Irresistible Impulse (44 page)

“Off the bat? A copycat. Rare, but it happens. A psycho, or someone who just wanted to whack his mother-in-law, but was stuck for inspiration until the trial. So we’ll do the usual canvass, check on the relatives, the love life, the neighbors. Who knows, it could be a grounder—”

“It’s not a grounder, Clay,” said Karp, his tone flat and resigned. “Have you thought about the possibility of something nastier?”

“Like?”

“Like, Jonathan’s got a pal, a disciple? My shrink called it his hobby. Maybe there was a club.”

“Maybe you’re getting paranoid in your old age,” said Fulton. “We’re talking about Rohbling here, son. The lone pine tree. Kid don’t have a friend in Jesus, he got no friends at all. Oh, yeah, this’ll amuse you. You know where the vic worked?”

“Don’t tell me … for Rohbling, right?”

“Uh-uh. For that sweetheart you had me trailing around after last winter.”

“Robinson?”

“Yep. She was a medical-records specialist. Small world, huh?”

“Tiny. What was Doctor Death doing the night of, by the way?”

“Oh, he’s clean. According to his office, he was out on some little island in the Sound. Wait a second, I got it written down here somewheres …”

“Wooten Island,” said Karp.

“That’s it.” Pause. “Wait a second, how the hell did you know that?”

“You said it was a small world. Don’t ask,” said Karp.

Karp’s mood was not improved when, upon arriving home, he found the press thicker and more importunate than ever, the Evans murder having lashed them into a frenzy of speculation, and the pickets louder in their invective for the same reason. Thus, when he discovered that his daughter was missing, had been missing since noon, he was not his ordinary calm and reasonable self. He was cruel and abusive to Posie, in the most intemperate language. She wailed and ran to her room, from which issued the sound of disorganized packing. The twins burst into sympathetic tears. In the midst of this shrieking hell, while Karp was attempting to form some productive thought as to what to do next, the telephone rang. Karp let the machine pick it up and heard Marlene’s voice saying, “She’s here.”

Moving as fast as he had ever moved on a basketball court, he raced to the phone and snatched up the receiver.

“Marlene? Jesus, I was going crazy!”

“I bet.”

“Oh, God, I’m fucking shaking here.”

“What’s going on? It sounds like crying.”

“Yeah, well, I yelled at Posie.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and called out the news to Posie, who came out smiling through the tears. Karp apologized, and the girl, who, like the sages of the Orient, dwelt in the eternal Now, swept the weeping twins up and away with kisses. Into the phone Karp said, “Marlene, tell me you didn’t plan all this out without letting me know.”

“Of course not. It was a misunderstanding. I told Lucy that when my business was finished, she could come out here and spend a day or two, and she thought that meant the tennis thing, so when I told her it was finished, she arranged everything.”

“
Arranged … ?
”

“Yeah, she came out with Tranh. Of course, he asked her if I was expecting her, and of course she said yes, which was true as far as she could see, and they took the train and a cab and the livery boat, and here they are. Tranh is paralyzed with embarrassment. Edie Wooten was a little surprised too. Lucy, of course, puts the whole thing off on me. And when I pointed out to her that you didn’t know and would be going crazy, she said she left you a note, and then she said, oops, I forgot the note, sorry. The brat is incorrigible.”

I wonder where she gets it from, thought Karp, fuming. “So you’ll send her right back?”

“Well, as long as she’s here, she might as well spend a day or so.”

“What! Are you out of your fucking mind!” Karp yelled. “You’re guarding that woman against a dangerous stalker, and you’re going to keep Lucy there?”

“Well, you know, I made just that point to Lucy,” said Marlene in a distinctly cooler tone, “and do you know what she said? She said that if a stalker could get past me, and Tranh and the dog, we better hang it up.”

“Marlene, that’s ridiculous!”

“And, she said, you’re grumpy because you’re losing your trial and everyone’s miserable at the loft, and that’s why she decided to come. She said, and I quote, I don’t want to stop liking Daddy.”

Karp could not think of a suitable riposte to this. Marlene resumed, after a moment of silence, “How
is
the trial going?”

“Down the toilet. There’s a killer copycat-ing our defendant, but the jury’s going to think … God knows what the jury’s going to think. I thought it was even money on a hung, and maybe a tiny chance of a win, still, but … you know the background on this was always that he was a serial killer. We couldn’t try it that way, but it was in the air, the jury understood that—you know how it is. Now, with this out, it sours the case. They’re not thinking we got the wrong guy or anything, but maybe he had help, it’s not straightforward anymore.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” said Marlene with genuine sympathy, mixed with relief that the subject had changed from parenting to the law. “And you worked so hard. Do they have any leads on the copycat?”

“Not yet. Woman seems to have been employed by your pal Robinson, by the way. I thought that was significant.”

“Is it?”

“Apparently not, since he was away on your island paradise at the time of the murder last night.”

“No, he wasn’t,” said Marlene. “He took off with his merry band last night on a yacht, and I know they made it to the City because I talked with a guy who started the evening clubbing downtown.”

“Well, well,” said Karp. “The plot thickens.”

“It does indeed,” said Marlene.

“Daddy was mad, wasn’t he?”

“Furious. But I calmed him down. Did you apologize to Tranh?”

“Yes. I said that the dishonor was mine. He said I was an ignorant monkey, not worth drowning.”

“I concur with that. Never again, Lucy, I mean it, although …”

“What?”

“I suppose I should take pride in your resourcefulness. At least you didn’t get lost.”

“I’m socially precocious,” said Lucy with a casual drawl.

“Yes, and intellectually retarded. Now that you’re here, how do you like it?”

“I love it. It’s like a fairy castle on the sea. Could we go swimming now? I have my suit on underneath.”

“No, it’s too late,” said Marlene. “Tomorrow. And wipe that expression off your face! You’re lucky I don’t tie you up in the cellar.”

That evening they dined in the paneled dining room. Tranh leaped into the kitchen and whipped up a
moule marinière
with a bushel of local mussels. Lucy put on her Perfect Little Girl act, charming the pants off Edie and the Marneys. Tranh sat by the cellist, regaling her, in French, with anecdotes about old Paris. He had, it seemed, worked in a bistro frequented by Darius Milhaud and Paul Claudel. For a pick-up dinner under siege, it was a great success.

Afterward, Tranh and Marlene slept in shifts, but no incident disturbed the night. In the morning, during the sacred hours of cello practice, Tranh stayed by the house with the dog, while Marlene took Lucy down to the beach with her carry-all full of blanket, gun, sandwiches, and a thermos of lemonade.

The day was cloudy, however, with the wind picking up from the east, speckling the bay with little whitecaps. They swam until they were chilled and then walked along the beach, selecting choice pebbles and various interesting pieces of jetsam, until they came to a point that looked over the two-mile channel to Sag Harbor.

They had gone only a little way back when Lucy said, “There’s someone near our stuff.” Marlene squinted, but could make out only a shadow, like a stick figure, near their blanket. It must be Tranh, she thought, and wondered whether anything had gone wrong at the house. She quickened her pace. As they came closer, she saw, and the sight produced a gut wrench of fear and revulsion, that it was Robinson. He was reclining next to her blanket, dressed in white duck slacks, navy lisle shirt, and huaraches.

“Ah, the lovely Mrs. Karp,” he called out gaily, “and who is this? A little Karp? How charming!”

“Get lost, Robinson!” Marlene snarled.

“ ‘Robinson’? Dear me, yesterday when you assaulted me, it was ‘doctor’ and very polite with it. It must be the immigrant crudity surfacing.” He turned his gaze on Lucy, and Marlene felt her flesh prickle. “Manners are very important, little girl. For example, it’s considered rude in the best circles to hit men in their wee-wees with your gun.”

Marlene stooped and yanked up their blanket. “Fine, we’ll leave. Take the thermos, Lucy.”

“Oh, but aren’t you going to introduce me to
Lucy?
” said Robinson. He rose and took a step closer to the girl.

“Yes. Lucy, this is Dr. Vincent Robinson, a vicious, evil man. You are not to ever talk to him, and if you see him coming, run away.”

She took Lucy’s hand and started to walk back toward the house. Robinson followed close behind Marlene, crowding her, his mouth inches from her ear. “What a thing to say!” he murmured. “Really, I love children. Their bones are so flexible. I like it when they sit on my lap. Do you think Lucy would like to sit on my lap? No? Maybe later.”

They reached the cut in the dunes where a path led back to the big house. Marlene could smell his cologne and feel his breath warm against her neck.

“You have absolutely no idea what you’re in for, do you, my little wop? A bodyguard? What a joke you are! You’re like a dog that’s run into the street just about to get squashed by a truck, you and kikey Ike, and your little mutt bitch—”

Marlene placed two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing two-tone whistle. In seconds the dune grass was rattling with the passage of a large animal, and Sweety emerged onto the path. Marlene turned and pointed at Robinson. “Sweety,
iddu é ’n nemicu
,” she said. Sweety made a sound like oil drums rolling down a gangplank and showed Robinson all his pretty white teeth. Robinson’s tan lightened a shade. “If that dog touches me, I’ll sue you for every cent you’ve got,” he said. “I’ll break you—”

“No, actually, you won’t,” said Marlene, “because if he goes for you, you won’t be able to pee, much less sue. In fact, I think it’s you who’ve gotten in over your head, Vince, not me. Now go away! We don’t allow degenerates on this side of the island.”

As she spoke, Sweety, his black hair bristling, was inching closer, snarling softly and slavering. A gob of dog drool fell on the naked arch of Robinson’s foot. He forced his face into a not-very-convincing superior smile, nodded, gestured touché with his hand, spun on his heel, and left.

“You should’ve sicced Sweety on him, Mom,” said Lucy as they walked together up to the house.

“No, actually, I’m pretty pleased with the way I handled that. The thing about violence is you want to avoid it whenever you possibly can. It takes something out of you when you use it. At first it’s hard, and then it gets easier, and then you don’t notice it at all. Or like it.”

“Like that man,” said Lucy.

“Yeah, like him. The other thing is, you don’t want to use it in dribs and drabs. Either you don’t use it at all, or you use it with overwhelming force.”

“What you did on the street, in the fair.”

“Uh-huh,” said Marlene. Suddenly she felt weak, exhausted. Though the day was cool, her throat felt rough and parched, as if she had just fought a battle on the desert. She plopped herself down in one of the Adirondack chairs, and took a long drink of lemonade from the thermos. She offered it to Lucy.

“No, it’s too sour. Can I go in and get a Coke from Mrs. Marney?”

Yes, she could. Lucy trotted away. Staring after her, Marlene wondered why she had just given her daughter a lesson in applied violence, why Lucy could shoot a pistol and box at an age when her peers were tinkling out little Mozart sonatas or learning how to float on their toes to
Swan Lake
. Was this crazy or the acme of sanity, given the state of the world? Marlene couldn’t decide.

She sat there for the better part of an hour. Mr. Marney came out of the house, grumbling to himself and pulling on a yellow slicker. He waved to Marlene as he went past. Shortly thereafter, she heard the sound of the big speedboat starting up, echoing loudly in the boathouse, and then the sound of a group of chattering people on the path to the dock, and then the sound of the speedboat pulling away. Ginnie and her pals must be off. Marlene wondered if her interaction with Robinson had prompted the exodus. She didn’t really care, and in any case the little shits could be back at any time. They seemed like insects in their flitting from one pleasure dome to another. Still, she felt some resolution of this affair was at hand. Either Robinson would go on to other tortures, or he would try again and she would catch him.

Tranh came out of the house. Marlene watched his peculiar light, shambling, round-shouldered walk, which always looked to her as if he were carrying a burden. He made almost no sound as he crossed the gravel path.

“Excuse me, Marie-Helene, but the repair shop has called. Your car is completed. They wish to hear when you will collect it.”

Marlene looked up at the sky, which was lowering. “It’s going to pour later. Let’s do it right now,” she said. “We’ll drive over to Southhampton in the Wolfe-mobile and you can drive the VW back here, and then you can take Lucy back tomorrow in Wolfe’s car. Oh! Can you drive a … ?” Marlene gestured shifting a manual shift. Tranh responded with a remarkable Gallic facial expression combining injured pride with a negative assessment of the intellectual capacity of the interlocutor. Marlene laughed, Tranh brought out one of his rare grins, and they both went inside.

Marlene and Lucy were in Wolfe’s Caprice, driving back to Sag Harbor, the VW, ransomed for an outrageous fee, trailing behind, the windshield wipers clearing the steady drizzle from the windows. Marlene and Lucy were singing along with the Eagles tape. Marlene felt good. There seemed to be some new energy vibrating in her body, and the familiar lyrics were somehow more profound and full of a deeper meaning. The last song, “You Can’t Hide These Lyin’ Eyes” finished amid general merriment. Lucy popped out the tape.