“Hello,” I said.
“Hello. Will you help me up the stairs, or do I have to use these stupid things?” She raised the crutches.
I went down the stairs, lent her a shoulder, and helped her inside. Spot was delighted to see her. He jumped up on her and practically knocked us both over.
I got her seated. Spot settled down next to her chair and closed his eyes contentedly. I said, “Well, Junebug, what brings you around here today? Besides an automobile, I mean.” The way she smiled told me she’d been about to make the same joke herself. “Which reminds me—I didn’t know you could drive.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “For ages. I just sit a little over to the right and use my good leg on the pedals. Passed my driver’s test first time. Proud of me?”
“Inordinately,” I said. “You could have taken the time to get dressed, though.” She was wearing cutoffs, sneakers, and a tee shirt.
“I dress like this all the time,” she protested. “This is what I was wearing that day you drove up to the house, when Dan was pitching batting practice for me.”
“You were wearing a bra then.”
“Don’t be a fuddy-duddy,” she told me. “And don’t be a hypocrite, either.” She held up a filmy something Eve had left behind the chair. “Unless,” she said, “your taste in underwear is a little strange.”
“That’s different. I’ve had designs on her virtue since college, whereas you’ve always been like a sister to me.”
Brenda got serious; she was no longer bantering. “Don’t worry about my virtue, Matt, all right? I’m the only one who has to be worrying about my virtue.”
“All right,” I said. “No offense meant. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Orange juice?” Brenda said.
“Lots of that. Think I’ll have some myself.”
I went to the kitchen and poured. Clumsily, but I didn’t spill much. I gave Brenda her glass; she took a sip, then licked her lip with a pink tongue. She made it a very provocative gesture. Sirens and alarms went off in my head—what the hell was this silly kid up to?
Brenda said, “Is she pretty?”
“Is who pretty?”
She smiled at me. It’s irritating to be patronized by a teenager. “The woman who leaves things like this in your living room.” She held the garment up again.
“This is Dan’s living room,” I said.
“True,” she said. She took another sip of juice. “But this being here isn’t from anybody of Dan’s. The only woman he had over here was Debbie. And Debbie could wear only pure cotton stuff. She had some sort of crazy skin condition. Did you know about that?”
“I found out recently.” I think I said that. I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention. I got one of my horrible feelings that something important had just happened, and I’d missed it. I looked at Spot. I looked at Brenda. I looked at the TV set, where silent figures were walking around doing things that made no sense at all.
I snapped out of it. Brenda had been talking. “I’m sorry,” I said. “What were you saying?”
“I was asking you again if she’s pretty.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, she is.”
“Prettier than me?”
“Prettier than I” I said. Brenda was certainly endeavoring to look pretty right now. She was working body language for all it was worth. The curve of her neck was an invitation, the shape of her mouth practically an order. I decided that objectively speaking, the answer to Brenda’s question was no. Eve was not prettier than she was. Not that it made any difference.
“Come on, Brenda,” I said. “You didn’t come here to play ‘Who’s the Fairest of Them All’ with me, did you?”
She sighed. “No, I guess not. I heard about your run-in with my father yesterday.” Then she gave a little giggle. “You ruined his favorite tie.”
“And?”
“And I guess I came to apologize.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s nice of you, but unnecessary. You’re not responsible for your father’s actions.”
“In a good family, people are always supposed to feel responsible for each other. Or so I’ve heard.”
She looked down at her lap for a second, then back at me, clear-eyed and defiant. “I hate him, you know. I hate all of them. Father, and Grant, and all the reporters, and the servants, and people on the street. And Debbie for ... provoking her own mur-murder”—Brenda was beginning to cry now—“and Dan for not getting away from her long ago, and I hate you for stirring things up! And I hate myself. More than anybody.”
Anything else she was going to say dissolved into sobs. I handed her a Kleenex and tried to make her feel better. I told her everyone feels like that sometimes, usually with a lot less reason.
She did stop crying; I don’t know if I had anything to do with it.
“I’m sorry you hurt your hands, Matt,” she said at last.
“Me, too,” I said. “Hurts like crazy, and I’ve got to learn all sorts of uncomfortable ways to do things.”
“I know,” she said. It was almost a whisper.
The fittings on her false leg gleamed at me like an evil grin. Well, Cobb, I thought, you certainly have put your foot in it this time. I started to apologize, but Brenda cut me off.
“It’s all right, Matt. Nice in a way. We can be cripples together.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“I’m not mad. I mean it. We could be close together.”
“Knock it off, will you?”
She struggled to her feet and walked toward me. “Don’t let the leg bother you, it’s just one less thing to get in the way. Some guys get turned on by it—”
“Stop it.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was sad and sorry for this lonely little rich girl.
“You’re the big one for being there when your friends need you, aren’t you? I thought I was your friend. I need you now.”
“Not that way,” I told her. “You’re punishing yourself. And you’re testing me. But it won’t work, the test won’t. You think you’ll find out if I’m turned off by you because you’re a cripple—your word. If I like you, I ought to be willing to take you over on that mat and screw you. But then how do you know I’m not just feeling sorry for you? Or one of the guys who get turned on?”
Brenda was looking at the floor.
“How often do you run this little experiment?” I asked.
She mumbled something.
“What?” I demanded.
“I said, ‘Why should you care?’”
I took her by the shoulders. “Goddammit, Brenda, have a little respect for yourself. You’ve got every conceivable thing in the world going for you except one stupid leg! If you give yourself half a break, you can turn out to be one hell of a woman.”
That really started the waterworks. She fell into my arms, held me tight, like a little kid, and irrigated my shoulder for a good five minutes. Then she looked me in the face, still crying, said, “Oh, Matt,” picked up her crutches, and left.
CHAPTER 25
“News, of the hour, on the hour.”
–ABC radio
“I DON’T HAVE ANY proof,” Harris Brophy said about an hour and a half later, “but then, I’ve got a corrupt mind. I don’t need proof.”
Harris was kneeling on Dan’s karate mat, arranging and rearranging a collection of Xerox copies. The documents represented all sorts of things: mortgages, promissory notes, leases, personal services contracts, even a birth certificate. It was an amazing collection for a few days’ work. None of it, as Harris had said, was proof, but taken all together, it was suggestive.
“Isn’t this terrific?” Harris said. He was practically glowing with enthusiasm. Harris enjoys finding evidence of corruption the way a kid likes opening presents on Christmas morning.
“It’s interesting, all right,” I said. “It would be quite a coincidence if they borrowed all this money from mob fronts by accident.”
Harris grinned up at me. “Now, Matt, don’t be hasty.
I didn’t say these were all mob guys. I said my sources in three different federal attorney’s offices think they’re mob guys.”
I grunted. “Close enough. I’ve got a corrupt mind, too. What are you going to do about this?”
Harris shrugged, then got up and took a chair. He scratched his head. “I guess I’ll have to turn it over to the FCC and let them worry about it. I don’t like the idea; I think it would be more fun to run this down myself. Still, we don’t want the Network in trouble. The only thing I have to decide is which office to bring it to. Canandaigua is closer, but New York has all the people we’re used to dealing with.”
“Go to New York,” I said.
“Why, Matt. I know that look on your face. You’ve come up with something.”
I didn’t know I had until he’d mentioned it. “Yes,” I said. “I want you to—” It occurred to me I had no right to want him to do anything. “You might want to ask Marty Adelman a question. Show him a picture, maybe.” I told Harris what I had in mind in greater detail, and as I did, he grinned wider and wider.
“It adds up,” he said. He nodded slowly, doing the arithmetic over. “It adds up, none left over. Of course, this is just tidying up as far as the Network is concerned.”
“Not at all,” I told him. “If you put ComCab out of business, they lose all the franchises in the cities they’ve already won. New people will have to take over—a new chance for Network Cable in every city.”
Harris bit his lip. “Of course. I bow to the wisdom of the master.”
“Oh, shut up,” I told him. “Hurry back to New York and find out what Marty says, will you?”
“Sure, Matt. But you realize, don’t you, that even if you turn out to be right about this, that it won’t be one bit of help toward getting your friend loose? It’ll be a setback, if anything.”
“I know. That’s why the sooner I know, the better.” I put through a call to Les Tilman at the newspaper, and arranged for Harris to come by and pick up the photo we wanted. Les laughed and said I should come pick it up myself, such interesting things happened when I was around. I was not amused.
As soon as I hung up, the phone rang. It was Eve.
“Matt,” she said. “I just got a phone call from someone who says he knows something about the case, something that could clear Dan. He wants to talk to us.”
“Where? What did he have to say?”
“He wouldn’t talk on the phone. He says he’s close to the Whittens, though, and he can definitely help. We’re to meet him by the drumlin out on the county road in forty-five minutes. Do you know the place I’m talking about?”
“Sure. Look, Harris Brophy is here. I’ll have him drop me off at your office. We’ll save time that way.”
She told me she’d be waiting. After I put the receiver down in my clumsy, two-handed way, Harris said, “Anything?”
“Who knows? Probably a crackpot out to send a lawyer and her helper for a ride in the country.” I called Spot, who perked up his ears and grinned and came immediately to heel. He’d probably thought he was going to be left behind, so this was a pleasant surprise for him.
It wasn’t an altogether selfless move on my part. I had, after all, been pushed down a flight of stairs. I wasn’t nattering with fear or anything. I just wanted Spot around, just in case. Because there was a chance, just a chance, that this might be something. Possibly a trap, but I didn’t care. Dead center was the worst trap of all, and it was high damned time I got off it.
Harris offered to come along. He hates being left out of anything, but I told him no thanks. The trip to New York was top priority for him.
“I suppose so,” he said. “I’ll pick up that picture, say good-bye to my shy sweetie, then head for New York. I think I’ll let Shirley stay up here for a few more days and keep an eye on you.”
I told him that if he expected me to resent that, he was wrong. “Don’t joke about her, Harris,” I told him. “Shirley is a great kid, and she loves you like crazy.”
“I know it,” Harris said, but there was no conceit about it. He seemed genuinely distressed. “I’m nowhere near good enough for her. I don’t know what to do about it. I like her, too. I’d rather not hurt her, but—”
“Listen, Harris. I’ve got a wild suggestion, here, but it’s crazy enough to work.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“Try real hard and make yourself good enough.”
He took his eyes off the road to look at me for a second, then worked his jaw as if tasting the suggestion. “Hmm. I never thought of that. I’ll think it over.”
And on that optimistic note, we arrived at Eve’s building. Harris said he’d try to get to Marty Adelman and call me tonight. I thanked him and went inside.
CHAPTER 26
“Don’t make me angry ... You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”
–Bill Bixby, “The Incredible Hulk” (CBS)
I HAD HIGH HOPES for that little jaunt into the country but low expectations. It is an acknowledged fact that most crimes in this country are solved when someone calls the police, or (more frequently), the police call somebody, and the somebody tells them who did it. It could be just that simple now, but I didn’t believe it. This had to be a crank, just another nuisance in a long series.
It was a nice drive, though. The leaves had come out in brighter shades of green during the past week. Spot and Eve seemed to be having a great time, but I was still thinking of what it would mean if what I suggested to Harris turned out to be true. I wasn’t enjoying breathing, let alone watching the scenery.
We drove north on the old county road, past Hans’s restaurant and damn near out of Sewanka jurisdiction altogether. I was starting to get edgy; Eve noticed and said, “It’s not much farther.”
“Good,” I said. “What are we supposed to do?”
She didn’t even remind me of how many times she had already told me. High-quality woman, I thought. Then my brain chose that moment to remind me that the last woman I’d thought of that way had made me a fool, and very nearly a corpse. I set my jaw, told my mind to shut up, and listened to the lady lawyer.
“... Thirteen miles past the interchange, there’s a rest area where you can stop the car and sit at a picnic table a little way into the woods. We’re just supposed to sit at the table and wait for him, if he’s not there first.”
“Did he say how long we’re supposed to wait?”
“No,” Eve said. Then she shrugged. “Well give him a half hour or so, then take off. How does that sound?”
“Fine, fine.” I chewed the tips of my fingers. I usually chew a knuckle at a time like that, but I couldn’t get at them. I was getting that uncomfortable, unstable feeling that happens when my brain is about to present me with something, welcome or otherwise. It feels like my blood is carbonated and my skull is filling with fizz.
“There it is,” Eve said. She pulled off the road into a little paved-over part of the shoulder. Someone had made a flagstone path into the leafy glade, and, when I got out of the car and stood up, I could see the picnic table in the middle. No one was there yet. A very restful scene.
“This stinks,” I said. “Wait here with Spot, Eve.” Just because I was willing to walk into what could turn out to be a trap, that didn’t mean I was planning to bring Eve with me. I figured she’d do as I asked and let me handle things. Silly me.
“Matt, I’m not a child. Besides, he said he wanted to talk to both of us. If he sees only me at the car, or only you at the table, he might just turn around and go, and we’ll never learn what he has to say.”
She had a point. I thought of another one. If she waited at the car, our putative trapper would be able to drive up, do something terrible, if that was what he had in mind, and drive off. And I wouldn’t be able to do a damned thing about it. “Okay,” I said, ‘let’s go. But let’s keep about twelve feet between us.”
“Why?” Eve wanted to know.
“Humor me, all right?” I figured that this way, o
ne of us and the dog would be available to come to the other’s assistance if someone jumped out from behind a tree and grabbed us. Eve walked on the path; I kept off it to the right. I let Spot make his own way through the woods; he could get back soon enough. He took off, chasing a butterfly.
I should give up figuring.
The attack came from behind a tree, all right, but no one grabbed anything. I felt something oily and wet splash against my leg at the same time I heard Eve yelp, then start to sputter.
I turned around to see Eve with her hands at her mouth. There were large dark stains on her smart suit. My old pal from the library, Fred Stampe, held her by the collar at arm’s length. And in his other hand, he held a cigarette lighter.
An empty tin can lay at his feet “Lighter fluid,” he said. “I had a quart can in the car, so I figured I might as well find a way to use it. I want to give up smoking anyway. Bad for you. Clever, huh?”
The Organic Hit Man. Used whatever came to hand.
“Brilliant,” I said. Looking at him, I still couldn’t believe he was about my age. Nothing about him looked young, except his eyes. They were bright the eyes of a man who loved his work and was doing a good job. Fred Stampe was flying, on a high more potent than any drug.
“What do you want?” My voice was very cold. I deserved to die for being so stupid, but what had I done to Eve?
“You,” he said. “What do you think? You made me look bad, Cobb. I don’t like that.”
He tugged callously at Eve’s collar. “Your boy friend here is something special, Mrs. Bowen. Not one man in fifty would have survived that fall down the stairs. But I don’t think you’d survive the burning you’re about to get if he doesn’t do what I say. Believe me, it hurts. I know.” I remembered his free-basing accident.
“Ms. Bowen,” Eve corrected. Hell of a time for that, I thought.
Expertly, he opened the lighter and flicked the wheel. It lit right off—a tribute to that company’s truthful advertising. He started to bring the flame near the soaked part of her sleeve.
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