Area of Suspicion (31 page)

She held her chin up and half-closed her eyes in a way that clearly indicated her desire to be kissed. She released my wrists and gave me a look of quick annoyance and moved away from me.

“Will you make martinis?” she asked.

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I’ve got a date.”

“Break it.”

“Can’t. Sorry.”

She tilted her head. “I
must
say, you’re looking and acting very, very strange, Gevan.”

“I feel strange.”

“With me? Or is it that you’re worried about the job and all?”

“It’s you, Niki. I don’t know how I should react to you.”

“I thought I made that clear. And not in a ladylike way, either.” Her smile was lascivious. I felt utterly no response to her hints, to her warmth and ripeness. Joan was too much with me.

“I came to say good-by, Niki.”

She snorted. “I’m not going anywhere, and after that vote today, it doesn’t look as though you are.”

“You’re leaving. Not as Niki Webb, or Niki Dean. As Mary Gerrity.”

She was facing me and for a long time her features were absolutely immobile, frozen in a look of habitual, delicate lust. Her features smoothed into a puzzled smile.

“Am I supposed to understand that? Is it supposed to mean something to me?”

“That isn’t any good, Niki. You know it and I know it. So let’s drop it. Before they take you, I’d like to know why. I planned to enjoy this, to enjoy taking your mask off, but I don’t. I just feel—very, very tired.”

“Have you gone mad?”

“Please don’t, Niki. It’s over. They know all about it. All about Dolson and LeFay and Mottling and Fitch and the rest of it. They’ve fixed the D4D’s that were gimmicked. LeFay
and Fitch are in custody. Tancey told me a half-hour ago they’ve picked up two more, the two who with LeFay tried to dump us in the river. They know Ken and the Brady girl were murdered and why. So it’s over.”

She walked slowly to one of the couches and sat down, her hands slack on her thighs. “You did it,” she said.

“Some of it.”

“I said I could handle you. I should have remembered from before—you’re the only person who has ever made me fell uncertain of myself, insecure. Maybe it’s because I was closer to being in love with you than with anybody else.”

“But never in love with anybody, ever.”

“No, Gevan. Never.”

“How did you get on—your side of the fence?”

“You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”

Tancey came in, almost apologetically. He had two men with him and a husky police matron. “You’ll want to pack something, Miss Gerrity.”

Niki-Mary got up obediently. She gave me a long, opaque, unreadable look, and turned away from me. The matron went with her. She did not speak. I knew I would not see her again unless I saw her while testifying.

I walked to the windows. Tancey, behind me, said, “You’re lucky, Mr. Dean.”

“I suppose so.”

“Look here. This is what I mean.” I turned. He showed me a small chromed automatic. He said, “This was down between the cushions where she was sitting. I can’t understand why she didn’t use it on you. It would have helped ease the defeat. It would have made sense to use it—from their point of view.”

I thought I knew why she hadn’t. But I couldn’t be sure. I could never be sure, because even if I asked her, I knew she could give me no clear reason. I walked out, thinking of what might have been. No victory is absolute. The victor always loses something.

I knew I would be late picking up Joan, but I drove back to the plant and parked, with the motor turned off. The last
of the sun made flame in the windows. I listened to the deep voice of the production areas, listened to the shrillness as metal was peeled back from high-speed cutting edges.

After the sound and the look of the place had filled me and strengthened me and brought me back from the edge of gloom, I turned the car around and headed for Joan’s house.

As I got out of the car Joan came hurrying down the steps. Some of her bandaging was gone and the rest was concealed under an absurd hat. She said, “They wanted you to come in and so on and be social, but that can come later.”

It was good to see her and be with her. I got behind the wheel. I kissed her. We drove downtown.

“A genuine date,” she said.

“For real.”

“You’re gloomy, Gevan. It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Bad?”

“With her, I mean. With Niki.”

“How did you know I went out there?”

“I just know. It’s all right. I know you had to. I’m glad you did.”

“It wasn’t the same, looking at her, after you.”

“I know that too.”

I laughed. “My God, you’re smug.”

“Of course. And now take me to the Copper Lounge and buy me something strong.”

The late editions were out. My picture was on the front page. So was Lester’s. Joan said they were crummy pictures of both of us. We went to the Copper Lounge. All gloom was gone. I was with my girl. We took a table for two and Hildy Devereaux did her last cocktail turn and Joan told me she thought Hildy was lovely, but I better not voice the same opinion or both my eyes would soon match perfectly. She suggested I wear dark glasses in the office because there was nothing dignified about a president with a black eye.

Hildy came over to the table and I got up and introduced them and the waiter brought an extra chair.

Hildy admired my eye. Then she saddened and said,
“That poor slob of a colonel, Gevan. That depressed me. And it nearly ruptured Joe, having it happen in the hotel. But, as usual, they kept the name of the hotel out of the paper.”

The two girls talked politely. They kept their nails sheathed, but I had the feeling they were on guard. Finally Hildy stopped talking and stared at Joan and then at me.

“My God,” she said, “I’m getting dense. You look like a couple of Halloween pumpkins.”

“Does it show that much?” Joan asked.

“That much, Miss Perrit.” Hildy sighed. “I was going to take a hack at him myself.”

“Too late,” Perry said sweetly.

“Seems to be.” Hildy grinned. “All a girl has to do is turn her back and some sneaky character moves in.”

“Oh, I’ve been working on this for four years,” Perry said.

They kept talking. I stopped listening. Hildy’s choice of phrase, “sneaky character,” had triggered something in my memory. I went back over my talks with Hildy and I remembered.

I interrupted them. “Hildy, the Colonel is dead now. You said something about some little man who wouldn’t want the Colonel to do any sounding off while drunk. I asked you about him and you hedged the question. What little man was that?”

She frowned and looked uncertain. “Well—I guess I can tell you now. The Colonel told me to keep it to myself. It was an FBI man. He’d come in once in a while and drink alone. I noticed that the Colonel would stand next to him at the bar, and one time I saw him slip the Colonel something. So the next time Dolson started bothering me, I asked him what was going on. He got upset and said I shouldn’t mention it to anybody, ever. He said it was an FBI man and he had to give him secret information.”

“What did the man look like?”

“One of those dark quiet little guys you never pay any attention to. The next time I saw him I took a better look at
him. One of his ears was funny. I can’t remember which one. The right one, I think. The lobe was gone.”

“Did you swallow that, about him being an FBI man?”

“It seemed sort of funny to me at first. I thought Curt Dolson was trying to be a big shot or something, but later I found out that he was telling me the truth.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “Oh, it was one of those things. I got hungry after everything was closed. Three o’clock one morning, it was. Joe took me to an out-of-the-way place down the valley where they have good hamburgers. I saw the FBI man with that Mr. Mottling from your company. They were in a booth. It had high sides. I went to the girls’ room so I could walk by them to make sure.”

“Did Joe see them too?”

“I guess he did. But I didn’t talk about it. Not after what Curt said to me. You know. Secret stuff. I guess he was reporting to Mottling. I recognized Mottling because he used to come in now and then and have a drink with the Colonel after they started getting along well.”

I excused myself and said I would be right back. It took fifteen minutes to locate Tancey. I asked him if LeFay had anything wrong with his ear.

“Yes. The lower lobe of the right ear is missing. Why? That’s a funny thing for you to know.”

“Have you picked up Mottling?”

“He’s out. I’ve got two men staked out at the Atheltic Club waiting for him to come back. They’ll phone me when he comes in.”

“I think you can pick him up, officially.”

There was a long pause. “One witness?”

“One definite and one probable.”

“Can you get them over here?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be here at the house.”

“Can I send them over instead of coming along myself?”

“Don’t you want to sit in on it?”

“Not tonight, Mr. Tancey. I’ve got other plans.”

There was another pause. “She’s a very pleasant girl. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tancey.”

I hung up. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to make anything stick. But Mottling’s effectiveness was over.

I went back to the lounge. From the doorway I saw my girl. I kept my eyes on her as I walked between the tables. She looked very good. Her smile was for me. I liked the way she sat. I liked the meaning she gave everything. I thought of her, and the work ahead, and how everything would be, and how the end of the day would be the best part. I walked faster. I put my hand on her shoulder. It was good to touch her. She seemed to lean against my touch. I sat down and faced Joan and for a moment I couldn’t decide what I should tell her first.

About the Author

John D. MacDonald was an American novelist and short story writer. His works include the Travis McGee series and the novel
The Executioners
, which was adapted into the film
Cape Fear
. In 1962 MacDonald was named a Grand Master of the Mystery Writers of America; in 1980 he won a National Book Award. In print he delighted in smashing the bad guys, deflating the pompous, and exposing the venal. In life he was a truly empathetic man; his friends, family, and colleagues found him to be loyal, generous, and practical. In business he was fastidiously ethical. About being a writer, he once expressed with gleeful astonishment, “They pay me to do this! They don’t realize, I would pay them.” He spent the later part of his life in Florida with his wife and son. He died in 1986.