Will opened a door onto the loading dock. The big metal doors were rumbling open one by one now, and the dock was full of engine sounds as Gazette trucks backed in to receive bundles of the early editions.
Jenifer rushed ahead, looked into Marlee’s car. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Maybe she just took a cab,” she said. “She was alone when she stopped at the animal hospital. Right?”
“They thought so,” Delaney said. “They thought so.”
“On second thought,” Jenifer said, “it makes no sense that she’d take a cab. She’s not afraid to drive in the rain, for God’s sake. So why would she take a cab, unless her car wouldn’t start?”
“Her car was just fixed,” Delaney said. He reached into the car, pulled the hood-release lever, went around the front He lifted the hood and saw a tangle of wire spaghetti. “She’s with him,” he said.
Marlee was relieved: they were almost to the turnoff to her street, and it was looking as if she’d get back to the Gazette in time to meet Grant. How would she handle that? Easy enough: sit down over a cup of coffee.
“I hope your father doesn’t get mad at me for leaving my car in his spot,” she said. “I’ll get it out as soon as I can, even if I have to tow it.”
“No problem. We can have someone look under the hood when we get back.”
Marlee chuckled. “Talk about a company that takes care of its own.”
“We do that, all right.”
That reminded Marlee of something. Yes, Lyle might know, and an informal yet private setting seemed a perfect opportunity to bring it up. “Have you by any chance heard anything from Ed Sperl’s first wife, Olga?”
Lyle paused before saying, “What makes you ask?”
Marlee was stung by his tone, at once rebuking and remote. She had not known Lyle to assert his management position that way before. “Never mind, it’s none of my business.”
“But you made it your business, didn’t you? What makes you ask?”
Oh, this is all wrong, Marlee thought. She was embarrassed and upset and wanted only to change the subject. “I shouldn’t have,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“But you did. What made you ask?”
Okay, Marlee thought. I can be a little porky, too, if that’s the mood you’re in. “She came to me one day and hung all her problems out to dry on my line, that’s all.”
“Her biggest problem was that slimy bag of pus she used to sleep with. The late Ed Sperl.”
A chill caressed Marlee’s skin. She had never heard Lyle talk like that, had never heard his voice sound like that, with a hate that was almost palpable. She had never realized that Lyle was among those who loathed Ed Sperl—
Oh.
In an instant, Marlee understood and felt faint. The Lyle who was sitting next to her was not the Lyle she had known, or thought she had known.
“We do take care of our own,” he went on. “Olga can stay in Arizona all her life.”
Arizona. But of course: Lyle would know she had gone to Arizona. No doubt he had sent her there and made it worth her while.
Slowly, Marlee turned toward Lyle, who was staring straight ahead. She noticed the small smudge of grease on his forearm, knew at once how it had got there. She looked at his eyes—shiny, staring straight ahead, as though seeing something far away.
In the moment before terror filled her, she reflected quite clearly: Lyle is insane.
Lyle started to round the corner of Marlee’s street, but he jammed on the brakes when he saw the two patrol cars a block away. Marlee saw the police cars, too. Somebody knows, she thought. Ed Delaney! That was him on the parkway, driving toward the Gazette. He knows it’s Lyle!
She reached for the door handle, but Lyle was ahead of her, locking all the doors from the buttons on the driver’s-side door. Besides, he had swung the car around with dizzying speed; even if she had been able to unlock the door, the centrifugal force would have stopped her from opening it. In no time, the car was back on the Ambrose Parkway.
“Lyle, please.”
The puddles had shrunk, and he jammed the accelerator to the floor. Lyle was passing everything, missing some cars by less than a foot as he changed lanes with terrifying speed.
“Please, Lyle. I don’t want to die. For God’s sake.”
Nigel growled, whimpered, emitted a quizzical chortle. Then he settled on a deep, threatening growl.
“Nigel, no. It’s okay. For the love of God, Lyle …”
Marlee turned to look out the back, praying to see flashing red lights. There were none.
“Lyle, please. You don’t have to … I mean, with your power you can fix—”
When Marlee realized what she had said, everything came into focus. Everything.
Lyle swung the car violently to the right. It nicked a guardrail as it hurtled down the next exit, swerving so suddenly that Marlee’s dog tumbled onto the floor with a yelp.
“Nigel!”
Marlee grabbed the dog’s leash; she would try to get out of the car, scratch Lyle’s eyes if she had to, hope that Nigel would bite, but she would get out of the car, out of the car.
“I’m allowed to have this,” Lyle said, proudly waving a silver revolver. “My daddy got it for me. It’s real!”
Marlee was crying now, she could not help it. She recognized where they were: on a road that led past weed-strewn rail sidings to an abandoned industrial park. Was this where she would die? “We’ve been friends, Lyle.”
“No.”
“Yes! We were, Lyle. We were! Friends.”
“I only had friends when people knew my last name. When I played make-believe, they weren’t my friends.”
“Oh, God.”
Lyle pulled to the right, braked hard. The car skidded and stopped. “If you were my friend, you wouldn’t have found out.” Lyle’s voice was breaking; to Marlee, it sounded like that of a heartbroken six-year-old. “If you were my friend, you wouldn’t have played that tape at your party.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Lyle. I didn’t mean it.”
“You did! You did! You think I don’t know? I do know. I know what you and Jenifer were doing. I hear things. I have feelings, too.”
“I know you do, Lyle.”
“He made me go with him to my father’s cottage, over near Horning. He made me promise to pay. I was afraid he’d tell on me.”
“Oh, God.”
“If it hadn’t been for the tape you played, it would all still be a secret.”
“It can still be a secret, Lyle. I swear to God. I’ll give you the tape. Honest.”
Lyle cackled, proud of his cleverness. “I’m not so dumb, you know. I’m not!”
“I know you’re not, Lyle. Honest.”
“Grant has the other tape. But he told me he’d be my friend, in New York. He’d give it to me. I betcha he would!”
Lyle’s voice had slipped into a child’s falsetto, all the more terrifying because the light had gone out of his eyes.
The dog yelped and barked between growls; now the Airedale’s head was between Lyle and Marlee, its uncomprehending eyes wild with confusion.
Marlee prayed.
A siren, from far away. Was it coming this way?
“Please, Lyle.”
“I want you to come with me.” Lyle used the gun to point toward the door handle on Marlee’s side; there was a click as Lyle pressed the unlock button.
“Lyle …”
“I want you to come with me.”
Marlee got out, stood on the side of the road, her legs trembling, hardly able to support her. She could smell the weeds and mud. The siren was still far away.
Lyle had got out and come around the front to face her. “I want the doggie to come, too.”
“Please, Lyle.”
“Get the doggie.”
Marlee opened the rear door. Before she could grab Nigel’s leash, the dog was by her. No growl, no snarl, just a leap for Lyle’s leg. Lyle shrieked as fangs sank into his calf.
“Nigel
! No, Lyle. Please!”
Lyle’s face had gone white with fear and pain, but he was still on his feet, and he still had his revolver. Nigel shook his head, the way Airedales do with their prey, and for a moment the jaws came loose. The dog lunged again, but Lyle had moved back a few feet, and this time Marlee stepped on the leash, and the dog stopped short of Lyle’s leg.
“See, Lyle. I am your friend. I didn’t want him to hurt you.”
Lyle’s leg was bleeding freely under the torn trousers, and he was starting to cry. His face showed not anger but hurt feelings. “He hurt! He hurt!”
“He didn’t mean to, Lyle. He didn’t.” Marlee was down on her knees, her right arm wrapped around the dog’s shoulders, the left gripping the leash as hard as it could. “Nigel, no!” The dog thrashed and snarled, wanting only to go back to the skin and blood.
A siren? Yes, and coming this way, at last.
“He hurt,” Lyle moaned. “He hurt.”
“It can be all better, Lyle. It can be all better.”
But Lyle’s lips were turned down, and there were tears on his cheeks. The child felt betrayed and could not be consoled.
“Let your friends help, Lyle.”
“You were mean,” Lyle sobbed. “I wasn’t mean to you. Dog was mean, too. Bit me.”
“Oh, Lyle.”
Marlee could see the police car now, a half mile away and closing.
Lyle was limping as he started into the high, wet weeds. Pouting and choking back a sob, he turned to look at Marlee. “He was a mean priest. He wanted me to touch him … down there! He did!”
Lyle turned and limped into the weeds. Marlee knelt sobbing by her dog as the siren grew louder. She prayed for the Lyle she had known, the Lyle who had not harmed her, had not harmed her dog. She hoped the siren’s wail would smother the sound of the shot.
Dear Grant,
I really feel I should have written to you before this, but I’ve just felt kind of overwhelmed lately. I’m not alone in that, as I’m sure you can understand.
First, let me say how sorry I am that we never got a chance to have much of a private talk before you went back to New York. I can’t imagine more bizarre circumstances—or sadder ones. Can you?
Believe me when I say that Ed Delaney is sorry you were held at the airport and missed your flight. It’s easy to see how it happened, in hindsight. Isn’t hindsight great?
Anyhow, Ed understands how pissed off you were that he forgot to cancel the message for the police to pick you up. That’s why he insisted on coming with me to drive you to the airport. It made for kind of an awkward situation, I admit. I like Ed’s company, but I would rather have talked to you alone.
So—now that we’ve finally touched base after all these years, I hope we won’t lose contact. Speaking for myself, as I get older I appreciate the importance of hanging on to the people one knows in life.
Oh, Ed had copies made of the tape you sent him, although I don’t know what good it will do. God, can you imagine how Lyle must have felt pressured? I mean, once he got my copy of the tape, he had to not only get to New York but get your copy of the tape, too. At least he may have thought he did; if Ed Sperl hadn’t had a big set of ears the night of my party …
Enough of that unhappy stuff. I need to go back to the point I was making, about keeping in touch, etc. Just because you’re in New York and I’m in Bessemer doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. It’s only an hour by plane, right? And I like the idea of having a friend in New York.
The office is buzzing about Will Shafer. I happen to know he confronted the publisher face-to-face and asked him what he had done to fix the case up for Lyle years ago. Knowing the publisher, he probably tried to tell Will that it was no concern of his. But I know Will stood on principles; he wouldn’t be comfortable working for a publisher who did something like that, believe me.
So Will’s days here are probably numbered, which is too bad. Too bad for the city and the newspaper, I mean. Will can latch on somewhere else. So can his wife, Karen.
One of the strange figures in all this is Ed Sperl’s first ex-wife, Olga. She surfaced in Arizona, finally, and reportedly sold her story to one of those gossip tabloids for a hefty five figures. Well, good for her. Maybe she can take me to lunch sometime.
Will tells me your father is sick. I’m sorry to hear that, and I hope things don’t go too badly. I know what it’s like.
There’s lots more I’d like to say, but I should save it for another time. And there will be another time, because from now on we must keep in touch.
As ever,
Marlee West
“‘As ever,” Grant said. “What the hell does that mean?” He wadded the letter and tossed it toward the wastebasket.
The phone rang, and for a moment he hoped, against all that was rational, that the call was from Bessemer.
“Grant? This is Lila Burlson. I’ve been trying for a couple of days to reach you at Sleuth.”
“I took a couple of days off.” What can she want, he thought.
“I hope you’re not sick.”
“No. I just needed some time.” To think about my career, he thought. And my life.
“Can we get together soon?”
“Huh?”
“The reason I ask, I’ve been thinking. While your manuscript is, well, flawed, it does show … life. Talent. I mean, it stayed with me, warts and all, even though I sent it back.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, I thought it was too, too idiosyncratic to survive commercially, and yet … Let’s talk, is what I’m saying. It might be possible to recast it in some ways that would at least get you in the marketplace.”
“Oh. All right. That would be great.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch soon, and we can settle on a time and place. Maybe talk over a beer or two.”
“Fine.” Say more, a voice in his head said. Say more. “I’d like that.”
Grant felt naked and vulnerable. For a moment, he thought he might cry. Damn, he thought. All these people trying to … reach me.
He put on dark glasses, fled his apartment, started walking uptown. He walked as fast as he could, hoping to tire himself. Penn Station was just ahead; he would buy newspapers at the stand in front of it.
“Disabled Vietnam veteran here. Won’t you please help?”
Grant bought two papers and a magazine. He put his change into the man’s cigarbox, whirled and walked away.
Back in his apartment, he had an impulse. Quickly, before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up the phone and dialed. “Doug? It’s Grant Siebert. Still want to have a beer sometime soon?”
After hanging up, he saw that the wadded-up letter from Marlee West had missed the wastebasket. Grant laughed: the gods were telling him something.
He picked up the letter, smoothed it out, laid it flat on the kitchen counter. He read the end: “… from now on we must keep in touch.”
Yes.
Will looked up to see Marlee.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“Of course. How are you?”
“Not bad. Pretty good, actually. I just wanted to know if I can bring anything.”
“Just bring yourselves and your appetite. Karen’s putting chicken on the grill. We’re looking forward to it.”
Marlee beamed. “So is Ed. His daughter is a sweetie. I know your kids will love her.”
“I’m sure. So we’ll see you a few hours from now.” Will felt an edge of sadness but chased it away. “I’m glad it’s a warm day. This time of year, we never know how many days we have left to sit out on the deck and solve the world’s problems over a drink or two or three.”
“Will, do you ever think it would have been better if Lyle had, you know …?”
“No. We’ll probably never know, but I think he really wanted to live. Even as he was squeezing the trigger, I think he was changing his mind, pulling his hand away. I think that’s why the bullet wasn’t fatal.”
“But the way he is n
ow …”
“I know. But at least he’ll have good care. And when someone in a life-or-death moment like that chooses life, I want to see him get his life back.”
“Hmmm. That makes sense.”
“Oh, I don’t know if it does. It’s just how I feel.”
“Will he ever stand trial, do you think?”
“Doubtful. And if he does, for either killing or both, he’ll have a good defense. Money will be no object, you know that.”
“I thought I knew Lyle.”
“So did I. We were both wrong.”
“Will, I’ve thought a lot about that prowler at my place. At first, I wondered if it was Ed Sperl, trying to steal the tape to help his blackmailing. Then I thought it made a lot more sense if it was Lyle, trying to get the tape. See, I wasn’t going to be at my place that night, and I changed my plans.”
“So it could have been someone you knew, or someone who learned about you from someone you knew.”
“Yes.”
“Or maybe it was just a prowler, Marlee.”
Marlee shook her head, made an expression that Will knew meant she was through with the subject. “I’ll see you later on.”
Hardly had Marlee left his office when the phone rang. It was Karen. “Home base to Will, urgent request from kids. They want Marlee to bring her dog. Do you think she’d mind?”
Will chuckled. “She won’t mind. I’ll ask her.”
He hung up, started to leave his office and saw Jenifer Hurley standing there. From her expression, he knew at once why she had come.
“Can we talk a minute?” she said.
“Sure,” he said, sitting back down.
Jenifer settled into her chair. “I’m leaving.”
“Ah. Where?”
“The Los Angeles Times. I’ve been talking to them off and on for a while, and they’ve been following, you know, the case, and …”
“And they knew you had a role in it. Even though all the Gazette’s running is what official sources say.”
“Yes. And it seems, it just seems like a good opportunity.”
“It is, Jenifer. I’m very happy for you.” How far away you’ll be, he thought.
“Thank you. You’ve been wonderful to me. A lot of Gazette people have, but you especially. I’ve learned a lot from you.”
Night of the Ice Storm Page 33