“And you know that for a fact?”
“Hell, yes I know it for a fact. It was my night to be with her. Two of us a week. That was the setup. More than that she would’ve felt like a whore. This way she could pretend she just had two dates a week.”
“She say that?”
“Many times. Anyway, I saw the bruises all over her body. First hand.”
“Who did it?”
“Peter Carlson.”
“C’mon. Carlson?”
“Why’s that so hard to believe?”
“He’s sort of a priss. Hard to imagine him working up that kind of passion for anything except putting people down.”
“Well, whatever he is, that didn’t stop him from falling in love with her.”
“Are you serious?”
“He offered to buy out our shares. He even tried to get her to move back to Chicago, where he’d set her up by himself.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Over the last couple months. He had a hard time controlling himself when one of us went up there. Sometimes he’d drive around her block. I know it’s hard to believe but that’s how bad he got. He even picked a fight with Hardin one night when they were both drinking. Hardin made some crack about her starting to show her age a little bit. And speaking of cracks, I didn’t forget about the Hills. I give three Christmas baskets to the nuns every year. For the poor.”
“Be still my heart.”
“It’d be real easy not to like you, McCain.”
“Ditto. Why don’t you just take this to Cliffie?”
“That dumb ass? Are you kidding? He’s already got Murdoch good for it. You know Cliffie. Case closed. He won’t even consider anybody else now.”
I leaned back in my chair. Watched him tilt his flask up again. Watched him set it back down on the desk. Watched him watching me.
“You going to help me clear Ross? Ross said you were working for him.”
“What if I find out you killed her?”
His jowls got red before the rest of his face did. An interesting visual display. “Why would I kill her?”
“Well, Cliffie thinks Ross killed her. You say Carlson killed her. And I’m sure somebody’ll tell me they think Mike Hardin killed her. Your name’s bound to come up sometime.”
“Well, I didn’t and I can prove it. I was in a poker game till almost two o’clock. And I was drunk enough that I had one of the other guys give me a ride home.”
“He got a name, this guy?”
“You’re a jerk, you know that, McCain.”
“You want me to help Ross, I’m helping Ross. I’m trying to find the killer.”
“I’m not the killer.”
“I need the name of the guy who drove you home.”
He sat back. He seemed to shrink. He aged by a few years. He looked embarrassed. “I was making that up about the poker game.”
“You got any other alibis? Shacked up with Jackie Kennedy or something like that?”
He stood up. “I was home. Watching TV and pretty drunk. The wife was upstairs asleep.”
“So you don’t have an alibi.”
“I was home.”
“You could always leave home.”
“I was drunk.”
“So you say.”
“This is all because of that sewer thing, isn’t it?”
“A good part of it, anyway.”
“I don’t vote for sewer improvement so you’re going to hang a murder rap on me?”
“You even voted against extending services to the people down by the river. Of any kind. That’s pretty shitty.” I leaned forward on my elbows again. “I’m not going to hang anything on you that doesn’t fit. But it wouldn’t break my heart if it turned out you killed those two people.”
He walked to the door. Started to say something. Got all red-faced again. And then left.
I spent the next hour working on my notebook list. I hadn’t been kidding when I said that I expected to hear from Peter Carlson and Mike Hardin. They’d be implicating one of their friends just as Wheeler had. The panic had crazed them. It didn’t matter who was ultimately blamed as far as their reputations went. They were already destroyed merely by association with the dead woman and her brother.
The phone rang.
“What time you coming home?” The beautiful Pamela Forrest said.
“I don’t know. Another couple hours. Why?”
“We, uh, wondered if we could make you a business offer.”
“‘We’ being?”
“We being Stu and me.”
“What kind of business offer?”
“Well, we’re still at your apartment. And we started talking. And—well, we wondered if we paid you motel rates, could we stay here?”
“You mean sleep there and everything?”
“Yes. You could take the couch. And it’d only be a few nights.”
“Why don’t you just get a motel room?”
“Because somebody’d spot us for sure. And we’re not ready to face up to everything yet. It’s going to be terrible. It’s going to be like the Salem Witch Trials. And guess who’s the witch?”
“Oh, man, I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to worry about the sex. I mean we kinda caught up during the day today.”
“That’s nice to know. I’m glad I’m not in love with you any more. I mean, if I was, that’s not the sort of thing I’d want to hear.”
“Well, you told me you weren’t in love with me so I’m taking you at your word.”
“Well, maybe I’m still in love with you a little bit. A smidge. An iota.”
“Well, I took that into account. That’s why I didn’t go into any details. You know, tell you how many times we did it or anything.”
“That was very nice of you.”
I could hear her getting a cigarette going. “Stu’s not here right now. He took the back road into Iowa City. He’s getting groceries. He’s going to fix dinner for all three of us. He makes the best steaks I’ve ever had.”
“You know, I used to hate Stu. And now he’ll be sleeping in my bed. And with you.”
“Well, he used to hate you, too. In fact, I think he still does in a small sort of way.”
“Well, since we’re being honest here, I think I still hate him in a small sort of way.”
“Well, there you have it.”
“Have what?”
“You’re even up. He still hates you in a small sort of way and you still hate him in a small sort of way.”
“I want a new bed.”
“What?”
“Before you leave, I want $75 for a new bed. I know where I can get a good one for that.” I’d been planning on replacing the lumpy bed I had. And here was a chance to get a new one for free.
“I’ll have to ask Stu.”
As we hung up, I tried very hard not to picture Pamela and Stu in my bed. You really never can predict life’s twists and turns. And that’s what makes life so exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. And if you don’t believe me, just ask the Three Stooges. Curly almost never knows when Mo’s going to hit him.
For two hours I canvassed the apartment complex where Karen Hastings had lived. The three buildings were red brick with a central section between that held a swimming pool and flagstone-floored social area. It was getting cold for outdoor activities. Most of the residents were in their twenties, single, and worked in either Cedar Rapids or Iowa City. Several of the apartments were rented by small groups of young women who couldn’t afford the address otherwise. It was all piss elegant. Striving is the correct word here. It strove to be fancy and big city and sexy but it didn’t quite make it because the design was strictly Apartment House 101 and the workmanship was terrible. Joints didn’t fit right. Door handles were loose. The indoor carpeting was already worn thin. And pieces of the hall trim had already fallen off and not been replaced.