“Tell the truth, I hadn’t bothered to look into it.”
“That might change, as time goes on.”
“Are you arresting me?”
“Not right now, no.”
“So, I can go?”
“For now. But, Archer, don’t try to make a run for it, you hear me?”
“You keep telling me that.”
“Because I want the message to sink in loud and clear, son.”
“I got nowhere to run, and no interest in running. That’s for a guilty man to do, which I’m not.”
“You’re a funny one.”
“Nothing funny about being wrongly hanged.”
“I’ll grant you that. Now get on out of here.”
Chapter 21
Archer went to his room, shed his new clothes down to his skivvies, opened the window because he felt claustrophobic and bitter about what was happening, and lay down on the bed in the dark and stared at a ceiling he couldn’t really see.
The four walls of his room seemed to be closing in on him. The feeling of claustrophobia was, in fact, far stronger than he had felt at Carderock after the mayor’s daughter had turned all his sincere help into a tale of vicious kidnapping. He had been simple and naive and just plain stupid to let that happen to him. The fact was he had also been trusting, because he had relied on his comrades-in-arms with his life during the war. It had never occurred to Archer that once he was home again in peacetime, his fellow citizens would turn against him.
Still, he was fortunate they hadn’t given him life in prison, but Archer would never get back the several years they had taken. He would never feel he had gotten the better end of some vague deal.
And here it was happening again.
An hour passed, and Archer never once stopped looking up at nothing.
Then he rose and put his clothes back on.
It took him twenty minutes to walk it. Then he was outside of Number 27 Eldorado Street. Despite the lateness of the hour, there was one light on in what he knew was Jackie’s bedroom. He wanted to know what else she had told Shaw.
He walked up to her door and knocked.
“Who is that?”
The voice came from the right of him. He stepped back and looked at the lit, open window.
“It’s me, Archer.”
“Archer?”
Her voice sounded funny.
“What do you want? I’m in bed.” There was nothing inviting in her tone.
“I need to talk. Shaw came by to see me again at the Derby.”
“Well, he came by to see me again, too. Woke me out of a dead sleep. He only left a bit ago.”
“Can I come in? It’s important.”
A long moment passed before she said, “Give me a sec.”
A minute later she opened the door and in the light from inside, he saw she was dressed in a thick light blue robe that went down to her ankles. Her face held a scowl.
She stepped back, and he passed through.
They sat in the living room. She stared at him and he stared down at his hat.
“Shaw is setting up to arrest me for Pittleman’s murder,” he finally said.
She nodded. “I could tell that by the questions he asked me.”
“It would have been nice if you had given me some warning. And he took your fingerprints, too. That would have been good to know,” he added accusingly.
As soon as he said this, Archer realized he had made an unforgivable mistake. The scowl turned to something else, something that unnerved Archer maybe as much as fighting the Germans had.
She stood and looked down at him. When she spoke her voice was low and calm and still managed to bristle with menace.
“Let me tell you what would have been ‘good to know.’” She paused, but only for a second. “When you came to see me before the cops showed up, you didn’t tell me that Hank was dead. But according to what Shaw told me just a bit ago you sure as hell knew he was dead. Now, that would have been good to know, Archer.” She bent down and slapped him hard across the face. The blow stung and reddened his skin and made his eyes water a bit. But Archer didn’t move, he didn’t say anything. When she raised her hand to strike him again, he assumed no defensive posture, did nothing to stop her.
She looked down at him in some confusion. Then, when it became apparent that Archer was not going to defend himself or fight back, this seemed to take all the energy from her. She dropped her hand and slumped down next to him.
“I should have told you, Jackie,” Archer said quietly. “I don’t know why I didn’t. No, maybe I do. I trusted a gal once and ended up in prison because of it. When I found Pittleman dead, I panicked. I figured the fewer people who knew, the better for me. It was just all about surviving, I guess. And not going back to prison.” He fell silent and Jackie said nothing for a few seconds.
“I don’t blame you for not trusting, Archer. It’s not like I trust easily or at all. And it’s not like I’ve been an open book with you.”
“So where do we go from here?” asked Archer.
“You could start with telling me about Hank. Shaw told me what you told him, but I’d prefer to hear it from you.”
Archer nodded, marshalled his thoughts, and said, “I woke up, got dressed, went out in the hall, passed by the door, and saw that it was open. I went inside.”
“Why?”
“I thought you might be in there with him. You had left my bed,” he added.
“Oh, good Lord, Archer, are all men as dense as you when it comes to that?”
“Probably. Anyway, I saw the man was dead. So, I hightailed it out of there.”
“And you never raised the alarm? Never went for help?” Her eyes flashed with suspicion.
“Help? For what? I’ve seen a lot of dead men in my time, Jackie. No way you were breathing life back into Hank Pittleman.”
“Still, you left him like that, Archer? And now Shaw thinks you killed him.”
“Did he say that directly?”
“He didn’t have to, I could tell from his questions.” She paused. “Did you kill him? Come on, tell me the truth.”
In his agitation Archer stood and paced. “What reason would I have for killing him?”
“Maybe because you didn’t like me being with him like you just suggested.”
Archer ceased his pacing. “Don’t get me wrong, Jackie. You’re a wonderful gal and all, but to kill a man I would at least have to know you for longer than a few days and sleep with you more than twice.”
“So you say.”
“So you really think I did it? Killed a man?”
“It doesn’t matter a whit what I think, Archer. It matters what Shaw thinks.”
“It matters to me what you think.”
“I know you can kill because you did that in the war.” She paused as he stared her down. “But I guess I don’t see you killing Hank, no.”
“You guess? Well, thanks for nothing.”
She gripped his hand and pulled him down on the sofa next to her.
“Don’t be that way, okay? You say you don’t really know me? Well, that works both ways, Archer, because I don’t really know you. You can see that, right?”
Archer didn’t want to see that, but what she said made good sense.
She said, “Hell, maybe somebody robbed him. Shaw wouldn’t tell me if Hank’s wad of cash was missing. He was always waving that around. Everyone knew he carried a lot of money. Stupid thing for him to do. But that could be it.”
Archer knew it wasn’t robbery. He put his hat back on. “Okay, well, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For sort of believing me. You may be the only one in Poca City who does.”
“You still going to try to collect that debt?”