“What did you do?”
“Asked what he wanted. He wanted one-third, a three-way split. I guess he’d done his homework. Anyway, he knew there was that third party involved.”
“Your sister.”
He waved that off with an impatient grimace. “Let’s just say that the guy knew what was involved. Before he’d tell me what happened to the books, I’d have to draw up an agreement and have it signed by…you know. Then I’d have to sign it myself and we’d have to have it notarized. I didn’t care. The damn thing wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s written on. Anybody could break a document like that when it’s based on blackmail or fraud. So I said sure, I’d have it all drawn up, nice and goddamn legal. He’s playing in my ballpark now. You don’t sheist the shysters, Janeway, and I’m not nearly as bad a lawyer as you think I am. You bet I’d sign it. We’d see what happened later, in court.”
“But then the guy got killed.”
“Yeah. I knew I was onto something then.”
“So you hired the gumshoe.”
“That’s right, and a lot of good it’s done me so far.”
“What’s he been doing?”
“Nothing exciting, you can bet on that. He can’t find his ass with both hands, if you want my opinion.”
“Where’d you go last night, Ballard?” I said suddenly.
“How’d you know I went anywhere?”
“Tried calling you a couple of times.”
“I went driving around. I couldn’t get ahold of Rubicoff. I called his office, called his house—I did everything but go through City Hall, and I couldn’t get anything but that friggin‘ answering service. I’m paying this guy more money than a lawyer makes, and I can’t get him on the phone. Then I finally did get him and he couldn’t see me. I couldn’t believe it. He’s got another case he’s working on, and that pissed me off. He’s gonna be out of town all day today, can you beat that? A whole goddamn day I’m losing while this keyhole-peeper is chasing down another guy’s wife in Santa Fe. He says all he can do for me is see me for a few minutes this morning on his way to the airport. Can you believe that? Eight hundred dollars I’ve paid that clown, and maybe he can squeeze me in at eight o’clock on his way to catch a plane for somebody else.”
“So you went driving around…”
“Yeah. No place special, just workin‘ off steam. What’s the big deal?”
“Maybe nothing. I wanted to talk to you about your uncle’s house.”
“What about it?”
“I may be interested in buying it.”
“You’re kidding.” Suddenly he was a pussycat.
“I’m not kidding, but I don’t have a helluva lot of money to throw around.”
“You won’t need a lot for my half.”
“That’s what Ms. Davis said. It may be the only thing you two have ever agreed on.”
“What’s your offer?”
I shrugged an apology. “Fifty.”
“I’ll get the papers drawn up this weekend. I want to be done with it.”
“That’s fine,” I said pleasantly. I asked if the house had had a recent appraisal done, if it had been inspected for termites, if there’d been any plumbing problems. I chatted and blabbed, went through all the stalling tactics I could muster, and a few minutes later Rubicoff arrived. W?e heard his car pull into the yard and the door slam. Ballard’s kettle boiled over again. “Just watch what the son of a bitch says!” he shouted. “He won’t have time to talk, he’ll be in a hurry now ‘cause he’s late for his flight. Eight hundred I pay this jerk and this is what I get.”
He went to the door and threw it open. Footsteps came up the walk. I moved slowly forward, the gun still under my jacket. I saw a shadow pass the window.
Their voices blended. Rubicoff was saying he was sorry, he’d get back on the case in a day or two but right now all he had was a few minutes. Ballard shouted him down. “As far as I’m concerned, pal, you can fuckin‘ stay in Santa Fe! Gimme my money back, you goddamn crook!”
There was a scuffle: Ballard had thrown a punch. It couldn’t be much of one because two seconds later he was flat on the floor. The guy had decked him without breaking stride. I walked around Ballard, who was struggling to sit up, and I stared into the face of the dick known as Rubicoff.
No turtle face. No flaring nostrils. He was short and bald. He looked like anything but a private detective who had just put his client down for the count.
“You want some too?”
“Not me, bud,” I said. “I’m just the lady from the welcome wagon.”
I eased my way past, went down the road, and got in my car.
49
Rita came out of the restaurant carrying a newspaper and a steaming bag of goodies. “Well,” she said, “I don’t see any murderer shackled in the back seat.”
“Don’t push me, McKinley. Get in.”
I headed north toward Denver, up Santa Fe Drive into the heart of the rush hour. She had brought me a king-size cup of coffee and a sweet roll loaded with cinnamon and sugar. She fed it to me while I drove, in tiny morsels between sips of coffee.
“This stuff will kill you,” she said. “It’s probably half and half, cholesterol and cancer-causing preservatives. You can have mine too if you want it.”
“Thanks but no thanks. One dose of death’s enough for a morning.”
She ate the second roll herself.
We were in heavy traffic, halfway to Denver, when she opened the newspaper. “Interesting item this morning. Your friend Mr. Newton got himself chopped up. I see you were the main witness, as usual. How come you don’t tell me the interesting stuff in your life?”
“You get too excited. Read it to me while I drive.”
“Sure.” She folded the paper over and read.
Nothing I didn’t know, except that Crowell still hadn’t talked to police and Newton was listed as serious but expected to make it. Jackie’s altercations with police, including his continuing troubles with me, were summarized at the end.
I thought of Barbara with a flash of guilt.
“I guess it proves something,” I said. “You can drive anybody to murder.”
“It proves something else,” Rita said. “Murphy’s law.”
“Which one?”
“Time wounds all heels.”
Ruby lived on Capitol Hill, in the 1300 block of Humboldt. I parked out front on the street, and told Rita to stay put.
The apartment was on the third floor. Ruby’s face was still full of sleep as he opened the door. “Who the hell’s this? Dr. J?” He was in that early-morning fog common to nighthawks, trying valiantly to jump-start his heart with a third cup of coffee. He waved me to a chair, handed me a coffee cup, nodded to the pot simmering on the stove, and disappeared into the John. I heard water splashing and a moment later the toilet flushed. I poured myself a cup, looked around, and sat in the chair. It was a neat place, which surprised me. I could see back into the bedroom, which was also neat except for the unmade bed. It was a plain apartment, almost stark, with high ceilings and old-fashioned radiator steam heating. There were framed nudes on the walls, four lovely Weston prints that added to the bare landscape. I liked it: could’ve lived there myself.
Ruby came out, fastening his shirt. He still looked foggy, disjointed. He sat and sipped his coffee and only gradually seemed to remember that he had company.