Soft touch (15 page)

I had to take an unwilling look at the deeds, and the implications of the deeds.

It hadn't been what I had wanted to happen to me. This wasn't the life I had wanted to have. I was supposed to be one of the good guys. Jerry Jamison. I'd been brought up thinking of myself as one of the good guys. If you were the other kind you eventually got shot down, you spun and fell dramatically in the cowtown dust, or they clanged the big doors shut behind you, big doors in a gray wall.

I had to pick the words up one at a time, hold them gingerly with the fingers of my mind, turn them this way and that and look at them curiously. Murderer. Thief.

It couldn't be me. I went back over the chain of events trying to see where I could have broken the pattern. I wanted to be able to tell myself that once it had begun, I had been swept along with it, powerless to change any of it. But I could see a dozen ways and times I could have broken free of it. One bleak fact kept intruding itself. I kept remembering the look of the money when I had opened that black suitcase. And I had known when I had first looked at it that it was all going to be mine. Somehow.

So what the hell was wrong with me? Had I been just an artificial good guy, who had lacked the motivation to turn him into a bad guy? Or had the eight years with Lorraine changed me? Or just the feeling of being in a trap I couldn't get out of.

But it had been done. Lorraine and Vince were gone for good. And no matter where I was, there would never be one day free of fear. Or free of memory. Or free of this feeling of sickness inside.

Tinker said, "Honey, she must have really left in a rush."

"What do you mean?"

"She only bought this last week. I was with her. I think it's pretty dreamy. It cost forty-nine fifty. It's the softest cashmere I ever felt."

I raised my head and looked at her. She had put the soft gray sweater on. A sweater on a naked woman is a

singularly unappealing garment. And Tinker had recently had a touch of sun. Her long plump legs were pink, and from the tops of her thighs to the edge of the gray sweater she was red-head white.

"She forgot it, I guess."

"I don't see how she could have." Tinker turned away from the mirror. "Upstairs we're about the same, but I'm hippier. Honey, why can't I sort of borrow this? It's a good color for me. If she comes back, she won't mind. And if she doesn't, it will be a sort of keepsake."

"I don't give a damn what you do."

"Thank you, darling. You're so tender and sweet."

I sat up and took a long pull on my drink. Tinker had made it. It was mostly raw gin. I felt it hit and radiate. I wanted a lot of gin. I wanted enough so it would stop the big wheel that kept going around in my head. The wheel had vivid pictures all around the rim of it. Pictures of Vince and Lorraine and the money.

She wheedled another sweater, a pleated skirt, a handful of costume jewelry, two pair of shoes and a pair of sandals. Her feet were the same size as Lorraine's, just a shade wider. Then she felt hungry. She put on a yellow robe of Lorraine's and went downstairs, scrambled some eggs and fixed bacon and brought two plates up. We ate and we had another drink, and she came back to bed. We were both getting quite thoroughly plotzed.

When I was awakened by the front doorbell I looked at my watch and saw that it was a little after five. Tinker was curled against me, humid in sleep. I pushed her away and she mumbled a complaint. I heard the doorbell again. I felt like I had an icepick socketed in each temple, and a mouth like a bus station ashtray. But the gin was still at work. I felt tall and wobbly on my legs, and remote from reality. I looked at Tinker. She slept with her mouth open and there were two pimples on her left shoulder.

I found my robe and put it on, combed my hair back with my fingers and went down the stairs. The doorbell rang again.

It was Liz Addams. She was very agitated. She came into the hallway and said, "Oh, I'm so glad you're home, Jerry. Are you all right? You look so strange."

"Just woke up. I'm a little fuzzy."

"And a little drunk?"

"Maybe. Just a little."

"Jerry, two men have been questioning me. Asking all sorts of odd things about you. I don't know what it's all about, but it seemed so strange. They're from some kind of Washington agency I never heard of before. I thought you should know about it and . . ."

I was standing with my back to the stairway. She looked over my shoulder. She stopped talking. Her eyes widened, and then suddenly her face went quite still and dead. Something went out of her eyes, something I had needed, and even before I turned, I knew that I would never see that particular light in her eyes again.

Tinker had come down, barefoot, to within four steps of the bottom of the stairs and stood in plain sight. She had put Lorraine's robe over her shoulders, sleeves dangling, and she was holding it together in front. Her red hair was tousled, her face blurred and puffed with sleep, her lips swollen. She was so very obviously a woman who had just gotten out of bed.

"Oh!" she said in a small voice. "I thought it was Mandy. Mandy Pierson. I mean your voices sound alike. I'm so terribly sorry, really."

She turned around and stumbled. She went down onto her hands and knees on the stairs and lost the robe. As she snatched it up and put it around herself again, she gave us a wide muzzy smile and said, "Woops!" and plodded back up out of sight.

Liz did not look at me again. She turned and opened the door. There wasn't a damn thing I could say. Nothing at all. I watched her through the screen as she walked down the porch steps and out of my life.

I closed the door and went back upstairs. Tinker sat on the dressing table bench, wearing the yellow robe properly, combing her harsh and vivid hair. She looked 116

at me meekly in the mirror and said, "I guess I goofed, huh?"

"You goofed."

"That was the blondie from the office. The one you've had a thing about."

"That's right."

"She didn't look like she was ready to be very broad-minded."

"No."

"I'm sorry if I spoiled anything."

"Just tell me one thing, Tink. If you really thought it was Mandy, why the hell would you come down?"

"Oh, I guess it seemed like a good idea. I mean like a joke. And there's some of Lorraine's things that won't fit me that would fit her. She's slim in the hips like Lorraine. Anyway, Mandy wouldn't tell anybody. She's real fun. You'd like her lots. We don't have any secrets from each other."

"I guess you don't."

"Mandy really likes you. I think she'd like to come and have a little visit with you, dear."

"What the hell are you trying to do? Bribe me with Mandy? I don't understand you people."

She turned around and gave me a look of mock solemnity. "Glory, you poor old beast. You're all tied up in knots, aren't you? Sweetie, it's like Charlie keeps saying. We all have measurable amounts of Strontium 90 in our bones. Did you know that? It's very creepy when you think about it. So the way you go about not thinking of it is by having fun. And when you're having fun you only think about the fun. Mandy and I are very careful, darling, but we still have slightly horrible reputations. But it doesn't bother us any more than it does Lorraine. Darn it, I feel so sticky. Can I use your shower? Did Lorraine leave a bathing cap around?"

"Bathroom closet, top shelf."

"Thanks, sweetie." She shed the robe and padded into the bathroom. In a moment the shower began. I went down to the kitchen and made coffee, hot and black. I

couldn't stop thinking of the look on Liz's face. And wondering about the two men from Washington.

I had poured the second cup, still too hot to drink, when Tink came down. The blurred look was gone. She looked brisk and alert. She carried her loot wrapped in the pleated skirt.

"Darling, I'd stay and swab up glasses and plates and things, but I've really got to run. Do you mind?"

"Run along. Please do."

"Don't be so grim, baby. I'm sorry I messed up your little office romance. Brother, I really did it, didn't I?"

"You did it."

She came over to where I was sitting, ran her fingers through my hair and kissed the corner of my eye. "You're very pleasurable, my lamb, and don't glower about that plain-looking blonde. We'll have lots and lots of cozy fun, and we'll make Jerry forget all about her, won't we?"

She went out the back way. I tried the coffee. It was still too hot. I carried it upstairs. I wanted to take a shower. The bathroom appalled me. It was awash. She had apparently floundered around like a damn sea lion. It was sticky-hot, perfumed, humid and thoroughly steamed. I opened the window wide, used a towel to sop up the water on the floor.

I took a shower, drank my coffee, made the bed, cleaned up the litter, took three aspirin, put on a fresh sports shirt and slacks. I inspected the end result. My eyes had a hollow look.

Just as I reached the foot of the stairs the doorbell rang again. I had the crazy and ridiculous hope that Liz had come back.

But it was Lieutenant Paul Heissen, as wide and stolid and placid as before, but with a look of a man in an uncomfortable situation.

"Come on in, Paul. Beer?"

"Not this time, thanks."

He took the same chair as before, dropped his hat in

the same place. "This is one of the things you got to do

when you're a cop, Jerry. I might as well level with you.

Old lady Malton can't figure her darling daughter taking

off without a word to her. And she finally got E. J. Mal-ton all worked up about it. They paid the chief a call yesterday and I was called in on it. They say you weren't getting along very good. It took a long time before they came right out with it, but they finally said it. They think it's possible you killed her and that Biskay."

"That's a pretty weird idea."

"Probably is. But I have to check it out. That's what I've been doing. I know you've got the answers, but I have to bother you so I can write a complete report on it. The lady across the street, Mrs. Hinkley, says she saw your wife drive in about one o'clock last Wednesday. I can't find anybody who saw her after that. You came home in the middle of the afternoon and ran out of gas. I checked that out with Mrs. Sittersall."

"Who? Oh, Irene. Yes."

"You met her when she was coming to work and told her your wife wasn't well. Why did you do that?"

I heaved a deep sigh. I told him that I was trying to save some of Lorraine's reputation when I hadn't told him all the facts before. I described how I had come home and how I had found them.

"A lot of people have turned up dead when that happens."

"I know. But I wasn't in the mood to kill anybody. He wasn't in good shape. And I . . . I've had reason to suspect her in the past. This was the first time I had proof. She locked herself in the bedroom. I took gas down to get the car going and ran into Irene and I didn't think it was a very good situation for her to walk in on. I mean it was pretty tense around here."

"So you drove her to a bus stop and got the car gassed up. Then what?"

"I came back here. I had a couple of drinks and then I took off. I was trying to think things out. I just drove around."

"When did you get back?"

"I don't really know. It was dark. Vince was asleep. Lorraine was gone, but her car was in the garage."

"I checked with Amanda Pierson. She stopped by at

about nine-thirty. How long had you been home?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes." I knew Mandy had stopped by much earlier than nine-thirty. Her error might come in handy.

"Where do you think your wife was?"

"I don't know. She visits around the neighborhood a lot. Maybe she was just walking. She does that sometimes. Or maybe, hell, she was hiding somewhere in the house. I would never have thought to look for her."

"What did you do?"

"After Mandy phoned I went out again, leaving a note for Lorraine. You saw the note. I had more drinks and went out. I know I stopped at the Hotel Vernon bar. Timmy should remember. You can understand why I was a pretty mixed-up guy. I stopped at a couple of other joints too. Frankly, Paul, I was in no shape to be driving. I could have killed somebody. Or myself. I didn't want to go back home. I even drove up to Morning Lake. The Maltons have a camp up there. We use it. I thought I'd stay up there. But the black flies were too fierce."

"That's where you got those bites, then?"

"That's right. So I came back thinking I'd have it out with her. I'd come full circle back to thinking that maybe we could still make a go of it. But they were gone. And her car. I could see she'd packed in a hell of a hurry."

"Mrs. Sittersall told me about that."

"I read the note and took it down the road to E. J.'s place and made a fool of myself."

He looked over the notes he had written. "Now here's something you can clear up. Mrs. Sittersall didn't see any scratches on your face. But you say you didn't see your wife again."

"She gouged me right after I found them, before she locked herself in. I tried to cover them up. I did a fair job, using some of Lorraine's pancake makeup. Irene isn't very observant."

"What gas station did you go to?" I told him, realizing uncomfortably that this was a thorough, plodding, methodical man. He would check there. 120

"Now then, Jerry," he said. "On Friday a truck came here and two men carried out a heavy packing case and drove away with it. That information was volunteered by Mrs. Hinkley. What was in it?"

I gestured at the book shelves. "Books and personal papers. I'm going to get around to putting the rest of my personal stuff in storage too. I was just making a start. I'm not going to keep on living here, Paul. Hell, one man in a house this size!"

"Got the warehouse receipt?"

"Of course."

"I'd like to see it, Jerry. Sorry to be such a damn nuisance."

I could get it but he would see me get it, and it would be awkward to try to explain the weird hiding place.

"Give me a minute to think where I put it. I've been pretty mixed up the last few days."

"Take your ' ; me. In the meantime, I'd like to have that note she left."