The Fiend (32 page)

“How will you do that?”

“I'll convince him that he wasn't near the house, he didn't see the child, he didn't see anything. He was at home with me, he dozed off in an armchair, he had a nightmare.”

“Don't do it, Ben. It's too risky, tampering with a mind that's already confused about what's real and what isn't.”

“If he doesn't know what's real,” Ben said, “I'll have to tell him. And he'll believe me. It will be like playing the remember- game.
Remember last night, Charlie, when you were sitting in the armchair? And you suddenly dozed off, you cried out in your sleep, you were having a nightmare about a house, a child coming out of a house....”

 

He had to write the letter very quickly because he knew Ben would be coming in soon to talk to him. He folded the letter six times, slipped it into an envelope, addressed the envelope to Police Headquarters and put it in the zippered inside pocket of his wind-breaker. Then he returned to his desk. The desk had been given to him when he was twelve and it was too small for him. He had to hunch way down in order to work at it but he didn't mind this. It made him feel big, a giant of a man; a kindly giant, though, who used his strength only to protect, never to bully, so everyone respected him.

When Ben came in, Charlie pretended to be studying an advertisement in the back pages of a magazine.

“Dinner's ready,” Ben said. “I brought home some chicken pies from the cafeteria and heated them up.”

“I'll eat one if you want me to, Ben, but I'd just as soon not.”

“Aren't you hungry?”

“Not very. I had chicken pie last night.”

“We had ravioli last night. Don't you remember? I cut myself opening the can. Look, here's the cut on my finger.”

Charlie looked at the cut with polite interest. “That's too bad. You must be more careful. I wasn't here last night for dinner.”

“Yes, you were. You ate too much and later you dozed off in Father's armchair in the front room.”

“No, Ben, that was a lot of other nights. Last night was dif­ferent, it was very different. First I took that delivery to the Forest Service. All that heat and dust up in the mountains gave me a headache so I went to the drug store for some aspirin.”

“The aspirin made you sleepy. That's why you dozed—”

“I wasn't a bit sleepy, I was hungry. I was going to take Louise some place to eat—I don't mean eat
her,”
he added earnestly. “I mean, where we could both eat some food. Only she wasn't at the library so I went by myself and had a chicken pie.”

“Where?”

“The cafeteria you manage. It wouldn't be loyal to go any­where else.”

“You picked a hell of a time to be loyal,” Ben said. “Did anyone see you?”

“They must have. There I was.”

“Did you speak to anyone?”

“The cashier. I said hello.”

“Did she recognize you?”

“Oh yes. She made a joke about how everyone had to pay around that joint, even the boss's brother.”

That fixes it,
Ben thought.
If he'd planned every detail in advance he couldn't have done a better job of lousing things up.
“What time were you there?”

“I don't know. I hate watching the clock, it watches me back.”

“What did you do after you finished eating?”

“Drove around, I told you that. I wanted some fresh air to clear the dust out of my sinuses.”

“You were home by ten o'clock.”

“No, I couldn't have been. It was after ten when I saw—”

“You saw nothing,” Ben said harshly. “You were home with me by ten o'clock.”

“I don't remember seeing you when I came in.”

“You didn't. I was in bed. But I knew what time it was be­cause I'd just turned out the light.”

“You couldn't be mistaken, like about the ravioli?”

“The ravioli business was simply a device to get at the truth. I knew you'd been to the drug store and the library but I wanted you to recall those things for yourself. You did.”

“Not this other, though.”

“You were home by ten. I wasn't asleep yet, I heard you come in. If anyone asks you, that's what you're to say. Say it now.”

“Please leave—leave me alone, Ben.”

“I can't.” Ben leaned over the desk, his face white and con­torted. “You're in danger and I'm trying to save you. I'm going to save you in spite of yourself. Now say it. Say you were home by ten o'clock.”

“Will you leave me alone, then?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

“I was home by ten o'clock,” Charlie repeated, blinking. “You cut yourself opening a can of ravioli. You were bleeding, you were bleeding all over the bloody kitchen. Let me see your cut again. Does it still hurt, Ben?”

“No.”

“Then what are you crying for?”

“I have a—a pain.”

“You shouldn't eat highly spiced foods like ravioli.”

“No, that was a mistake.” Ben's voice was a rag of a whisper torn off a scream. “I'll try to make it up to you, Charlie.”

“To me? But it's your pain.”

“We share it. Just like in the old days, Charlie, when we shared everything. Remember how my friends used to kid me about my little brother always tagging along? I never minded, I liked having you tag along. Well, it will be like that again, Charlie. I'll drive you to work in the morning, you can walk over to the cafeteria and have lunch with me at noon—”

“I have my own car,” Charlie said. “And sometimes Louise and I prefer to have lunch together.”

“Louise's lunch hour is going to be changed. It probably won't jibe with yours anymore.”

“She didn't tell me that.”

“She will. As for the car, it seems wasteful to keep two of them running when I can just as easily drive you wherever you want to go. Let's try it for a while and see how it works out. Maybe we can save enough money to take a trip somewhere.”

“Louise and I are going to take a trip on our honeymoon.”

“That might not be for some time.”

“Louise said September, next month.”

“Well, things are a little hectic at the library right now, Charlie. There's a chance she might not—she might not be able to get away.”

“Why does Louise tell you stuff before she tells me? Explain it to me, Ben.”

“Not tonight.”

“Because of your pain?”

“Yes, my pain,” Ben said. “I want you to give me your car keys now, Charlie.”

Charlie put his left hand in the pocket of his trousers. He could feel the outline of the keys, the round one for the trunk, the pointed one for the ignition. “I must have left them in the car.”

“I've warned you a dozen times about that.”

“I'm sorry, Ben. I'll go and get them.”

“No. I
will.”

Charlie watched him leave. He hadn't planned it like this, in fact he had planned nothing beyond the writing of the letter. But now that he saw his opportunity he couldn't resist it any more than a caged animal could resist an open gate. He picked up his windbreaker and went quietly through the kitchen and out of the back door.

(
22)

Ralph MacPherson was preparing for an early bedtime when the telephone rang. He reached for it quickly, afraid that it would be Kate calling and afraid that it wouldn't. He hadn't heard from her all day and her parting words that morning had been hostile as if she hadn't forgiven him for doubting her story about Brant and Mrs. Arlington.

“Hello.”

“This is Gallantyne, Mac.”

“Don't you ever sleep?”

“I had a couple of hours this afternoon. Don't worry about me.”

“I'm worried about me, not you. I was just going to bed. What's up?”

“I'm calling to return a favor,” Gallantyne said. “You let me read the anonymous letter Kate Oakley received, so I'll let you read one that was brought to me tonight if you'll come down to my office.”

“I've had more tempting offers.”

“Don't bet on it. The two letters were written by the same man.”

“I'll be right down,” Mac said and hung up.

Gallantyne was alone in the cubicle he called an office. He showed no signs of the fatigue that Mac felt weighing down his limbs and dulling his eyes.

The letter was spread out on the desk with a goosenecked lamp turned on it. It was printed, like the one Kate Oakley had received, and it had been folded in the same way, many times, as though the writer was unconsciously ashamed of it and had compressed it into as small a package as possible. An envelope lay beside it, with the words Police Department printed on it. It bore no stamp.

Mac said, “How did you get hold of this?”

“It was dropped in the mail slot beside the front door of headquarters about two hours ago. The head janitor was just coming in to adjust the hot-water heater and he saw the man who put the letter in the slot. He gave me a good description.”

“Who was it?”

“Charles Gowen,” Gallantyne said. “Surprised?”

“I'm surprised at the crazy chances he took, delivering the letter himself, making no effort to alter his printing or the way he folded the paper.”

“What kind of people take chances like that, Mac?”

“The ones who want to be caught.”

Gallantyne leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. In the center of it, the shadow of the lampshade was like a black moon in a white sky. “I checked his record. It goes back a long way and he's been treated since then, both at Coraznada State Hospital and privately. But a record's a record. When a man's had cancer, the doctors can't ignore his medical history. Well, this is cancer, maybe worse. Gowen's had it, and I think he has it again. Read the letter.”

It was briefer than the first one.

 

To the Police:

 

I was driving along Cielito Lane last night at 10:30 and

I know you are Bad about which house Jessie came out of. It was the house next door on the west side. They will keep me a prisoner now so I can never tell you this in person but it is True.

 

A Witness

P.S. Jessie is my fiend.

 

Mac read it again, wondering who “they” were; the brother, probably, and the woman Mr. Forster the druggist had men­tioned, Gowen's fiancée.

Gallantyne was watching him with eyes as hard and bright as mica.

“Interesting document, wouldn't you say? Notice the capital­izations, Bad and True. And the postscript.”

“I suppose he intended to write ‘friend' and omitted the ‘r.'”

“I think so.”

“And by ‘Bad' I gather he means wrong.”

“Yes. The house next door on the west side belongs to the Arlingtons.” Gallantyne leaned forward and moved the lamp to one side, twisting the shade. The black moon slid down the white sky and disappeared. “As soon as the letter came, I sent Corcoran over to Gowen's house. The brother was there, Ben, and Gowen's girlfriend, Louise Lang. Gowen was missing. The brother and girlfriend claimed they didn't know where he'd gone, but according to Corocoran, they were extremely nervous and what they weren't saying, they were thinking. Anyway, I gave the word for Gowen to be picked up for questioning.”

“Do you believe what he said in his letter about Jessie coming out of the Arlingtons' house?”

“Well, it seems to fit in with Mrs. Oakley's story that Mrs. Arlington and Brant were something more than neighbors.”

“I've told you before, you can't afford to take Kate too seriously. She frequently thinks the worst of people, especially if they have any connection in her mind with Sheridan.”

“The letter tends to support her statement.”

“I don't see it.”

“Then you're not looking. And the reason you're not looking is obvious—Kate Oakley. You're doing your best, in a quiet way, to keep her out of this case.”

“That's a false conclusion,” Mac said. “When a statement in a letter showing certain signs of disturbance is supported by the word of a woman who shows similar signs, it doesn't mean both are right because they agree. It could mean that neither is right.”

“You want more evidence? O.K., let's gather some.” Gallan­tyne got up, the swivel chair squawking in protest at the sudden, violent movement. “I'm going to talk to Brant. Coming with me?”