“You expected it?”
“Not consciously. I didn’t really expect it, but once I heard, it all seemed to fit. In some way or other, I guess I knew he was trying to tell me he was going to die, trying to tie off the ends before he did it. But I don’t know why he did it. And then I heard that you were there when he did it, and I remembered his asking me about you, if I knew you, and I wondered how you fit into it all. I thought maybe there was some problem in his life and you were investigating it for him, because the policeman said you were a detective, and I wondered… I just don’t understand what it was all about.”
“I can’t imagine why he mentioned my name.”
“You really weren’t working for him?”
“No, and I hadn’t had very much contact with him, it was just a superficial matter of confirming another man’s references.”
“Then it doesn’t make sense.”
I considered. “We did talk for a while last week,” I said. “I suppose it’s possible something I said seemed to have a special impact on his thinking. I can’t imagine what it might have been, but we had one of those rambling conversations, and he might have picked up on something without my noticing it.”
“I suppose that would have to be the explanation.”
“I can’t conceive of anything else.”
“And then, whatever it was, it stayed on his mind. So he brought up your name because he couldn’t bring himself to mention what it was that you said, or what it meant to him. And then when his secretary said you were there it must have sort of triggered things in his mind. Triggered. That’s an interesting choice of word, isn’t it?”
It had triggered things, the girl’s announcing my presence. There was no question about it.
“I can’t make anything out of the silver dollar. Unless it’s the song. ‘You can spin a silver dollar on a barroom floor and it’ll roll because it’s round.’ What’s the next line? Something about a woman never knows what a good man she has until she loses him, something like that. Maybe he meant he was losing everything now, I don’t know. I guess his mind, I guess it wasn’t terribly clear at the end.”
“He must have been under a strain.”
“I guess so.” She looked away for a moment. “Did he ever say anything to you about me?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
I pretended to concentrate, then said I was sure.
“I just hope he realized that everything’s all right with me now. That’s all. If he had to die, if he thought he had to die, I at least hope he knew I’m okay.”
“I’m sure he did.”
She’d been going through a lot since they called her and told her. Longer than that: since that dinner at the Chinese place. And she was going through plenty now. But she wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t a crier. She was a strong one. If he’d had half her strength, he wouldn’t have had to kill himself. He would have told Spinner to go screw himself in the first place, and he wouldn’t have paid blackmail money, wouldn’t have killed once, wouldn’t have had to try to kill a second time. She was stronger than he had been. I don’t know how much pride you can take in that kind of strength. You either have it or you don’t.
I said, “So that was the last time you saw him. At the Chinese restaurant.”
“Well, he walked me back to my apartment. Then he drove home.”
“What time was that? That he left your place.”
“I don’t know. Probably around ten or ten thirty, maybe a little later. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “No reason. Call it habit. I was a cop for a lot of years. When a cop runs out of things to say, he finds himself asking questions. It hardly matters what the questions are.”
“That’s interesting. A kind of a learned reflex.”
“I suppose that’s the term for it.”
She drew a breath. “Well,” she said. “I want to thank you for meeting with me. I wasted your time—”
“I have plenty of time. I don’t mind wasting some of it now and then.”
“I just wanted to learn whatever I could about… about him. I thought there might be something, that he would have had some last message for me. A note, or a letter he might have mailed. I guess it’s part of not really believing he’s dead, that I can’t believe I’ll never hear from him one way or the other. I thought — well, thank you, anyway.”
I didn’t want her to thank me. She had no reason on earth to thank me.
An hour or so later, I reached Beverly Ethridge. I told her I had to see her.
“I thought I had until Tuesday. Remember?”
“I want to see you tonight.”
“Tonight’s impossible. And I don’t have the money yet, and you agreed to give me a week.”
“It’s something else.”
“What?”
“Not over the phone.”
“Jesus,” she said. “Tonight is absolutely impossible, Matt. I have an engagement.”
“I thought Kermit was out playing golf.”
“That doesn’t mean I sit home alone.”
“I can believe that.”
“You really are a bastard, aren’t you? I was invited to a party. A perfectly respectable party, the kind where you keep your clothes on. I could meet you tomorrow if it’s absolutely necessary.”
“It is.”
“Where and when?”
“How about Polly’s? Say around eight o’clock.”
“Polly’s Cage. It’s a little tacky, isn’t it?”
“A little,” I agreed.
“And so am I, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, you’re always the perfect gentleman. Eight o’clock at Polly’s. I’ll be there.”
I could have told her to relax, that the ball game was over, instead of letting her spend another day under pressure. But I figured she could handle the pressure. And I wanted to see her face when I let her off the hook. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the particular kind of spark we struck off each other, but I wanted to be there when she found out that she was home free.
Huysendahl and I didn’t strike those sparks. I tried him at his office and couldn’t reach him, and on a hunch I tried him at home. He wasn’t there, but I managed to talk to his wife. I left a message that I would be at his office at two the next afternoon and that I would call again in the morning to confirm the appointment.
“And one other thing,” I said. “Please tell him that he has absolutely nothing to worry about. Tell him everything’s all right now and everything will work out fine.”
“And he’ll know what that means?”
“He’ll know,” I said.
I napped for a while, had a late bite at the French place down the block, then went back to my room and read for a while. I came very close to making an early night of it, but around eleven my room started to feel a little bit more like a monastic cell than it generally does. I’d been reading The Lives of the Saints, which may have had something to do with it.
Outside it was trying to make up its mind to rain. The jury was still out. I went around the corner to Armstrong’s. Trina gave me a smile and brought me a drink.
I was only there for an hour or so. I did quite a bit of thinking about Stacy Prager, and even more about her father. I liked myself a little less now that I’d met the girl. On the other hand, I had to agree with what Trina had suggested the night before. He had indeed had the right to pick that way out of his trouble, and now at least his daughter was spared the knowledge that her father had killed a man. The fact of his death was horrible, but I could not easily construct a scenario which would have worked out better.
When I asked for the check Trina brought it over and perched on the edge of my table while I counted out bills. “You’re looking a little cheerier,” she said.