Ask the Right Question (28 page)

Nobody knows when Chivian got out, but he did, and true to his devious character he went through the back to the garage and his car. They picked him up about eight miles away—the patrol cops.

I do know, from the cop posted out front, that Fleur came out the front door as if she were sprinting. He was amazed to find out later that she had a bullet in her, especially a police .38. But the door must have taken some of the sting out of it.

The kid's name is Fred Wilsky; he's not a bad kid. He says that he heard the screaming and the shot and saw her coming out the front door all about the same time. He says he drew his gun, but that without appearing to have seen him she turned the other way and ran toward the street. He says he may have forgotten to identify himself as a policeman, but he doesn't know. He says he fired a warning shot and she didn't break stride. Then he says he didn't know what else to do but run after her.

That amazes me. If it had been me I would have had that gun up and shot her full of holes. I swear I would. So help me. But maybe I'm prejudiced. I don't like punctured lungs and broken ribs and chopped liver. And blood, and being alive now only because she got the right side of my body and not my left side. I lack a certain degree of self-control. I would have made her into mincemeat.

Fred was just following the orders he had been given. That I had given him.

She was about halfway down the block and Fred was about twenty yards past the front door himself when Miller got there and screamed to him, “Get her, get her.” I guess in person it was a less ambiguous instruction than it reads.

Fred got her. When I talked to him he was upset about having shot a woman, but the coroner says she was dead anyway, would have been in a few minutes.

Inside the house Crystal was calling an ambulance and Miller says it was for me. Before it got there he went up and got Eloise.

She says that she had thought it was Leander who was hurt, that she knew that her mother had done something, from her laugh, but that she thought it had been Leander for making her get artificially inseminated. Miller says that Eloise was pretty cool considering, and that she sat by me for a moment until the ambulance came.

Oh, lots of people came to the hospital to tell me cheerful tales.

But not everyone who visited me in the hospital came to tell me things. Captain Gartland, for one. He came two days after the fact and he was literally unwilling to tell me the time of day. I wasn't all that interested; I inquired only because from the way I felt it had to be three in the morning.

He said he had to have some answers and had to have them now. I told him to go away. Then I pretended to go to sleep. When he didn't leave I took the plunge and rang for the nurse. I started coughing when she came in. She did the dirty work and shooed Gartland out. But it hurt, to cough.

Everything hurt. I won't give you a day-to-day hospital report, but don't believe movies that have guys doing talking a few minutes before they die. That close you don't feel like talking. It was bad enough that my mother closed Bud's for a couple of days to come hold my hand.

About a week later I saw Gartland and did talk to him. I had to feel a little sympathy for him. He had everybody on his back. Like New York about Annie. And the city officials and press about the circumstances surrounding the death of the daughter of Estes Graham. And the IRS people about Leander's tax situation. And later on, the Army was interested in looking into Joshua's death, and someone from the city talked about digging up Estes.

Miller says he thinks Chivian and Fleur killed Annie without Leander's knowledge. That Fleur probably did the actual cutting, having seen the way she went for me.

Chivian's lawyer has told the press that Fleur must have killed Annie alone; that if she had any help it was from Leander; that his client was in no way involved; and that if Chivian was involved he was an unwitting accomplice.

Gartland wanted me to help him show they were all in on it.

The IRS wanted to get Crystal for avoiding taxes on the money he had stockpiled in Switzerland. Andrew Elmitt saw that in the paper and called me in the hospital. It was ridiculous, he said. According to his analysis Leander recorded the money and paid taxes on it. He got it simply by stealing it from Fleur. He prepared a letter to that effect which would show how Leander's records proved it. He wanted to know whether if he sent it to me unsigned, I would forward it to IRS and keep his name out of it. I did.

My time in the hospital was unreal. I kept thinking about strange things, once I got used to the fact that I was actually there. I remembered that Kevin Loughery played basketball for the Baltimore Bullets against the New York Knicks in the 1969 NBA play-offs while he was recovering from a collapsed lung and a broken rib. I still find that hard to conceive. I spent three months in the hospital and I didn't even feel like watching basketball on TV.

42

My last day on the case was February 20, 1971. It was a big day. I had been feeding myself for three weeks—including buying the food and cooking it. I had been answering the phone and talking civilly. Joking with people sometimes. That morning I had actually walked to the library and back, all by myself. I took out a book, the whole bit. I felt pretty whole and moderately functional. Though I spent three hours resting after I got back. I felt pretty proud of myself.

By three thirty I got up again. By four I had eaten an orange and some potato chips and I was sitting at my desk in the office. Showing off. And thinking about whether maybe I ought to get married again. It might be the time. My woman was feeling sorry for me and she might give in over her better judgment. Besides a wife, I would be gaining another daughter. Her girl is twelve.

At four fifteen I had company.

A rather subdued teen-ager, a girl, opened the door and walked right in.

“I'm glad you're here,” she said. Without a moment's hesitation she sat down in my very, very dusty client's chair.

“Nowhere else, honey,” I said. I was much more relaxed than I had been the first time I talked to Eloise Crystal. So was she, until she started looking me over. I was redecorated, though I try to hide it. A little cast for the right arm here, a little brace for the ribs there. Very fetching, and fortunately impermanent. I've even found that it's harder to drink orange juice left-handed.

“I didn't realize you were still—”

“Trussed up? Yeah. For a while yet. They had to get me out of the hospital because my insurance only went through ninety days.”

“You mean you have to pay?”

“It's not settled yet. My man says that I was on police business. The police say that I'm not a cop. We're playing it safe. I'm out of the hospital and we're not talking about it all until after I've testified in the trial. But how are you? How have you been?”

“OK. Pretty good.”

She was lying of course, as children will. I knew she had had a hard time, physically on top of mentally. With her environmental mother dead and her father in jail they had kept her in a guardianship home for two weeks. Then, when I got around to asking Miller about her, I suggested that they put her in Mrs. Forebush's house. When they checked it out, they found Mrs. Forebush had been down at the station asking about the child every day since the story hit the papers. She had come to the hospital too, only she came before I was seeing anybody. It was a month before I was allowed to see anybody besides immediate family and cops. And you know what that meant: 99 percent cops.

“Shouldn't you be in school?”

She gave me a smile, a decent one. “It's Saturday.” We sat and looked at each other.

“Happy birthday,” I said. “A little belated, but I haven't forgotten.”

Before I knew it she was next to me and crying. I rose to meet her and took her in my arm. I pulled her close, and I seemed to squeeze tears out. I knew I wasn't hurting her. I was still too weak to hurt people. The pain was inside, and it was raw and it was sore and it was not healing very fast.

How can you comfort someone who has been hurt worse than you ever have? A poor little girl, who would always be beautiful to me, and young, and daughtery.

She cried and cried and cried. I didn't get tired, standing there, holding her, and listening to her heart.

And to mine. When she finally subsided we sat down again and she pulled the chair over to mine. We sort of knew where we'd been and where we were going. We each had a new family, of sorts. I would teach her to drink whiskey, in time. A couple of weeks at least. When she got married, she would invite me and my other daughters to come and take a trip on her yacht. I don't know; it's clear enough to me.

When she left to go back to Mrs. Forebush's, it was about five thirty. My nap time. But instead I went into the back room, clanked around until I found my field glasses, and trotted, as well as I was able, to the office next door. I rested on the window ledge. I didn't open the window to lean out, but she had crossed the street and I could watch her walking, slowly, in the general direction of the circle and the bus out to Fiftieth Street. You have to be nostalgic sometimes; you have to round out the old times to get yourself ready for the new.

Turn the page to continue reading from the Albert Samson Mysteries

1

It was a busy morning. I got a phone call. Since I believe in miracles, I answered it. “Albert Samson.”

“Samson,” said a very loud voice, a lady's voice. “Here it is. What I wanted to know was your rates. How much you charge for investigating on a case.”

“That depends on what sort of case and who I am working for.”

“My name is Mrs. Jerome.” She emphasized the “Mrs.” so that she would be sure to qualify for my married lady's discount. “And I don't appreciate being fenced with. You must have a basic working rate you figure from.”

“Thirty-five dollars per eight-hour day plus expenses.”

“I see,” she said. “And the eight-hour day, how do you count that? Is it what you actually spend working? Or do you include the time you take getting to and from places? And does it include payment for a lunch hour?”

With or without burp? “I never take an hour for lunch, Mrs. Jerome.”

“No need to be flippant. And references? Do you have references?”

“Should I agree to take your case and you require them, I can provide references.” I write them myself.

“I see. Thank you, Mr. Samson. I have twelve more agencies to call, and when I have gotten their particulars, I shall make my decision.”

“I just hope it's not a matter of life and death, Mrs. Jerome.”

For the first time she hesitated. My right ear appreciated the rest. Then she said, “In one sense it is a matter of life and death. But my daughter is not a wealthy woman, and I have to do the best for her that I can.”

I finished talking to Mrs. Jerome at ten minutes past eleven. I tried to estimate how long it would take her to find out that I am the cheapest private detective among the thirty odd of us listed in the Indianapolis Yellow Pages. Unless some new threadbare has opened up in the last couple of months. Long enough, what with busy signals and misconnections, for me to close up shop and spend the rest of the morning on physical therapy.

I did take other variables into consideration. The building elevator was out of order, and it had been a long time since a client walked up three flights of stairs to consult me. Also, it was a lovely day. And I do have an answering service.

So I walked down to the car and drove over to West Lockfield Gardens. At thirty-eight one may be past one's basketball prime, but with concentration there are ways to compensate for the physical deterioration. Craft. Finesse. Overview.

By two o'clock I was working my way back up the stairs—taking them one at a time—and I was burned. On such a lovely day, too. Why the hell are people the way they are? Especially young ones.

When I got to my floor, I went straight to the office suite next to mine. Through some quirk of plumbing history it is equipped with a rather comfortable bathtub, while my office has only a cramped shower stall. For the three-odd years the suite has been untenanted I've been using the facilities. I find baths much more suitable places to cool down. When I am burned.

Just as I was slipping into the murky brine, I heard the phone ring on the other side of the wall. Four rings, and then it was taken by the service. So there would be a message when I got back. Having an answering service is just like getting extra mail deliveries.

I presumed it was Mrs. Jerome. I wondered if she was calling to ask whether I'd go to thirty-two dollars and fifty cents per nine-hour day with seventeen minutes for lunch. Probably I would.

I soaked until I was wrinkly, till the steamy warmth had soothed my aching legs and back. Basketball is a game of legs and back. They are the parts which wither first when you don't play for a while.