“I see you’ve been making yourself at home, Inspector,” Dodd said. “Is this your version of gracious living?”
A scowl crossed Ravick’s broad, pock-marked face. “O.K., Weisenheim, where the hell have you been?”
“The name’s Dodd. Only my best friends call me Weisenheim.”
“I asked you a question.”
“Well, I’m thinking of an answer.”
“Make it good. Start talking.”
Dodd started talking. He had a lot to say.
18.
For fifty miles the road had been winding tortuously along the cliffs above the sea. In places the cliffs were so high that the sea was invisible and unheard. In other places they were low enough for Rupert to see the foam of the breakers in the light of the quarter-moon.
The little dog had begun to whimper in the back seat. Rupert spoke to him soothingly and quietly. He said nothing to his companion. They had not spoken since Carmel, and they were now passing through the Big Sur, where the redwoods stood in massive silence, disowning the wild wind and the reckless sea.
She was not asleep, although her eyes were closed and her head rested against the door. He thought, not for the first time, what if the door should fly open on a curve, what if she fell out? That would be the end of it all. I could drive on by myself... But he knew it wouldn’t be the end, the end wasn’t even in sight. He reached across her suddenly and locked the door she was leaning against.
She shrank back as if he’d aimed a blow at her head. “Why did you do that?”
“So you won’t fall out.” So I won’t be tempted to push you out.
“Is it much farther?”
“We’re not even halfway.”
She muttered some words that he didn’t understand; they might have been a prayer or a curse. Then, “I feel sick.”
“Take a pill.”
“All these curves, they make my stomach feel bad. There must be another road, one that is straight and smooth.”
“The better roads have more cars on them. You’d feel a hell of a lot sicker if you heard a siren behind you.”
“The police are not watching for this car. They don’t know Joe had a car. Maybe they even don’t know who he is. I took his wallet out of his pocket. That will make it harder for them.” But she didn’t sound very sure of it, and after a time she added, “What will we do when we get there?”
“Leave that to me.”
“You promised to look after me.”
“I’ll look after you.”
“I don’t like the way you say that. Why can’t we make plans, right now, right here? There is nothing else to do.”
“Watch the scenery.”
“We could start deciding what...”
“The deciding’s done. The plans are made. You’re going back.”
“Back? Not — all the way back?”
“You’ll take up exactly where you left off. Tell everyone you’ve been away on a little vacation and now you want to resume your ordinary manner of living. Act natural and don’t talk too much. And remember, this isn’t advice I’m giving you, it’s an order.”
“I am not forced to obey. I have money. I can disappear, I can get lost in the city.”
“Nothing would please me more, but it won’t work.”
“You mean you will not let it work,” she said bitterly. “You will tell.”
“I’ll tell. Everything I know. That’s a promise.”
“You don’t care what happens to me, do you?”
“Not a hoot in hell. If you went up in smoke I’d just open the windows and air the car out.”
“You are — you are a very changed man.”
“Murder changes people.”
Even above the noise of the engine he could hear the sharp intake of her breath. He turned to look at her, wishing it were for the last time. She was tugging at the red silk scarf she wore on her head as if it constricted her, prevented her from getting enough air.
He said, “Leave it on.”
“Why?”
“Your hair’s rather noticeable. To say the least. Keep it hidden until you can get to a beauty parlor and have it changed.”
“I don’t want it changed. I like it this way. I have always wanted to be...”
“Keep the scarf on.”
She retied the scarf under her chin, muttering to herself and shaking her head. He thought, she’s frightened enough to take orders. That’s one good sign, the only good one, she’s frightened.
For half an hour they had not met or passed another car, or seen a dwelling or any sign of human occupancy. It was as if the last people to have passed that way were the builders of the road, and that had been, Rupert judged from its condition, a long time ago. Parts of it had melted in the rain as if the concrete had been mixed with sugar. Sugar road, he thought grimly. If I have a future, if I live to come this way again, that will always be its name.
At the next bend a faint glow was visible between the massive trees, like a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. He knew she had seen it too. She began again to complain of her stomach and her head.
“I feel sick. I want a glass of water.”
“We haven’t any.”
“There’s a light up ahead. Perhaps it is a store. You could buy some aspirin for my head and get some water.”
“It would be dangerous to stop.”
“I tell you, I can’t go on. I feel so sick, I feel like dying.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Oh, you are a monster, a fiend...” The rest of the epithets were lost in a series of deep, dry retches.
He said, “Stop play acting.”
She kept on retching, her body bent double, her hands against her mouth.
The glow between the trees became a neon sign identifying a group of log cabins and a dilapidated coffee shop at the Twin Trees Lodge, reas. rates, vacancy.
Rupert pulled off the road and braked the car. Most of the cabins were dark but lights were on in the coffee shop and a man was sitting behind the counter reading a paperback book. Either he hadn’t heard the car or he was at an interesting part of the book, because he didn’t look up.
In the back seat the little dog began to yelp with excitement at the forest smells and the sound of a creek running behind the cabins. Rupert told the dog to be quiet and the woman to get out of the car. Neither of them obeyed.
“You wanted to stop,” he said. “All right, we stopped. Now hurry up and buy a cup of coffee or whatever you want, and we’ll be on our way.”
He reached across her and opened the door and she half fell out of the car, at the same time making a sudden grab for her purse. The quick, cool gesture was a tip-off that her retching hadn’t been genuine. It was part of an act, though he still didn’t understand its purpose. For nearly a month now she had been acting a role, speaking lines not her own, in a voice and idiom not her own. She seemed almost to have forgotten who and what she was. On only one occasion had she stepped out of the role back into herself and that was when she stood in the kitchen talking to O’Donnell. “I’m going away” O’Donnell had said. “No hard feelings, eh? Don’t worry, I won’t talk, I don’t want trouble. Just give me the money to get home again...”
Money. The key word. He watched her as she crossed the parking lot to the coffee shop clutching her purse to her breast like a little golden monster of a baby.
He waited until she sat down at the counter before he got out of the car and closed the door as quietly as possible behind him. South of the coffee shop were the rest rooms and a public telephone booth. He headed for the booth, taking the long way around to stay out of the light of the neon sign. He knew that if he had been the one who had insisted on stopping she would have been suspicious and not let him out of her sight or hearing. As it was, she had forced the issue and so she was suspicious of nothing. She sat drinking her coffee and munching a doughnut, with the purse on the counter in front of her, where she could see it and touch it at all times.