by Iona Whishaw
“Don’t be silly. You’ll love it. You can tell me all about it when you get back,” she said, “over a sunset cocktail.” Lane, who’d been used to spending a great deal of time alone, found she was looking forward to an uninterrupted morning of reading.
With Darling gone, Lane considered her next move. The library first, she decided. She emerged from their room, relishing again the gentle warmth of the morning, and was about to make her way on the brick path through the garden to the main building of the hotel when the door of the nearest villa opened just to the right of the building their suite was in.
“You relax, sweetie. I won’t be long, and I promise not to buy anything!”
It was the woman with the very red lipstick and white-blond hair from tea the day before. Her hair, which looked more startling in the morning sun, billowed around her face in fuzzy curls. But the expression on that curl-framed face was in direct contrast to her cheerful singsong words. Her eyebrows were drawn together in worry, and her eyes darted anxiously, but she caught sight of Lane and smiled brightly, waving her fingers.
Lane waved back and then moved slowly toward the hotel’s main building behind the woman. She seemed to be late for an appointment; she hurried, catching at the pale-blue cardigan that had slipped off her shoulder.
The library was cool and shaded, with a clean-edged slant of light from the morning sun cutting across the Turkish carpet and climbing the inner walls, in a way, Lane thought, a Dutch master could do justice to. She was the only one there, and the walls and thick carpet seemed to muffle sound, so the near silence was luxurious. A faint clattering of people leaving the breakfast room in the distance somewhere intensified the sense of quiet and solitude. It had an almost old-world feel to it, like the English manor house the hotel seemed so anxious to emulate.
Heaving a happy sigh, she turned her attention to the books. She would go for something utterly light, like an Agatha Christie, or her favourite, Dorothy L. Sayers. Much to her delight, she was quite quickly rewarded with a nearly new copy of The Nine Tailors incongruously shelved just past a whole row of Zane Greys. She had read it, but before the war, and she recalled there was a lot of business with bell ringing that might give her mind a little exercise. With her reading sorted, she remembered the blond woman’s remark about some jewellery on sale in the lobby. Seeing nothing anywhere that indicated she needed to sign her book out, Lane went up the stairs and was about to go into the lobby when she wondered at a long corridor on her right.
Perhaps there was a reading lounge, or even a massage room to be explored. Turning in the opposite direction from the lobby, toward the thickly carpeted hallway, she stopped at the sound of frantic whispers. She peered around the corner and saw the young woman with the blue cardigan pressing into a tall man who was leaning against the wall. He had dark hair that flopped in front of one eye and a thick black moustache. He was exceedingly handsome—a character from one of those Zane Grey novels, Lane thought in a flight of fancy. He towered over the young woman and had his arms around her, pulling her in to kiss him. The blonde responded with a soft gasp and made as if to pull away but then settled into his embrace. Lane stepped back hurriedly and decided that jewellery and further exploration could wait. This man was certainly not the older man from the previous evening—the man she’d been certain was the young woman’s husband. She suspected The Nine Tailors might lie unread next to her deck chair for some time while she ruminated on this very human development.
“It’s good of you to have me along to your office,” Darling said. When he’d left Vancouver for Nelson, Galloway had been a sergeant, and Darling remembered him as being quite a good policeman. He had a natural authority Darling had attributed in part to his being English. His accent alone seemed to cause the other men to defer to his views; he had a concise way of speaking and appeared to be able cut through confusion and distraction. At the same time, he had an open, friendly nature that clearly endeared him to the others. Darling had envied this quality when he was younger, and only with time had come to value his own more thoughtful approach to understanding the crimes he had to deal with.
He recalled in particular a case Galloway had worked on in Nelson: a man called Landon had been imprisoned for arson. Galloway had been decisive, and Darling had admired how logically he approached the evidence. Landon had been a disgruntled employee who had been fired from a local mill; he had been drinking heavily on the night of the fire and was unable to account for his whereabouts. Darling was surprised to remember the incident just at this moment. Like Galloway, he had believed the man to be guilty. Landon was eventually tried, and spent six months in prison, but on a routine domestic abuse call, Darling had stumbled on the true culprit lighting a second fire. It had been a cautionary experience for Darling. Landon had lost his job, and he was unable to find his footing after leaving prison and had left Nelson for good. Darling had always hoped he’d found work and a new life.
By that time, Galloway had already left for Arizona, saying the British Columbia climate was too gloomy. He’d obtained American citizenship, and signed up with the 34th Infantry Division in 1942. Darling remembered admiring Galloway’s sense of confidence. He always said it was important to apprehend the guilty as quickly as possible, because in a small community, it made people feel secure and trust they were in good hands with their local police. It encouraged people to come forward on other crimes. It was only later, after Galloway was gone, that Darling asked himself how it could have been done differently. It didn’t surprise him to see Paul in charge now. He had not lost that air of confidence.
“Nonsense. I’m proud to show it off!” Galloway answered, bringing Darling back to the present. “I dare say there are one or two things in our organizational approach that would be of interest to you. With the chief out of commission, it’s all down to me at the moment.” He led Darling through the back door of what he described as the city hall building and then downstairs to the basement. Windows set high up along one wall let in some outdoor light, but the room was largely lit by what seemed to Darling to be an inadequate few rows of fluorescent lights.
“This is where they keep us. Not very glamorous, and we swelter in the summer. As you can see, we have our lock-up over there. Drunks and vagrants mostly. More dangerous people go to the county jail. Anyone convicted goes up to the state pen.” They made their way toward his office between a couple of desks. “Those two fellows are on the phone-in desks, and that’s the dispatch,” he said, waving at a desk near another door. Just outside the office, under a window, he stopped. “Morning, Sergeant Martinez. I’d like you to meet my pal, Inspector Frederick Darling. We worked together up in Canada. He’s just got married to the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen! Down here on a honeymoon.”
Sergeant Martinez, who was sitting at a desk under one of the two ceiling fans, stood up to shake hands with Darling. He was young, Darling thought, but had a look of such weight and seriousness that it appeared the entire fortunes of the Tucson police depended on him. His black hair was cut in a military style, and he had a thin black moustache. Perhaps it was the moustache that gave him his air of gravity, Darling thought.
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” He shook Darling’s hand, and then turned to his boss. “Sir, I’ve been through these arrest reports three times. The Griffin arrest and the accounting evidence aren’t in the files. It was right in order last week. I myself sent it for filing. The case is coming up for trial. It won’t look good if I don’t have it.”
“Then you better find it, hadn’t you, or Jimmy Griffin will go scot-free. It won’t do the department’s reputation any good.”
“Yes, sir. It’s just that I had the notes and evidence locked in my desk while I was working on them. I did take it over to be filed, but Grace says it isn’t there, and there’s no record of it being filed.”
“Then presumably it wasn’t filed, was it?”
Back in his office, Galloway stret
ched back in his wheeled chair and shook his head. “You’ve heard the saying, ‘can’t get good help’? Case in point. These Mexican fellows are pretty fearless, and they speak the lingo we need for a lot of the crime we deal with, but they’re sloppy as hell. See, now we’re going to lose a big case against one of the local restaurateurs who runs a gambling business at the back of his building because Diego Martinez can’t keep his paperwork in order. I was the one who pushed for his promotion, but I sometimes wonder if it was a good idea. Luckily I’ve got a couple of white rozzers that know their stuff.”
Darling raised his eyebrows. “You surprise me. Sergeant Martinez appears to be concerned and thorough.”
Galloway shook his head, laughing. “You never change, Darling. Always wanting to give everyone the benefit of the doubt!”
December 1946
Martinez pulled the car in front of his house and let the dust settle. He could hear his son and daughter playing outside on the swing he had built for them in the backyard of their small adobe house. He was struggling. He had wonderful, improbable news for his wife, Rosario, and yet that same news had sparked an anxiety deep within him that he could not articulate.
“Mi vida,” he said when he kissed her. She’d been standing in the kitchen watching the children and had turned, smiling, when he’d come in. He held both her hands.
“What is it?” Her face took on a worried cast. “Has something happened?”
“Sit.” He sat down and pulled her down to sit opposite him, still holding her hands, kneading them. “Something amazing. I can hardly believe it. I’ve been promoted. I never thought when I took the exam that it would make any difference; you know how they are about us. But the assistant chief called me in to tell me today. Sergeant. Effective immediately.” He didn’t tell her how Galloway had gone on and on about how he’d had to go against the chief and the board to push the promotion through.
“I knew you would do it!” Rosario leapt off her chair and sat on his lap, throwing her arms around him. In the next moment she was up, pacing the kitchen. “We will celebrate, go out. I don’t feel like cooking anyway! Dios mio!” She crossed herself and held her hands momentarily in a position of prayer. “I must phone Marta!”
“Rosi, just let’s enjoy it. Don’t phone anybody just yet. We can go out, sure, but . . . I don’t know.”
She came to sit opposite him. “You don’t seem that happy. Do you understand what a big thing this is? It’s everything. You always said there’d never be a Mexican sergeant. What are you afraid of? I hope you don’t think you don’t deserve it! I won’t listen to that. You are their best officer, and you know it.”
What was bothering him? “It will probably mean longer hours,” he said.
“I know, but it’s going to be okay. I’m here. I’ll look after things. I’m so proud of you, viejo.” She leaned over and kissed him again. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone, only when you’re ready.”
He lay awake long into the night. He knew he was being ridiculous. It was something he’d dreamed about since joining the force and had watched as Anglo police officers—some not as competent as he was—were promoted around him. The thing he couldn’t shake was, why him? And he couldn’t forget Galloway’s voice: “I took a big risk for you, buddy. I hope you appreciate that. You better not let me down.” Why did Galloway seem to doubt his loyalty? Of course. They don’t trust us. Well, he’d show him. He’d be the best, hardest working, most loyal damn sergeant in the history of the Tucson Police Department.
“You were gone a long time.” Rex Holden, usually unperturbed by his wife’s coming and goings, was worried. She’d been gone for four hours. He normally didn’t mind her little shopping jaunts. He had observed that she needed to be up and doing more than he did, and she never really went overboard.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t be upset with me. I was so surprised. I was just looking at a cute handbag on sale here and my cousin Bernie turned up all upset, looking for me. You remember him from the wedding. He said my sister Lola was in trouble. I told you I have a sister here, didn’t I?” A tear splashed on Meg’s gloved hand, and she wiped it away hurriedly. She took off her gloves and collapsed on the love seat.
“My dear, whatever is the matter?” Holden got off the bed where he’d been reading the paper and sat by her, taking her hand.
Meg turned to him, unable to contain her tears. “It’s so awful. My sister’s husband left her high and dry. He cleaned out the savings and left her and the two kiddies with nothing. Her landlord has told her she has to be out by the end of the week, and her sitter said she won’t work until she gets paid. I hate to ask you this, honey, but could we give her something to tide her over? Two hundred dollars would help her just get through this. I know it’s a lot to ask. She has a job and everything, so it’s really all she needs to get a sitter and that.”
Rex Holden felt his heart swell. It wasn’t too much to ask. Nothing was too much to ask, if he could just get her smiling again.
“Come on,” he said, standing and pulling her up. “We’ll give Rog something to do. He can drive us to the bank, and then we’ll go buy you something nice to wear, and we’ll have a cocktail before dinner and look at the sunset. We can drop the money off to her on the way back. What do you say?”
“Oh, sweetie! You’re a doll! It’s going to mean so much to her.” She pulled him close and kissed him. “Where would I be without you?” she whispered. She would have to tell him that Lola was too embarrassed to have anyone see the way she lived.
Chapter Three
Darling found Lane stretched on a lounge chair by the pool under a striped umbrella. He pulled up a chair and removed his hat and jacket. “I don’t care if it is only seventy something, it’s hot. It’s that relentless beating down of the sun. How was your morning?”
“Exceedingly interesting.” Lane put her book open and face down on the round table next to her and sat up, looking around to make sure they were alone. “I’ve discovered something disquieting about our neighbours in the villa,” she paused, looking into his eyes. “You know, I’d forgotten how handsome you are.”
“Try to stick to the subject.” Darling smiled and considered returning the compliment. How very lucky he felt to have persuaded her to marry him. “Now then, the disquieting villa people.”
“To be honest I don’t think I should say, outside here, as we are. It’s well past lunchtime. Ought we to get dressed?”
“As much as I’d like to gaze at you in that red bathing suit, yes. And then should we go horseback riding or something? I understood from Galloway it is the done thing. He’s given me the name of an outfit that hires out horses.”
“You’re not forgetting we are dining with that nice couple from Wisconsin?” Lane collected her book and towel and prepared to leave the pool. They walked past a row of new palm trees, and along the winding path to their room.
“All right, we’re out of earshot. What did you learn about the villa people? By that, I assume you mean that May–December couple,” Darling said, closing the door and pulling off his tie.
“Another May, or even April, has been introduced. I heard the woman leaving the villa with a giggling but loving adieu, promising not to spend too much money, and then she hurried off and met a very young man with a moustache in one of the corridors in the main building and, well, they got into a bit of a scrum.”
“You followed her? You’re absolutely without scruples, you know that?” Darling said with evident admiration.
“I didn’t mean to see them; I came around the corner looking for the gift shop and there they were. I beat a hasty retreat and came out to the pool to think about it.”
“Concluding?”
“That she is not particularly happy and seems to be carrying on a desperate affair with a young man with a moustache. Probably younger than she is.”
“Let that be a lesson to you. A double life never d
id anyone any good. You ready?”
“Yes. Can we give the horses a miss, do it another day? I’ve just got stuck into my book and I might need a nap to prepare for this dinner tonight. We were up rather late last night,” Lane said, pinning up one side of her hair, directing a glance at him in the mirror.
Darling, a slave to the curve of her cheekbones and the fall of her auburn hair, took her hand. “Right. Lunch and a lie down. Perhaps I can tell you about my morning. I’m not sure I’d go as far as ‘disquieting,’ but something like it.”
The first rush of lunch eaters had come and gone, and they were able to get a table overlooking the cadmium yellow and moss-green-tiled fountain they so admired. The water glinted in the sunlight, and trees with yellow puffballs in full bloom—which Lane had learned were called sweet acacia—bobbed decorously in a gentle afternoon breeze.
“I think I didn’t quite recognize the Galloway I knew before,” Darling said, pulling apart a roll. “He was very informal, not to say slapdash. He introduced me to an earnest young sergeant as his ‘pal.’ I can’t imagine introducing anyone to Ames that way. What was interesting is that this Sergeant Martinez looked to be a man of much more formality. He leapt up and shook my hand. He was in some distress because he wasn’t able to find an arrest report and some evidence he needed for court. Galloway was dismissive of him when we were alone together. ‘Good at the lingo and brave, but not really up to the job of a real policeman’ sort of thing. Said he had white policemen who are more reliable. I don’t think I would have suspected him of that sort of prejudice. I feel like he’s not who I thought he was, if you see what I mean.”
“I’m sure you get that sort of attitude at home. I think Constable Terrell must have to put up with that sort of rubbish,” Lane said, referring to Jerome Terrell, the Nelson Police Department’s new hire and the first black officer on the force.
