The Lenient Beast, page 11
In the pew behind me a woman is crying softly. In Spanish. It's funny; there aren't any words but I can tell that it is in Spanish. Or is it only my imagination because my ears give me the direction of the sound and I know from having looked around that the woman sitting there is Mexican. One of the women who had become a friend of Carmelita Stiffler but who had barely known her husband. She is probably crying for Carmelita and the children, not for Kurt, for Trent's words now evoke their ghosts as well as Kurt's. He is telling of what , befell them.
And now he is telling about how, through it all, Kurt kept his faith and how God will now reward him, how he is now rejoined to his loved ones in heaven. It would be nice to be able to believe that, and in this solemn setting I am almost convinced, for a moment. At least I am convinced that it would be very pleasant and soothing to be able to believe such a thing.
It's over, but we keep our seats. The pallbearers rise and go to the bier, take again the silver handles of the coffin. And again the bell starts to toll overhead.
The bell tolls and the coffin is carried back along the aisle, passing so close to me that I can reach out and touch it if I wish. But I wouldn't be touching the poor guy in that coffin; no one will ever touch him again. No one but the worms.
Some of us, about half, followed the hearse to the cemetery.
Red and I in his car, the Buick, and he'd offered a lift to the reporter who'd sat next to him. The other reporter wasn't going. A snazzy convertible is hardly a car for a funeral procession but at least it was black.
“Anything new, you boys?” the reporter wanted to know.
Red grinned at him. “Yeah. I'm in love.”
“You damn fool, I mean about the murder. Getting anywhere?”
Red said, “You better ask Cap Pettijohn about that, if you want something to quote. Off the record, we aren't halfway to first base. We've got from nothing.”
“That's what I figured. Hell, it was a robbery kill and on one of those you get the guy red-handed or else you never get him.”
“Yeah,” Red said. “That guy Stiffler sure got a mess of bad breaks, didn't he?”
The reporter said, “He could have got a worse one. He could have lived a few more years.”
It didn't take long at the grave, the grave that was alongside four other almost fresh graves. I thought about what was in those other graves now after two weeks and then I tried to stop thinking.
After it was all over we went back to St. Matthew's. We got there ahead of Father Trent, but when he came he gave us half an hour with him in his study. And as I'd expected he knew everyone who'd been at the funeral except some we knew; the two workmen and the blond kid from the project and one of the two reporters. He gave us names and addresses; one of the addresses was in Nogales and was that of the couple whose wedding dinner Kurt had attended just before the accident.
We reported in to Cap and got orders to go ahead and follow up on what we had. We spent the rest of the day doing it and learned that Kurt had had friends and that, as we'd suspected, he'd made most of them through the church. None: of them had been very close friends but that was to be expected since he'd been here only four months, and an introvert doesn't make really close friends in that length of time, especially when his health cuts down the amount of time he has for social life.
We made the Nogales call last and got back just at quitting time and for once Cap didn't have overtime lined up for us. We were running out of leads.
For once I'd get home in time to have dinner with Alice. If she hadn't fallen off the wagon and started drinking again. And I didn't think she would have; she'd been really serious about staying on a while this time. And she'd been so damn nice yesterday and this morning.
And this morning she gave me the answer to the question that had been haunting me for three days. “... maybe this Medley killed him to put him out of his misery.” So simple an answer and so close I hadn't been able to see it.
TEN
FERN CAHAN
Five of the boys were in the assembly room when I walked in. Four of them were batting the breeze about the Tucson Cowboys and the fifth one was Frank. He was sitting alone in the corner looking like he'd lost his last friend. Not hung over, just glum.
I said to him, “Cheer up, sonny. Even if we're working and it's Sunday, life isn't that bad.”
He just grunted, didn't even look up at me.
Something was eating him all right. I wondered if he was maybe having family trouble. I met his wife once at the Policeman's Ball a couple of years ago. Nice-looking, I think her name was Alice. They seemed to get along all right, but Frank never mentions her or talks about her. I wouldn't even know he was married if he didn't have to call home whenever he's stuck with working late. Never seems to take her around much either. Maybe that's what's wrong. I can see that a woman wouldn't like to be stuck home all the time. But hell, I'm just guessing.
Too bad in a way, I thought. I know plenty of men and quite a few women, but not many couples. Guess a bachelor just doesn't have much chance to know couples. He sees the men he knows when they're on the loose, and if any of the women he dates have husbands, well, he doesn't want to be taken home and introduced to them. Married couples seem to run together and so do single people, or one of a couple who's on the loose. So when a bachelor like me finally meets a girl he thinks is the girl and feels like he's on the verge of popping a big question, he's got nobody to talk it over with, and, brother, he wants to talk it over plenty. And he wants to introduce the girl around, partly to show her off because he's proud of her and partly because there's still a touch of doubt in his mind and he wants to see if other people rate her the same as he does. But he isn't going to introduce her to his other or former girl friends, or to wolves. So he's on his own when he wants help and advice the most.
Not that I had much doubt about Caroline or that I was in love with her. My God, it had hit me like a ton of bricks. But still it's a hell of a big step to take.
Especially on such short notice, although it doesn't seem like short notice; it feels like I've known her for years instead of since Thursday evening. Talked to her half an hour on the phone Friday evening and dated her again Saturday evening, last night. A drive-in theater, not that I saw much of the picture. Kissing her was like — well, I don't know what to compare it to because nothing like it ever happened to me before. Only it'll never be more than kissing, a little mild petting maybe, unless we do get married. When you've been around with dames as much as I have you can tell when a girl is stalling you a while and will give in later and when she means it and there isn't a chance you're going to get in, short of making it legal. Most of the time that kind of girl annoys me, but not Caroline. Hell, in a way I don't want to; I mean, I don't want any quickies, I want everything, all of her and all the time, and anything less would drive me even nuttier than I guess I am. So I guess I'm in love all right.
I wish now I'd saved my money. But we'd make it all right, if she quit her job right away. We wouldn't have to get a place to live, for one thing. She and her mother have that house and it's bigger than they need for two of them and it would leave Mrs. A. alone there if I took Caroline away, and she could hardly live in that house alone, especially since she doesn't drive a car to get anywhere. It would be living with an in-law and that's supposed to be bad, but I can't see how it would be. I like Mrs. A., and I think she likes me. I'll bet what I'm paying for those bachelor quarters would cover whatever payments they're making on the house and all the money I've been spending chasing around would pay expenses for all three of us, if it had to be. My guess is that it wouldn't have to be, though, that Mrs. A. has money of her own or an income. From insurance or something. The two of them can't be living in as nice a place as that on just what Caroline makes as a typist at the electric company. They don't pay typists much.
I guess I always knew that if I ever fell for anybody, it would be all of a sudden, bang, like it did happen.
All right, damn it, I will. But what if she says no?
I had to talk to someone or bust a gut. I sat down beside Frank and said, “Frank, I'm thinking about getting myself hitched to Caroline Armstrong.”
He turned and looked at me so surprised that he forgot he'd been feeling sorry for himself. “Isn't this kind of sudden, Red? I thought you were playing the field.”
“It's sudden, all right,” I said. Just then Carmody looked in and said the captain wanted Paul and Harry. So I knew we had at least a little time and I found myself telling Frank all about it.
He said, “More power to you, Red. Like to meet the girl. One thing, though. I did meet Mrs. Armstrong and she seemed like an awfully nice woman. And hearty and healthy and, for her age, handsome. If her daughter doesn't grow into anything worse, you'll have made a good deal. You can't always judge a girl by her mother but it's pretty often a good indication. How old is Caroline?”
“Twenty-five. Eight years younger than me isn't too much, is it, Frank?”
“Age doesn't matter as long as you're both old enough. And my guess is that as many sudden marriages work out as the other kind. When Alice and I were married I hadn't known her much longer than you've known Caroline.” He paused just long enough that I thought maybe that was all he was going to say, but he went on. “And I've never regretted it. I still love her to hell and back.”
Somehow he sounded like he was talking to himself on that last line instead of to me. I waited a minute and got a cigarette going, rather hoping he might say something about Caroline and me getting together with Alice and him. But he didn't. Instead he said, “Just one thing, Red. Do you and Caroline like the same things, the same kind of entertainment and what not?”
“Everything,” I said. “By God, everything we've talked about — every movie star, singer, orchestra, kind of dancing, rodeos, everything like that — we find we like or dislike pretty much the same. Even sports, like baseball. She doesn't follow the big leagues but she follows the Cowboys. We're going to the game tomorrow evening.”
Frank said, “Then God bless you, my children. There's Carmody signaling us. Guess we're due on the carpet.”
We went into Cap's office. He was busy with some papers and just told us to sit down a second. I felt swell, talking with Frank had made up my mind for me. We wouldn't go to the baseball game tomorrow night if I could talk her into taking a drive out on the desert in the moonlight instead. And I'd ask her. Maybe it was going to take a lot of askings, a lot of persuading, and the sooner I started the better. And she'd start thinking seriously about me, if she hadn't already, sooner if she knew that I was serious about her and not just playing around. Damn it, I had to have the girl and, now that I was sure, the sooner the better. I'd be jittery now until I got an answer.
Cap looked up suddenly. At me. “Man was found unconscious in the alley back of Geechy Pete's on Meyer Street at six o'clock this morning. Could have been slugged or could have fallen and hit his head. Either was robbed or didn't have any wallet or identification. Ambulance took him to Benbow Emergency. Concussion, not too serious. A few bruises and contusions. Still unconscious but they think he ought to come around any time. You two go over there and wait, talk to him as soon as he comes around.”
Benbow Emergency is on Franklin Street just off Meyer. We're plenty familiar with it; it's where the ambulance takes all the casualties from the Meyer Street Skid Row district. And Geechy Pete's place is a shoeshine parlor that runs a book, although we haven't been able to prove it yet.
I asked, “Was the guy well-dressed or was he a bum?” If he was a bum his not having a wallet on him wouldn't necessarily mean anything.
“Fairly well-dressed,” Cap said. “They tell me his clothes are okay on quality but mussed up and dirty. And he wasn't quite broke; he had three singles and some change stuck in his shirt pocket.”
Businessman on a bender, it sounded like. But his having a little money loose in a shirt pocket didn't mean he hadn't been robbed. People stick change all sorts of places when they've been drinking, and a robber, especially if he was in a hurry, would settle for a wallet and not check a shirt pocket.
I said, “Okay, Cap, we're off,” and stood up.
But Frank said, “Just a minute, Cap. Is there any indication that this ties in with the Stiffler case?”
“Not a thing. If it was a robbery, though, it could be the same guy who took Stiffler. Only not playing quite so rough this time. But no, there's nothing to indicate it.”
“Are we giving up on Stiffler then? Or are you just taking Red and me off and putting somebody else on it?”
“Neither,” Cap said. He frowned at Frank. “You know better than to think we 'give up' on any unsolved killing. It stays on the books and any time we get a new lead or think it might tie in with a new case, we work on it again. But once we've run down everything we can we don't keep men working on it permanently.”
“We haven't run down those twenty-two pistol purchases yet, Cap.”
“And Sunday would be a bad day to hit places that sell guns. I've got that in mind for you two to do tomorrow. And the Mexico City angle is still open. If they answered my letter reasonably quick, within forty-eight hours of when they'd have got it, we should have an answer tomorrow. If there isn't one, I'll put in a phone call to Chief Gomez.”
“Shouldn't you have phoned them in the first place?”
“No,” Cap said. “Too many details to give them, too much to explain except in a letter. But now that they've got the details a phone call will hurry them up if they haven't done anything on it yet.” Cap frowned again. “Are you criticizing me, Frank?”
Frank flushed a little. “Sorry if it sounded like that, Cap. Didn't mean it that way. Do you want me to make the call for you tomorrow, by the way? I know Gomez speaks perfect English, but if he isn't there—”
“I'll make the call, person to person. There's something else I want to talk to him about. Well, you boys can run along now. Phone in when you get a story out of the guy over there and I'll tell you whether to follow up.”
Frank said. “Just one more thing, Cap. About Medley.” He hesitated.
“What about Medley?”
“I know you think he's in the clear, Cap. But I'd like to talk to him again. I don't mean right now, of course. But sometime soon.”
“I talked to him, Frank. And you're crazy if you think he's a murderer. What could you ask him that we haven't already asked? And what possible motive could he have had for killing Stiffler? If there was any connection between them we'd have found it by now.”
Frank's face looked tense. He said, “I know you'll think I'm insane, but I think he's insane. A psychopath. I think he killed Stiffler for the same reason he killed his dog when it had been poisoned and was in agony. I think it's quite probable he may have killed other people for the same reason.”
Cap Pettijohn stared at Frank for what seemed like a long time, and then he burst out laughing. Cap doesn't laugh often, he's just not a laughing man. But he lets go and really bellows when he does laugh.
Finally he stopped laughing and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. He said, quite calmly, “Frank, I wasn't laughing at you, but at that wild idea. My suggestion is that you forget it before somebody does think you're crazy. Now you boys run along or that guy will be conscious when you get there.”
We got the car and I drove. Frank sat staring straight ahead, his face as nearly pale as a Mexican's can get. “That son of a bitch,” he said.
“He shouldn't have laughed like that,” I agreed. “But, Frank, I think you're wrong. I think you're making a mountain out of a molehill, or a dog-killing. I put a cat out of its misery once when it went blind from old age. That doesn't mean I go around mercy-killing people.”
That sanctimonious son of a bitch,” he said. “If it wouldn't have cost me my job I'd have—”
“Calm down, Frank,” I told him. “Non illegitimus carbo rundum.” Frank had taught me that; he said it was mock Latin for “Don't let the bastards grind you down.”
It got a grin out of him to have me toss it back at him, and he was quieted down by the time we got to Benbow. Thank God for that or we'd have had a rough day otherwise and I didn't want to fight; I wanted to think about Caroline Armstrong. When we weren't actually working, that is. I always keep my mind on what we're doing while we're actually doing it. But there are always odd moments for dreaming.
The guy was conscious when we got there; he'd come out of it ten minutes before. But knowing we were on our way around they hadn't asked him anything. The intern took us to the room; it was a two-bed room but the other bed was empty.
The guy in the occupied bed didn't occupy much of it. He was somewhere between forty and fifty, maybe five feet two inches tall and couldn't have weighed much over a hundred. He was lying on his side because there was a big bandage on the back of his head. They hadn't had to shave his head to tape it down. But his face could have used the shave; it was covered with stubble that couldn't make tip its mind whether it was black or gray. He looked up at us sidewise out of scared little eyes.
“What happened?” he asked.
“That's what we want to ask you. First, what's your name?” He'd answer that and then ask me either, “Where am I?” or “What day is it?”
He fooled me; he said, “Harvey Klinger,” and didn't ask either of the other questions. Instead he asked, “What's wrong with me? How bad am I hurt?”
Frank cut in on me. “Let's let the doctor tell him that and get it off his mind, and hell talk better.”
The intern said boredly, “Slight concussion. A few bruises. Alcoholism, but not acute. We can release you by six this evening if nothing develops. You can be drunk again by seven.”
The little man licked his lips. “Guess maybe I'm through, for this time. God, I feel awful.” Then he grinned faintly. “Guess I earned it.”
I thought it was time to get back to business. “Do you know who attacked you?”
