Mark looked at me. “I feel certain I’m speaking English,” he said, “but...”
“Mark, did he actually say he was going home?”
“Yes, he actually said he was going home. Not a very nice thing to do, Matt. You don’t walk out of a game when you’re winning. We played till one o’clock, but he’d already taken sixty bucks out of the game by eleven.”
“Is that when he left? Eleven?”
“A little before eleven, in fact.” Mark shook his head. “It wasn’t the first time, either. According to Art, your friend makes a habit of it.”
“Of what? Leaving the game early?”
“Yeah.”
“When he’s winning, do you mean?”
“Even when he’s losing. Art likes to have seven players in the game, keeps it lively. When somebody leaves the game early it changes the dynamics. I’ll bet Art tries to ease him out. He was mad as hell last night, I can tell you that.” Mark paused. “What’ll your friend do then? Without the poker game for his alibi?”
“Well... I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you? It’s plain as day, Matt. Your friend’s got a little something going on the side. Listen, more power to him. But can’t he find a better alibi than a poker game? I mean, can’t he at least go perform an appendectomy every Sunday night?”
5
I spent the next ten minutes in a telephone booth outside a gasoline station. The traffic at a quarter to ten had thickened considerably, automobiles and trucks moving bumper to bumper in both directions. For as long as I’d been living here, there’d been talk of financing an interstate superhighway that would divert traffic away from the city and ease the burden on U.S. 41. They were still talking about it. The talk said that even if they started building it this very minute, it wouldn’t be ready for ten years. By that time, the line of traffic on the Trail would be frozen solid from Tampa all the way down to the Everglades.
I called Aggie first.
The phone rang three times before she answered it.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hi.”
“Matt, good! I was just getting ready to leave the house.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve got a dumb rehearsal. Is there any possibility you can get away this afternoon?”
“Why?”
“Julie’s got a guitar lesson, and Gerry’s got basketball practice. They’re both being picked up, I’ll be free till at least five.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Let me tempt you.”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “From the way it looks now, I may not even be able to call you later.”
“Why not?” she asked at once. “Is something wrong?”
“Jamie Purchase’s wife and kids were murdered last night.”
“You’re joking!”
“No, honey, I wish I—”
“Oh, Matt, how awful. Do they know who did it?”
“Not yet.”
“It wasn’t Jamie, was it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“I just don’t know, Aggie.”
“What do the police think?”
“A man named Ehrenberg’s in charge of the investigation. He said Jamie’s not a suspect, but I’m not sure I believe him.”
“What’d Jamie tell you?”
“That he didn’t do it. Honey, I’ve got to go. What time will you be through with that rehearsal?”
“One at the very latest.”
“I’ll try to call you after that. Aggie...?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I almost told her last night. I almost told Susan I wanted a divorce.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“All right, darling.”
“Aggie, I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’ll try to call later.”
“Yes.”
“I love you,” I said, and put the phone gently back on the cradle. I fished another dime from my pocket, looked up the number for the Magnolia Garden Motel, and quickly dialed it.
“Magnolia Garden,” a woman said, “good morning.”
“Good morning,” I said. “May I please speak to Dr. Purchase, he’s in room number twelve.”
“Unit number twelve, yes, sir,” she said. “Dr. Purchase, Dr. Purchase...” Her voice trailed. I had the feeling she was running her index finger down a list of guests. “He’s checked out, sir,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When did he leave?”
“About nine, I guess it was. Calusa Cab picked him up.”
“Thank you,” I said, and hung up. It was very hot in the phone booth. I opened the door to let in some air. A trailer truck was rumbling past, it filled the booth with noise and diesel exhaust. I knew from experience that taxicab companies, in Calusa or anywhere else, would tell no one but the police where they had driven a passenger. I debated calling Calusa Cab and saying I was Detective Ehrenberg. I didn’t have the nerve. Instead, I tried to figure where Jamie might have gone at nine in the morning, still dressed in what he was wearing the night before — he’d taken nothing with him when we left the house. Not even a shaving kit. I figured the only place he could have gone was back home to shower and shave and change his clothes. I knew the number by heart.
“Detective Di Luca,” a voice said. Ehrenberg’s partner, the small dark man with the blue eyes. His voice was rather high-pitched. It came as a surprise. I’d have expected from him something closer to a rasp or a whisper.
“This is Matthew Hope,” I said. “I’m Dr. Purchase’s attorney.”
“Yes, sir, good morning,” Di Luca said.
“Good morning. I was wondering if Dr. Purchase might be there.”
“Yes, sir, he got here just a little while ago. Did you want to speak to him?”
“If I may.”
“Well... just a second, okay?”
He put down the phone. I heard him yelling something to somebody named Harry. I caught the word “doctor,” and then Jamie came on the line.
“Hello?” he said.
“Jamie, this is Matt. Listen to me. I want to see you right away, and not at the house with policemen crawling all over the place.”
“What’s wrong, Matt?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I have to talk to you. How nearly dressed are you?”
“I’m dressed.”
“Had you planned on working today?”
“No. I’ve already called in and told Louise to cancel my appointments.”
“Good. Can you get to my office by ten-thirty?”
“What is it, Matt?”
“Can you get there?”
“Yes, sure.”
“I’ll see you then,” I said. “Good-bye, Jamie.”
“Good-bye, Matt,” he said. His voice seemed puzzled.
I put the receiver back onto the hook and went out to where I’d parked the car near the air hose. The garage attendant was standing there with his hands on his hips. He seemed offended about something; I guessed I was blocking his hose. He kept watching me as I climbed into the car. Just as I started to back out, he said, “How much you want for that car?”
“It’s not for sale,” I said.
“You ought to get that fender fixed,” he said. “Ruins the look of it.”
“I’ll get around to it.”
“They don’t make those cars no more, you know.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s a classic.”
“Damn right, it is,” he said.
The day was beginning to warm up. I turned on the air conditioner. It rattled and clonked and clunked, but it cooled off the automobile. It was almost ten o’clock when I reached the cutoff to Route 74. I switched on the radio and caught the last few bars of a schmaltzy arrangement of “Sunrise, Sunset.” The news came on immediately afterward. The lead story was the murder of Maureen Purchase and her daughters Emily and Eve.