“And just what form did these attempts take?”
“Harry and I drove back to Wiarton and called Esther — Mrs. Galloway — on the chance that Ron hadn’t left the house for some reason or other. She told us he had left so then we called Harry’s wife. She said that Ron had turned up on schedule, stayed long enough for a drink and then set out again.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, Thelma — Mrs. Bream — said Ron had complained of feeling ill. There’s a possibility there, don’t you think?”
“Such as?”
“Well, Ron takes his symptoms pretty seriously. He may have stopped off to see a doctor, he may even be in a hospital somewhere.”
“He’s as healthy as a horse,” Esther said.
“Yes, but he doesn’t think so.”
“Besides, he’s scared to death of hospitals. He had to be practically dragged to come and see me when the boys were born.”
Cavell stared at her thoughtfully. “It seems to me you’re not very willing to accept any theory, Mrs. Galloway.”
“Willing, yes. Able, no. I know my husband quite thoroughly and none of the possibilities suggested so far has seemed plausible.”
“Have you any theory of your own, Mrs. Galloway?”
“I might have.”
“If you had,” Cavell said dryly, “what would it be?”
“I think Ron may be trying to avoid me, for some reason.”
It was so close to what Turee himself was thinking that he made a little sound of surprise, like a man who’s just had his mind read.
Cavell said, “Why should your husband be trying to avoid you, Mrs. Galloway?”
“I don’t — know.” She flashed another sharp look at Turee as if she half suspected that he could supply the answer if he chose to.
Turee thought, she’s too damned bright for her own good. And too honest to hide it. No wonder she and Ron have some bad times.
“You might,” Esther added, to Cavell, “talk to Harry Bream.”
“Why?”
“He and my husband are what you might call buddies.” She put a sneer in the word. “If Ron has any secrets, Harry is his most likely confidant.”
Turee made one more attempt to spare Harry the ordeal. “No more likely than I, surely, Esther?”
“Much more and you know it.”
“All right then. I’ll go and wake him up.”
Six
Harry was still asleep, lying on his stomach and without a pillow, like a baby; and, as a baby will suck at things for comfort and security, so Harry had seized a corner of the blanket and had it pressed tightly against his mouth.
The night table beside the bed held an unlabeled bottle of red capsules and a nearly empty water glass.
“Harry? Hey. Harry.”
He did not respond either to his name or the touch of Turee’s hand on his shoulder. Turee leaned down and with great effort rolled him over on his back. Then he put his hand firmly under Harry’s chin and moved his head from side to side several times until Harry’s eyes opened.
“Don’t do that,” Harry said.
“Come on, wake up.”
“It’s cold.”
“It’s warmer downstairs. Get your shoes on. We have a visitor.”
“Don’t care.” He closed his eyes again. “Don’t care a damn.”
“How many of those red capsules did you take?”
“Don’t remember. Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters now.” Turee put his hands under Harry’s shoulders and forced him to a sitting position. Harry’s head lolled back and forth as if his neck was broken.
“Why?” Harry said. “Why it matters?”
“There’s a policeman downstairs, he wants to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“About Ron. They’re still trying to find Ron. Esther reported his absence to the police and then she drove on up here.”
“Esther? Here?” He shook off Turee’s hand and sat up by himself. His tone was more alert and his eyes had begun to focus properly. “Esther shouldn’t have come here.”
“Why not?”
“The place is a mess.”
“So?”
“We’ll have to clean it up a bit. Esther hates a mess.”
Like the other fellows, Harry stood in considerable awe of Esther. It was not that she was unpleasant to them, but she had a subtle way of always being right that reduced them to a state of self-doubt and confusion. She could, without saying a word, walk through a room and indicate, merely by her posture and a faintly lifted eyebrow, that there were cobwebs on the rafters and dust under the rugs. And sure enough, if anyone took the trouble to look, the cobwebs would be there, and so would the dust.
Harry peered down at his wrist watch. “It’s not even nine o’clock.”
“I know.”
“Esther — she must have stayed up all night.”
“Practically.”
“Why did she decide to come here?”
“To check up on Ron for herself.”
“She doesn’t trust us, I guess.”
“Not very much.”
“What does she think we’re doing, covering up for him?”
“Maybe.”
“Covering up what, I’d like to know. Does she think we bring women up here or something?”
“Could be.”
“My God, that’s a laugh.”
“Not to her, it isn’t.”
“Esther’s a funny girl. When I compare her with Thelma, for instance — why that’s the last thing in the world Thelma would suspect. Thelma likes me to go away and have a good time. There isn’t a selfish bone in her body.”
Turee felt like gagging but he managed to say quite calmly, “Hurry up and get ready.”
“All right.” Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and began putting on his shoes. “A policeman, eh?”
“Yes.
“What kind?”
“One of the Provincial Police on duty in this area. He got the report from Toronto by radio and was asked to check up.”
“And you say Esther reported it?”
“Yes.”
“Funny, when you talked to her last night she wasn’t worried at all, wouldn’t hear of bringing in the police.”
Turee, too, had noticed the discrepancy but had ascribed it merely to the unpredictability of women.
Harry stood up, ran a comb through his hair, and buttoned the collar of his flannel shirt. “I ought to shave, Esther being here and all that.”
“There isn’t time.”
“Thelma wouldn’t like it if she...”
“Thelma’s not here.”
“Well, all right.”
“And Harry, listen, this inspector, he seems pretty cagey. Watch yourself.”
“How do you mean?” Harry asked.
“Don’t talk too much.”
“About what?”
“About anything you and I discussed last night.”
“We discussed a lot of things last night.”
“You know what I’m referring to.”
“But I don’t. So help me, I don’t.”
“About Thelma — Ron’s having a crush on her, I mean. Don’t mention it.”
Harry blinked. “Why should I? It’s not true. I told you that last night. Thelma likes to daydream, to pretend things. I told you that last...”
“I know you told me.”
“Well, don’t you believe it?”
“Certainly, certainly,” Turee said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “But the Inspector might not. He doesn’t know Thelma the way we do. So keep quiet about it, eh?”
“You never give me any damn credit for any damn sense. You’d think I was a moron.”
“Everybody’s a moron about something.”
“Meaning?”
“No meaning, no meaning at all,” Turee said and walked out of the room with Harry following along behind, taking short angry little steps.