Pin (24 page)

“I want you to know,” I went on, “that I have nothing personal against you. Pin and I both believe that, under different circumstances, we might have liked you a lot; but you must understand, we're doing this for Ursula, and you care for her too. Not as much as we do, I know.”

Then I felt weak for having explained and justified my actions to a corpse, so I shut up for a while. I
plodded on and on. The steps grew more and more difficult and at one point along the way, I actually feared I wouldn't make it. I wondered if I would be able to just leave the sack in the forest and come back the next day and complete the job. But then I thought how much that would displease Pin, and there were the new footprints to consider.

“You've got to do it,” I told myself. “You've got to and that's that.”

Finally I reached the pond. It was completely frozen over, of course. I set the sack down nearby and walked out on the ice. It was much thicker than I expected. Nevertheless, it would be much easier to break an opening in the ice than dig a grave in the frozen earth. It was the best way. I began to chop. It took a great deal of effort and I had to stop many times to rest. The snow was coming down like mad now. I couldn't see much farther than the woods. After I broke through the section below me, I chipped away at it carefully. Gradually the opening grew larger and larger. I measured the diameter with the pick until I felt it was big enough to take the sack. Then I went back to the shore and dragged the sack out on the ice. These last few steps seemed to be the most difficult, despite the fact that I was pulling it over the ice.

When I got it to the hole, I felt along Stan's body. I figured I'd have an easier time of it if I could straighten him out some when I lifted him. So I grasped him around the waist and stood him up that way. At that point the damnedest thing happened. The strings came loose at the top of the sack and his head popped right out of it. I was standing there looking right into his face. It was almost as if he had
come back to life. All the while I treated him as more of a thing than a person, and now his head popped out to face me. I did a dumb thing then. I dropped him and he folded up, half in and half out of the sack. For a moment I grew very nauseous and dizzy. I had to go back to the land and sit on an old log to catch my breath. I looked out at him. A hand had come out and was resting on the ice, palm down. I made up my mind never to tell Pin about this part.

Slowly I got up and moved back out to the hole. I stuffed his body back into the sack and tied it very tight. Pin told me to twist the pick into the rope so that the weight of the tool would help sink and keep down the sack. The pond was at least eight feet deep so that was no problem about anyone finding him in the springtime. The water was usually dirty anyway. A kind of black humus ran in with the fresh water and gave it an inky appearance, although I imagined the water was good enough to drink.

“In a way I suppose I'm polluting,” I said, “but it has to be done.” I laughed and felt a little better. When the pick was secured, I lowered the sack into the opening. The water took to it immediately, making it a heavier and heavier weight. It sank slowly as I let it slip through my fingers. When I felt his head between my hands, I held it tightly for a moment and then I let go and the whole sack disappeared. I stood there looking down at the opening in the pond for a while and then I started back. I broke a branch and used it to cover over some of the footprints, just like I saw characters do in the movies.

When I got to the house, I looked back at the woods for a moment just to actually convince myself
it had all been done. Then I entered and took off my boots and coat. Pin was waiting anxiously for my report, but I didn't go right to him. I had to make a fire first and feel the warmth on my face and hands. His body had been so cold in that sack, and now it was freezing in the water. Pin heard me and called out.

“Coming,” I said. I went to the cabinet and took out some rye. The whiskey warmed my stomach. I felt a lot better. “It all went smoothly,” I said, going into his room. “Just as we planned. It's all done.” I poured him a drink.

“Good,” Pin said. “Now let's put it all out of our minds and go back to the way things were.”

“I'll drink to that. Of course, it'll be a little while before Ursula … shit,” I said, looking over in the corner.

“What's the matter?”

“That damn leg. We forgot all about it.”

“No problem,” he said, after a short pause. “You've got a fire going out there, haven't you?”

“Right.”

“Just throw it right in.”

“Good thinking,” I said and picked up the leg. I brought it out, opened the grate, and threw it in over the logs. Just then, the phone rang. It was Ursula calling from the library.

“Has there been any call?”

“Nothing.”

“Miss Spartacus came to work; but she doesn't look well at all. She's been coughing all morning.”

“Damn stupid of her.”

“I want to come home, but I hate to leave her.”

“It's probably not too intelligent of you to be
around her anyway. I'm sure what she has is very contagious. You'll get it and then you'll give it to Pin and me.”

“I can't stand the silence in here. All I do is think and think and think.”

“Ursula, if you're fishing for me to tell you I want you home, I want you home. Does that help?”

She was quiet for a moment and then she said, “I'm going to tell her that I can't stay. Maybe she'll be smart and close the library for the rest of the day.”

I told her to do it and hung up. A few minutes later, the phone rang again. It was Ursula with a new problem.

“What if Stan comes to the library to see me?”

“What if he does?” I said, imagining him swimming up to the hole in the ice, pulling himself out of the pond, shaking himself off like a dog, and walking downtown to meet Ursula.

“Well, I won't be here. I'll be home.”

“So he'll call you at home, Ursula,” I said in the same tone of voice I'd use if I were talking to a complete moron.

“No,” she said. There was a recognizable note of determination in her voice. “It's better if I keep busy. At home I'd only drive you crazy and myself as well.”

“Suit yourself,” I said. This time I hung up before she could add another thing. I went back and told Pin all about her. “It's not going to be easy with her for a while.”

“It's all right. We can deal with it.”

I wanted to do some more work on my poem and sat down to do the writing. The words weren't coming easy. My mind kept drifting. Then, approximately
twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. I was in a rage. If it was Ursula and she was going to go through her idiotic indecisions again, I was determined to hang up on her immediately. It was Ursula, but she had something entirely different to say; something quite disturbing.

“S
LOW DOWN
,” I
SAID
. “Y
OU'RE TALKING SO FAST
I can't understand a word.”

“It's Ralph Wilson. He stopped in to see me and they're going to drive me home. They want to speak to both of us.”

“Why? What … I don't …”

“The car, the car. I just told you, Leon. Didn't you understand me?”

“How can I understand you when you babble into the phone and to someone else at the same time? What about what car?”

“Stanley's car. They found Stanley's car.”

I put my hand over the earpiece of the receiver as if I could keep the words from coming out. Then I turned to Pin.

“She says they've found Stanley's car.”

“How? When?” I gestured for him to be patient and put the phone to my ear again. Ursula was still trying to carry on two conversations. I shouted for her complete attention.

“Are you sure about that? How did they find his car?”

“We'll answer all the questions as soon as I get home, Leon.”

“I don't understand. Why are they bringing you home now?”

“I told you. They have some questions. We'll be there in a few minutes,” she added and hung up before I could ask anything else. I held the receiver for a moment and then hung up and told Pin.

“There's no reason for any panic. Their finding the car doesn't mean anything. Go throw some cold water on your face. You look flushed and they'll want to know why. Calm down, will you.”

“Right, right,” I said and did what he told me. I was sitting in the living room when Ursula and the police arrived. Along with Ralph Wilson was an old-timer, Pappy McGraw.

“How you been gettin' along, Leon? I just was tellin' your sister here how's I haven't seen you for some time now.”

“Fine, fine, I've been getting along fine,” I said. I made no attempt to invite them into the house. I thought we'd just talk in the corridor. Ursula took off her hat and coat quickly. I could see she was quite excited. “My sister says you found her boyfriend's car?”

Ralph Wilson spoke with an official voice. “As soon as you called, we checked with motor vehicles
and got his plate number and make of car. I handled it myself. It was a '70, not a '71.”

“Everything's computerized these days.”

“Sure the hell is,” Pappy said.

“Where did they find the car?”

“Up in the ski hill parking lot.”

“How did you find it?” I asked, swallowing hard. A sense of frustration and anger began building in me. It would be a damned efficient son of a bitch like Ralph Wilson who would find Stan's car so quickly.

“On my routine checkup,” he said, not even a note of pride in his damned officious voice. “As soon as I got the make on the car, I started doing my rounds, checking the village and the surrounding area.”

“But what made you think of going up there and checking the ski hill?” I tried to sound interested in his police skills.

“There's a restaurant and bar up there, a nice lounge too. Lots of people go there. There are rooms up there. It's a ski lodge, you know.” I nodded.

“Then you found him?” I looked to Ursula. She was shaking her head.

“Oh, no,” Ralph said. “He wasn't anywhere around. I checked the entire place. The automobile was locked and left in the lot.”

“He could have been in one of the rooms, as you suggested,” I said, avoiding Ursula's gaze.

“No, I checked. No one could even recall seeing him up there.”

“Then … I don't understand.”

“Well, neither do we,” Pappy said.

“Your sister doesn't see any reason why Mr.
Friedman would go up to the ski hill, being he has a wooden leg and all,” Ralph said. “Did he mention anything to you that might throw some light on it?”

I pretended to give it some thought, bit the inside of my left cheek and tilted my head.

“No, no, can't remember any mention of it. He might have just gone up there to look at the action. That's all I can think of.”

“I see.”

“Of course, he certainly could have met someone up there and traveled off with him or her. That would explain why he left the car there.”

“It's a logical explanation,” Pappy said, looking from me to Ursula. She looked hopeful but confused. There was a moment of silence during which I felt Ralph was studying me.

“Yes, it's logical,” he finally said, “but there are other possibilities.”

“What do you mean?” Ursula said quickly.

“No sense in guessing,” Ralph said. “Now, you're sure there weren't any arguments, not between you and Mr. Friedman and not between Leon and Mr. Friedman?”

Ursula looked at me.

“Nothing that I know of, no.”

“Well, we've got a good description of him from you and from his aunt,” Ralph said.

“This sure is a big house,” Pappy said. It was a statement purely from left field, but I welcomed it.

“We don't use all of it.”