by Ed Gorman
“Turk is very strong, Mr. C.”
“Uh-huh.” I pointed at his eyes. “Open them as wide as you can.”
“No way, man. You’re not no doctor.”
“Very perceptive of you to recognize that, Turk. Must be your 20/20 hearing.” To Jamie I said: “Doc Mayburn is just down the street. Take Turk down there and have him checked. He’ll probably need a few stitches in that wound anyway.”
“Stitches? No way, man. I had to have eight of them one time when I was six. I fell out of a tree and landed headfirst.”
It would be too easy to point out that landing on his head might explain a lot of things about the latter-day Turk, but I liked Jamie too much to say it. Besides, I wanted to try and figure out what the asshole burglar had been looking for.
“Go on now. Tell Doc Mayburn to put it on my account.”
“You think he has a concussion, Mr. C?”
“Well, he’s got something, that’s for sure.”
“Here, honey, let me help you up.”
“I ain’t no invalid.”
Jamie looked as if her new puppy had just been run over by the train.
Turk got up. He jerked in pain and grabbed his head. At least I was getting a little pleasure out of this. “We’ve got band practice tonight.”
“Oh, no, Turk. You’re in no condition to practice.”
“Have to. Next week we send our tape to Dick Clark.”
She beamed at me. “Isn’t that cool, Mr. C? He’ll be on Bandstand in no time.”
“If the conditions are right. Don’t forget that. I don’t want no crummy background the way the rest of those bands get. I want somethin’ really sharp.”
“He’s got a good business head, too, Mr. C.”
“I can see that. Dick Clark doesn’t know what he’s in for.”
By then, thankfully, they were in the hall and edging toward the door.
“No stitches, remember.”
After they were gone, I started picking up file folders and putting them back in their proper places. I gave each one a minute or so of consideration. I was trying to figure out if one of them was the reason the thief had been in here. But most of them were old and pedestrian. Mortgages, divorces, wills—nothing that would be worth stealing.
When I was finishing up, I realized that this was a ruse, dumping everything out this way. He was searching for something else, and the piles of folders were nothing more than a distraction for my sake. Like many attorneys, I was file-rich and money-poor. But I’d never worked on a case that would prompt somebody to toss my office. Until now, the murder of Lou Bennett and the aftermath.
Since there was only one possible explanation, I went to my desk and opened the manila folder on it. I’d made copies of the material about Karen Shanlon’s death in the fire. There were six sheets in all. I had put them in order of the date on which the newspaper story had been published. When I went through them now, they were out of sequence.
I went back and finished the filing. I walked down the hall and got a Pepsi from the machine, and then came back to try and think this through. The thief obviously thought I had something he didn’t want me to have. And it had to do with the Karen Shanlon fire.
A picture of DePaul stared up at me from the folder. He’d been the chief at the time of the fire; he’d been the authority who’d called it accidental. I found myself thinking the unthinkable and enjoying the hell out of it. What if DePaul, the great patriot and overseer of public virtue, had taken a bribe? It wasn’t exactly unheard of. Big town or small, a certain number of public officials were always on the take.
Since DePaul was the man who’d written the report on the fire that killed Karen Shanlon, he was the man I needed to start with.
I was halfway out of my chair when the phone rang. I answered and heard: “Somebody really hurt him, Sam. Really hurt him!”
Sue was usually an unflappable woman. Her presence allowed Kenny to be as flappable as he wanted to be and still function. But right now Sue was angry and scared and confused.
I pretty much knew what she was going to say but I let her say it anyway.
“I came home and I found Kenny on the ground in front of the trailer. He was facedown. I thought he was dead. There was so much blood on the back of his head.”
“Where are you now?”
“Here. Home. But I’m headed to the hospital emergency room. Could you meet us there?”
“Absolutely. I’ll leave now.”
“He still hasn’t told me what you two are working on—he never tells me until afterward—but I want your promise that you’ll stop.”
What else could I say? “I’ll stop, Sue. I promise. Now I’ll see you at the hospital.”
16
THE MEDICINAL SCENTS OF THE EMERGENCY ROOM BROUGHT back memories of the three times I’d spent in the hospital. I’d had my tonsils out, I’d broken my leg falling off the top of the garage, and I ran a fever the doc thought might affect my brain and heart. All this before I was nine years old. There were bonuses for being in the hospital. I got all the comic books I wanted, and I didn’t have to pay for them with my own allowance. I remember especially a certain issue of Hawkman teaming up with Batman. I also got chocolate malts and a radio that seemed to play only the shows I wanted to hear. Sometimes being in the hospital is within pissing distance of being outright fun.
I had time for a cigarette and a cup of hospital coffee before Sue appeared with her arm around Kenny’s waist. They wore contrasting expressions. Sue appeared to be ready for his funeral; Kenny smiled at me. He had blood all over his short-sleeved blue shirt.
She got him into the seat next to me and said, “You make sure he doesn’t move, Sam. He’s in pretty bad shape.” Then she was off to fill out forms so that Kenny could see a doc.
“The bastard was good, McCain. He must have come up from the creek behind my trailer and waited me out. I came out of the trailer to take a break—you know how I walk around sometimes because I get stiff sitting at the typewriter?—and he got me as soon as I got on the ground. Just came right up behind me and wham! I was out.”
“You didn’t get a look at him?”
“Nothing.” For the first time his face crosshatched with pain. “I may have a little concussion. But man, Sue has gone batshit.”
“She loves you.”
“Yeah, but why?”
“Lots of people are asking the very same question.”
“What the hell was he looking for at my place?”
“I may be wrong, but I think this has something to do with the fire that killed Karen Shanlon. You’ve been asking around about Lou Bennett and so have I. And I’ve been to the library reading up on the fire. Somebody thinks we either know something or are about to find something out. He can’t be sure which it is, so he has to make sure we don’t already have something. He trashed my office, too. Knocked out Turk.”
“Well, then he can’t be all bad.” But his face twisted up when he tried to laugh. Up close he looked pale and shaken. The blood on his shirt was lurid, like blood in a crime-scene photo.
“I promised Sue we’d pull back on this. Just forget about it.”
“Are you crazy? Now I really want to go after him.”
“Sorry. I promised Sue. I can break my word to her, but you can’t break yours.”
“I didn’t give her my word. You gave her my word. So that doesn’t count.”
“You want to tell her that? You remember what happened the last time you broke your word to her?”
“Yeah. Spam the whole week.”
“Right. And you’re lucky she didn’t leave the goop on when she served it to you.”
“She had steak every night and I had Spam. She’s a lot meaner than she looks.”
Sue came back with a smiling nurse pushing a wheelchair. “Right in here, Mr. Thibodeau.”
“I can walk.”
“I’m sure you can. But these are hospital rules.” The nurse was middle-aged and had learned how to be sw
eet while she was slapping you around with rules.
When he was safely seated, Sue bent over and kissed him on top of his head. Then she looked at me: “You gave your word, Sam.”
“I did.”
“And I expect you to keep it. Both of you.”
“Maybe we could talk about that a little, honey.”
“Are you ready, Mr. Thibodeau? We’re going right down the hall and get you all fixed up. You may come with us if you like, Mrs. Thibodeau.”
Sue had elevated herself to wife status. I glanced at her and smiled. She scowled. Kenny should never have said that “maybe we could talk about that a little, honey.” The “honey” hadn’t helped at all. It was clear there’d be no talking about it. Not with Sue. Not ever.
I saw a doctor and another nurse go into the room where Kenny had been wheeled. Sue appeared about fifteen minutes later. The hospital coffee was withering my vital organs.
She came over and sat down next to me. “I feel stupid, Sam. I really overreacted.”
“You were worried.”
“I still should have been able to control myself.” She reached over and put her hand on mine. “I want to be a good mother.”
“I’m sure you will be. You got upset. So what? We all get upset. We just get scared.”
“Kenny doesn’t know this yet, Sam. I’m pregnant. Six months from now, I’ll be a mother and Kenny will be a father.”
So there you had it. The best news that Kenny would receive in his life. Better even than selling “Sex Sirens of the Watery Deep” to Real Balls Adventure.
“Wow.”
“I guess when I saw him there on the ground, all I could think of was that our baby wouldn’t have a father. And I’d be devastated if anything happened to him. He’s my life. You know how I always say that living with him is good practice for raising a kid? It’s true. And that’s what I love about him. He’s so vulnerable. He doesn’t worry about all the crap most men do.” Then: “A baby. Pretty good news, right, Sam?” She looked like a kid herself just then. A very happy kid.
“The best news of all.”
“Well, I’d better get back in there. No concussion and just four stitches.” She took her hand from mine. “So now it’s more important than ever that you two stay out of this thing—whatever it is.”
I almost told her. I almost said, Here’s the deal, Sue. I’m going to tell Kenny that I’m honoring my promise, that I’m giving this thing up completely. But I’ll be working on it on the sly. He won’t know, so he won’t be tempted to help me. Is that a fair deal, Sue?
But I didn’t. This was her moment. Her news, her baby, her joy. And I was going to tell her that I was going to break my word?
She kissed me on the cheek and then walked back to the room where Kenny was being patched up. I wondered where and when she’d tell him. I could feel myself grinning. In six months, the world would have one more soft-core porn writer.
Fire Chief DePaul lived in a new housing development on the east edge of town. The houses were painted in pastels. His was eggshell white. The lots here were about twice the size of the town’s other developments and the construction appeared to be considerably better. A new Ford sedan and a new Chrysler sat in the drive. As I walked up to the front door, I noticed that many of the drives had new cars in them. This was a prosperous part of town.
The girl who came to the door was likely around fifteen. She was tall, bony, blonde, and pretty in a flawed sort of way. She’d probably be a beauty when she got older. Right now, her thick glasses and her pimples weren’t helping. And neither was the T-shirt with the ketchup stain on it. “Yes? May I help you?”
“I wondered if your father was home.”
“He’s in the back yard.” From her right hand dangled a copy of The Great Gatsby. “What’s your name, please?”
When I told her, she jerked back as if I’d slapped her. “Sam McCain?” Disbelief made her gulp. Her father had obviously told her all about me. “Sam McCain,” she said again as if she’d just seen a spaceship land. “I’ll go tell him, but I’m not sure what he’s going to say.”
“Oh, I’ve never seen your father at a loss for words yet. I’ll bet he has plenty to say when you tell him.”
She shrugged thin shoulders and said, “Just wait here.” She paused: “This is my favorite book. I can’t decide if I’m more like Daisy or more like Gatsby.” Then she was gone into the shadows of the house. All the drapes had been drawn to keep the sun from scorching the interior. Somewhere a radio played “Love Me Do.” Hearing the Beatles reminded me of Reverend Cartwright standing there in his burned robes. Every once in a while, justice really does prevail.
He looked sporty in the white tennis shorts and Hawaiian shirt. Even the drink in his hand looked jaunty in its tall narrow glass. He didn’t open the screen door. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I saw his daughter materialize in the shadows behind him. I didn’t want to insult him for her sake. “Look, I just need to ask you a few questions.”
“This is neither the time nor the place. And I’d think you’d be putting together another one of your so-called peace marches. You managed to get Lou Bennett killed. Maybe next time you can get me or some other patriot killed, too.”
“I want to know more about the fire that killed Karen Shanlon. You know this doesn’t have anything to do with patriotism. This could be a criminal investigation.”
He angled his head and said, “Nina, you go help your mother hang wash in the back yard.”
She left without a word.
He said, “I’ve heard that you’ve been talking to people about it. I have a friend in the library who tells me you’ve been reading up on it.”
I knew it wasn’t Trixie Easley. She hated the chief as much as I did. She’d been one of his targets many times when he wanted to have a certain book purged from the library.
“I’m curious about it. There’s no chance you could have been wrong? That it wasn’t accidental after all?”
“You want to know how many diplomas I have? They signify all the courses I’ve taken in various aspects of being not just a chief but an inspector as well. I don’t claim to know everything, but I’m not lazy. I keep up with my subject. I try to learn everything new that comes down the pike. And so my answer to your question is no, I did not make a mistake. Karen was smoking in bed. The house was old. There were a lot of books and papers around. I can’t tell you why, but she didn’t wake up in time. The working theory is that she was overcome by smoke before she even got out of bed. We’ll never know for sure. But she did die in an accidental fire. And it was too bad. From everything I’ve heard about her, she was a very decent young woman.”
And with that he closed the door. Didn’t slam it. Just closed it quietly. I felt like an encyclopedia salesman who’d just been rejected for the sixteenth time that afternoon.
I walked back to my ragtop. Lawn mowers roared. You could smell the heat.
I’d just slid in behind the wheel when Nina came around from the back of the house and walked up to me.
“This is a neato car.”
“Thanks.”
“He give you grief?”
“Not really. He was probably nicer to me than I would have been to him under the circumstances.” I hadn’t believed him, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
“He’s not my real father. My real dad died in a plane crash. He flew cargo planes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was little, but I remember him.” She nodded to the house. “We don’t get along very well. My mom always takes his side.” Then: “I thought you were maybe the guy coming back.”
“What guy?”
“The guy who came late last night. They were near the garage arguing. My bedroom window’s right next to the drive. They woke me up.” She ran her fingers along the chrome trim of the windshield.
“Did you see who it was?”
“Huh-uh. I got kind of scared, because he said that my stepdad was go
ing to be in trouble if he screwed this up.”
“You’re sure that’s what he said?”
“It’s exactly what he said, because he said it a couple of times.” She buffed some dust off the hood with her fingers.
“So you didn’t get a look at the other man at all?”
“He was past the point where I could see from the window. My mom takes pills. I don’t think she woke up. I couldn’t sleep after that. So I finally got up and went downstairs to get some milk, and my stepdad was down there. In the kitchen. Alone. He had a drink. It was a pretty strong one. I can tell by the color. It was real dark, which means he’d poured a lot in.”
“He say anything to you?”
“Not much. We don’t talk that much. I’m not real popular at school. That bugs him a lot more than it bugs me. I read a lot of science fiction. That’s what I want to do someday. Write science fiction. You know, like Robert Heinlein.”
“Double Star’s my favorite.”
“Hey, really?” The smile made her pretty. “You really like him?”
He came around the corner armed with intent. In this case, the intent was to get me off his property and to get his stepdaughter to shut up. He was big and burly and red-faced from heat and liquor. The festive colors of the Hawaiian shirt seemed to fade.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, McCain?”
“I was just talking to him. It’s my fault. He was ready to leave.”
“You get inside.”
He and Roy Davenport were good at ordering females inside. Leave the real business to the menfolk. Sounded like an episode of Gunsmoke.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. McCain.”
She didn’t do either of us any favors with that remark. She’d hear about it when he found her later. I was hearing about it now.
“You ever heard of jailbait, McCain?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “You really going to try some horseshit like that on me?”
“She’s fourteen years old. That’s jailbait age. That’s also prison age for anybody who goes near her. She’s not much to look at, but it’s my duty to protect her and that’s what I damned well plan to do. So how would you like it if I started telling people you’ve been sniffing around my innocent little stepdaughter?” The sun was turning his forehead into the texture of new leather.