“I think he’s gonna arrest me.”
“Cliffie?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t kill her?”
“Hell, no, I didn’t.”
“Squires said you were bugging them.”
“I was. It was stupid but I did it.
Two-three times I parked out by his house and just sat there.”
“Why?”
“Because the sonofabitch sent me up without givin’ my public defender information that woulda cleared me.”
“You couldn’t appeal?”
“He destroyed the evidence.”
A familiar story among ex-cons. Not only had they been framed, they’d been framed by a Da with an inexplicable hatred for them.
“Why would he do that?”
“I knocked up his sister.”
“What?”
“Back in high school. Before your time.
Forty-two. Me ‘n’ Helen used to sneak off.
Her folks hated me. I got her pregnant.
They tried to run me out of town but they couldn’t.
Soon as he got to be Da, he came after me. He waited till he had a good chance to get me. I wasn’t in on that armed robbery. I’d been trying to stay out of trouble. I’d been in a lot of little scrapes but nothing big. A friend of mine stuck up a gas station one night and got caught. Squires made him a deal. He wouldn’t serve much time if he swore I was driving the car. He served two years; I served nearly eight.”
“You can prove this?”
“My friend died in the can. Somebody cut his throat.”
I believed him. There were all sorts of reasons not to-y’d naturally resent the man who put you away for eight years-but the simple way he told it seemed authentic. No anger, no bitterness.
I also had another thought. Maybe Squires had hired me just so I’d keep him apprised of everything I learned. Cliffie would bumble around for weeks and not find the right man. But Squires might have figured I might uncover something.
He’d want to know everything if he was going to frame Chalmers. It was the only rational reason Squires would ever have come to me for help.
Nothing else made sense.
“What happened to Helen?”
“Married a doctor. Lives in downstate Illinois.”
“What happened to the baby?”
“Abortion. Her old man knew a doc in La.” He took a deep drag on the cigarette. “Funny. Couple of times she sent me a postcard in the can. On the date she had the baby cut out of her. Said she still thought about me sometimes. And the kid. She’s a nice gal.
Nothing like the rest of her family.”
“You think Squires knew about the cards she sent?”
“Probably not.”
“So he just wants to frame you for old times’ sake?”
“I smacked him around pretty hard one day.”
“When was this?”
“His office. When he was questioning me about the stickup. I lost my temper and went for him.
Took a couple of guys to pull me off him.”
Humiliation was something a man like Squires would never forget.
“What happens to Ellie if Cliffie arrests you?”
He shook his head. Looked up at the clear, starry night. In the distance you could hear the high school marching band practicing for homecoming weekend.
“That’s what I’m scared of.”
“You want a lawyer, right?”
“Right.”
“You’ve got one. Cliffie makes a move on you, call me.” I dug out one of the cards I always carry. “Day or night.”
“I’ll do my best to pay you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Squires was using me and I resented it. Paying him back would be pay aplenty.
“I still have dreams about Helen.”
“Apparently she still has dreams about you too.”
“Two people who should be together, and somehow it never happens.”
I tried not to think of the beautiful Pamela.
Especially with Mary missing.
“Call me if you need me.”
“I really appreciate this, McCain.”
Upstairs, I phoned Squires at home.
No answer. I tried his office. No answer.
Then I decided to give Judge Whitney the satisfaction of telling her she was right.
Brahms was loud in the background when her man Andrew picked up. He has an accent. Some think it’s British. Some think it’s German.
I think it’s strictly Warner Brothers.
He’s from St. Louis, for God’s sake.
She said, in her brandied evening voice, “I hope you’re working hard.”
“Very hard.”
“Good. Then I can enjoy my loafing.”
“I just called to say you were right about Squires.”
I brought her up to date.
“Looks to me as if he wanted to learn everything a competent cop would find out about the murder. He didn’t want anything to get in the way of his framing Chalmers.”
“You don’t have any doubts about Chalmers’s story?”
“Not really.”
“Now don’t take offense, McCain, but I know how you people from the Knolls stick together.”
“Not any more than you country-club people do.”
“I don’t know what you’ve got against country clubs. It’s a good thing I know you like money.
Otherwise I might start suspecting you were a Red.”
“I think he’s telling the truth.”
“Once Cliffie arrests him, you may have a hard time convincing anybody about Squires’s part in all this.” A pause. I could hear her sipping, then taking a deep drag on her Gauloise.
“Have you considered the possibility that Squires is more than an opportunist?” I asked.
“Meaning what?”
“Well, one way we could look at this is that he’s simply taking advantage of a situation he didn’t have anything to do with. Somebody murdered his wife; on the spur of the moment, Squires decides to frame your friend Chalmers.”
“On the other hand-”
“On the other hand, of course, Squires is behind the whole thing. He killed his wife and had Chalmers all ready to go as chief suspect.”
“That’s how you see it?”
“Maybe he was tired of Susan. Maybe she wouldn’t let him out of the marriage-or threatened a scandal if she left him. He’d beaten her up pretty badly several times. A guy with political ambitions sure wouldn’t want that kind of thing out and about.”
“But Squires seems so unlikely-”
“Now you’re going country-club on me. Just because he gets a manicure doesn’t mean he’s not a killer.”
“By the way, I noticed that Lenny Bernstein doesn’t have manicured nails. Isn’t that strange?”
“V. Isn’t that the eleventh commandment: Thou shalt have manicured nails?”
“On the other hand, he’s most courtly and devastatingly handsome.”
“How nice for the two of you. Can we get back to the murder now?”
“I thought you just might be interested when somebody of Lenny’s stature pays a visit to this cow pie of a state.”
“Why don’t you share that metaphor with the Chamber of Commerce? I’m sure they’d love it.”
Another gulp of brandy. “So, before you get any more tiresome, McCain, what do you propose to do next?”
“I propose to find Mary.”
I told her about Mary’s strange absence.
“She’s a beautiful and intelligent girl.
I’m sure she’s fine.”
God only knew what that meant, but it was getting late and the brandy was flowing freely.
“I’m going to try and find Squires too.”
“Why?”
“So I can resign. I don’t want to be part of his charade anymore.”
“That seems like a sensible idea. Good night, McCain. Just as long as we catch the real murderer before Cliffie does, that’s all that matters.”
I started to say good night but she’d already hung up.
Twelve
The next two days were frantic. There was no word about Mary. And I kept calling the Illinois number about the ‘ee Chevy. No answer.
One of Cliffie’s third cousins had run into a manure wagon and had twice failed to appear for his scheduled court appearance before Judge Whitney. She found this intolerable. I spent most of the following forty-eight hours hunting down Bud “Pug” Sykes. He worked as a county assessor and had long displayed an affection for the bottle. I’m sure he was hiding out. This was between Cliffie and the Judge. Pug was incidental.