We kept pace with it by trotting to the county road.
Not until it got to the clearing between driveway and road did I see the taillight. It was raw yellow, two small naked bulbs. No red plastic covering.
I don’t think the driver saw us. All of a sudden the car fishtailed through the gravel and shot onto the county road. It was doing 30 by then and 50 by the time it disappeared behind the trees.
“You get the license number?”
“I did.” She gave it to me.
“Illinois.”
“Yeah. Good work.”
“Thanks. Now what?”
“Need to check out the number.”
“And how do we do that?”
“I noticed you said we.”
She laughed. “I thought I was being sneaky.”
Then: “I want to help you on this, McCain.
Susan was my friend.”
“I’ll call my buddy when we get back to my place.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“If it’s all right with you.”
“It’s fine by me.”
We were silent on the drive back, listening to the Saturday Night Top Ten countdown on the radio. I think we both knew it was going to happen tonight. Though I still felt as if I were taking advantage of her, I decided she was right. I wasn’t coercing her in any way. She knew I was in love with Pamela. I’d been honest with her, and that’s all I could do. She sat very close to me and it felt good, felt right somehow. I was relaxed with her in a way I could never be with Pamela.
The lights were off downstairs. Mrs.
Goldman was still out on her date. I would get a full report later. I’d become her father in all this. From now on I’d be shaking hands and approving her dates before I let her go out with them. Or was that being too strict in this modern age?
We went upstairs. I got the lights on and the heat turned up. Frost was on the grass.
She used the bathroom first. Did some more fixing up. Was lovelier than ever.
The buddy I’d referred to was a Chicago police commander who’d picked up his law degree at Iowa. He spent three years working for a Chicago law firm and found himself bored. He became a cop. We kept in vague touch.
I’d never asked him for a favor before. He was married with two kids. I assumed he’d be home. Most married couples don’t go out much, even on Saturday nights.
While I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and slapping on more Old Spice, the phone rang.
Mary answered it and started talking. Asking questions. I couldn’t get a lot of the exact words but I sure got the exact tone. Urgent. Scared.
She knocked on the door. “McCain?”
I opened the door. “What’s up?”
“That was my mom. My dad’s taken a turn for the worse. I really need to get home.”
“Sure. Are they taking him to the hospital?”
“The doctor’s coming to the house.”
Even at night the houses in the Knoll look pretty rough. The Travers house was one of the best kept, thanks to Mary.
As I pulled up to the drive, I said, “I’ll say prayers for him.”
She looked surprised. “You still say prayers?”
“Sure.”
“You still go to mass?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s that mean?”
I shrugged. “Rarely.”
She smiled sadly. “That’s what I figured.” She looked anxiously at the lighted living room window. “I need to get in there.”
“I know.”
She turned back to me. Lovely.
Terrified of what might be going on with her father.
“I would’ve done it tonight, McCain.”
“Me too.”
“I want it to happen.” She leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
The drive back home was kind of melancholy. The suddenly cold weather gave all the houses an air of being battened down.
Snug and cozy. Leaves tore from branches in the wind and crawled like small colorful monsters across the grass and street. Spindly Tv antennas swayed dangerously.
I parked in back and went up the private entrance stairs to my apartment. The door wasn’t open more than an inch before something told me somebody was in there: the scent of expensive pipe tobacco.
I stood in the doorway.
“Don’t turn on the light,” he said.
“I don’t usually take orders from burglars.”
He sighed. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t turn on the light.”
“And why would that be?”
“I don’t want Cliffie to know I’m here.”
“You call him Cliffie too?”
“Yeah. Behind his back I do.”
I went in. Kitchenette, as it’s called, bathroom, and bedroom on the right. The rest of the apartment is living room. He sat in the overstuffed chair across the room. I banged my knee on the coffee table.
“One good thing,” he said, “you don’t have to worry about hurting this furniture. It’s been hurt all it can be.”
“Part-time lawyer, part-time interior decorator. What an odd combination of jobs,”
I said.
“How do you know who I am?”
I took my coat off and draped it across the rocking chair I’d inherited from Grandfather.
“Number one, there aren’t that many major assholes in town. And, two, I recognized your voice from court.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“No,” I said, lighting a Lucky in the gloom. “What you’re supposed to be is afraid I may call Cliffie and have him book you for B and E.”
“I came to talk.”
“In the dark.”
“Yes. In the dark. Cliffie would never understand.”
I took a drag of my Lucky. “You want a beer?”
“I’m not much of a beer drinker. I work with my brains, not my hands.”
“Good. That just means more for me.”
When I opened the refrigerator door, the interior light shone on him. He was a dashing devil, David Squires, quite the country gentleman in his British tweeds and London riding boots. His expensive pipe tobacco smelled good.
“Please close that door. I told you I don’t want Cliffie to know I’m here.”
I closed the door. “Where’d you park?”
“Several blocks away. I took the alleys over here.” I sat down and tapped the top of the Falstaff can with the church key. The beer opened with a whoosh, spattering foam on my hand.
“You that scared of him?”
“He and his father run this town. I know you and the Judge think she still has some power. But she doesn’t. Not the kind of power the Sykeses have, anyway.”
“You came over here for what reason?”
“To hire you.”
“Hire me? What the hell’re you talking about?”
“I want you to find out who killed my wife.”
“Cliffie’s the law in this town.”
“Cliffie’s an idiot.”
“That’s not a very nice thing for his lawyer to say.”
“Look, you prick, my wife’s been murdered and I want to find out who killed her.
Do you think it was easy for me to come here?”
“I suppose not.”
“Then knock off the smart talk.”
I sighed. “The Judge’ll never go for this.”
“These are extraordinary circumstances.”
“So were all the times you gave your opinion of her in the newspaper.”
There’d been a couple of articles in the past few years about juris prudens
Black River Falls style. As the former District Attorney and now the town’s most prominent attorney, Squires had had a good deal to say about “incompetent judges.” He didn’t name names. He didn’t have to.
Everybody knew he meant Judge Whitney.
“Maybe you killed her, Squires.”
“Maybe I did. If you’re half as good as you seem to be, you’ll find that out and they’ll hang me.”
“There’re a lot of other private investigators in the state. Good ones.”
“None who know the town the way you do. You know Chalmers, too.”
“Chalmers?” He was the ex-con I’d seen at the dance tonight. “What’s he got to do with anything?”