Riders on the Storm

by Ed Gorman

  I took her pause as permission to mount the three stone steps and join her on the back porch.

  I waved the envelope at her again. “What I have here, Mrs. Donovan, is three photographs of you with Lon Anders. In one of them you’re going into a motel room and in another he’s kissing you and he has his hand on your ass.”

  She had a wonderful strong fuck-you laugh. “So Steve finally hired you to follow me around. Lon said he was too stupid to know what was going on. That’s Lon’s ego. He thinks everybody except him is stupid. So when did he hire you?”

  “He didn’t hire me, he hired an investigator from Des Moines. A very good one.”

  “So why isn’t he here instead of you?”

  “Somebody tried to kill him last night. He’s in the hospital in bad shape.”

  “I suppose you want me to feel sorry for someone who was spying on me.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out.”

  “I suppose you’re considered a wit.”

  “Just by my mom.”

  “I just may call Esme.” The bluff was one thing she wasn’t good at.

  “Good. Then I’ll feel free to show her these photos.”

  She slapped me across the ear. For all the delicacy of her face, neck, arms, and wrists, she had a slap that was three-quarters of the way to being a punch. “Sit down on the couch and let’s get this over with.”

  My ear smarting, I obeyed her Majesty and took a seat on a peach-colored couch. She sat close but not too close. There was no way she was going to let me put my hand on her ass.

  “Let’s get this straight. You’re not going to get very much money from me. I’ll tell you that right now.”

  “I’m not here to blackmail you, Mrs. Donovan. I want to prove that Will Cullen didn’t kill your husband.”

  “Well of course Cullen killed him. Who else would have?”

  “Possibly Anders.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “He wanted you and he wanted the business.”

  An amused noise. “You have it backwards. He wanted the business and he wanted me.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  The same amused noise. “I forgot. You overheard me on the phone just now. Well, what you heard was me salving a very pretty man’s ego. He’s fun. He thinks because I’ve been sleeping with him—and he’s very skilled at that—that I’m one of those stupid little girls he’s used to. He expects me to swoon every time he calls me. He’s also deluded himself into believing that I want to marry him. I don’t want to marry him any more than he wants to marry me. What’s funny is that he’s a romantic. He likes convincing himself that he’s in love with certain women who just happen to have something he wants besides the love story nonsense.”

  “Do you think he understands that you don’t love him?”

  The smile of conquest. “Not right now. He’s still in the romance phase. He still wants the business and me as a bonus.”

  “Well, he’s got one of them, anyway.”

  “Not necessarily. With Steve gone I’ve now got fifty percent of everything.”

  “That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Steve. With Will and Steve fighting, Anders saw the chance to lay the murder on Will.”

  “I don’t believe that. I just keep thinking of poor Steve lying in that parking lot all night. And I mean ‘poor’ in case you think I didn’t care for him. Loved him madly for a number of years, but that all got lost because he cheated on me so much. I begged him and I warned him but he wouldn’t listen. So I started sleeping around myself. I could’ve kept a private investigator busy for years.”

  Then from on high: “You’re a pesky little prick. I suppose some women find you cute.”

  “I’m too modest to comment.”

  An actual smile. “So if you’re not going to blackmail me, what’ll you do with the photographs?”

  “I haven’t decided. I might try them on Anders.”

  “Do you usually get this obsessed? I told you Lon had nothing to do with Steve’s death.”

  “Then if you believe that, help me.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t tell him we talked. Let me try these photos on him.”

  “It’s a waste of time but I suppose I could go along with it.”

  “One more thing—what did your husband think of Anders as a business partner?”

  “That’s the only interesting question you’ve asked me.”

  “How so?”

  She sat back on the couch. The azure eyes were reflective. Her looks would not let go of me. “He loved Al like a little brother.”

  “Al Carmichael, his former business partner.”

  “Yes. They were like a couple of college boys together. The first years of the business were so successful they had plans to get as much as thirty percent of the market. Then one of their competitors invented a new spin on the basic product and Steve and Al lost market share instead of gaining it. The friendship suffered to the point that even Amanda—Al’s wife—and I were cool to each other. And then Lon came along. I understand why so many people dislike him but he’s a fantastic sales manager. He got profits up almost from the start. And he also made it clear that he wanted Al out and that he planned to be Steve’s partner. I felt sorry for Al and Amanda and I didn’t like Lon at all. But Steve did and Al was out. Just like that. Lon made things so uncomfortable for him there that one day he walked out and never came back.”

  “But eventually you took to Lon.”

  A subtle exquisite smile. “I told you he was a fantastic salesman.”

  She moved with instinctive grace and offered a slender hand. “I’ve never been in a conspiracy before.”

  “You’re betraying Anders, you know.”

  “How many times do you think he’s betrayed me? Sometimes I worry that he’s going to give me one of those diseases he might get from all the stupid little girls he sleeps with. I was very careful in the days when I was sleeping around. Lon’s never careful about anything. Part of his charm is his recklessness.”

  “He might have been reckless enough to kill your husband.”

  “I still don’t believe you, but you’ve managed to plant a very tiny seed of doubt in my mind.”

  “And if I prove that he did it?”

  She hesitated. Closed her eyes. And when she opened them she looked at me directly. “I’ll do everything I can to see that he never leaves prison. I’ll go on the stand and admit to having an affair with him and not worry about my reputation at all.”

  That was when the chubby, cute little dog barked. “That’s Ivanhoe. Steve got him from the pound about six weeks ago. I prefer cats myself. But I have to admit Ivanhoe has ingratiated himself with me. A bit like you have with me, McCain. Even though I think you’re way, way wrong about Lon.”

  On the way back to my car I played with Ivanhoe for a few minutes. He liked to ram headfirst into my leg as if he was trying to topple a statue.

  The way I was trying to topple Lon Anders.

  15

  FROM VALERIE’S I DROVE OUT TO CHERIE’S, THE ROADHOUSE where Donovan had been drinking the night he was killed. Saturday was the only day they served lunch here so the packed parking lot didn’t surprise me.

  I took a stool and surveyed the dining area that spread out below the raised bar. Customers generally dressed up some when they came here at night but this afternoon summer clothes, even beach clothes, were the standard.

  I ordered a Hamm’s draught and then asked if I could speak to Mr. Hobart, the manager.

  “Something wrong, sir?”

  “No, no, this is a very nice place. No complaints. This is a private matter.”

  “I’ll need a name.”

  “Sam McCain.”

  He was mid-twenties with Beatles hair and a jaunty way of mixing drinks. He also had a good bartender’s innate suspicion for anything untoward a customer might say.

  “Just a second.”

  He stepped over to the phone next
to the cash register, punched in three numbers, and then started talking in a quiet voice. He nodded and hung up and came back to me.

  There were four booths in the west corner of the bar. He pointed to them and said, “Neil said to wait in one of the booths over there and he’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks.” I picked up my draught.

  A few minutes turned out to be sixteen or seventeen minutes according to my watch. The bar got more and more crowded. Most of the men along it were now watching the Cubs game on the elevated twenty-seven-inch screen.

  I knew Neil Hobart from the downtown group that perpetually tried to have its way with the city council. The group was the new Establishment but they wouldn’t have full power until the present group retired or passed on.

  Very cool, very expensive fawn-colored collarless shirt, flowing white trousers with fawn-colored belt yet. Rimless glasses and thinning blond hair in a ponytail. How cool is too cool?

  No handshake. He sat down across from me and said, “You’re wasting your time, McCain.”

  “I hear that a lot.”

  “Everything I know I told to that new police chief.” I wanted to give him a quarter tip for not calling him “Paul.”

  “So I suppose you think Will Cullen is guilty?”

  “I have a friend in the department. He laid it all out for me. Of course he’s guilty. And if that isn’t enough, I was at the luncheon for Senator O’Shay this noon. He’s convinced it’s an airtight case. That kind of says it all, doesn’t it?”

  “When Donovan was out here drinking the other night did you talk to him much?”

  “Some. I felt sorry for the guy. This is a bullshit war and he’s one of the people who paid for it. I tried to be as nice as I could but he was getting way too drunk. I did everything I could to get him to take a cab. I even offered to drive him home myself if he’d just wait till closing time.”

  “How was Will?”

  “Sort of pathetic. He just kept drinking and saying that he wanted to be friends again with Donovan. But Donovan just kept pushing him away.”

  “Physically, you mean?”

  “Yeah. Will’d get close and Donovan would tell him to shut up and go away. And a couple of times he gave him a little push. No big deal. I finally got Will to go into the dining room and do his drinking.”

  “Was Lon Anders here that night?”

  “I had a dinner that night so I didn’t get out here until around nine. He wasn’t here while I was. Why’re you asking about Anders?”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “Anders is a friend of mine.”

  “All I said was that I was doing my job and that is all I’m doing. How about Teddy Byrnes?”

  A sneer as cool as his shirt. “Yeah. He was here for an hour before I got here. Then he left when I got my friend Heinrich to help me. He’s one of our chefs and I had to pay a lot of money for him to come here from Chicago. Eight years ago he was still in Hamburg and he wasn’t working as a chef. Have you ever heard of Sankt Georg?”

  “No.”

  “You’re taking your life in your hands to walk around there at night. Heinrich grew up there and pulled two years as a bouncer in a club where he claims there were at least two murders a month. I need any help with some psycho bastard like Byrnes, I just walk back and sic Heinrich on him. As soon as Heinrich got Byrnes in a hammerlock and then jammed his thumb in Byrnes’s eye, I assumed the fight was over. And then Byrnes slipped the hold and knocked Heinrich out in one punch. And he was out for almost ten minutes. I got scared he wasn’t going to wake up.”

  “What happened to Byrnes?”

  “He took a long look at how unconscious Heinrich looked and split.”

  “But he was here and I assume you’ll testify to that.”

  “Of course I will. But that’s a long haul to prove that he had anything to do with Steve’s death. I admired Steve for serving the country, by the way, but he was totally full of shit about the war. You didn’t do so well by it yourself, McCain, and you didn’t even get over there. That was one hell of an accident.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t fun.”

  “I lucked out. Heart palpitations since I was young. They’ve never really bothered me that much but they were my ticket out so I have developed a fondness for them.”

  He was out of the booth and this time his hand was out.

  As we shook, he said, “For what it’s worth, I know Will from the times he’s been out here. I like him and I feel sorry for him.”

  “But he’s still guilty, huh?”

  “I’m sorry, man,” he said, “but he’s still guilty.”

  The psych ward. I had called Lindsey Shepard but was told that she and her husband were probably on the ward now visiting with Will Cullen. I assumed I could persuade them to let me speak to Will.

  I stepped off the elevator and was confronted by a long desk and two thick-looking doors to the left and right. Both bore signs: ONLY PEOPLE WITH PASSES ALLOWED. The air was somehow different here. Confined, claustrophobic.

  A man in a blue security guard uniform laid his paperback down on the desk and said, “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I’d like to talk to Will Cullen but to do that I need to speak to Lindsey Shepard first. Are she and her husband here?”

  The guard checked his clipboard list. “Yes, she’s still here. Her husband left.”

  “Would you get her on the phone? I’m sure she’ll say it’s all right.”

  “I’ll have to ask you for your driver’s license.”

  “Of course.” I handed my billfold over.

  He studied the photo and then studied me and then handed the billfold back.

  “That’s Lindsey Shepard you’d like to see?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nice lady.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  He shook his hand as if it had been asleep and punched numbers on his phone. Then, “Kay, would you tell Mrs. Shepard that there’s a man named Sam McCain who’d like to come back and see her?” Listening. “Sure, I’ll hang on.” Cupping the phone and to me, “Still as hot out there?”

  “Feels worse than ever.”

  “I don’t want to leave work. The air conditioning. All we’ve got at home are three fans. I could probably pull an extra shift if I wanted to but I’d feel guilty. I sorta feel guilty already. Here I’m sittin’ in air conditioning and the wife and my three kids are sweatin’ it out at home.”

  I heard a voice through his muffling hand.

  “Yeah. Fine. I’ll buzz him in right now. Thanks, Kay.” After hanging up, he said, “There’s a small reception area. That’s what you’ll be standing in when you go in there. Just wait and a nurse will come to meet you. She’ll bring Mrs. Shepard to you.”

  Why couldn’t the nurse just take me back to Will’s room? What the hell was going on?

  The buzz that let me in was quick and quiet. The waiting area was plastic flowers, uncomfortable-looking chairs, two tables piled with magazines, and the kind of framed paintings you can buy on the highway sometimes from trucks and people who look like stereotypical Gypsies.

  I stood and waited.

  Most hospital floors are busy and noisy during the day. Two corridors stretched in front of me and in the center of them was the nurses’ station. I could hear conversations working their way down the halls but they were subdued; the only familiar sound was the occasional squeak of a nurse’s shoe on a polished floor.

  This afternoon Lindsey Shepard had shed her casual look for a summer suit of ivory-colored linen. Her hair was combed back somewhat dramatically. This more conventional Lindsey lost the appeal of her former self.

  “I’ve tried calling you several times, Sam.”

  “Out and about. I just decided to run up here in case Will had started talking.”

  “I wish he was. I think Dr. Rattigan got a little overexcited when Will started showing signs that he was at least understanding what people were saying to him. Doctor Ratt
igan asked me to come over right away. I was getting my photograph taken for a brochure we’re doing. He saved me from that but I’ve been sitting with Will for two hours now and not getting anywhere. Chief Foster has been here twice and he’s called twice. But there’s nothing to report.” Then, “Would you be willing to spend a little time with him?”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s sitting in a chair next to the window. The nurse said that when she first came in around seven o’clock this morning he’d gotten up out of bed and moved a chair around so he could look out. We’ve cut back on two of his meds to see if that might make him less groggy.”

  “I’ll just sit there and try to talk to him.”

  “Hopefully he’ll recognize you. And hopefully he’ll trust you more than he does us. You two have been friends for years.”

  “A quarter century.”

  She hadn’t lost that gamine smile. “Perfect.”

  Once I got to the center of the psych ward I saw that it wasn’t as quiet as I’d thought. There was a group room with a large-screen TV, a ping pong table, smaller tables where both checkers and chess were being played, an exercise bike, and a tall bookcase stacked full with paperbacks. I noticed that there was a small square device in the wall near a snack table. When patients wanted to light a cigarette they went there, pressed the cigarette in what appeared to be a hole in the device and got their smoke going.

  “It’s a heating coil for smoking,” Lindsey said. “This is the only place they’re allowed to light up.”

  “Are you afraid of fire?”

  “That’s the first concern. Falling asleep with a cigarette going. But there are also patients we wouldn’t be comfortable with having matches or a lighter.”

  A pair of the men playing chess waved to Lindsey. None of the others here took notice of her. Or me.

  The patient rooms were small and functional. Bed, bureau, shower, TV, closet. Soft blue colored walls. The room had no particular odor, certainly not a hospital one. The only window was large relative to the size of the room and at a glance looked over the far east side of the town where housing developments and a sprawling mall were under construction. If there was solace in the view it would be in the distant piney hills where horses and short-haul trains still ran.