There's Something in a Sunday

by Marcia Muller

  “Were you there all morning?”

  “Only till about ten. Captain came out of the offices and started upstairs. I complained I was out of beer, he gave me some money, told me to go to the liquor store.”

  As Choteau had said, Rudy Goldring had been free with the beer. Rudy had told me it was harmless enough, and I suspected that in the back of his mind he also thought it wiser to keep Bob happy and somewhat sedated. But to hand him money and send him off to the liquor store as soon as he complained…”Did you get the feeling he was trying to get rid of you?”

  Choteau hesitated. “Well, he came up with the dough pretty quick, even for him.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “Not till later, after I checked out the restaurant.”

  “Okay, let’s go back to that afternoon. Where did you go after you saw Mr. Goldring was dead and left the flat?”

  “Over to the Haight. Knew I had to get out of that neighborhood, and I’d heard Red was living here in the park. Hung around down on Stanyan and connected with him after a couple of hours. He brought me here.”

  “And you’ve been here ever since?”

  His eyes shifted away from mine. “Sure.”

  “What about early Sunday morning when the man came?”

  “What man?”

  “A tall fellow. Slim. Limp brown hair. Wears western-style clothes.”

  “Never saw anybody like that around here. Wasn’t nobody here but Red and the old man and me.”

  “The three of you weren’t here, either-at least not after the man arrived. Did you take him someplace else?”

  “Look, lady, I don’t know about no man. At one in the morning I was probably asleep.”

  “You weren’t that morning. I came inside, and the windmill was empty.”

  “You came…that was you went through our stuff!”

  “Yes. Where were you?”

  “A lot of nerve, going through our stuff that way.”

  “Don’t change the subject. What happened to the man?”

  “I said I don’t know no man!”

  I decided to let it go for now. “You get out of here a lot?”

  “Not much. Like I said, where would I go?”

  “Out foraging, maybe. Over to the Haight-”

  “Lady, cops are looking for me. I been thinking I ought to get clear out of town, maybe catch a freight up to Oroville, maybe Portland. But winter’s coming on. What I’d like to do is put a little money together-”

  “Is that what you were hoping to do when you tried to get in touch with Irene Lasser?”

  “How’d you-No, why would I do that?”

  “When I went through this place, I found the sack of food she brought you.”

  “He brought it.”

  “Who?”

  Silence.

  “Who?”

  “Man she works for. I never even saw Rina.”

  “Why did he bring it?”

  “How the hell should I know? Probably Rina asked him to.”

  “Start at the beginning. You went up to The Castles…”

  “That what they call that place? Well, yeah, I went there couple of days after the captain bought it. Knew where Rina lived, guess I thought she might help me.”

  “Only you saw Gerry Cushman instead.”

  “Yeah, him. I was trying to sneak in there. Didn’t want to see anybody but Rina. Set off the alarm going over the wall. Son of a bitch came at me with a gun. Honest to Christ, I thought he was gonna shoot me. But then his wife-what’s her name?”

  “Vicky.”

  “Yeah, Vicky comes running outside and yells for him to stop. She knows me, see. She’d been to the captain’s with Rina.”

  “What happened then?”

  “They took me inside and we talked. They said I couldn’t see Rina, she was still too upset. But he gave me some money, told me he’d bring food later.

  “He brought it here?”

  “No, I was afraid it was a trick to turn me over to the cops. I mean, why bring food when he could just’ve given me cash? So I met him over near the Beach Chalet on the Great Highway.”

  “And then?”

  Again his eyes moved away from mine. “That’s it.”

  “You didn’t go back and try to see Rina? Try to get money from her, too?”

  “No! Why the hell would I? He promised me plenty-”

  I waited.

  Choteau tugged at one earlobe and shifted position, squirming around on the filthy nest.

  I said, “Promised you plenty of money to do what?”

  “You got it wrong. He promised me plenty of food. Said Rina didn’t want me to go hungry-”

  “You just said you only thought Rina wanted him to bring you the food.”

  “No, I know she did. Getting me confused. And you haven’t given me my ten bucks yet.”

  “I’ll give you twenty if you’ll tell me the rest of it-and what happened to the man who came here.”

  “There isn’t any more! There wasn’t any man!”

  “Twenty dollars, Bob.”

  He stopped, raised his head and listened.

  “What is it?”

  “I think Red and the old man are coming back. They might get violent, they find you here.”

  I didn’t hear anything, and I wasn’t sure whether to believe him. But his cohorts might indeed become violent-or he might incite them to it. In any case, I doubted I’d get anything out of him, given his present resistance. I got to my feet and moved toward the door.

  “Hey, what about my ten bucks?”

  “You’ll get it when you tell me the rest of it.”

  “You said twenty-”

  “Twenty. Twenty or nothing.” I fumbled in my bag, pulled out one of my cards, and dropped it on the floor. “Call me at that number when you’re ready to talk.”

  Choteau gave a wounded howl. I went out the door.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I drove slowly through the darkened byways of the park, thinking about Bob Choteau and Gerry Cushman. Some of what Choteau had told me had been lies and evasions, but one thing rang absolutely true: It was strange that Gerry had brought him the bag of food when he could simply have paid him to go away and leave the residents of The Castles alone.

  It meant Gerry thought he had a use for the derelict-which was further confirmed by Bob’s slip about Gerry promising him “plenty” of money.

  For what, though? Something to do with Irene? If so, I was reasonably sure she had no complicity in it; her innocent reaction to my mention of the windmill had been genuine. Gerry had not told Irene where Choteau was hiding, if he knew himself-might not even have revealed that Bob had tried to see her.

  One explanation for Gerry’s actions might lie in what the Cushman girls had inadvertently-or maybe not so inadvertently-told me: Vicky thought Gerry was having an affair with Irene. The girls had said Rina wouldn’t do such a thing, but children, even prematurely worldly children like Betsy and Lindy, don’t like to believe anything negative about the people they love. And it was clear they did love Rina, possibly more than the mother who was swiftly becoming a candidate for the psychiatric hospital.

  I thought back to Lindy’s description of the quarrel her parents had had Saturday night. Vicky had told Gerry he was going to “ruin everything,” had said he wouldn’t have done what he had for her. Ruin what? Their marriage? Their lives and those of the children? And what was it he’d done? Taken the bag of food to Bob Choteau, rather than turn him over to the police? That seemed minor in the scheme of things. Besides, Gerry had done that earlier in the week, probably Wednesday or Thursday. Vicky wouldn’t have waited until Saturday to air her displeasure. What else had Gerry done?...

  Saturday night was when Frank Wilkonson had gone to the windmill and disappeared. I was certain Choteau knew something about that; his evasion of my questions had been too obvious. And now Wilkonson had been found shot to death.

  I gripped the steering wheel harder as I turned right out of t
he park onto Stanyan, where the Panhandle begins. It was nearly dark now and the perimeter of the park bordering the Haight was deserted. The streets were well populated, however, but not with the scruffy types I remembered from ten or even fifteen years ago. These people were relatively well dressed, many of them in business attire, and the warmly lighted establishments they homed in on were chic restaurants and shops. When I looked at my watch, I was surprised to find it was not quite seven.

  I parked on Stanyan and dodged traffic as I ran across the street to a print shop owned by my friends Daphne and Charlie. I have a long-standing arrangement with them that I can drop in and use their phone in exchange for steering All Souls’ clients’ business their way. The shop was noisy and busy even at this hour; a collator clattered, copiers whirred and clunked, phones rang, and somebody-Charlie? Yes, Charlie-was swearing mightily behind a broken-down offset press. I hurried past the commotion to the rear, where Daphne was clearing her desk in her usual serene manner. She waved in greeting and moved calmly through the storm to the door-going home to their Clayton Street flat, where she would probably whip up something fantastic in the kitchen to soothe Charlie when he returned later, all ink stained, sweaty, and irate.

  I sat down at the other desk, looked up the Cushmans’ number, and dialed. A childish voice answered. I said, “Lindy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hi, it’s Sharon. Is Rina there?”

  There was a long pause. “Oh, that’s great, Megan. Listen, can I call you back? From my own phone?”

  “Sure.”

  “…Oh, you’re not at home? Okay, give me the number.”

  I repeated the number of the print shop and hung up, mystified. It was a full five minutes before the phone rang. I snatched the receiver up.

  “Sharon?” Lindy said. “I’m sorry it took so long. I had to make an excuse to Dad and get over here to my room. I just hope he doesn’t pick up the extension.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Oh…” Her voice broke. “Oh, everything’s terrible, and…I don’t know. Something awful must have happened this afternoon, because Rina didn’t pick us up at school, and she never forgets. Finally we caught the Muni home, and Mom was hysterical and Dad was furious, and Rina…she’s gone. Gone.”

  The hollowness and misery in her voice made me ache for her. “Do you mean gone for good? Did she take Susan with her?”

  “She took Susan. I don’t know if it’s for good or what. Dad won’t talk about it, and Mom’s in their bedroom screaming again. Dad fixed us dinner and now he’s watching TV with Betsy and acting like nothing’s wrong. Daddy scares me, Sharon. He really makes me afraid.”

  I noted that she’d slipped into a little-girl vernacular-not at all the sophisticated, semicynical talk of the kid I’d met outside of the Abbott School. She added, “He’s different tonight. It’s like…he just watches the TV and smiles this funny little smile. It’s all so…oh…”

  “Lindy-”

  She began to cry. “Will you come and get us out of here? Please take Betsy and me away from here?”

  “Lindy! Stop crying!”

  Her sobs cut off abruptly. Then she snuffled.

  The poor kid, I thought. She’s seen so much in her short life, and she’s probably had to fend for both herself and her little sister. It’s made her capable of turning off her emotions like tap water.

  I said more gently, “Lindy, I’m not angry at you for crying. I just want you to calm down, because something needs to be done. I want to talk with your dad.”

  “No! If he finds out I lied about Megan calling-”

  “It’ll be all right. Please do this for me. Go back to the other castle and ask him to pick up the extension.”

  There was a long silence. “Can you help us?”

  I didn’t know, but for her sake I lied. “Yes, I can help. I promise.”

  “Don’t hang up.” There was a scuffling noise, and then dead air for about two minutes.

  While I waited, I thought some more about Gerry: his acting as if nothing was wrong while his wife screamed in her bedroom; his refusal to explain about Irene and Susan’s absence; his “funny little smile.” Something was drastically wrong at The Castles, but I didn’t think Gerry would hurt his children. If anything, he’d go to great lengths to spare them whatever further horrors awaited. On the other hand, if I went there, he might do something to hurt me. By the time his voice came on the line, I’d decided what course of action to follow.

  He said, “Hello. Is this Sharon McCone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lindy didn’t know your last name.”

  “Well, we weren’t formally introduced. Gerry, I need to talk with you.”

  “Come on up. We’ll have a drink.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I wanted to meet him on neutral-and safer-ground. I told him I was at the print shop on Stanyan Street and gave him the address. “Can you meet me here?”

  “I can’t leave the girls. Our nanny is away, and Vicky’s-”

  “I know.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Charlie emerge from behind the offset press-ink stained and sweaty and irate, as I had expected. “Bring the girls with you. My friend here is about to go home, and he’ll take charge of them for a while.” Charlie and Daphne always have room for one or two more at their flat-be it adult or child. Betsy and Lindy would be safe there until this matter was resolved.

  “I don’t know if I should leave Vicky alone.”

  “Gerry, take a good look at your daughters. Those kids need to get out of there. I need to talk with you. And as near as I can tell, you’re not doing Vicky any good by staying at home.”

  In the silence that followed, I was afraid I’d angered him. But the appeal on the basis of the girls’ well-being seemed to have worked. He said, “I’ll be there. Give us fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  After I’d explained to Charlie about the Cushman girls-saying that their mother was in bad emotional shape, but omitting the fact that their father might be involved in two murders-I went back to the phone and called Walt Griscom at his tavern in Tres Pinos. Against a background of revelry, Walt told me what he’d been able to find out from his contacts at the San Benito County Sheriff’s Department.

  “Like I suspected, the gun was a twenty-two. That doesn’t do much to narrow the range of suspects. Every ranch in the area and half of the households have at least one on hand.”

  And, I thought, so would a great many of the households in San Francisco, where Wilkonson had disappeared. “How long had he been dead?”

  “Nothing official on that yet-they don’t get autopsies performed any faster down here than in San Jose or San Francisco. But the man I talked to is a long-time veteran of the department. He says at least forty-eight hours before the body was discovered, maybe more.”

  That would make the probable time of death Sunday morning-or even Saturday night. “I take it he wasn’t killed where he was found?”

  “Nope. Lividity indicates he’d lain on his right side for quite some time. He was found lying on his face.”

  “That area around the reservoir is pretty much deserted?”

  “This time of year it is.”

  “So he could have been dumped either at night or during the day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But it’s not a place that only area residents would know about?”

  “Hell, no. Anybody with a map or a Triple-A guide could find it easily enough.”

  Like the caliber of the gun, the place where Wilkonson’s body had been dumped didn’t help to narrow the range of suspects. “How’s Jane Wilkonson taking it?”

  “She’s bearing up. Woman’s got guts, she’ll weather this one. Let’s just hope Frank was well insured. Six kids is a lot of mouths to feed.”

  “I’m sure Harlan Johnstone will see they’re provided for.”

  “Don’t count on it. Old Harlan was pretty
bitter about Irene running off like that.”

  “Well, it’s not Jane or the kids’ fault that she and Frank-Wait a minute, you didn’t tell me Harlan had heard the rumors about his wife and Wilkonson. In fact, you said they weren’t true.”

  “That’s because I didn’t believe they were.”

  “But now you do.”

  “I don’t know. Wilkonson’s been murdered, though; maybe there is something to them.”

  “How did Harlan hear the rumors? Surely no one would have talked to him-”

  “Young Hal told him, after the divorce papers came through. Told him he ought to forget about Irene and why. Harlan went after Frank. They had a pretty violent confrontation. Hal managed to keep them from killing each other, and that’s when Harlan started to drink so heavy and Hal took over the hands-on management of the ranch.”

  “I wish you’d told me this earlier.”

  “So do I. But I didn’t think it was relevant, and I didn’t want to make the Johnstones-Harlan, Hal, or Irene-look bad.”

  I thought back to the chronology of the story he’d told me, readjusting for this new information. “Stupid of Hal to have brought it all into the open at that late date, wasn’t it?”

  “Not so stupid-the boy’s running the ranch now, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is.” I’d have to think a bit more about Hal Johnstone.

  Walt didn’t have anything more to tell me, so I hung up and called All Souls. To my surprise, Anne-Marie answered. After business hours phone duty falls to whoever is standing closest to one of the red push-button instruments that are-for some long-forgotten reason that probably was terribly significant at the time of their installation-an All Souls tradition. Usually Ted, who lives in a rather rococo cubbyhole on the second floor, beats the others to the phone from force of habit. Anne-Marie had been there so seldom in the evenings since she and Hank married that hearing her voice disoriented me.

  I said, “I tried to call you on Sunday, but your machine hung up on me.”

  “It has that habit.” She sounded dull and lifeless. “Was it anything important?”