Booked to Die (29 page)

Rita came out
of the restaurant carrying a newspaper and a steaming bag of goodies. “Well,” she said, “I don’t see any murderer shackled in the back seat.”

“Don’t push me, McKinley. Get in.”

I headed north toward Denver, up Santa Fe Drive into the heart of the rush hour. She had brought me a king-size cup of coffee and a sweet roll loaded with cinnamon and sugar. She fed it to me while I drove, in tiny morsels between sips of coffee.

“This stuff will kill you,” she said. “It’s probably half and half, cholesterol and cancer-causing preservatives. You can have mine too if you want it.”

“Thanks but no thanks. One dose of death’s enough for a morning.”

She ate the second roll herself.

We were in heavy traffic, halfway to Denver, when she opened the newspaper. “Interesting item this morning. Your friend Mr. Newton got himself chopped up. I see you were the main witness, as usual. How come you don’t tell me the interesting stuff in your life?”

“You get too excited. Read it to me while I drive.”

“Sure.” She folded the paper over and read.

Nothing I didn’t know, except that Crowell still hadn’t talked to police and Newton was listed as serious but expected to make it. Jackie’s altercations with police, including his continuing troubles with me, were summarized at the end.

I thought of Barbara with a flash of guilt.

“I guess it proves something,” I said. “You can drive anybody to murder.”

“It proves something else,” Rita said. “Murphy’s law.”

“Which one?”

“Time wounds all heels.”

Ruby lived on Capitol Hill, in the 1300 block of Humboldt. I parked out front on the street, and told Rita to stay put.

The apartment was on the third floor. Ruby’s face was still full of sleep as he opened the door. “Who the hell’s this? Dr. J?” He was in that early-morning fog common to nighthawks, trying valiantly to jump-start his heart with a third cup of coffee. He waved me to a chair, handed me a coffee cup, nodded to the pot simmering on the stove, and disappeared into the John. I heard water splashing and a moment later the toilet flushed. I poured myself a cup, looked around, and sat in the chair. It was a neat place, which surprised me. I could see back into the bedroom, which was also neat except for the unmade bed. It was a plain apartment, almost stark, with high ceilings and old-fashioned radiator steam heating. There were framed nudes on the walls, four lovely Weston prints that added to the bare landscape. I liked it: could’ve lived there myself.

Ruby came out, fastening his shirt. He still looked foggy, disjointed. He sat and sipped his coffee and only gradually seemed to remember that he had company.

“What’s goin‘ on? What’re you doin’ out here this time o‘ day?”

“How long’s it take you to wake up?”

“Hour… two. I don’t get started till the day’s half gone. Gotta open the damn store this week. Neff’s supposed to be opening, but he still don’t feel good. I think he wants to stay away from there, if you ask me. This thing’s got him scared plenty. Want some coffee?”

“Got some.”

“Oh.”

I leaned toward him, the cup clasped in my hands, warming them. “I want to ask you a few more questions.”

At that point I had only one essential question. But an idea had begun forming in my mind.

“Tell me about those books again, Ruby.”

“What books?”

“The ones Neff bought in Broomfield the day Peter and Pinky were killed.”

“Like what more do you want to know?”

“It was a woman, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Lady moving out of town.”

“Did you talk to this woman?”

“On the phone, sure.”

“Recognize her voice?”

“Why should I? I never met the lady.”

“Did her voice sound like anybody you might know?”

“Jeez, I can’t remember. I wasn’t thinking in that context. She was just a voice on the phone.”

“How much did the buy cost you?”

“Fifteen hundred. And if you think that wasn’t a bitch to get up on the spur of the moment…”

“How did you get it up?”

“Well, there’s still a guy or two who’ll loan me money. We wholesaled a few items. Neff borrowed the rest.”

“How much did each of you borrow?”

“All’s I could get was a couple of bills. We wholesaled a couple of books for three. Neff had to come up with a grand.”

“Where’d he get the grand?”

“Hell, he’s got his friends, I’ve got mine.”

“How’d you hear about this woman in the first place?”

“She called us cold. Saw our name in the phone book.”

“When was this?”

“That same morning.”

“So you must’ve put the deal together in an hour or two.”

“We had to, else the books be gone. You know how it is when you get a crack at this kinda stuff. You gotta move now.”

“How’d you know the stuff was good?”

“Sometimes you can just tell, Dr. J. What do we have to lose driving up there? The lady seemed to know her books. I mean, she knew ‘em inside, outside, six ways from Sunday. None of this chickenshit ’what’ll you give me‘ stuff. She reads off the titles and says what she wants, and she gives us plenty of room to make out on the deal. She knew exactly what she was doing. When you get somebody who talks to you like that, you’ve got to assume she’s got what she says. If she don’t, you bring your money back home.”

“So you had the deal done by when?”

“We had the money together by, oh… two o’clock.”

“Then what happened? Did you call her back?”

“She wouldn’t give us a number: said she’d already turned off her phone and she’d have to call us.”

“Which she did.”

“Yeah, just a few minutes after we got the dough together. She calls up and says she’ll meet us in Broomfield at three.”

“That’s when she talked to you?”

“Yeah, just for a minute. I answered the phone. But most of her dealing was with Neff.”

“When you answered the phone, she asked to speak to him?”

“Yeah.”

“And they agreed to meet… and Neff went right after that.”

“That’s right.”

“He left around what… two-thirty?”

“I guess it was around then.”

“And got back around five.”

“Yeah. The deal took no time at all. The woman had just what she said, and it was all top-grade primo stuff. All Neff had to do was look at the stuff and hand her the dough, then drive back here.”

“Then he went to the can and you started going through the books.”

“Yeah. What’s all this about, Dr. J?”

“This woman you talked to. You sure you never heard her voice before?”

“Hell, that’s a tough question, Dr. J. I only talked to her a couple of seconds.”

I picked up his telephone and dialed Rita’s number. When her recording came on, I held it to Ruby’s ear.

“I guess that
could
be her. Come to think of it, she did sound like somebody…” He squinted, listening. “Who the hell is that—Rita McKinley?”

I didn’t say anything.

“That could be her, I guess,” Ruby said.

“Did Neff and Rita McKinley ever meet before that day?”

“Well, I told you she’s been in our store a couple of times. He might’ve seen her. I do remember when she was in last year, Neff wasn’t here. He had taken off and gone back east, if I remember right. Bookscouting trip. I do remember that the whole time McKinley was in the store there was nobody else but her and me. I felt funny, like a kid just getting started. Nobody’s been able to make me feel like that in a long time.”

“But Neff wasn’t there then.”

He shook his head. “What’re you gettin‘ at, Dr. J?”

“I don’t know, Ruby.” I looked at my watch: it was eight forty-two. “Tell me about the books again. I only saw a couple of titles when I peeked in the box.”

Now he came to life. He was fully awake, his motor running on something much stronger than coffee.

“Best batch of stuff we’ve gotten in years. You sometimes get these kinda books onesy-twosy, never fifty at once. Never three boxes and every one an absolute cherry. Let me see, there was a fine run of Tony I Hillerman stuff. All the early ones.
Blessing Way. Dance Hall of the Dead. Fly on the Wall
. All in the two, three-hundred range. It’s like pickin‘ hundred-dollar bills out of the box when those babies come up. You just sit there and add it up, like money in the bank. Hell, it’s
better
than money in the bank, ’cause this stuff just keeps gettin‘ better and better. Hillerman’s the hottest writer going, especially in these parts. There were a couple of Rex Stouts from the forties, just
so
salable, so damn good. And Ellery Queen’s first book…1 know you hear me say this all the time, Dr. J, but this was truly the world’s best copy by far. Bunch of early Micheners that you don’t see much anymore.
Bridges at Toko Ri
, and his first book,
South Pacific
. And some other stuff…uh…”

“
Clockwork Orange”
I prompted. “I saw that one myself.”

“Yeah, and that lovely Eastlake thing,
Go in Beauty
. What a goddamn book, Dr. J, what a total and complete killer. You ever read that?”

I shook my head.

“A killer book. And let’s see, there was some black stuff, a Richard Wright, a Ralph Ellison, and half a dozen horror titles. Just a super
Hell House
, by Matheson… that’s two and a half now for one this nice… and a couple of Lovecrafts, and, oh yeah, another great Mathison title, /
Am Legend
. Now there’s a real vampire book, scared the living bejesus out of me one night when I had nothing else to do. So much better than
Salem’s Lot,
even King says so, but King’s such a nice guy he always puffs everybody else’s books and poopoos his own. He’s right this time, though. And listen, speaking of black stuff, we got I oni Morrison’s first book,
The Bluest Eye
… hell, even I never saw that book before. Killer copy, I bet we get five bills for it. Let’s see what else… great
Crazy in Berlin
, a couple of bills on that, and some Van Guliks with that chink detective, you can get two-fifty easy for those, and a great Chesterton Eather Brown with a jacket that’ll knock your damn eye out…”

I looked at my watch. 1 had stopped listening. I knew he was lost, drifting through that vast and wonderful world that all true bookmen know. The most hypnotic business a man can do, like making love to a beautiful woman.

“You ever read that novel, Dr. J?”

1 shook my head. I didn’t know what novel he was talking about.

“My kinda stuff, baby. Just makes my blood go all tingly when I take it out of the box and it looks like it came off the press an hour ago. Yeah, we’ll do great on this buy, even if we have to wholesale a few items to keep the wolf at bay. It’s like a shot of new blood, you know what I mean? It puts joy back in your heart, makes the world right again for a little while. Wait a minute, there was more…”

“That’s enough, Ruby.”

“Oh wait, I haven’t given you much more than half of it, yet.”

“It’s enough anyway. I think I’ve got what I need.”

“I don’t understand you. What the hell’re you lookin‘ for?”

I looked at my watch. “How’s your sense of time, Ruby?”

“I don’t understand.”

“How long do you think we’ve been sitting here talking— just since I asked you what was in those boxes? How long do you think it’s been?”

“Couldn’t be much more than a minute. Two minutes at the outside. Couldn’t be any longer than that.”

“How about seven minutes and twenty seconds.”

Surprise flicked across his face.

Then a flash of horror.

I juggled the
pieces on the drive north. It gave me a sick, hollow feeling that deepened as we drove.

Rita knew that something had changed between us. She was very sharp that way.

“What’s the matter?”

I shook my head and shrugged it off.

“What’s wrong with you?” she insisted.

“Nothing.” I looked at her and raised my voice to emphasize the point.

I saw her back stiffen. You couldn’t bully her or force your will. You could mandate silence by being silent, but you couldn’t make the mistake of believing that her own silence meant she was putting up with it.

We went at least ten miles before she spoke again.

“Where’re we going? You mind telling me that?”

“Going to see a fella.”

“What fella?”

I looked at her again. “You ever hear of Emery Neff?”

“I don’t know…I guess I’ve heard that name. He owns one of the bookstores, doesn’t he?”

“You never met him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You never had occasion to sell him any books?”

“How do I know? Do you remember everybody you ever sold books to? I’ll tell you something, I don’t much like the way you’re acting.”

“I’m not acting.”

She watched me for a moment, then turned away and lapsed into a curious wooden silence that matched my own. We couldn’t talk and we couldn’t be quiet: it was so deadly I had to turn on the radio, something I never do when I have people in the car. A couple of educated idiots were screaming at each other on KOA, giving a bad impression of what passes today for talk radio. I couldn’t stand it. Eventually I found KEZW, a nostalgia station. They were playing “Sam’s Song,” a vocal banter by Bing and Gary Crosby that I had heard four thousand times by actual count. At least I could stand that.

Ruby had answered my one essential question by drawing me a map. He had only been here once, almost a year ago, but he remembered it well enough to get me here. I spread the map on the seat as we rolled up the back highway, the mountains sprawling whitely to the left. I caught Rita glancing at the map. Our eyes met again. I stopped at a light and we just looked at each other for a moment. On the radio they were playing “I Hadn’t Anyone Till You.” Tommy Dorsey. Jack Leonard was singing the vocal refrain.

“Light’s green,” she said, and I started off again.

Then, without looking my way, she began to take me apart. She did it like a surgeon, without a tremor in her voice to betray her.

“It would seem that I’ve become a suspect again. I don’t like that, not from you.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Trust is a precious thing to me,” she said. “If I didn’t think you understood that, I promise you last night wouldn’t‘ve happened.”

“I know that.”

“Then talk to me, you bastard.”

Even when the words were loaded, her voice remained calm, icy.

“There may be a woman involved in it,” I said. “I don’t know what she did or why.”

“But you think it was me.”

“I don’t think anything.”

“Wrong answer, Janeway, and a lie to boot.”

I nodded.

“This is turning ugly,” she said.

“It’s always been ugly.”

“That’s funny, I thought it was something else. What happened to love at first sight?”

“Alive and well. It’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Then it can’t be much good.”

“Not true,” I said. “I’m just doing what a cop always does. Following my nose.”

“Is that what you were doing last night? You may’ve been following something, but it sure wasn’t your nose. You know what I think?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“You should be. It doesn’t put you in a good light.”

We were getting close to Longmont. My eyes scanned the road for the turnoff.

I knew the question was coming before she asked it: knew and dreaded.

“How long have you been thinking these things?”

I took a deep breath. “You want an honest answer?”

“You bet.”

“It’s always been there. I push it back in my head and try to smother it, but it won’t ever go away.”

“Then it was in bed with us last night.”

“It’s that goddamn appraisal. I just can’t square it.”

She gave a dry little laugh. “You’re pretty good, though, I’ll have to say that. You have a way of saying I love you that makes a girl believe it.”

“It’s true,” I said. “It is, Rita.”

“Ah,” she said in a small voice.

I thought that might be the end of it, but she said, “What I can’t figure out is why I’m supposed to have done this. It couldn’t be for money. You want to see my bankbook?” She flipped open her checkbook from First Federal Savings. It made me dizzy, trying to drive and look. What really made me dizzy were all those digits, and not a decimal anywhere in sight. It was like standing on the edge of a deep cliff, looking straight down.

“This is my traveling money. My book account is about four times this big. I have another account that I use for business not related to books. I have another account for investments: my accountant talked me into doing that last year. I seem to take in more money than I can decently spend now; I can’t even give it away fast enough. I make money while I’m lying in bed. Would you like to know how much I made last night while you were, ah, following your nose? I can calculate it, give or take a little. I’m making money this minute, for Christ’s sake. I don’t ever have to lift another finger. What work I do, I do because I’ve got to do something or go out of my mind. I was never made to be gracefully rich; I’m too restless to be idle. I don’t want any more money, don’t even want what I’ve got. So please tell me why I would lie and steal and kill for more stupid money.”

I shrugged sadly. Maybe for kicks, I thought: maybe for love. Who can ever know what people will do, or why?

“I’ve got one other account,” she said. “You could call it my fuck you account.”

I knew what she meant. I know all about fuck you money, mainly because I’ve never had any.

In that same flat voice, she said, “You are the most exciting man. All I have to do is think of you and I just tingle. Even that first night. I walked out of your bookstore and it was so powerful I had to stop and lean against something. I thought, there’s my guy. It was absolutely terrifying, the most thrilling moment of my life. Couldn’t wait to see you again. But you’ve got no faith, and that’s the most important thing. You’ve got no faith, Janeway. I don’t think we’re going to make it.”

“I need to know. You’ve got to understand that.”

“You need to believe. I know it’s not quite fair. A just God wouldn’t try us like this, before we even know each other. I’m not blaming you, but don’t blame me either. This is what I am. At this particular point in my life, I need faith more than love. An equal amount of each would be nice.”

“I guess 1 was a cop too long.”

She sighed. “And there isn’t any God, and life’s not fair.”