“We’ll look around for a good-sized lot, make all our own blueprints or hire an architect. They say it’s cheaper in the long run to hire an architect and let him decide what we need on the basis of what kind of life we want and what kind of people we are.”
“And what kind of people are we, Howard?”
“Average, I guess. Luckier than most in some things, not so lucky in others. We can’t ask for more than that... I’ve forgotten exactly what the phoenix was. Do you recall, Virginia?”
“A bird,” she said. “A bird with gorgeous bright plumage, the only one of his kind. He burned himself to death and then rose out of his own ashes as good as new to begin life again.” She turned away from the window, letting the drape fall into place. “Lieutenant Gallantyne is leaving the Brants’ house. Ask him to come in here, will you, Howard?”
“Why?”
“I want to tell him everything I didn’t tell him before, about Jessie and my plans for her, about Dave, even about the twenty dollars you gave Jessie. We can’t afford to hide things any more, from other people or each other. Will you ask the lieutenant to come in, Howard?”
“Yes.”
“It will be a little bit like burning myself to death but I can stand it if you can.”
She sat down on the davenport to wait, thinking how strange it would be to get up every morning and fix Howard’s breakfast.
The girl was coming toward him around the bend in the tracks. She was taller than Charlie remembered, and she wasn’t skipping nimbly along on one rail in her usual manner. She was walking on the ties between the rails slowly and awkwardly, pretending the place was strange to her. She had a whole bundle of tricks but this was one she’d never pulled before. The night made it different, too. She couldn’t be on her way to or from school; she must have come here deliberately looking for him, bent on mischief and not frightened of anything — the dark, the dogs, the winos, the trains, least of all Charlie. She knew when and where the trains would pass, she knew the dogs were confined and the winos wanted only to be left alone and Charlie’s threats were as empty as the cans and bottles littering both sides of the tracks. She always had an answer for everything: he didn’t own the tracks, he wasn’t her boss, it was a free country, she would do what she liked, so there, and if he reported her to the police she’d tell them he’d tried to make a baby in her and that would fix him, ha ha.
He was shocked at her language and confounded by her brashness, yet he was envious too, as if he wanted to be like her sometimes: It’s a free country, Ben, and I’m going to do what I like. You’re not my boss, so there— He could never speak the words, though. They vanished on his tongue like salt, leaving only a taste and a thirst.
He stood still, watching the girl approach. He was surprised at how fast she had grown and how clumsy her growth had made her. She staggered, she stumbled, she fell on one knee and picked herself up. No, this could not be pretense. The nimble, fearless, brash girl was becoming a woman, burdened by her increasing body and aware of what could happen. Danger hid in dark places, winos could turn sober and ugly dogs could escape, trains could be running off schedule and Charlie must be taken seriously.
“Charlie?”
During her time of growing she had learned his name. He felt pleased by this evidence of her new respect for him, but the change in her voice disquieted him. It sounded so thin, so scared.
He said, “I won’t hurt you, little girl. I would never hurt a child.”
“I know that.”
“How did you find out? I never told you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“What’s your name?”
“Louise,” she said. “My name is Louise.”
Gallantyne let Mac off in the parking lot behind police headquarters.
Mac unlocked his car and got in behind the wheel. The ugliness of the scene with Brant, followed by Virginia Arlington’s completely unexpected admissions, had left him bewildered and exhausted.
“Go home and get some sleep,” Gallantyne said. “I don’t think you were cut out for this line of work.”
“I prefer to function in the more closely regulated atmosphere of a courtroom.”
“Like a baby in a playpen, eh?”
“Have it your way.”
“The trouble with lawyers is they get so used to having everything spelled out for them they can’t operate without consulting the rule book. A policeman has to play it by ear.”
“Well, tonight’s music was lousy,” Mac said. “Maybe you’d better start taking lessons.”
“So you don’t approve of the way I handled Brant.”
“No.”
“I got through to him, didn’t I?”
“You broke him in little pieces. I suggest you buy yourself a rule book.”
“I have a rule book. I just keep it in my Sunday pants so it doesn’t get worn out. Now let’s leave it like that, Mac. We’re old friends, I don’t want to quarrel with you. You take things too seriously.”
“Do I.”
“Good night, Mac. Back to the playpen.”
“Good night.” Mac yawned, widely and deliberately. “And if you come up with any more hot leads, don’t bother telling me about them. My phone will be off the hook.”
He pulled out of the parking lot, hoping the yawn had looked authentic and that it wouldn’t enter Gallantyne’s head that he was going anywhere but home.
The clock in the courthouse began to chime the hour. Ten o’clock. Kate would be asleep inside her big locked house from which everything had already been stolen. He would have to awaken her, to talk to her before Gallantyne had a chance to start thinking about it: how could she have known about the affair between Brant and Virginia Arlington? She didn’t exchange gossip with the neighbors, she didn’t go to parties or visit bars, she had no friends. That left one way, only one possible way she could have found out.
He expected the house to be dark when he arrived, but there were lights on in the kitchen, in one of the upstairs bedrooms and in the front hall. He pressed the door chime, muted against Sheridan as the doors were locked against Sheridan and the blinds pulled tight to shut him out. Yet he’s here, Mac thought. All the steps she takes to deny his existence merely reinforce it. If just once she would forget to lock a door or pull a blind, it would mean she was starting to forget Sheridan.
Mary Martha’s voice came through the crack in the door. “Who’s there?”
“Mac.”
“Oh.” She opened the door. She didn’t look either sleepy or surprised. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she’d been running around, and she had on a dress Mac had never seen before, a party dress made of some thin, silky fabric the same blue as her eyes. “You’re early. But I guess you can come in anyway.”
“Were you expecting me, Mary Martha?”
“Not really. Only my mother said I was to call you at exactly eleven o’clock and invite you to come over.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t ask her. You know what? I never stayed up until eleven o’clock before in my whole, entire life.”
“Your mother must have had a reason, Mary Martha. Why didn’t you ask her?”
“I couldn’t. She was nervous, she might have changed her mind about letting me stay up and play.”
“Where is she now?”
“Sleeping. She had a bad pain so she took a bunch of pills and went to bed.”
“When? When did she take them? What kind of pills?”
The child started backing away from him, her eyes widening in sudden fear. “I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do a single thing!”
“I’m not accusing you.”
“You are so.”
“No. Listen to me, Mary Martha.” He forced himself to speak softly, to smile. “I know you didn’t do anything. You’re a very good girl. Tell me, what were you playing when I arrived?”