“To give them Pruitt’s head on a platter.”
“You could put it that way.”
“I can almost guess the rest.”
He nodded. “Suddenly my attorney got a call from Larson’s lawyer…Larson’s new lawyer. We were told that full restitution might be made if the case could be discreetly dropped.”
“I’ll bet the cops loved you for that.”
“The detective who had made this case was not thrilled, to say the least. He fumed and yelled and said this was not my call to make.”
“But he soon learned better, didn’t he? Grease runs the world in L.A. too.”
“You’ve got to understand something. This was never said, but there was a strong implication that if I didn’t agree right then, on the spot, my books might end up in the Pacific Ocean. What was I supposed to do? I agreed to have the case dropped, and on Monday morning a note was delivered to my office. If I showed up at a certain corner at a certain time, a taxi would arrive and the driver would have my books in two big boxes. And that’s what I did. I never saw Pruitt again until just this morning. End of story.”
“Not quite, Mr. Scofield. You left the woman in red hanging from a cliff.”
“I flew back to Seattle that same night. There wasn’t time to have the book examined by Brenner or anyone else. I went on my gut, as they say, not the first time I’ve done that in my life. I was still weak from my illness, and the stress of having lost the book for the better part of a week had also taken its toll. I went against my doctor’s orders, had to be helped to my chair in the restaurant. She was already there when I arrived. She seemed quite nervous, unsure. But even then I had no idea anything was wrong. We chatted for perhaps three minutes. I had the money all ready for her, in a small valise, just as I brought it to Pruitt this morning. The book and the valise were there on the table between us. I felt so sure…and then…”
“What?”
“I remember I had a coughing attack…a bad one. And it was almost as if that was what finally made her balk and call the deal off. She reached out and picked up the book, not the money, and for a minute I still didn’t realize what it meant. Then she apologized and said she just couldn’t sell it after all. I tried to persuade her…if it was more money she needed…but no, it was more like…”
I waited, my eyes on his.
“I don’t know how to put it exactly…an act of conscience maybe. I guess that’s it, she was overcome by conscience and guilt. She reached in her purse and brought out the money I’d given her. I made her keep it. I thought maybe it would give me a claim on the book if the day ever came when she’d change her mind again.”
He looked around from face to face. “Then she walked out. We never heard from her again.”
No one said anything for a long moment.
“Just like Dillinger,” I said.
None of them seemed to know what I was talking about.
“You and John Dillinger,” I said. “Both laid low by a woman in red.”
49
I left them there, Kenney and Scofield to their work and Amy watching them from a chair near the door. I drove into North Bend alone. I had fish to fry. This is where it all happens, I thought: it doesn’t have anything to do with Baltimore or Phoenix or even Seattle except that those cases all spun out of here. I was thinking of Grayson, doing the work he loved without having to compete with his own fame and glory. We do get older: sometimes we even get wiser. Fame and glory don’t mean as much when we’re fifty, when they’re finally within reach, as they did when we could only dream about them at twenty.
The gate was locked at the Rigby place so I went on past to Snoqualmie. Fingers of sunlight led the way, beaming down through pockets of mist that wafted across both towns. The area bustled with commerce in the middle of the afternoon. Tourists drifted along the avenue, going or coming to or from the waterfall. A mailman moved along the block, stopping in each store. Near a corner a team of glaziers was busy replacing a broken storefront.
I drove past Smoky Joe’s Tavern and turned a corner, pulling up at the curb. Archie Moon’s print-shop was dark and locked. I got out and went to the door, cupped my hands, and peeped through the glass. Somewhere back in the shop a faint light shone, but I rapped on the glass and no one came.
“I think she’s gone for the day,” a voice said.
I turned and said hello to the mailman.
“If you’re looking for Carrie, she usually takes half a day off on Tuesdays,” he said.
“Actually, I’m looking for Archie.”
“Carrie can tell you where he’s at: she rides herd on him like a mother hen. But you’ll have to catch her tomorrow.”
I thanked him and got back in the car. I watched him sort some mail and drop it through the frontdoor slot. Then he moved on down the street and I drove out of town, on to Selena Harper’s house.
Things were soon looking up. Trish was sitting on the front porch steps when I turned into the yard.
“I figured you’d turn up here,” she said. “The only hard part was finding this place. And psyching myself up for a long wait.”
I wanted to hear all about the other theaters of war, about Pruitt and the cops and all that had happened since I’d seen her five hours ago. But her mood was cool, almost hostile as she watched me come toward her.
“Sorry I had to run out on you like that. Things got kinda hectic.”
“Didn’t they though,” she said, unforgiving. “You’re quite an act, Janeway. But I can’t say I wasn’t warned.”
She cocked her head to one side, showing a long bruise under her left eye. “Pretty, huh?”
“What happened to you?”
“Think about it a minute. You’re a bright boy, you’ll figure it out.”
I thought about it and came up with nothing.
“You were trying to turn Pruitt into next week’s dog food. I grabbed you around the neck. Next thing I knew I was flat on my back in the mud.”
“Wait a minute, hold it. Play that back again.”
“You slugged me, you son of a bitch.”
I was, for once in my life, speechless.
“Wanna hear it again?”
“No…I really don’t think I do.”
“Do you know what I did to the last man who tried to raise a hand to me?”
“I’ve got a feeling I’m about to find out.”
“Think of a hot-oil enema and maybe you can relate to it.”
“Ayee.” Beyond that I didn’t dare laugh. I tried to reach out to her, but she looked at my hand the way you’d look at a spittoon.
“Come on, Trish.”
She stared off at the graying sky.
“Come on.”
She didn’t move.
“Come on. Please.”
“Please what?”
“Get up, tell me it’s okay, and let’s get on with it.”
“Is that the full and complete text of your apology? Now I know why you’re so successful with women.”
“I am sorry. I really am.”
She didn’t respond, so I said it again. “I’m sorry.”
“How sorry are you?”
“I don’t know. How sorry do you want me to be?”
“I want you to do something for me.”
I didn’t say anything. I seemed to know what she wanted.
She gripped my wrist and I pulled her up. She smoothed her skirt with her free hand and said, “I want you to go in and talk to Quintana.”
I moved on past her to the top of the porch.
“I’m serious about that,” she said, losing no ground behind me.
I turned and she was right there, so close we bumped together.
“He’s gonna treat you right. But you’ve got to do it now.”
I unlocked the front door and stood aside so she could go in first. The house smelled musty and looked golden and gray. A light rain had begun, with the sun still shining off to the west, the dark places broken by splashes of streaky sunlight. She came in reluctantly, like an infidel desecrating a holy place, and I followed her on through the front room toward the kitchen. She stopped for a moment, seemed to be listening for something, then turned and looked at me across a shaft of watery yellow haze. “Am I imagining this,” she said, “or is something happening between us?” The question was sudden and improbable, infusing the air with erotic tension. I thought of the midnight supper we had had and how easily she had done the impossible, taken Rita’s place at the other end of the table. “It does seem to be,” I said. But I didn’t yet know the shape it might take or where it might go from here. She lived in Seattle and I lived in Denver, and neither of us had had time to give it much thought.