“What about teeth?”
“Everything above the neck is missing.”
It took Sable a moment to grasp this. Then he said: “Good Lord!” After another pause: “Perhaps I should drop everything and come up there. What do you think?”
“It might be a good idea. It would give you a chance to interview the boy.”
“I believe I’ll do that. Where is he now?”
“Working. He works at a gas station in town. How long will it take you to get here?”
“I’ll be there between eight and nine.”
“Meet me at the sheriffs substation at nine. In the meantime, is it all right if I take the local deputy into my confidence? He’s a good man.”
“I’d just as soon you didn’t.”
“You can’t handle murder without publicity.”
“I’m aware of that,” Sable said acidly. “But then we don’t know for certain that the victim was Tony, do we?”
Before I could give him any further argument, Sable hung up.
Chapter 12
I PHONED the Santa Teresa courthouse. After some palaver, I got Sheriff Trask himself on the other end of the line. He sounded harried:
“What is it?”
“Gordon Sable just told me you traced the murder car in the Culligan case.”
“A fat lot of good it did us. It was stolen in San Francisco night before last. The thief changed the license plates.”
“Who owns it?”
“San Francisco man. I’m thinking of sending somebody up to talk to him. Far as I can make out, he didn’t report the theft.”
“That doesn’t sound so good. I’m near San Francisco now, in Luna Bay. Do you want me to look him up?”
“I’d be obliged. I can’t really spare anybody. His name is Roy Lemberg. He lives at a hotel called the Sussex Arms.”
An hour later, I drove into the garage under Union Square. Bolling said good-by to me at the entrance:
“Good luck with your case.”
“Good luck with your poem. And thanks.”
The Sussex Arms was anodier side-street hotel like the one I had spent the night in. It was several blocks closer to Market Street, and several degrees more dilapidated. The desk clerk had large sorrowful eyes and a very flexible manner, as if he had been run through all the wringers of circumstance.
He said Mr. Lemberg was probably at work.
“Where does he work?”
“He’s supposed to be a car salesman.”
“Supposed to be?”
“I don’t think he’s doing so good. He’s just on commission with a secondhand dealer. The reason I know, he tried to sell me a car.” He snickered, as if he possessed the secret of a more advanced type of transportation.
“Has Lemberg lived here long?”
“A few weeks, more or less. This wouldn’t happen to be a police matter?”
“I want to see him on personal business.”
“Maybe Mrs. Lemberg is up in the room. She usually is.”
“Try her, will you? My name is Archer. I’m interested in buying their car.”
He went to the switchboard and relayed the message. “Mrs. Lemberg says come right on up. It’s three-eleven. You can take the elevator.”
The elevator jerked me up to the third floor. At the end of the dust-colored hallway, a blonde in a pink robe gleamed like a mirage. Closer up, her luster was dimmer. She had darkness at the roots of her hair, and a slightly desperate smile.
She waited until I was practically standing on her feet; then she yawned and stretched elastically. She had wine and sleep on her breath. But her figure was very good, lush-breasted and narrow-waisted. I wondered if it was for sale or simply on exhibition by the owner.
“Mrs. Lemberg?”
“Yeah. What’s all this about the Jag? Somebody phones this morning and he tells them it was stole. And now you want to buy it.”
“Was the car stolen?”
“That was just some of Roy’s malarkey. He’s full of it. You serious about buying?”
“Only if he has clear title,” I said fussily.
My show of reluctance made her eager, as it was intended to. “Come in, we’ll talk about it. The Jag is in his name, but I’m the one that makes the money decisions.”
I followed her into the little room. At the chinks in the drawn blinds, daylight peered like a spy. She turned on a lamp and waved her hand vaguely toward a chair. A man’s shirt hung on the back of it. A half-empty half-gallon jug of muscatel stood on the floor beside it.
“Siddown, excuse the mess. With all the outside work I do, I don’t get time to houseclean.”
“What do you do?”
“I model. Go ahead, siddown. That shirt is ready for the laundry, anyway.”
I sat down against the shirt. She flung herself on the bed, her body falling automatically into a cheesecake pose:
“Were you thinking of paying cash?”
“If I buy.”
“We sure could use a chunk of ready cash. What price did you have in mind? I’m warning you, I won’t let it go too cheap. That’s my chief recreation in life, driving out in the country. The trees and everything.” Her own words seemed to bewilder her. “Not that he takes me out in it. I hardly ever see the car any more. That brother of his monopolizes it. Roy’s so soft, he don’t stick up for his rights the way he should. Like the other night.”
“What happened the other night?”
“Just more of the same. Tommy comes up full of the usual. He’s got another one of these big job opportunities that never pan out. All he needs is a car, see, and he’ll be making a fortune in no time. So Roy lends him the car, just like that. Tommy could talk the fillings right out of his teeth.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Night before last, I think. I lose count of the nights and days.”
“I didn’t know Roy had a brother,” I prompted her.
“Yeah, he’s got a brother.” Her voice was flat. “Roy’s all fixed up with a brother, till death doth us part. We’d still be in Nevada, living the life of O’Reilly, if it wasn’t for that punk.”
“How so?”
“I’m talking too much.” But bad luck had dulled her brains, bad wine had loosened her tongue: “The Adult Authority said they’d give him a parole if he had somebody willing to be responsible. So back we move to California, to make a home for Tommy.”
I thought: This is a home?
She caught my look:
“We didn’t always live here. We made a down payment on a real nice little place in Daly City. But Roy started drinking again, we couldn’t hold onto it.” She turned over onto her stomach, supporting her chin on her hand. Her china-blue eyes looked fractured in the light. “Not that I blame him,” she added more softly. “That brother of his would drive a saint to drink. Roy never hurt nobody in his life. Except me, and you expect that from any man.”
I was touched by her asphalt innocence. The long curve of her hip and thigh, the rich flesh of her bosom, were like the disguise of a frightened adolescent.
“What was Tommy in for?”
“He beat up a guy and took his wallet. The wallet had three bucks in it, and Tommy was in for six months.”
“That works out to fifty cents a month. Tommy must be quite a mastermind.”
“Yeah, to hear him tell it. It was supposed to be longer, but I guess he’s good when he’s in, with somebody watching him. It’s just when he gets out.” She cocked her head sideways, and her bright hair fell across her hand. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. In my experience, the guys do most of the talking. I guess you have a talkable-attable face.”
“You’re welcome to the use of it.”
“Sanctuary mucho. But you came here to buy a car. I was almost forgetting. I worry so much, I forget things.” Her gaze slid down from my face to the muscatel jug. “I had a few drinkies, too, if the truth be knownst.” She drew a lock of hair across her eyes and looked at me through it.