to the extent his behavior coincided with Jerry Lind's, and you figured they might have acted or reacted the same way about things. Do you think Jerry is basically lazy?"
She leaned against the sink, sipping the drink. "I don't know if lazy would be quite the word. He was a little self-centered, I think. A little selfish, maybe. I can't really put my finger on it. He's very boyish and charming, like I said. But there's a funny little undercurrent to him. I know that sounds crazy, but it is the woman's appraisal you're after, isn't it?"
"Sure, and you're doing great. Did you ever meet his wife?"
"I think so, at a company party one time. But I can't remember who she was."
"She's Eurasian. Short, well-built, uses some street talk."
"Oh, I remember her now. But we didn't really have a conversation."
"Did Jerry talk about her around the office?"
"No. Come to think of it, that was kind of funny, I guess. I've known people having domestic problems. Heading for a breakup of their marriage. They never talked about their home life, either. Hmmm. I'll have to think about that some."
"There's something else I'd like to go back to for a minute. I had the feeling there might have been something more you could tell me, only you decided it wasn't important enough or something."
"What was that?"
"About the mother instinct you said he brings out. Everywhere he went. Did you ever see it outside of the office?"
She lowered her eyes and thought about it. She was either making up her mind or falling alseep.
"Who hired you?" she asked, looking up.
"His sister, Janet Lind. Know her?"
"Yes, the newsgirl. She came up to the office one day. Well, she made a wise choice. You're quite good."
"I've had a lot of practice. Want to tell me about it?"
"I suppose I should. Frankly I'd forgotten about it until you brought it up just a moment ago. I saw Jerry one evening here in Sausalito, by accident. Do you know the No Name bar in town here?"
"I ought to. Even worked there one time when I was at loose ends with myself."
"Well, about a month ago a girlfriend and I were having a drink there one evening. We were off in a corner, where people going in and out aren't apt to notice you unless they're looking for someone. And I saw Jerry come in from the back patio with a girl. They left together and didn't notice me. I recognized her too. Jerry had a back injury, around last Christmas. He spent a week or so in the hospital. Some of us went up to visit him a couple times. The girl I saw with him at the No Name was a nurse I'd seen at the hospital."
"Do you know her name?"
"No. I was never introduced."
"What hospital was it?"
"Horace Day, on Masonic."
"Do you remember the room number or floor that he was on?"
"It was the third floor, near the south end of the building."
"Was
the No Name the only place you saw the two of them outside of the hospital?"
"Yes. Just that one time."
"Did they seem to be on friendly terms when you visited Jerry at the hospital?"
"I never noticed. But she had that maternal quality about her. She was a small girl, but very brisk and efficient."
"What else can you remember about her appearance?"
"She's younger than I am. Probably twenty-five or -six. She has rather sharp features. Small, dark eyes. And good teeth. Very white."
"You have a good memory."
"I saw her both times I visited the hospital, then in town here. She's quite attractive really. I think I remembered her because of that, and the take-charge quality I mentioned."
I finished my drink and my mind began edging toward the door.
"Let me fix you another."
"No thanks. I've got some work to do, and you look as if you could do with some rest."
She formed another sloped smile. "Yes, I sort of overdid it before you got here. I'm sorry. I guess I was thinking some funny things." She followed me to the door, her arms hugging herself. "I guess I practically came right out and asked if we could get something started between us."
"I'm flattered. Under the right circumstances you wouldn't have to practically come right out and ask. You're nice looking."
"Come on..."
"Seriously. I watched your legs and bottom all the way into Stoval's office today."
"That's something, at least. My number's in the phone book if the circumstances ever get better."
"I'll remember that. Oh, I almost forgot something else."
"What's that?"
"I asked Stoval for a rundown on the cases Jerry was working on when he dropped out of sight. Stoval mentioned a fire report that later was given to somebody else."
"Yes. Howie Brewster looked into it. Very routine. Cigarette meets mattress."
"Then he mentioned a couple of thefts. A painting from the Legion Palace Museum and a Mercedes out in the Sunset district."
"That's right."
"How about another?"
"What?"
"I think your boss was holding out on me. There was another case sheet in Jerry's file that he didn't tell me about. I'd like to know what it was."
"That's supposed to be confidential, you know."
"I suppose it is. But if Stoval's holding something back, I have to wonder why."
"All right. I'll find out Monday for you."
"Thanks. Incidentally, the company can quit worrying about having to pay for the missing Mercedes. It belongs to a man named Thorpe. He got into a lover's quarrel with his boyfriend and the boyfriend took the car. Thorpe finally got the car back, but I'm not sure about the boyfriend. He's having a tough time."
Laurel Benson opened the door and gave me a frank stare. "At least he has somebody to quarrel with."
I got on out of there. At the top of Spencer there's a fire station with a parking area and outside phone booth. I drove up to it and dialed directory assistance to get the number of the Horace Day Hospital in San Francisco. Then I called the hospital and asked to be put through to the nurses' station at the south end of the third floor, or the nearest thing to it. A woman who identified herself as Mrs. Burke answered. I told Mrs. Burke that I was Dr. Frank Thatcher and that I was trying to locate a nurse who had been working in that area of the hospital in December, tending one of my patients. I repeated Laurel Benson's description of the woman she'd seen with Jerry Lind.
"Oh yes, Doctor, that would be Donna Westover. She's not on right now, and I know for a fact she isn't at home, either. We tried to get her earlier, to work a shift for one of the other girls."
"Can you tell me when she's due back?"
"Just a minute, please."
The phone booth I was in was about fifty yards from where Highway 101 crests Wolfback Ridge. I could hear traffic buzzing home from the city. A light blue patrol car of the Sausalito police pulled into the lot from the frontage road that parallels the highway. The lone patrolman dimmed his lights and stared in my direction. A moment later another powder blue car came up Spencer and drove in alongside the first car. The two officers talked. I'd noticed over the years that the Sausalito cops did a lot of that sort of thing, as if the two-way radio hadn't been invented yet.
Nurse Burke came back on the line. "Doctor Thatcher? Miss Westover is due in tomorrow at noon."
"Thank you very much."
I had seemed to run out of things to do for the night. While trying to decide whether to go down into town for a drink or to go home for a drink I called in to my answering service. They gave me something more to do. They'd had a call thirty minutes earlier from Marcie Lind. She needed help.
SIX
I turned off Madrone and drove up the road toward the Lind home, dimming my lights. I wasn't sure what to expect, but when I pulled up below the house at the end of the road things seemed calm enough. There were lights on inside, nobody was screaming and there weren't any police cars or ambulances around. I hustled up the stairs and rang the bell. The door was opened by a tall, slender black woman with snapping eyes. She was wearing a long, striped gown.
"I'm Peter Bragg. I received a message that Mrs. Lind wanted to see me."
"I'm Xumbra," she said simply, swinging open the door.
Marcie came up behind her. "Oh, Pete, thank God. Come in." She turned to the black girl. "Thanks so much, Mary. It'll be all right now."
Xumbra-Mary gave me a sharp appraisal. "You sure about that, baby?"
"Yes. I'm sure."
The black woman went out past me as if she harbored strong doubts.
"I'll phone you in the morning," Marcie called after her. She closed the door and leaned back against it. She was wearing light blue denim pants and a white shirt with the tail hanging out. They both looked as if they'd been to war, but Marcie Lind still managed to look sensational.
"Xumbra?" I asked.
"Oh," said Marcie with a wave of her hand. "She tries to lay down that back-to-Africa crap on people she doesn't know, but it's all bullshit, because she never signed any enlistment papers or changed her religion or whatever. So far as I'm concerned she's still Mary Becker who lives down the road and is a good friend. Can I get you a drink?"
"No, thanks. What's the trouble?"
Marcie crossed the room and sat on the edge of the sofa. She'd cleaned up the place some.
"Mr. Stoval was here."
"What did he want?"
"I'm not so sure now. I thought I did at first." She lifted her hands over her eyes, as if she were trying to remember something. But then her shoulders began to tremble and I could see she was crying. She looked up, angry with herself, and sniffed back tears. "Mr. Stoval said I'd better get used to the idea that Jerry is dead. Or might be dead. Or something like that." She blew her nose and got better control of herself. "I guess I'd never really considered that."
"When was he here, Marcie?"
"He left about twenty minutes ago. Thank God for Mary. She'd been to a movie and just stopped in to say hello. Between the two of us we got him out of here. Mary can come on pretty strong."
"I noticed. How long had he been here?"
"Almost an hour. It was okay at first. He was very businesslike. Then he asked the way to the John. I got a whiff of his breath and could smell booze on it. I gave him directions and he was in there for quite a while. I finally went and listened outside the door. He was poking through the medicine cabinet. It spooked me. That's when I called your number."
"Don't you suppose he might have been trying to make a play for you?"
"Well yes, finally," she said, getting to her feet and pacing briefly around the room. "You'd think I was still fourteen, I acted so dumb. I really fell for it, you know? He hit me with this very heavy trip to do with Jerry, and how decisions would have to be made in the office about how long to leave him on the payroll—meaning my getting a weekly check—and that they have to be business-like about thing
s. Then I realized he'd been ogling my fucking chest, like if I unbuttoned my shirt, there's next week's paycheck. Shit!"
She sat back down on the sofa. "But the things he said, Pete, about Jerry's disappearance being so strange. About something maybe happening to him. It's true, and it really shook me."
"Marcie, he's just trying to psych you. It isn't the first time he's made a play for somebody else's wife. He knows I've been hired to find Jerry, and he knows it isn't going to take me until the Fourth of July to do it. You're a sexy broad, Marcie, and he's probably wanted to take a shot at you for a long time. He figures the best time to try it is while Jerry's away."
"But Pete, the things he said. They're still true, even if he does have a hard-on for me."
"The things he said are a tub of baloney. Any number of things could explain Jerry's absence. He might have found himself in a situation too embarrassing to explain right now. He might have gotten walloped on the head and temporarily lost his memory. He might be trying to pull off some convoluted entrapment. You told me yourself that he gets a little fanciful at times."
"But not tell his own wife?"
"You might unwittingly be involved, by knowing somebody who's a part of the intrigue."
"Such as?"
"Maybe Stoval, even. I'm not saying that's the way it is, but it could be. And you've got to keep control of yourself, Marcie. Since I've seen you I've come up with a couple of leads. It's too late tonight to check them out, but I'll be back working on it the first thing in the morning."
"What did you find out?"
"Like I said, I have to check them out. Now why don't you just fix yourself a stiff drink and go to bed?"
She smiled bleakly. "Yeah. Maybe I will."
I went on down to the car. Near the bottom of the road I saw lights on in a small frame bungalow. More interesting was the glow of a cigarette being passed from one person to another on the front porch of the place. I stopped the car and got out. The people on the porch quieted as I crossed over to them.
"Xumbra?"
"What is it?"
"It's Peter Bragg. The guy who was just up talking to Marcie Lind."
