by Sue Grafton
She seemed startled by the gesture and said, "Hey!" irritably.
I hoped my smile was reassuring. "Mind if I come in? We need to talk." I pushed the door inward.
"Get away," she said, pushing back.
We grappled with the door, but Ray had moved into the picture by then, and after a mute struggle on her part, she relinquished control. She'd begun to realize that something was dreadfully wrong.
"I'm Kinsey Millhone," I said as we stepped into the room. "This is my friend Ray."
She backed up a step, taking in Ray's bruised and swollen face. "What is this?"
"We called a meeting about the money," I said. "Just between you, me, and him."
She pivoted, moving rapidly toward the bed table, where she snatched up the receiver. Ray intercepted her and banged down the button before she could press "0."
"Take it easy. We just want to talk to you," he said. He removed the receiver from her hand and dropped it in the cradle.
"Who are you? What is this, some kind of shakedown?"
"Not at all," I said. "We followed you from California. Your friend Gilbert stole some money, and Ray, here, wants it back."
Her eyes fixed on me and then jumped to him, comprehension dawning. "You're Ray Rawson."
"That's right."
She raised a hand rapidly as if to slap him in the face. Ray blocked the move and caught the blow on his arm. He grabbed her wrist with his good hand. "Don't do that," he said.
"Get your fuckin' hands off me!"
"Just give us the money and we'll leave you alone."
"It isn't yours. It belongs to Gilbert."
Ray shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Money belongs to me and a guy named Johnny Lee. Johnny died four months ago, so I'm passing his share along to his son and grandson. Gilbert tried to rip us off."
"You goddamn shit. That's not true! The money's his and you know it. You're the one who blew the whistle. His brother died because of you."
"That's bullshit. Is that what he said?"
"Well, yes. He told me it was some kind of sting and it was all set up. You tipped off the cops and Donnie was killed in the shoot-out," she said.
"Wait a minute, gang. What's going on?" I said.
Ray seemed unruffled, ignoring me altogether in his focus on her. "He lied to you, baby. Gilbert sold you a bill of goods. He probably had to do that to get you to participate, right? Because if you knew the truth, you wouldn't help. I hope."
"You asshole. He told me you'd try to do this, twist the truth until it suited your purposes."
"You want the truth? I'll tell you. You want to hear what went down?"
She put her hands to her ears, as if to shut him out. "I don't have to hear it from you. Gilbert told me what happened."
I raised my hand. "Would one of you stop and tell me what this is about? Do you two know each other?"
"Not exactly," Ray said. He turned to look at her, and the two of them locked eyes. Ray's gaze flicked back to mine. "This is my daughter. I haven't seen her in years."
She flung herself at him, banging with her fists on his chest. "You are such a fuck," she said, and promptly burst into tears.
I looked from one to the other. My mouth did not really fall open, but that's what it felt like.
Ray gathered her into his arms. "I know, baby, I know," he murmured, patting at her. "I feel so bad about everything."
It probably took another five or six minutes for Laura's tears to taper off. Her face was mashed against his shoulder, her bulky belly making the embrace seem awkward. Ray rested his battered cheek against her tangled hair, most of which had come loose now, hanging down in dark auburn clumps. Ray was nearly humming with unhappiness at the sound of her misery, which she managed to express with a childlike lack of inhibition. Neither was accustomed to the physical contact, and my suspicion was that the fleeting connection by no means represented resolution. If their estrangement was lifelong, it would take more than a Hallmark moment to set it right. In the meantime, I blocked any thought of my cousin Tasha and my estrangement from Grand.
I went to the window and looked out at the barren stretch of Texas countryside. I felt about as arid. Here, as in California, the liberal application of imported water was the only means by which the land was being reclaimed from the desert. At least I understood now why he hadn't wanted to come up here. He must have dreaded the moment when the two of them would meet, especially once he understood how Gilbert Hays had used her. Why is it that life's most touching moments are so often the most depressing?
Behind me, finally, the weeping seemed to be diminishing. There was some murmuring between them that I politely tuned out. When I turned back, the two were seated side by side on one of the double beds. Laura's tears had streaked through the many layers of makeup, bringing ancient bruises to the surface. It was clear she'd recently suffered a black eye. Her jaw was tinted a drab green, washing out to yellow around the edges, colors repeated in the riper bruises of her father's face. Odd to think the same man had beaten both. He studied her face, and the effect wasn't lost on him. A look of pain filled his eyes. "He do that to you? Because if he did, I'll kill him, I swear to God."
"It wasn't like that," she said.
"It wasn't like that. Bullshit."
Her eyes flooded again. I moved into the dressing area and grabbed some tissues from the dispenser. When I returned to the bed, Ray took the wad and passed them over to her. She blew her nose and then looked at me with resentment. "You're not really the maid," she said resentfully. "You didn't even do the sheet corners right."
"I'm a private investigator."
"I knew this hotel wouldn't have turn-down service. I should have trusted my instincts."
"Ain't that the truth," I said. I sat down on the other bed. "Now would one of you fill me in?"
Ray turned to me with an expectant look. "Wait a minute. What's the deal?"
"The deal?"
"I don't know where the money is. I thought it was up here someplace."
"Ah, the money. Why don't you ask her?"
"Me? I don't have it. What are you talking about?"
"Yes, you do." I reached over to Laura's belly and knocked on the mound. The thudding noise was not what you'd expect of warm maternal flesh. She smacked my hand away, incensed. "Stop that!"
Ray stared. "It's in her stomach? Like, up her butt?"
"Not quite. The belly's phony."
"How'd you figure that?"
"She has tampons in the duffel. If she were pregnant, she wouldn't need 'em. It's a girl thing," I replied.
"I am pregnant. What's the matter with you? The baby's due in January. The sixteenth, to be exact."
"In that case, pull your dress up so we can watch it kick."
"I don't have to do that. I can't believe you suggested it."
"Ray, I'm telling you, she's got the money in some kind of harness. That's how she got it on the plane without it's showing up on security. Eight thousand in a duffel, they might have asked too many questions."
"That's ridiculous. There's no law that says you can't transport cash across state lines."
"There is when the money's stolen," I said in my best nanny-nanny-boo-boo tone. Really, the two of us were like sisters, squabbling over everything.
"Come on, ladies. Please."
I doubled up my fist. "You want me to punch her in the stomach? It'd be a good test."
"Oh, for God's sake! This is none of your business."
"Yes, it is. Chester hired me to find the money, and I've done just that."
"I-do-not-have-the-money," she said, enunciating every-single-word.
I pulled my fist back.
"All right! Goddamn it. It's in a canvas vest that hooks on in front. I hope you're satisfied."
I loved the indignation, like I was the one who'd been lying to her. "Well, that's great. So let's see it. I'm curious what it looks like."
"Ray, would you tell her to get away from me?"
Ray looked at me.
"Just drop it. This is silly. I thought you said you wanted to hear the story."
"I do."
"Then cut the nonsense and let's get on with it." He looked back at his daughter. "You start. I'd like to hear Gilbert's version. He's saying, what, that I betrayed the others?"
"Let me wash my face first. I feel awful," she said. Her nose was red, her eyes puffy with emotion. She got up and went into the dressing area, where she ran water in the sink.
"Your daughter? You could have told me," I said.
Ray avoided my gaze like a dog that's done potty on the good rug.
When Laura returned, he let her sit on the bed while he fetched the desk chair and pulled it over closer. Her complexion, free of makeup, showed all the splotchy imperfections you'd expect. She glanced once at Ray, her expression faltering. She picked up a twist of tissue, which she wrapped around her index finger. Given center stage, she seemed oddly reluctant. "Gilbert says there was a bank robbery back in 1941."
"That's right."
I flashed a look at him. "It is?"
"There were five of you altogether. You, Gilbert, his brother Donnie, the guy you mentioned..."
"Johnny Lee," Ray supplied.
"Right. Him and a man named McDermid."
"Actually, there were six of us. Two McDermids, Frank and Darrell," Ray amended.
She shrugged, accepting the correction, which apparently didn't affect her understanding of the incident. "Gilbert says you tipped off the cops and they showed up in the middle of the robbery. There was a shoot-out and his brother Donnie was killed. So was McDermid and a policeman. The money vanished, but Gilbert was convinced you and Johnny knew where it was hidden. Johnny was in prison for two years, and when he got out, he disappeared. Gilbert had no way to trace him, so he waited 'til you got out and followed you, and sure enough, there it was. All Gilbert took was his share. Well, I guess his brother's share, too. He figures you and Johnny had the use of it for years, so whatever was left belongs to him by rights."
"Could I just clarify one thing?" I said to Laura.
"Sure."
"I take it your mother was the one who told you when Ray was getting out of prison?"
She nodded. "She mentioned it to me. Gilbert had already told me what happened, and I was furious. I mean, it was bad enough my father had been in prison all his life, but to find out he'd betrayed all his friends? That was the lowest of the low."
"Baby, I have to say this. I don't know what your relationship is with Gilbert, but hasn't it occurred to you he only got close to you so he could get to me?"
"No. Absolutely not. You don't know that," she said.
"Look at the facts. I mean, it only stands to reason," he said. "Didn't he ask about me early on? Maybe not by name, but just the family situation, blah, blah, blah, your dad and stepdad, things like that?"
"So what if he did? Everybody asks things like that early on."
"Well, doesn't it strike you as odd? Here, just 'coincidentally,' it turns out the two of us pulled a job together forty-some-odd years back?"
"Not really. Gilbert knew Paul from work... he's my stepdad," she said in an aside to me. "I guess Paul must have mentioned the name 'Rawson' in some context."
"Oh, yeah, right," Ray said with acid. "Like your stepfather sits around and bullshits about me with the guys at work."
"What difference does it make?" Laura said. "Somehow it came up. Maybe it was karma."
Ray's expression was impatient – he didn't buy that for a minute – but he made that rolling hand gesture that said "Let's get on with it."
"I'm not going to keep talking if you act like that. Ray," she said primly. "You asked for my side and that's what I'm trying to tell you, okay?"
"Okay. You're right. I'm sorry. But let me ask you this..."
"I'm not saying I know all the details," she interjected.
"I understand that. I'm just asking about the logic. Listen, in the gospel according to Gilbert – if what he says is true – then how come I spent forty years in prison? If I blew the whistle, I'd have made a deal. I never would have served a day. Or I'd have pled down and done county jail time just to make it look good."
Laura was silent, and I could see her struggling to come up with an explanation that made sense. "I don't really know. He never went into that."
"Well, think about it."
"I know Gilbert never served much time," she said tentatively.
"Yeah, but he was seventeen. He was still a juvenile and this was his first offense. Johnny always figured it was the younger McDermid, Darrell. Frank was too much of a stand-up guy. Darrell was the one who testified against us in court and ended up doing less than a year himself. You want to know why? Because he turned us in and in exchange they let him plead down to some lesser charge. Gilbert wants to blame me because the little fuck is greedy and wants to justify picking off all the loot for himself. By the way, you haven't said, are you two married?"
"We live together."
"You live together. That's nice. A year, couple years?"
"About that," she said.
"Don't you have any idea what he's like?"
Laura said nothing. Judging from the bruises, she knew plenty about Gilbert. "I don't believe he lied. You're the liar."
"Why don't you reserve judgment until you hear my side of it?"
I held a hand up. "Uh, Ray? Am I going to be surprised by what comes next? Is this going to be like big news and piss me off?"
His smile was sheepish. "Why?"
"Because I'm just wondering how many versions of the story you tell. This is number three, by my count."
"This is it. Last one. Swear to God."
I glanced at Laura. "The man does lie through his teeth, or what's left of them."
"I haven't lied," he said. "I might have failed to mention a couple things."
"A shoot-out with the cops? What else have you failed to mention? I'd be fascinated," I said.
"I can do without the sarcasm."
"I can do without the bullshit! You said Gilbert was a former cellmate."
"I had to tell you something," he said. "Come on. This is not easy. I kept my mouth shut forty years. Johnny Lee and I swore we'd never give anything away. The problem is, he died without giving me some vital information."
"I'm going to get comfortable," I said. I leaned over and pulled the pillows out from under the bedspread and propped them up against the headboard, kicking my shoes off before I settled into place. This was like a bedtime story, and I didn't want to miss it.
"You comfy?" he said.
"I'm terrific."
"Johnny dreamed up this scheme and talked me into going in with him. You have to understand a little background on this. I hope you don't mind."
"If you're going to tell the truth for a change, take your time," I said.
Ray got to his feet and began to pace. "I'm trying to think how far back to go. Let's try this. Ohio River flooded in the winter of 1937. I guess it started raining sometime in January and the river just kept going up. Eventually, there was something like twelve thousand acres underwater all up and down the Ohio River valley. At the time, Johnny was in state reformatory down in Lexington. Well, the inmates began to riot. Sixty of them busted out of there, and Johnny Lee was one. He gets as far as Louisville and disappears in the confusion. He starts helping with flood relief." He paused, looking from Laura to me. "Just be patient," he said. "Because you have to understand how this scheme was set up in the first place."
"Fine with me," she said.
He looked at me.
"Go right ahead," I said.
"Okay. Anyway, thousands of volunteers poured into the city. And nobody asked questions. From what Johnny told me, you pitched in, nobody cared who you were or where you came from. So he's rowing through the west end, saving people off of rooftops. The water's up to the second story in most places – I've seen pictures of this – as high as traffic lights. Damnedest thing you've ever seen. Johnny made this boat out of f
our barrels and some crates and he's paddling right down the middle of the street. He had the time of his life. He even stuck around afterwards and helped with the cleanup, which is how he dreamed up this heist.
"Lot of buildings collapsed. I mean, the whole downtown was underwater for weeks on end, and when the river receded they put crews in there repairing anything that got broke. Johnny was smart. He knew all kinds of things. He told them he'd done construction, so they put him to work. Anyway, while he's crawling around this basement one day, he realizes he's looking at the underside of a bank. Electrical power's been out for days, so a lot of storm sewers have broken and all this water's flowing past the foundation. There's this crack up the wall that he's supposed to fix. He puts together this patch job wouldn't fool a pro, but there's no one around. Everybody's too busy to pay attention to him. So he tells 'em it's fixed when he hasn't done a thing except cover it up.
He even signs off the inspection with forged signatures. I mean, it's not like there was anyone to double-check his work.
"By the time the two of us meet up... this is now four years later. Back then, big vaults were poured in place, using number five rebar, which is five-eighths diameter, four inches on center, several layers offset. Understand, it's not like I'm the expert. I learned all of this from him. This particular vault was constructed during the Depression – some kind of public works project – so you can imagine how well it was put together in the first place. Vault like that, you can force entry if you got the tools and the time. He said it had always been at the back of his mind, but he knew he needed help once it came time, which is where I come in.
"Johnny starts working on the foundation with this masonry bit. Nights and weekends, he goes in through the basement of the building next door and attacks the substructure. It probably takes him a month, but he's finally right up against the floor of the vault. Nowadays, this shit is all done with high-tech equipment, but in the old days, a successful bank job was the result of pure grit and hard work. It took patience and skill. Johnny figured the alarm system was tougher than the vault. At that point, we had to bring in some other guys because we needed the help. Johnny'd apprenticed with a locksmith, so he'd studied all the manuals and knew the specs by heart, but we needed an alarm man to dismantle the alarms. I'd been in jail with a guy I thought we could trust. That was Donnie Hays, and he brought in his brother, Gilbert. Like she said, Donnie's dead now and Gilbert I got to thank for this." He held up his bruised and bandaged hand.