It still meant, however, that I had contributed to his discomfort, frustration, and anger on the last morning of his life, and that would remain bitter in my memory.
I said to Eunice, «Apparently you didn’t stay at your brother’s. You left this morning.»
«So I did, Just. I can’t stand those kids of his and his wife is no bargain, either. I keep forgetting, but then when I visit I remember why I don’t see him oftener than I do.»
«How early this morning did you leave?»
«Right after breakfast.»
«And came here?»
«No, I didn’t come here. I wasn’t here during the crucial hours when the death took place. Some stores were open and I went shopping.»
«Did you buy anything?»
«No, but I wasn’t seriously intending to. Nobody I knew saw me. I told you; I have no alibi.»
«But why did you come here?»
And for the first time, Eunice grew uneasy. Her eyes, which had been staring into mine with almost insolent carelessness, dropped. Her voice lowered.
«I thought I might see Giles. It had been a rotten night last night. I knew he was signing books this morning, and I thought that might put him into a good humor. I thought he might be willing to—If I stayed overnight here, I—»
I sat there, appalled. This solid block of woman was coming apart with no warning whatever, and I didn’t want to have to try to put her together again.
She said, «But instinctively he knew I was coming and rather than have anything to do with me, he bashed his head or arranged to have it bashed for him and said goodbye to me once and for all. The son of a—» And two large tears overflowed and furrowed down her cheeks.
I stared at her helplessly.
She said, «You’re going to sit there and watch me cry? Well, screw you, sonny, I’m not crying.» She took a deep breath, passed the back of her hand over her eyes, and said, «I’m going back to his room. Maybe the Medical Examiner is there. I’ve got to arrange for the funeral.»
She went to the door, opened it, and walked through, turning to the left toward 1511. She didn’t bid me farewell, and that didn’t bother me. I looked at my watch. It was past five.
15 ROSEANN BRONSTEIN 5:15 P.M.
I didn’t have much of a desire to leave the room. Not at once. I had till six before I would be forced to go and what bothered me was that I had nowhere to go, nothing to do.
Wherever it was I went, whatever it was I did, it would have to be aimed at solving this damned puzzle. In two or three days, probably, Giles would be buried and I would have to attend some sort of memorial service, I knew. And I must, for my own piece of mind, know something by then. (Or was I just setting myself deadlines, as I was accustomed to do in connection with this chapter or that in my novels, in order to force myself to get them done?)
Well, why was he murdered? So far, I had a trivial complication to his life and a serious one. The trivial one was the dry pen owing to my failure to deliver the package. I didn’t see how the pens could have anything to do with it. (Or was I just trying to rid myself of responsibility?)
There was also the serious complication involved in the sexual frustration of two women, Eunice and Roseann. (Who would ever have thought of Giles Devore as an homme fatal driving two women to distraction!)
Of the two, I was sure Eunice hadn’t killed him. She guessed, two quickly, that I was hinting at murder. Surely, if she had been a murderer she would have been very careful not to see my hint at all. She would stubbornly have veered away from the word and concept. (Or am I just being a romantic?)
What about Roseann?
Where could I find her? I might try wandering about the hotel, looking for her, but the fact was that I could wander forever and never bump into her by accident, even if she were in the hotel—which was as large as a small town. And she might not be in the hotel in the first place. Nor could I think of anyone whom I might ask and who might know where she was.
I thought awhile, staring out the window at an unappetizing section of walls and windows as seen blurrily through an off-white curtain.
Roseann must have found out about Giles’s death.
Henrietta would have had it announced, and it might even have made the radio and television news by now. And if she had heard, and she had been in the process of desperately trying to win him back to that horrible game he played with obliging women, surely her reaction would be one of despair.
Would she go to a bar and get drunk? Would she jump off the roof, shrieking imprecations at fate? Would she go home and sob herself to sleep?
I couldn’t check every bar in town, and if she had jumped off the roof, I had a feeling I’d hear about it soon enough. As for home, that was easy enough to check. It required only a phone call and there was a phone in the room. Of course, it didn’t belong to me and the tab would be placed firmly on the wallet of the guy who was arriving to take the room this evening. I refused to worry about it, though, and told myself I would straighten out the matter with Sarah.
The phone was of the type where dialing 9 would give me an outside line automatically. That was good, for it meant I didn’t have to go through the operator, who might, after all, object to completing a call from an unoccupied room (or would she know it was unoccupied?).
I dialed 9 and then the number of the bookstore, which the telephone directory had been kind enough to give me.
The bookstore wouldn’t be open on Memorial Day, I supposed, but she lived in several rooms above it. She probably had an extension upstairs.
I let it ring fifteen times on the theory that she might not have an extension upstairs and might have to hurry downstairs to pick up the phone. I bet myself, fifteen to four, no one would answer. I lost my bet by a nose when the receiver was lifted on the fifteenth ring.
The voice was a low croak, absolutely unrecognizable, and I suspected a wrong number. «Roseann?» I said tentatively.
«What the hell do you want?» came the voice, somewhat stronger. I recognized it now.
«It’s Darius Just.»
«I know it is. What the hell do you want?» She didn’t call me little fella. She was really in a bad way.
«I’m sorry, Roseann, but have you heard about Giles?»
«Yes, I heard about him. You’d think that rotten bastard could keep on his feet in the bathtub.»
That made two women who called him names for daring to be dead.
I said, «Roseann, did you see Giles since you and I talked yesterday?»
«No, I didn’t, and what business is that of yours anyway? Did you see him?»
I could have told her I had, but to what end? No point in repeating what he had said. Not now. I said, «Roseann, I’m puzzled about something.»
«What are you talking about?»
«Look, when I came into his room—»
«You found him. Yes, I know. Maybe you pushed him.»
She was being completely unreasonable. I said, «Listen, Roseann, when I came into his room, he was already dead. He was in the bathtub as though he had been taking a shower, and his clothes were thrown all over the room. It was as though he had taken them off and just tossed them every which way as he was getting ready for his shower.»
There was silence at the other end for so long that I was about to jiggle the contacts, then she said, in a more normal voice than any I had heard her use. «But that’s impossible. He always folded—»