Night Game

by Alison Gordon

  I wished I had been nicer to her. I wished I’d even taken the time to read something she had written. I probably would have liked it. I should have listened to her when she was talking about helping each other. I should have heard that she was asking for my help.

  I listened to her mother’s voice on the tape, and to her tears. With a little less luck, I could have been her. I could have had a daughter Lucy’s age. The child I decided not to have when I was in my final year at university would have been grown up by now.

  I pushed the maudlin thoughts away and concentrated on the tape, transcribing the pain into careful notations in my lined steno-pad while questions marched around my brain.

  Did Hank Cartwright know he wasn’t Lucy’s father? Did Lucy know? Was it Lucy turning out the light at Dommy’s place that night? Where had she gone? Who had she met? Was she followed? What went wrong? Why did she die? Who hated her enough to kill her?

  I hadn’t found any answers by the time I had finished working, and the questions continued while I showered and changed to go to Esther’s.

  I had just closed the door when I heard the phone ring. I considered for a moment just ignoring it, but then unlocked the door and went back in.

  At first, I thought the caller had hung up. I said hello a couple of times, irritated. Then I heard a muffled voice.

  “Shut up and listen,” he said. “I’m only going to warn you once. Back off or you’re going to end up like Lucy. I know where you live. I know what kind of car you drive.”

  Then the line went dead.

  Chapter 33

  “Oh, my God,” Esther said. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just got out of there.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “Who? Troy Barwell?”

  “God, this is awful,” Esther said. “You’re sure you didn’t recognize the voice?”

  “It sounded like he was disguising it. Or he had a towel over the receiver or something. It was just a whisper. It could even have been a woman. I checked with the desk and she said the call came from outside the hotel. The person had asked for me by room number, not by name.”

  “So he does know where you live.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Not anymore,” Esther said, taking charge. “As of tonight, you’re staying here until this thing is over. And you’re going to ditch that car.”

  “I came over in a cab,” I said.

  “Good thinking. We’ll rent you another one tomorrow. Different kind, different colour. Even better, you can use mine. I’ll borrow my parents’ second car.”

  “I can rent, don’t be silly.”

  “Kate, my parents have three cars.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they keep one for my sister to use when she comes to town for the holidays. Makes sense to them!”

  We both laughed. It cut the tension. We were sitting on the balcony of Esther’s place, on the eighth floor of an upscale waterfront condo a couple of towns up the coast from Sunland. The place was as formal as she was casual. The living room was large and tidy, with sea-green leather furniture and glass and brass tables. The art on the walls was modern and bold. There were potted plants by the sliding doors out to the balcony. We sat in pretty white wicker chairs, drinking a nice California Chardonnay and waiting for Cal. Her tortoiseshell cat sat on the ledge, watching the gulls, longingly.

  “Doesn’t that make you nervous?” I asked, indicating her precariously poised pet.

  “She hasn’t fallen yet. She’s a climber. Always has been, always will, I suspect. I don’t think she really likes it on the ground.”

  As if aware that she was the centre of conversation, the cat looked at us, yawned, and began licking her bum.

  “That’s disgusting, Darrow,” Esther said. “Where are your manners?”

  “Cats have no manners,” I said. “Besides, this is her house. She can do what she wants.”

  “Yes, I’m surprised she even tolerates us being here.”

  Having found common ground, we happily told stories about our respective felines for fifteen minutes until Cal arrived.

  “Sorry to be late,” he said. “Small family crisis.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “No. Sean was late back from school with the car. He needed a little fatherly lecture.”

  “Teenagers, gag,” Esther said. “You’ll never catch me with one of those around.”

  “Yes, but the little adorable ones you are so fond of have a bad habit of growing up,” Cal said.

  “Well, if I ever do find someone to father my children, I’ll send them off to military academy from age twelve on.”

  “What about the girls?”

  “What’s wrong with military academy for girls? You a sexist or what?”

  “Sean’s a good kid,” Cal said. “He just happens to be sixteen. He’s better behaved than I was.”

  “From what I hear, a lot better behaved,” Esther said. “And look how boring you grew up to be. So don’t worry.”

  “Yes, counsellor,” he said. “Got any beer?”

  “Help yourself. You know where to find it.”

  He went to the kitchen, came back with a beer can, and pulled up another chair.

  “I hope you didn’t start without me,” he said.

  “We wouldn’t dare,” Esther said.

  “Anyone know who did it yet?” he asked. “Any smoking guns or mysterious brown-paper envelopes?”

  Esther told him about my threatening phone call. He was as alarmed as she had been. I tried to play it down, for my own sake as much as for theirs.

  “The one thing is, maybe this means we’re getting close,” I said. “Or else he thinks we are. I wish I knew why. Every time I think I’m starting to see the solution, something else comes along to confuse me.”

  “Well, let’s see what we’ve got, then,” Cal said. “Maybe we know more than we think.”

  “First I want to hear about Dommy,” I said. “Did you see him today, Esther?”

  “Yeah, he’s getting really depressed. And paranoid. He thinks he’s never going to get out because he’s a Dominican. That he’s being framed because of it.”

  “That’s not paranoid,” Cal said. “It’s probably true.”

  “When you talk with Dommy, do you speak in English or through an interpreter?” I asked.

  “No, Spanish.”

  “Which she speaks fluently,” Cal said.

  “It’s practically a prerequisite for practising criminal law in the state of Florida,” she said.

  “Did he have anything to say about the night of the murder?”

  “He was embarrassed, but he says he was with Lucy. They had sex. That was at one or a little after, he said. He went to sleep and didn’t wake up until the next morning.”

  “That fits with something I heard today,” I said, and told them about the light in Dommy’s apartment.

  “He also was with her when Stinger flipped out,” Esther said, “but he didn’t know what it was about.”

  “I think maybe I do,” I said, and told them Tiny’s theory about Stinger and the present he had given Tracy after his liaison with Lucy.

  “I guess that would be enough to do it,” Cal said.

  “Dommy also said that Axel Bonder, the super, was nosing around the apartment, his and Jones’s, on Sunday afternoon,” Esther said.

  “What was he doing there?”

  “Dommy doesn’t know. He came back from the ballpark late and found Bonder on the patio, at the door. He said he was checking to make sure it was locked.”

  “Had Bonder been inside?”

  “Dommy doesn’t know. He felt like things were out of place, but he wasn’t sure. Alex had been there earlier, but he’d gone out for dinner. And it was only a
sense that things had been messed up.”

  “Karin told me that he was in there on Saturday, doing repairs to something.” I said. “Maybe she got the day wrong.”

  “But we should ask Bonder about it, for sure,” Cal said.

  “There’s more,” Esther said. “Dommy also told me that his gun wasn’t loaded. He didn’t have any bullets for it yet. He can’t understand how it could have been the murder weapon.”

  “Which makes sense of the theory that the murder gun was planted,” Cal said.

  “And he got it from Lucy?” I asked.

  “Just before the party.”

  “Does he know where she got it?”

  “No. He said she told him she could get him one if he wanted. He said sure. A couple of days later, she showed up at the condo with it. The afternoon of the party.”

  “Damn. I forgot to ask her mother if she knew about the gun when I was there this morning,” I said.

  “Did you get anything interesting from her?” Esther asked.

  “I’m not sure if it’s significant,” I said. “I liked her, though. Did she tell you anything, Cal? I saw you arrive as I was leaving.”

  “No, she mainly talked about Lucy, and we chewed over some old times.”

  “Well, she told me something. It’s juicy, but not necessarily relevant. It seems that Hank Cartwright wasn’t Lucy’s real father.”

  Cal looked uncomfortable.

  “Did she tell you, too?” I asked.

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, she did,” he said.

  He took a drink. I waited, watching the sun sinking suddenly into the ocean. The cat jumped onto my lap.

  “Well, what do you think?” Esther asked. “Do you think it has any bearing on the murder?”

  “What the hell,” Cal said. “I told Beth about it this afternoon. I was Lucy’s father.”

  Esther and I looked at Cal, then at each other. He looked at the can of beer in his hands.

  “Your family crisis wasn’t about Sean and the car, then,” she said, finally.

  “No that was last week’s. I substituted it. I’m not much of a liar, I guess.”

  He stopped and drank some beer.

  “It was all so long ago,” he said. “I was just a kid. And she never told me until today. I was shocked. I should have known. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before.”

  “You showed up at a very vulnerable time,” I said.

  “There’s been nothing between us since then,” he said, looking at Esther, his wife’s friend, who was looking coldly at him. “There wasn’t much even then, just a brief time when Hank was out west.”

  “How do you feel about it?” I asked.

  “Shocked, like I said. It’s too much. To discover I had a daughter, and she’s dead.”

  “Do you think she knew?”

  “June says she never told her. But that’s why she sent Lucy to get a job at the Sentinel with me. She wanted us to get to know each other.”

  “How is Beth?” Esther asked.

  “She’s all right, a bit shaken, but fine,” he said. “Even though we were dating at the time it happened, she realizes that it had nothing to do with her, or that if it was a betrayal, it was another man betraying another woman in very different times. She is an extraordinary woman. I am very lucky that I came back and found her again.”

  “You bet your ass you are,” Esther said, then got up, walked over to Cal, and gave him a fierce hug. That done, she stood, pushed up the sleeves of her sweater, and laughed a bit.

  “All this drama makes me hungry,” she said. “As what doesn’t? I’m going to fix dinner.”

  “Can we help?” I asked.

  “No, but you can come into the kitchen and talk to me while I work,” she said.

  Chapter 34

  Esther’s kitchen was small, but efficient. There was a frying pan simmering on the stove, sending out tantalizing smells of garlic. There was also a large pot of water at the boil on the back burner. Esther went to the fridge and took out salad and a big bowl full of littleneck clams in their shells.

  “We’re having Spaghetti alla Puttanesca,” she said, with a broad attempt at an Italian accent. “With clams. I hope you like it.”

  “What can I do?” I asked.

  “Are you any good at salad dressing?”

  “It’s probably my greatest strength in the kitchen,” I admitted. “Some would say my only strength.”

  “You’re on. The oil and vinegar and junk are in the cupboard next to the sink. Cal, your job is to set the table. You know where everything is.”

  We chatted inconsequentially as we worked, about anything but the two topics most on our minds: murder and paternity. Ten minutes later, we were at her dining-room table serving ourselves spaghetti, perfectly sauced, with the clams just opening in their shells. The food was spicy with hot peppers, anchovies, and olives, and was absolutely delicious. Our only communication was grunts of pleasure until we had wiped up the last remnants of sauce with pieces of crusty bread.

  “Coffee?” Esther asked, collecting our plates.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  “I’ll bring you an ashtray.”

  “If you don’t mind,” I said.

  “I might even have one myself,” she said, coming back in, with a tray of coffee things. “I indulge myself once in a while, especially after a good meal.”

  “Feel free,” I said, pushing the pack towards her.

  She took one and lit it, then settled back and smiled.

  “Makes my head swim,” she said. “And I love it.”

  “What the hell,” said Cal, and reached for the pack.

  “You’re a terrible influence,” Esther said.

  “Just think of it as being a gracious hostess,” I said. “It is so kind of you both to sacrifice your purity to make me feel comfortable.”

  “Right,” Esther said. “Let me just get the coffee, and we’ll get back to the problem at hand.”

  When she left the room, I looked at Cal. He had been quiet all evening, without any of his usual energy and humour.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He rubbed his hands over his face.

  “Not really,” he said. “I guess I’m still a bit in shock. I feel really tired. Exhausted.”

  “That’s no surprise,” I said. “Do you want to go home? This isn’t so important it can’t wait.”

  “No, I want to stay. Today’s, uh, newsflash, makes what we are doing more important than ever.”

  “You know June told me that no one else knew but I wonder,” I said. “If Lucy found out, it might throw a whole new ingredient into the mix. If she told Hank, for example.”

  “That might screw his head around pretty good,” Cal agreed. “But why would he want to kill her?”

  “Hey, this isn’t fair,” Esther said, coming back into the room with a pot of coffee. “I’m being the serving wench and I’m missing all the good stuff.”

  “We’re talking about Hank Cartwright,” I said. “What if he knew he wasn’t Lucy’s dad?”

  “Well, it certainly wouldn’t make him want to kill her,” she said.

  “You’re right,” I said. “But still, I had the feeling there was something he wasn’t telling me when I talked to him after the funeral. I missed something, somehow. Maybe something I should have picked up on, a question I should have asked. It’s really bugging me.”

  “I think I’ll go see him later tonight,” Cal said.

  “Not without me, you won’t,” I said.

  “I guess it will be a threesome, kids, because I’m not staying home,” said Esther.

  “We can probably find him at that bar near the church,” I said. “He seemed to be a regular.”

  “The fabulous Starlite? You’re probably right,” said Cal.


  “Coffee first,” Esther said. “I need fortification before taking that place on.”

  “Maybe if I see him again, I’ll be able to figure out what he was holding back,” I said. “Something he wanted to tell me. I’d like to find out what it is.”

  “I’d just like a bit of action,” Cal said. “All this speculating is making me twitch.”

  “But if he knows that you are Lucy’s father, won’t he freak out when he sees you?” Esther asked. “It might interfere. I think Kate and I should see him alone.”

  “Forget it,” he said.

  Esther and I exchanged a look. An exasperated, men-are-such-jerks-sometimes, kind of look.

  “What, we little ladies need your protection going into a rough bar?” Esther asked.

  “No, Goddamn it, I don’t mean that,” he said, angrily. “I just don’t want to be left out of this.”

  “I understand how you feel,” I said. “But you’ve told me yourself that he can get pretty crazy when he’s drunk. I don’t think he’ll do that with me, but you might set him off.”

  “No. That’s final. I’m in this all the way,” he said.

  The phone rang. Esther went to the kitchen to answer it. Cal and I looked at each other. He glared.

  “You can’t stop me,” he said. “You have no right. I deserve to be there.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe you should be there for the conversation. But what if we went and got him out of the bar. It might avoid a scene.”

  Esther came back into the room.

  “That was Jenny Wilson,” she said. “The medical examiner. Lucy was: a) not pregnant, b) positive for herpes, and c) sexually active the night of her death. With two different men. There were traces of semen vaginally and orally. The former is probably Dommy’s. The latter is unknown.”

  Cal looked pale and upset.

  “Find the mystery man, and we’ve got the murderer,” he said.

  “You don’t think it’s Hank Cartwright?” Esther asked.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “Their relationship was a bit perverse, but I can’t imagine them having sex on the beach. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t track him down and see if he’s got anything else to tell us.”