by Gene Wolfe
Which left me nothing but dark horses. Maybe, just maybe, Bill would have been able to pick that lock. He’d fixed things around our place and made some minor repairs on the cars. Who could say he might not be good with a lock? He could have been mad at Elaine because of something she said. Or if he knew, he could have wanted her himself and been jealous because Larry’d had her and he’d never get her. And come to think of it, it was damn near certain he had known; servants always know that stuff.
Or what about Aladdin Blue? All along I’d been ruling him out like he was the detective. Outside of a book, you can’t do that. He’d been anxious to find out whether I knew what was in the box, and he’d been nice and far away when the bomb went off. As far as I knew, he’d never been to our house while the box was there; but it wasn’t downright impossible that he’d gotten into it while it was in the window at the First National. I hadn’t heard that anybody’d ever checked into how well they watched it, and one thing for sure is that a bank’s window isn’t the same as a bank vault—maybe you’ve noticed they don’t put money in the window. Or maybe he’d gotten to the box while it was at the Fair; after all, he was there. Nobody had ever proved that the shell that went off at Barton High was the same one that had been on our mantel. Germany must have made a million of those shells. When my father had carried me down the stairs, he’d been pretty careful, and even though Blue was lame he’d gotten ahead of us. My father had said, “To your left,” and Blue had gone into the study before we did. Suppose that instead of finding that dark spot, he’d picked up the shell and hidden it so well that Sandoz hadn’t found it when he searched the room. Then this evening, maybe, when Blue had gone in there, he’d fished it out and taken it away. Two things for sure about Blue: he was an ex-con, and he was slick enough to slide up a flagpole.
How I Joined the Investigation
Probably everybody’s done it. You go to sleep all in a dither, and you wake up knowing just what you ought to do. That was how it was with me. I don’t mean I knew who done it, though if I’d had to vote right then I think I would have said Bill for Larry and some mugger for Uncle Herbert; but I knew what I personally, Holly Hollander, was going to do that very morning to try to get things squared away. I got up and got dressed, putting on the same clothes I’d worn the day before. It was before seven, and I figured that if I got going right away Mrs. Maas wouldn’t be around yet. I scribbled a note for her: “Important Stuff. Back Soon. Thanks! Holly,” and left it on the kitchen table. She kept the keys in the Ford in case the Caddy was laid up or off somewhere and Elaine needed it.
Let me come clean right here, so you don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t enjoy driving, and I’m not a very good driver. In fact, I nearly flunked driver’s ed, and that’s right next door to impossible. What’s more, I was driving with the wrong leg, if you know what I mean. My good one wasn’t used to the accelerator or the brake, and my bad one couldn’t help. What was worse, I got to thinking that Blue must have gone through the same thing, learning over again after they’d shot him, and I almost put the Ford in the ditch. When I got it stopped and backed up onto the road, I sat there and shook for five minutes or so, and swore to myself that after that I’d keep my mind on my driving.
Only I couldn’t, because I kept trying to figure out what I ought to do, and then what I ought to do if so-and-so happened, and then what I ought to do after that. And besides, I had to remember how to get to Blue’s place, and trying to find it I got lost a couple of times, so it must have been after eight when I finally got there.
Even so, I’d been wondering if he’d be up yet; but when I pulled up in front of the house I got the surprise of my life—one of them, anyhow. Parked alongside Blue’s rusty old Rumbler was a Chevy that was almost as old and almost as rusty, and it was a car I knew as well as ours: Uncle Dee’s.
He came out the front door while I was still trying to make it up the steps, and I suppose he must have been just about as surprised to see me as I’d been to see his car; but he gave me a hand and one of his thousand-watt smiles and told me how good I looked and how he would have come to see me if he’d known I was out of the hospital. I shouldn’t have broken down, I guess, but I did. I told him he’d have to be quick because I didn’t know how much longer we’d be in our house. Then I started in on how they’d arrested my father, and before I knew what had happened I was bawling like two soap operas. Tick and Muddy came out then; Tick beat it back into the house, but Muddy stayed with me even after Uncle Dee had loaned me his handkerchief, whispered, “Now, now, Holly, I know all about it; believe me, Harry’s going to be all right,” and kissed me on the cheek and driven away. He left me his hanky, and I was glad, because I didn’t have one and Muddy didn’t look like he’d have a clean one.
“I’ve got to see Mr. Blue,” I said.
“Sure, sure,” Muddy told me, and led me inside.
Blue was in the kitchen with a mug of coffee and a bowl of some kind of breakfast cereal in front of him. There wasn’t any milk on it, it was just the dry flakes, and it didn’t look to me like he’d eaten any of it. There was another chair pulled up to the table, too, with a half-full coffee mug in front of it that must have been Uncle Dee’s.
“I’m sorry,” I said; I was still wiping my eyes.
Blue’s head jerked, and he said, “Oh, Holly. What are you doing here?”
Muddy said, “He doesn’t hear a thing when he’s thinkin’. The stove could blow up.” Then to Blue: “She was out in front cryin’, Al. Me and Tick went out and got her.”
Blue nodded as if that was just what he’d figured. “Sit down. How about some fresh coffee?”
I said thanks.
“Have you had breakfast, Holly? Muddy bought a few things yesterday. You can have this, if you want it. Muddy, did you get any cream?”
“Not unless you want some, too, Al.”
Blue shook his head. “Oh, for God’s sake!”
“He don’t eat.” Muddy was out for my support. “He wants to keep weight off his leg, but he’s gonna kill himself.” It can’t have been easy for a guy not much older than me, sporting a scuzzy beard, to look righteous; but Muddy could have been a bishop.
I said, “No, I haven’t eaten. I’d like some cereal with plain milk, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Milk for both of us,” Blue said, giving up, “and how about some coffee for Holly?”
Muddy nodded happily. “I’ll fry some bacon, too. I stole some.”
“He means he got it cheaply,” Blue said.
Muddy winked at me.
I got into the other chair and leaned my crutches against the table. “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here, but first I’d like to know why Uncle Dee was.”
“And I won’t tell you,” Blue said. “I want you to forget you saw him—for my sake, as well as his.” He sounded serious.
“Like that, huh? Okay, I forget.”
“I mean it. You came here for my help, I think. If you want it, you must forget you saw Sinclair and his car.”
“Who said anything about Uncle Dee? I haven’t seen him since before the bomb. How’d you know I wanted your help?”
“You came here. If you’d discovered something you thought might help, or simply wanted to know what I was doing, you would have telephoned; besides, you were crying when Muddy brought you in.”
“That was because I ran into some guy whose name I forget when I wasn’t expecting it. I guess you could say I want to consult you. I’ve got an idea I think might lead to something, and I want you to tell me whether you think it’s a good one, and give me some advice on how to go about it. As for phoning, I’d think they’d have ours tapped by now.”
Muddy plunked a bowl of cereal and a spoon in front of me, and poured milk over Blue’s. I tasted mine: Wheaties.
“The courts have made legal taps very difficult for the police, but I’m glad you asked before doing anything. In fact, I’m glad you came.”
“Great. Here’s my pitch.
Last night before I got to sleep I spent a lot of time going over everything that’s happened. I picked and pulled at all the important stuff—Pandora’s Box, for instance—and couldn’t get a fingernail in. So what I think is that if you can’t grab on to anything important, maybe you ought to get hold of something that isn’t and give it good yank. Who knows, if I can start a long enough ravel some of the important stuff might come loose.”
“No investigator would disagree with you.”
“Goody. So here’s my loose end. Tell me if it isn’t worth doing, and if it is, give me some advice on how to do it.”
“I’ll try,” Blue promised.
Muddy brought over a big plate of bacon. He must have fried the whole pound, and it was country style—soft and greasy—which happens to be the way I like it.
“My loose end’s Molly. Remember when I was in the hospital and I told you and Sandoz about going to the Magic Key, and the phone calls for Larry? Later you told me you already knew about them.”
Blue nodded.
“Then you probably remember how Megan told me that whenever this guy called he’d ask for Sergeant Lief, and when they said he wasn’t there, he’d hang up. Megan said his voice was scary, but that’s all he said.”
“I remember, yes.”
“Okay, here’s the part I didn’t tell. I didn’t because the cop was there and I didn’t want to get Molly in trouble. While we were talking, Molly pulled a gun from under the register and said if anybody hurt Larry she’d shoot them. It was a revolver, I think a thirty-eight, and after Uncle Herbert was shot I just kind of wondered if maybe Molly had decided he did it. But then yesterday Sandoz took that Gestapo gun of my father’s—”
“It was a PPK,” Blue interrupted. “Those letters stand for Polizei Pistole Kriminal, by which the Walther Corporation meant that it was intended for what we would call plainclothes men.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. So if he was right, it wasn’t a revolver at all, which means it wasn’t Molly.”
“No,” Blue said, “all it means is that if it was Molly who killed your uncle, she employed a weapon other than the one she showed you; but we have no better reasons to suspect Molly than several other people. And it was, in fact, a semiautomatic that fired the shot. The police have the bullet, and it is the fully jacketed type used in semiautomatics. Perhaps I should add that they also found the ejected brass, which is how Sandoz knew in what part of that parking lot your uncle died; revolvers don’t eject their spent cartridges. I think we can safely assume that by this time they’ve run a ballistic comparison that will enable them to say for certain whether the pistol Sandoz took from your father’s drawer killed your uncle. The results of that test are among the things I must determine this morning.”
I waved all that aside. “What I’m trying to say is that Molly had a gun and was ready to kill whoever made those calls if Larry got hurt. Now I ask you—a guy keeps calling, asking for Sergeant Lief. Maybe he tells war stories—that’s what I heard her say on TV one time. Does the way she was acting make sense? Maybe he did sound scary—some people just naturally do, and over the phone it might sound worse. Maybe he got shot in the throat or something in Vietnam.”
“All right,” Blue said, “Molly seems to have been overreacting. Go on from there.”
“What I think is that whenever this guy—let’s call him X, it sounds good—called and got Megan, he knew he had Larry’s kid sister. He didn’t want to scare her, or maybe just didn’t think it was worth the trouble. But when he had Molly, he said more than she told the TV people about. Maybe she told the police, maybe not. Maybe she told you.”
Blue shook his head.
“So that’s my loose end. I want to try to get her to tell me everything he said, and especially why she thought it was so serious she pulled out that gun. Then we’ll follow wherever it leads, and maybe it’ll just peter out and maybe it won’t. What I need for you to tell me is how to go about it.”
“You’re a woman,” Blue said. “You were born knowing more about how to go about something of this sort than I’ll ever be able to learn. But if I were you, I think I’d simply go to her in private and explain what it was that I wanted to ask and why I wanted to ask it. I would tell her that I loved my father, and that Larry cannot be hurt anymore—that he is forever out of harm’s way. I’d begin by asking her to repeat the caller’s exact words, as nearly as she remembers them; when she had done so—and not before—I would ask whether she had not, at least at some time, suspected that he was someone she knew.”
“Okay, I’m going to give it my best shot.”
“Fine.” Blue was looking absentminded, and so help me he reached out and got a slice of bacon and ate it. I couldn’t see Muddy from where I sat, but I was willing to bet he was jumping for joy. “However,” Blue went on, “I think it would be best if you were home by, roughly, ten-thirty. Do you think you might manage that?”
I looked at my watch. “Sure.”
“And it would be well for you to bring Molly. Particularly if she has told you what you want to know.”
“To my house? What am I supposed to do with her when I get her there?”
“I’ll be there as well,” Blue said, “and I’ll let you know then.”
How Elaine Let the Cat Out of the Bag
My bum-leg driving rattled Molly so much we had to stop halfway so I could slide over and she could walk around. After that her driving rattled me. She was one of those haywagon drivers who think the engine may bolt and jerk the wheel out of their hands. Also she liked to come to a complete stop before making a turn, which rattled the drivers in the cars behind us who didn’t know her turn signal meant she was about to hit the brakes that hard. By the time we got to my place—I should really say my father’s—I was ready to get out and walk, bum leg and all.
It was nearly a quarter to eleven, and Blue and Uncle Dee had beaten us. Their cars were out front, and they were in the living room talking to Elaine, Uncle Dee perched on the edge of his chair looking tense, Blue sitting about the way he usually did, with his hands on the handle of his stick.
“Oh, it’s you, Holly,” Elaine said. “You should be in bed.” Uncle Dee and Blue stood up.
I performed introductions. “This is Mrs. Lief. She was Larry’s wife.” I honestly didn’t know if Larry’s father or the cops had told Molly about the letters yet. If the cops hadn’t, they were bound to soon; but damned if I was going to do it and light a crisis. “Molly, this is my mother, Elaine. De Witte Sinclair. Aladdin Blue.”
“We’ve met,” Blue said. “Hello, Molly.”
Uncle Dee said, “Charmed, Mrs. Lief,” and inclined his head in a little bow.
Elaine had nothing to spare for Molly. “Holly, your friend Mr. Blue has already telephoned the police, he says. Now he’s threatening to call the television news people. You know Jane Dalton had a television crew in her house about the garden tour, and she says it was terrible.”
Uncle Dee said, “I don’t believe they’ll be coming, Elaine. At least, I hope not.”
Since Elaine wouldn’t offer her a seat, I put Molly on the sofa with me.
“I won’t let them in,” Elaine declared. “Not unless they tell me everything they intend to do first.” Her purse was on the coffee table in front of her, and she got out her compact to check herself over for the cameras. “Does anyone know exactly how their makeup differs? Do they make up women, too, or is it just a matter of powdering the men?”
The chimes sang their little tune.
“Holly, could you—oh, no, of course you can’t. I don’t know where Mrs. Maas has gotten to. I hate to answer my own door. De Witte … ?”
Uncle Dee stood up again, which didn’t take a lot of effort since he’d damn near been standing up when he was sitting down. “I’m not sure this is appropriate, Elaine, but since you asked.”
He went out into the hall, and in a minute my father came in, with Sandoz in front of him and Jake and Uncle Dee behind him. No cuffs. Sandoz l
ooked around at us, nodding to Elaine and Molly and me, and giving Blue a hard stare.
Blue said, “The gentleman who opened the door for you is De Witte Sinclair. Mr. Sinclair, Lieutenant Sandoz.”
Sandoz nodded, not offering his hand and not bothering to introduce Jake.
My father asked, “May I sit down? I’d like the pleasure of sitting in my own house again.”
“Sure,” Sandoz said. “Go ahead.” My father put one of the occasional chairs next to Elaine’s, and she took his hand; Jake went over to stand beside him.
Elaine said, “I’m not certain I understand what’s going on here.”
“As far as we’re concerned, it’s not too complicated, Mrs. Hollander,” Sandoz told her. “Mr. Blue there called me about an hour ago. On the phone he indicated he had positive proof that your husband is innocent. I told him then—and I’m telling him again now—that if that’s the case, all he has to do is turn it over to me. He wouldn’t come to our headquarters to discuss the matter, so we came here. If he’s wasting our time, we’ll soon find out. If he has what he says he has, we don’t want to hold an innocent man any longer than necessary.”