Her two hands went to her breasts and grasped them cruelly. “Me? You think I’d do that?”
“To keep your husband and son, you would. Did you?”
“No. For God’s sake, no.”
“That’s good.”
“Why do you say that?” Her eyes were dull with the sickness of the past.
“Because I want you to keep what you have.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
“I’m going to, though. I’m going to keep you out of the Culligan case. As for the information you’ve given, me, I’m going to use it for private reference only. It would be easier for me if I didn’t–”
“So you want to be paid for your trouble, is that it?”
“Yes, but not in money. I want your confidence, and any other information you can give me.”
“But there isn’t any more. That’s all there is.”
“What happened to Shoulders?”
“I don’t know. He must of got away. I never heard of him again.”
“Culligan never mentioned him?”
“No. Honest.”
“And you never brought the subject up?”
“No. I was too much of a coward.”
A car entered the driveway. She started, and went to the window. The light outside was turning dusky gray. In the yard across the street, red roses burned like coals. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, as if she wanted to wipe out all her past experiences, live innocent in an innocent world.
The little boy burst through the door. Matheson came at his heels, balancing a cake box in his hands.
“Well, I got the darn thing.” He thrust it into my hands.
“That takes care of the church supper.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said brusquely, and turned to his wife: “Is supper ready? I’m starved.”
She stood on the far side of the room, cut off from him by the ugliness. “I didn’t make supper.”
“You didn’t make it? What is this? You said you’d have it ready when I got home.”
Hidden forces dragged at her face, widening her mouth, drawing deep lines between her eyes. Suddenly her eyes were blind with tears. The tears ran in the furrows of her face. Sobbing, she sat on the edge of the hearth like an urchin on a curb.
“Marian? What’s the mater? What’s the trouble, kiddie?”
“I’m not a good wife to you.”
Matheson went across the room to her. He sat on the hearth beside her and took her in his arms. She buried her face in his neck.
The boy started toward them, and then turned back to me. “Why is Mother crying?”
“People cry.”
“I don’t,” he said.
Chapter 14
I DROVE back across the ridge toward the last fading light in the sky. On the road that wound down to Luna Bay I passed an old man with a burlap bag on his back. He was one of the old-time hoboes who follow the sun like migratory birds. But the birds fly, and the men walk. The birds mate and nest; the old men have no nests. They pace out their lives along the roadsides.
I stopped and backed up and gave him the cake.
“Thank you very kindly.” His mouth was a rent in shaggy fur. He put the cake in his bag. It was a cheap gift, so I gave him a dollar to go with it. “Do you want a ride into town?”
“No, thank you very kindly. I’d smell up your car.”
He walked away from me with a long, slow, swinging purposeless stride, lost in a dream of timeless space. When I passed him, he didn’t raise his bearded head. He was like a moving piece of countryside on the edge of my headlight beam.
I had fish and chips at a greasy spoon and went to the sheriff’s substation. It was eight by the clock on the wall above Mungan’s desk. He looked up from his paperwork:
“Where you been? The Brown kid’s been looking for you.”
“I want to see him. Do you know where he went?”
“Over to Doc Dineen’s house. They’re pretty good friends. He told me that the doc is teaching him how to play chess. That game was always a little over my head. Give me a hand of poker any time.”
I went around the end of the counter and complied with his request, in a way:
“I’ve been doing some asking around. A couple of things came up that ought to interest you. You say you knew some of the hoods in these parts, back in the early thirties. Does the name Culligan mean anything to you?”
“Yeah. Happy Culligan, they called him. He was in the Red Horse mob.”
“Who were his friends?”
“Let’s see.” Mungan stroked his massive chin. “There was Rossi, Shoulders Nelson, Lefty Dearborn – all of them Lempi’s guns. Culligan was more the operator type, but he liked to hang around with the guns.”
“What about Shoulders Nelson?”
“He was about the hardest limb in the bunch. Even his buddies were afraid of him.” A trace of his boyhood admiration showed in Mungan’s eyes. “I saw him beat Culligan to a pulp one night. They both wanted the same girl.”
“What girl?”
“One of the girls upstairs at the Red Horse. I didn’t know her name. Nelson shacked up with her for a while, I heard.”
“What did Nelson look like?”
“He was a big man, almost as big as me. The women went for him, he must have been good-looking to them. I never thought so, though. He was a mean-looking bastard, with a long sad face and mean eyes. Him and Rossi and Dearborn got sent up the same time as Lempi.”
“To Alcatraz?”
“Lempi went there, when the Government took it over. But the others took the fall on a larceny charge. Highjacking. The three of them went to San Quentin.”
“What happened to them after that?”
“I didn’t keep any track of them. I wasn’t in law enforcement at the time. Where is all this supposed to be leading?”
“Shoulders Nelson may be the killer you want,” I said. “Would your Redwood City office have a dossier on him?”
“I doubt that. He hasn’t been heard of around here in more than twenty-five years. It was a state case, anyway.”
“Then Sacramento should have it. You could have Redwood City teletype them.”
Mungan spread his hands on the desk-top and stood up, wagging his big head slowly from side to side. “If all you got is a hunch, you can’t use official channels to test it out for you.”
“I thought we were co-operating.”
“I am. You’re not. I’ve been doing the talking, you’ve been doing the listening. And this has been going on for quite some time.”
“I told you Nelson’s probably our killer. That’s a fairly big mouthful.”
“By itself, it doesn’t do anything for me.”
“It could if you let it. Try querying Sacramento.”
“What’s your source of information?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Like that, eh?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Mungan looked down at me in a disappointed way. Not surprised, just disappointed. We had had the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but I had proved unworthy.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I hope I do. You think about this Nelson angle. It’s worth going into. You could earn yourself some very nice publicity.”
“I don’t give a damn about publicity.”
“Good for you.”
“And you can go to hell.”
I didn’t blame him for blowing off. It’s tough to live with a case for half a year and then watch it elope with a casual pickup.
But I couldn’t afford to leave him feeling sore. I didn’t even want to. I went outside the counter and sat down on a wooden bench against the wall. Mungan resumed his place at his desk and avoided looking at me. I sat there like a penitent while the minute hand of the clock took little pouncing bites of eternity.