When she came back, a Pabst can in her hand, she sat across from him. "So what about Mark?"
"First I'm going to ask you not to tell Mark that I was here. I know your loyalty is to him, not me, but our talk could be very important."
"Hey, forget it. I don't talk to Mark anymore."
Colin felt a thud to his stomach, as if he'd been punched. "What do you mean?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Just that. We don't speak. Period. Look, I don't know if you know the whole story, but as far as I'm concerned Mark Griffing is one lousy bastard. I mean, sure, it's not all his fault, it takes two to tango, but forget it, this guy's the pits. I went to work for him as a reporter and-is that what you are?"
He nodded. "And managing editor." What the hell was this woman talking about? Was she lying because she didn't want him to know the affair had started up again? Or was she telling the truth?
"So I went to him as a reporter, and he puts me on sports, and that was okay even though I'm not a sports fan. Later I asked him to switch me over to features, the soft stuff. Forget it, he makes a pass at me instead. Look, I was lonely. I didn't know anybody here, ten months out of a bad marriage, you know how it is. Anyway, one thing led to another and we were having an affair. To tell you the truth, Colin-it's Colin, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"To tell you the truth, Colin, I fell in love with the guy. I felt lousy because of Sarah and the kids, but I know these things happen. What can you do? So after we've been sleeping together six, seven months Mark tells me he wants to divorce Sarah and marry me. I'm ecstatic. But does he ask her for the divorce? Forget it. Days and weeks and months go by, and finally I'm up to here." She held her hand under her chin.
Confused, Colin asked, "What about last Friday morning?"
"Friday morning?"
"Yes."
"What's wrong? You look strange. Are you all right?"
He felt sick. If Mark lied about where he was last Friday then… Colin couldn't stand to finish the thought. Still, he had to know. "This is very important, so please don't lie. I'm not going to tell anyone, not Sarah, not anyone. Please tell me the truth. Didn't Mark come to see you last Friday?"
"Mark? Come here? Forget it. Aren't you listening? I haven't talked to Mark Griffing in six months."
– -
Ethel and George Bennett, their shoulders and thighs touching, sat on the Broyhill couch of their living room suite. The Bennetts were tiny people: he was not more than five four, she barely made five feet. They were both in their early sixties, but Hallock thought they looked much older. He wondered if they'd aged since their daughter was murdered.
George was saying, "Gloria never gave us any trouble, did she, Mother?"
"Not one minute. In fact, she was the best behaved of our children," Ethel answered.
"That's right. Now, Cheryl was a different story," George said. "Cheryl was always getting into fixes, isn't that right, Mother?"
Ethel Bennett nodded her gray permanented head. Her eyes grew smaller behind thick lenses. "It's a fact. Cheryl was boy crazy. Still is, I guess. I pity poor Leonard. That's her husband. Her second one."
George poked Ethel with his skinny elbow, signaling her not to give out too much detail to strangers. She sat up straighter, knees together.
Hallock said, "Can you think of anyone who might've been an enemy of Gloria's?"
The Bennetts turned to one another, found no answer, then looked back at Hallock.
"Can't think of a soul. Gloria was always popular. You know she was a cheerleader in high school," George said, as if he were telling Hallock his daughter was an ambassador.
Hallock nodded, smiling. He wasn't getting anywhere. "How about you folks? I don't mean to be rude, but you never know what might be important. Anything about you the police should know?" So what if he was doing a little fudging here and there about who the authorities were.
"Well," George said, "I can't speak for Ethel, I didn't know her until she was twenty, but as for myself, I'm headed for sainthood." He cackled, then looked at his wife for confirmation.
Ethel seemed disgusted and inched her body away from him.
"Mrs. Bennett?" Hallock asked.
"What kind of thing do you mean?"
"Anything out of the ordinary. Some event that was different than your everyday life happenings."
"Like what?" she asked.
"Maybe an argument you had thirty years ago with somebody you haven't seen since. Being stuck in an elevator with strangers. Or winning the lottery." He smiled.
"We don't buy lottery tickets," she said.
Hallock thought he was going to go crazy.
George said, "The thing of it is, Chief, we don't have unusual events happening to us. See, we're just plain people, if you know what I mean."
Hallock nodded and picked up his chief's hat from the table where he'd laid it. "Well, folks, I want to thank you for your help."
The Bennetts got up as if they were one person. George held out his hand to Hallock. "Glad to help, Chief, any time."
"Now, should you think of anything, anything at all that strikes you as something we should know, please call. You might think it's silly, but don't let that stop you. I'm going to give you a special number." He reached into his pocket for Maguire's number and handed it to George.
"A special number, huh?" He looked pleased, as if finally he'd been singled out for privilege.
"My assistant, Detective Maguire, will probably take the call. We have a special task force working on this. But it's undercover so you don't want to go telling your friends about it, you understand?" He had to protect himself somehow.
"We'll be thinking on it, won't we, Mother?"
She nodded.
Hallock placed his hat on his head. "You just keep thinking. Thanks for your time."
He drove around the block before he took off his hat and laid it on the seat. The next step was to drive to the same gas station where he'd switched clothes earlier and change back to his civvies.
He couldn't help wondering if this was another futile maneuver guaranteed to make him look like a horse's ass. Glancing at his watch he saw it was three-ten. He'd booked himself on a six o'clock plane to Miami Beach. There was no reason he should hang around until tomorrow, cooling his heels. He hoped he had enough time to pick up his bag, call Maguire, and get back to Riverhead, where he'd get the limo to the airport. If he missed Maguire he could always call him from Miami.
Should he phone Fran? he wondered. He couldn't face it. But suddenly he found himself missing her terribly, wishing she was going with him. A second honeymoon, maybe. And then he recalled her sitting in the back row of the Town Hall, doing nothing while that bitch, Julia Dorman, ripped him up one side and down the other. Ah, hell, he thought, there's just some things a man's got to do alone, and going to Florida to see Ruth Cooper's folks was one of them.
– -
Colin lay on his bed smoking. Even though the blue Levolor blinds were drawn, the sun snaked its way in around them. He had plunked two pillows behind his head and put an ashtray on his stomach.
He and Annie had finally made contact around three. She'd sounded strange. He'd asked to see her later, and she'd told him no because of some group she held on Sunday nights. He found himself wondering if it was true, but she didn't seem to be the lying type. They'd made a date for the next night. She'd offered to cook dinner for him again. He hadn't refused.
Then Sarah had called, inviting him up for dinner. But he couldn't face Mark. Not yet. Maybe never.
What the hell was he going to do? When Hallock called he'd told him about his fruitless interviews with the Higbees and the Carrolls, saying nothing about Mark or Amy. But just how long could he keep it from Hallock? And what the hell did it prove anyway?
He wished he'd never gone to Amy's. But he'd had to go. His doubts had left him no choice. Still, he'd wanted Amy to confirm what Mark had told him, not the other way around. He mashed out his cigarette, took a long swig from his Tab, then lay back on the pillows.