Chapter Fourteen
TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES later, Clarisse emerged from a taxi at the corner of Berkeley and Chandler streets about two blocks from home. She slammed the cab door shut and walked to the side entrance of the bar called Fritz.
Inside, Clarisse marched straight to the bar and ordered a vodka and tonic. She took a stiff swallow of it as soon as it arrived and before the bartender had brought her change and then made her way toward the back of the long, narrow room. It was Saturday night, but so many people had gone away for Thanksgiving that the place was uncrowded and relatively quiet.
She found Valentine sitting on the cushioned banquette that ran the length of the outside wall beneath the smoketinted windows. Linc, directly across from him, was raptly playing a video game on a table machine. The silver-gray Levolors were lowered but open. Outside, the streetlamps shone murkily through the mist of rain. The twisted limbs of a thriving honey locust scraped against the windows now and then.
Valentine rested one foot on the edge of a low oak table in front of him and idly watched Linc’s score on the machine mount. He took a swallow of his bourbon and glanced up as Clarisse dropped her umbrella on the table, opened her coat, and dropped down wearily beside him.
“Hi!” said Linc, but did not look up.
“Your fur is very wet,” he remarked. “Was the fund-raiser held out-of-doors?”
“No,” she said.
Something in her voice prompted him to ask, “It wasn’t quite what you thought it would be?”
“No, it wasn’t quite what I thought it would be. I never before connected fund-raisers with severe personal humiliation. In other ways, however, it was quite revealing. What did you two end up doing this evening?”
Valentine glanced at Linc, absorbed in the game. “We went over to the Cyclorama. A friend of his was singing in the AIDS cantata—the part of the homosexual Haitian hemophiliac who comes on near the end and gives everyone hope.” He shook the ice in his nearly empty glass. “Did you talk to Mr. Fred?”
“Did you talk to Linc?” she asked. She finished off her drink when Valentine didn’t answer. A passing waiter took their order for another round.
At last finishing his game, Linc looked up and saw Clarisse. He smiled. “I get absorbed,” he apologized.
“Here are some quarters,” said Valentine, fishing them from his pocket. “Keep at it for a while. Clarisse and I have to talk.”
Linc took the quarters with a bright light in his eyes.
In a low, confidential voice, Clarisse told everything— or nearly everything—that she had learned at the wrestling match. Valentine paid for the drinks when they were brought.
“So what do you think?” she asked when she finished.
“I don’t think either Julia or Susie would kill Sweeney because of something that happened five years ago.”
“The desire for revenge never dies,” said Clarisse.
“Of course it does. Maybe not as quickly as love or sexual desire, but it fades with time, just like everything else. You can’t hold a grudge for five years.”
Clarisse appeared offended by this observation. “I don’t know about you, but I certainly can. And have. And do.”
“I know,” said Valentine. “But I don’t think Julia and Susie have quite your…strength of character. If they were going to kill Sweeney, I think it would be for something he did to them that night. And as far as I know, all that he did to them that night was to insult them. Of course, maybe he was blackmailing them again.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know,” said Valentine. “But you know how protective Julia is. She doesn’t even like Susie to have friends.”
“Unless they have thick wallets and don’t mind opening them after half an hour’s acquaintance,” Clarisse pointed out.
“And even if it was Julia or Susie,” Valentine went on, “they wouldn’t do it in their own building. That would be too stupid.”
“All right then,” said Clarisse thoughtfully. “But let’s think about it. There may be something we haven’t quite figured out yet.” She told Valentine what Joe had said about seeing Sweeney’s column on Ashes’ desk. “But he was confused, and couldn’t be sure if it was actually the last column or not.”
“Sweeney saved everything,” said Valentine, “so it might have been the draft of an earlier column. But I think we ought to get it straight one way or the other.”
They sipped at their drinks. “There are a few other things we have to get straight tonight, too,” Clarisse said.
“What else?” asked Valentine.
Clarisse just smiled. Without even looking in that direction, she reached across the table and placed her hand atop Linc’s on the controls of the video game machine.
“Hey!” he cried in protest. His hang glider smashed into a utility pole and burst into brief video flames.
Turning with a smile, Clarisse said, “Game’s over. We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Please sit over there,” said Clarisse, pointing to a chair on the opposite side of the table. Linc got out from behind the video machine and slipped into the chair she’d indicated. “Something’s come up,” Clarisse said pleasantly.
“About the bar?”
“No. About you.”
“Me?” He glanced questioningly at Valentine, who suddenly seemed uncomfortable. Linc then looked back to Clarisse.
“In the past month, as far as Val and I know, you’ve told at least three stories about your past life. All of them different. So we’ve been wondering which one of them was true. The one you told me, the one you told Ashes, or the one you told Val.”
Now it was Linc who was uncomfortable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We’re talking about your past—what your life was like before you moved to Boston and became a carpenter.”
“Why?”
Clarisse pondered this for a moment. “Stories about people’s pasts are a little like job recommendations. They don’t actually matter very much if they’re true, but if they’re false, they become pretty important.”
Linc glanced from side to side. “You think I lied to you?”
“We think you told three different stories,” Valentine put in diplomatically.
“Boston is a small town,” Clarisse said flatly. “People talk. If you don’t tell the truth, you get caught up. Did you ever live in New Orleans?”
“Yes,” said Linc.
“When?” asked Valentine.
Linc glanced away. He replied quietly, “The summer after my freshman year at the University of Maine. I came out there.”
“But you didn’t go to Tulane,” said Clarisse.
“I did go there. One day. On the bus.”
Valentine and Clarisse nodded.
“And you had a lover there, who was into S&M,” Valentine said after a moment.
“He wasn’t exactly my lover. Actually, we just had a few dates—just sort of fooled around. He wanted me to put handcuffs on him. He told me he loved me and wanted to marry me—ceremony and everything,” he added with quiet incredulity.
“California?” inquired Clarisse.
Linc sighed and shook his head. “My parents took me to Disneyland when I was seven.”
“And they’re not divorced?” asked Valentine.
“They have problems.”
“So do you,” murmured Valentine.
“Are they poverty-stricken?” asked Clarisse.
“No,” said Linc. “They’re rich. They’re both psychiatrists.”
“I might have guessed,” said Valentine.
“In other words,” said Clarisse, draining the vodka in the glass, “none of what you said to any of us was true.”
“The truth was boring,” Linc maintained. “You didn’t want to hear about my rich psychiatrist parents. You didn’t want to hear that I went to the University of Maine at Orono for four years. You didn’t want to hea
r that I spent three months in New Orleans and got laid exactly five times.”
“Five times?” asked Valentine in surprise. “That’s all?”
“All in August,” said Linc glumly. “Listen, I wasn’t trying to hurt you or anything. I wasn’t trying to put one over on you or anything. I was just trying to…”
“To what?” Clarisse prompted.
“To make myself seem more…experienced. Does this mean you hate me?”
“Of course not,” said Valentine. “But I don’t like being lied to, either.”
“Nobody does,” said Clarisse with a sigh.
Slouched in his chair, Linc looked from one to the other. Clarisse signaled the waiter for refills for Valentine and herself, then pointed at Linc. “And a Miller.”
“Don’t bother,” said Linc, getting to his feet. “I’m taking off. I’ll come by tomorrow morning and pick up my tools and my clothes. I won’t ever bother you again.”
“Sit down,” said Valentine. “You’re not leaving me without a master carpenter when the bar opens in five weeks.”
“But I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” said Valentine. “And you will. We have a deal, and you’re a businessman, and I’m a businessman, and we both have a big interest in seeing Slate open on time. If you don’t finish this job, it’s going to be known all over town that you reneged. If you do finish it, and finish it right, it will mean a whole lot more work for you.”
They were silent for several moments. The waiter brought their drinks. They all reached for them greedily. Clarisse paid.
“Is there any chance you’ll forgive me? Both of you?”
“Of course,” said Clarisse. “I never hold grudges.”
“If you promise not to lie again,” said Valentine. “You know it takes less energy to tell the truth than it does to lie.”
“I promise,” said Linc, holding up his hand in the Scout’s pledge. “Never again.”
“Now that we’ve got you here on a truth-telling binge,” Clarisse began in a businesslike manner, “tell us why you met with Sweeney Drysdale after Mr. Fred’s party. Just before he got killed.”
“What!” Linc and Valentine exclaimed in unison.
Clarisse glanced at Valentine. “That’s another thing I found out tonight. Susie said that after she and Julia got home from Mr. Fred’s party that night, they looked out the window and saw Sweeney and Linc down on the sidewalk.”
“It wasn’t me! ” said Linc excitedly. “It must have been somebody else. It was dark, she couldn’t have seen…” His voice trailed off under their insistent gazes. “It was me,” he admitted. “But Sweeney and I were just talking. I mean, we’d just met, so we were just talking.”
Valentine and Clarisse silently looked at him.
He went on carefully: “You said you were going over to the library to look for Clarisse, and I said I was going home— and I had planned to. But when I got out on the sidewalk, there was Sweeney. He was out in front of Mr. Fred’s— waiting for a taxi or something—and he called my name.”
“What did he want?”
“To talk.”
“About what?” asked Clarisse suspiciously.
“He said Mr. Fred had told him about my plans for Rent-a-Wrench, and he thought it was a great idea.” His voice inadvertently brightened, recalling the compliment.
“So you stood out on the street talking about hardware,” said Clarisse. “For how long?”
“I don’t know. We went for a walk.”
“Where?” demanded Clarisse.
“Around—around the South End.”
“Where did this walk end up—his place or yours?” said Valentine.
“Or mine?” added Clarisse with a grimace.
“Back at Slate,” said Linc weakly. “We went back to Slate. He said he had a roommate. My place was on the other side of town.”
“Why the hell would you want to do anything with Sweeney Drysdale in the first place?” demanded Valentine.
“I did it for you! ”
“For me?” Valentine echoed incredulously.
“He said that when he was in the bar the first time he didn’t get a chance to really look the place over,” Linc said quickly. “He told me he wanted to see the whole building. He said that he’d write it up in his column, tell how I’d done all the renovations and what a good job it was—and he’d say that I was going to open Rent-a-Wrench. It would be free publicity for everybody. He said we’d all benefit if he put it in his column.”
“All this,” said Clarisse carefully, “on condition that you and he…fool around?”
Linc nodded and said in a low voice, “Yes.”
Valentine shook his head.
“But I didn’t do anything to him!” Linc cried.
Clarisse ignored this and asked, “Why did you choose my apartment to do it in?”
“I knew that Joe and Ashes were down in the cellar, and I was afraid they might come up to the office if we went in there.” He looked miserably at Valentine. “I couldn’t take him to your apartment because…” He shrugged helplessly.
“Because you didn’t know when I’d be back, but you knew Clarisse was planning to be at the law library until at least twelve,” Valentine concluded for him. “Did you card the door open?”
“I still had the keys from the renovation,” said Linc. “I forgot to give them back.”
“How long were you up there?” Clarisse asked.
“Five minutes. Maybe ten,” said Linc, and then added hastily, “but we didn’t even go into the bedroom.”
“Where did you do it then?” demanded Clarisse.
Linc wiped perspiration from his forehead. “On your couch.”
Clarisse turned to Valentine. “Tell that waiter to bring me the Yellow Pages. I want the name of the nearest emergency upholstering service.”
“We didn’t have sex on it,” Linc protested. “I mean.”
“Mean what?” asked Clarisse.
“You mean,” said Valentine, interpreting, “that Sweeney had sex, and you just sort of looked down and watched, right?”
Linc nodded miserably. “But I didn’t do anything to him,” he repeated.
“You left the building together?” asked Valentine.
“I took him down to the landing, and I went into the office. He went on down and out.”
“He must have gone back upstairs,” said Clarisse.
“I didn’t hear him go back up. I don’t know how he got back up there. I didn’t do any—”
“Stop saying that,” Valentine insisted.
“I’m telling the truth! ”
“How long were you in the office?” asked Clarisse.
“Five minutes. Ten minutes. I packed up the tiles to take them back to the store. And then I went down to the bar and just looked around.”
“What about Joe and Ashes?” asked Clarisse.
Linc shook his head. “The trapdoor was closed, and I couldn’t hear anything. But they could still have been down there. I left by the front door to the bar.” He got up unsteadily and lurched off, muttering, “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Clarisse and Valentine were silent a moment, then Clarisse asked, “So, do we drag him over to District D?”
“All we know is that Linc got him into the building,” said Valentine glumly. “We don’t know if Sweeney hid at the bottom of the stairs and then went back up, or if he left and was brought back in by somebody else. Either way, what could he have been after in your apartment?”
“I don’t know,” said Clarisse. “It doesn’t make any sense. Of course, Linc could be lying again.”
“I don’t think he is. It’s just that there are still a few pieces missing.”
“Yes,” Clarisse sighed, “such as a motive—and a murderer.”
She put her drink down. “I’m going to go. I don’t think I want to be here when he gets back.” She paused for a beat, and then asked, “Are you depressed?”
Valentine smiled slightly. �
�No, I’m not. I didn’t say anything to him because he felt bad enough as it was, but nothing turns me off more than lying. It’s the one thing I don’t think I can forgive.” Clarisse pushed back the cuff of her coat, and studied her watch for a moment. Valentine went on: “I have to keep him on for the sake of the bar, of course, but he won’t be warming the other side of my bed much anymore. That’s all right, though. It’s hard to manage a new career and a love life at the same time.” He took a swallow of his drink. “It’s one less problem that I have to deal with.”
“One minute, four and a half seconds,” Clarisse announced. Valentine looked at her questioningly.
“That’s how long it took you to rationalize the failure of your latest love affair. You’re getting better. It used to take you nearly five minutes to dispel the trauma. Five minutes plus two fast drinks.”
Valentine swallowed the remainder of his bourbon.
Linc came out of the bathroom, but instead of returning to the table he went toward the bar.
“I’m leaving too,” said Valentine. “I’ve had enough of Linc for tonight.” They rose together. Clarisse waited at the door with her back to the room while Valentine spoke briefly with Linc once more. Then Valentine and Clarisse went out into the rain.
“What’s the verdict? Are you and Linc going to patch it up with Band-Aids and string?”
“I don’t think so. All I wanted was a promise that he’ll be in on Monday morning. He said he would.”
Valentine snapped open the umbrella over their heads, and they trudged off toward Warren Avenue.
“Will he be in?”
“I reminded him that finishing this job properly was a major stepping-stone on the road to Rent-a-Wrench.”
They had reached their corner when Valentine stopped suddenly. “I’m not ready to go home yet.”
“My God, you’re not even going to give your bedroom a single night to cool off? Are you afraid that if you don’t have two people holding down the bed, it’ll snap shut with you in it?”
“You’re welcome to come with me,” he said politely. “I was thinking of the Eagle.”
“What? To the Eagle?” Clarisse cried. “And get dizzy watching the video screen go up and down every two and half minutes? Get my eardrums punctured with last year’s Top Ten amplified to a hundred and ten decibels? Get trampled by the stampede of men running to the restroom every time somebody they don’t like walks in the door, which is about as often as the screen goes up and down? And then, after all that, get abandoned when you do find somebody to mend your broken heart?”
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