In a Lonely Place (14 page)

It didn’t occur to Dix to wonder why Brub was tired. Not until he and Laurel had ridden in the silence of her weariness almost to the apartment. He’d been thinking of Laurel, watching her as she rested there in the corner of the seat, her eyes closed, her lips parted as if she slept. He’d been thinking of her beauty and her fire, and tonight, her lack of fire. Thinking without thoughts, conscious of her and of the fact that this many mist-dulled streets must be covered before he could put the car at the curb, until he and Laurel could be alone.

He didn’t consciously bring Brub to memory. It was one of those minnows of thought, darting through the unruffled pond of his thinking. But why should Brub be beaten? The case was closed, insofar as work activity was concerned. In the files of unfinished business there was an entry; girl murdered, murderer unknown. There were plenty of like entries, another wouldn’t mean that a young fellow playing cop should have all the high spirits knocked out of him. Plenty of reasons why Brub could have been tired, he could have thrown one the night before, he could have sat up reading all night; he and Sylvia could have continued their dissension, if there had been one, far into the dawn. Or they could have pitied Dix far into the dawn. Because of Brucie.

And that had been only last night, the revelation of Brucie’s death. Dix should have been the one holding his head in his hands. But he knew how to get away from trouble, from grief and from fear. He knew better than to indwell with it. He was smart.

He said aloud, “I don’t know why everyone should be so tuckered tonight, I’m not.”

She wasn’t asleep. She didn’t open her eyes but she said. “Why should you be? You slept all day.”

It wasn’t much further home. And he waited to answer, waited until they could be alone. It wasn’t worth while to whittle off little edges of disagreement; you must get at the roots. As soon as he found out what was in back of her hostility, he would uproot it. They’d have it out tonight, before she slept.

He said, “We’re here.”

He held the door and she slid under the wheel to get out of the car. She might have slept on the way home, her eyes were half-closed yet. She walked ahead of him under the arch into the blue-lighted patio, dulled in tonight’s mist. She must have been half-asleep for she didn’t turn to Mel’s apartment, she was starting back to the steps when he caught her arm, asking softly, “Where you going, Baby?” He turned her, holding her arm, “You’re walking in your sleep.”

She stood there quietly while he opened the door, but she waited to enter, waited until he touched her again and explained, “We’re home, honey. Wake up.”

He had left the lamp burning in the living room. He shut out the blue mist and turned to the welcome of the light. It was good to be home. With her. “Go get undressed and I’ll fix you a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink,” she said. A little shiver twisted her shoulders.

“Something hot,” he said. “Milk? Coffee?”

“Coffee,” she said. “I’d like coffee. Hot, black coffee.”

“Coming up!” He filled the electric percolator in the kitchen, he’d make it in the bedroom. With her. He fixed the tray and hurried back to her.

She hadn’t started to undress. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, just sitting there looking into the monotone of the rug.

He plugged in the percolator. “Be ready in a minute. Why don’t you get undressed while it’s perking? I’ll serve you in bed, solid comfort.”

She didn’t make any move, not even to take off her coat. She just looked up at him. Not saying anything, not even with her eyes. Not even hostility now in her eyes.

He came over to her and he sat down beside her on the bed. “Look,” he said gently. “Get it off your chest. What’s bothering you?”

She shook her head and her hair fell across her cheek. As if mist were bright as sun. it obscured her face.

“It isn’t fair not to tell me. Laurel,” he continued. “You don’t give me a chance. How can I explain if you don’t let me know what’s the trouble?”

Her sigh was audible. She started to say, “What’s the good—” but he stopped her, turning her to face him.

“You’re the most important thing in the world to me, Laurel. No matter what it is, I want to get it right with you.” He didn’t mean to say much, he meant to keep it light, but he couldn’t when he had touched her, when he was looking into her face. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, Laurel. I couldn’t take it.”

She studied his face while she released her shoulders gently from his hands. She could see in him truth of what he had said. Her voice was very tired. “All right, Dix,” she said. “Let’s talk about it. Let’s start at the beginning. Where were you last night?”

That was easy. “But I told you. At Nicolai’s.”

“Where were you after you left Nicolai’s?”

She’d been checking up on him. He got up from the bed and began to walk the room. She was Laurel, but she was a woman and she was snooping on him. His laugh was short. “So you didn’t believe me. You checked with Brub. “That’s what you two were talking about.”

“That was part of it,” she admitted.

“What did Brub tell you?”

“You needn’t get annoyed. I didn’t ask him outright. I simply found out you’d been there early and left early.”

“You didn’t believe me,” he accused.

“I didn’t believe you’d come from Nicolai’s at four in the morning in the shape you were in,” she said flatly. The coffee was beginning to bubble. It was a small sound, a bubble forming, breaking, a small, annoying sound. He shut it out of his ears. He wouldn’t let it start roaring. He didn’t have to listen to sounds any longer; he had Laurel. He had her voice and her presence to shut away sound. He could explain to her and he didn’t mind explaining. He didn’t mind anything that would keep Laurel near to him.

“How much did Brub tell you?” he asked. “Did he tell you the news he gave me last night?” If Brub had, she wouldn’t be asking these questions. She’d be avoiding the subject as did Brub and Sylvia. He was pleased that Brub had kept silent; it was better that he tell Laurel himself; it was another tie to her. “No, I didn’t come right home from Nicolai’s. I couldn’t. You see Brub had just told me that Brucie was dead.”

Her eyes widened. With a kind of terror of disbelief.

“I couldn’t see anyone. I was too shocked. I drove. Just drove. I don’t know where, up the beach, I guess. I remember hearing the water.” The shush of the water, the hush of a girl’s voice. His own voice was uneven. “That’s why I came home—the way I did.”

She said, “No.” In disbelief. In pity. And then she said, “Brucie must have meant a lot to you.”

“She did.”

“More than anyone.”

He came to her swiftly, knelt before her, taking her hands. “That was true until I met you, Laurel. But there’s never been anyone like you. Not ever.” His hands tightened over hers. “Marry me. Laurel. Will you? We’re meant for each other, you know it. You knew it the first time we looked at each other just the way I knew it. Will you, Laurel?”

She had released her hands. And the weariness on her face wasn’t because she was tired, it was because she was sad. She shook her head. “It’s no good, Dix. If I married you, I wouldn’t have a dime.”

“But I—” He didn’t get a chance to build a dream.

She looked at him out of seeing eyes. “You don’t have a dime either, Dix. Don’t bother to lie. I know you. Yes, I knew you the first time I looked at you just like you knew me. Because we’re just alike. We’re out to get it, and we don’t care how we get it.”

He had left her, he was walking around again, listening to what she had to say, hating what she knew, hating that there wasn’t truth with which to demolish it. Because he couldn’t lie to her now. She knew too much.

“I thought I could get it marrying St. Andrews. All the money in the world and a position where I could look down my nose at the small-town big shots that looked down their noses at me when I was a kid. I didn’t know how hard it was. I couldn’t take it. The St. Andrews weren’t a bit different from the Buckmeisters back in Nebraska, they just had more money and bigger noses. So I got out. But I’m still going after what I want. And I’ll get it. I’ll get it on their money, and don’t think that doesn’t burn them. And when I get there I’ll be up so high I won’t even know they’re down there under my nose.” There was an excitement in her as well as hate. She was getting there. That was all the business she’d been attending to while he slept; she knew she was getting there. When she did, she’d carry him along. But he couldn’t risk waiting; when she did, there might be someone else. He walked around trying to figure what he could do. If he had Uncle Fergus’ money, he could have her right now. They’d go to the top together. If there were some way to get the money that was his, that was going to be his. He heard her voice again.

“—I don’t know how you got rid of Mel so you could take over here. I don’t even care. But I know you’re living on borrowed time. I know Mel will come back from wherever he is—”

“He’s in Rio.”

”Rio or taking the cure again, I don’t know.”

“He’s in Rio,” he insisted.

“Maybe he finally went. He’d been talking Rio ever since I met him three years ago, and before that. The big job he was going to take over in Rio. Next week. Next month. Maybe you got him to take it, I don’t know. Anyway you fell into the apartment and the clothes he didn’t want and his car. How you wangled it, I don’t know; he wouldn’t give his best friend the cork out of a bottle. But he’s going to come back and take them all again and then what are you going to do? Move in on somebody else? You can’t carry a wife with you living that way. Get a job? You don’t want a job. And you couldn’t get one that would pay enough to keep me in war paint. I’m expensive, Dix.”

He was choked up. “My uncle—”

“What uncle?”

“My uncle, back in Princeton. You’re wrong about that, I’ve got an uncle and he’s got the chips.”

“You haven’t got them,” she said cruelly. “Don’t try to tell me he’s cutting you in. I know guys in the chips. They don’t keep a girl cooped up in an apartment, they’re out spending.”

In the silence, the roar of the coffee percolator blurred his ears. He saw her as she walked over to the table, he was grateful when she shut out the sound. She drew two cups, handed one to him.

“Let’s face it, Dix. It’s been swell but—”

Panic made his voice too loud. “You’re not calling quits?”

She spoke quickly, stammering a little. “No, no. I didn’t mean that. But it can’t be for keeps, Dix. You know that as well as I. I’m not saying that if you had half the money that stinker of an ex had, I wouldn’t marry you. Want to marry you.” She finished her coffee and drew another cup.

Automatically, he said, “Don’t drink too much of that. You won’t be able to sleep.”

”I don’t expect to sleep very well.” There was sadness in her voice again.

She moved to the dressing-table bench as he went to the end table. He put sugar and cream in his coffee. He stirred it, the spoon whorled the liquid, churned it as a storm churned the sea. He put away the spoon and he drank some of the coffee. He said, “You’re not telling me everything, Laurel. You’re keeping something back. You’re through with me.”

“No, no, I’m not,” she protested quickly. He ought to tell her to stop saying that—
no, no, no.

She went on haltingly, “There’s only one thing. If I land what I’m after, it’ll mean leaving town.”

He waited until he could speak quietly. “What kind of a job is it?”

“It’s a show. Musical. They’re casting it here on the coast. I’ve got a good chance.” Life returned to her eyes. “It means Broadway—after that, the pictures. Starring, not a peasant in the background.”

“Broadway.” He could go back East, he could get things fixed up with Uncle Fergus! Everything was going to be all right. He was sick of California anyhow. “Broadway,” he repeated and he smiled. “Baby, that’s wonderful. Wonderful.”

A childish surprise came into her face at his reaction. He finished his coffee, set down the cup. He walked with excitement. “That’s terrific, Laurel. Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve got to go back home in a couple of months anyway. You’re right about my uncle. The old skinflint has hardly given me enough to eat on, that’s why I’ve been pinching the pennies. And if it weren’t for Mel letting me use this place, I’d have been in a furnished room somewhere, I’d never have had a chance to lay eyes on you. Good old Mel.”

He was burned up with the radiant promise of the future. Even if he couldn’t fix things with Uncle Fergus, by that time she’d have so much money she wouldn’t need the St. Andrews’ income, she wouldn’t need Dix’s income. She’d move him in and he’d get a chance to pick off the outer leaves of dough. The rightness of it all laid a sanctity on it. And he could embellish a bit now, because of the rightness it would ring true. “We’ll be hitting the east coast about the same time. You’re wrong about my not wanting a job, I’m used to working. I was raised on work.” He laughed. “You don’t know my Uncle Fergus! The only reason I’ve been laying off a year was to get a chance at writing a book. Now I’ll go back and take on the job he wants to give me, and it’ll pay for more than your war paint. He’s got a factory that turns out stocks and bonds. He wants me to handle the advertising. That means New York. Baby.” he grinned, “and I think by the time your run is over with we’ll be doing some California advertising. I’ll be around, Laurel!” She laid down her cup just in time. He caught her tightly in his arms. “Laurel,” he was laughing, he was half-crying. “Laurel. I knew we were meant to be. Forever. For always.”

She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say anything. She was trembling within the cup of his arms.

His sleep was restless. Even with her beside him. dreams drove him fretfully to the surface of the night. Too often. She too was restless. For he heard her stirring each time he half-awakened, heard her breath of wakefulness, not sleep. The dreams were shapes in the mist, he could not remember them when he awoke at last from the final stretch of deep if uneasy sleep.

He hadn’t slept long enough. She was gone, as she was always gone when he awoke these days. There was no sun in which to remember her. The morning was a dirty gray rag. He felt cramped within the misshapen room. The dregged coffee cups were there, one on the dressing table, one by the tray.

He had to get out of here. He showered, hating the sound of the rushing water; shaved, hating the buzz of the razor. He dressed quickly, not caring what he put on. He had no plan, only to get out of this room, to get away from the unremembered shape of his dreams.

He didn’t take the car. In order to breathe, in order to put motion into the staleness of his body. He didn’t know why he should feel this way; everything had been right, everything was going to be right. Laurel had made it right. There’d be a few weeks of separation while she was on the road but that was unimportant. A separation would whet the emotions of both. Absence was a heady spice.

He felt better by the time he’d walked as far as Wilshire. and he continued up Beverly Drive to his favorite delicatessen. He turned in there, he was suddenly hungry. He was a little ahead of the noon crowd, he ordered salami and swiss on rye and a lot of coffee. It was when he was paying for it, breaking his last ten, that he realized he must do something about the torn check. The envelope was in his pocket, he had automatically transferred it with the rest of his stuff when he dressed.

He was pretty sure he’d need help to cash it. He’d only been in the bank twice in Beverly; no one knew him well enough to accept a mutilated check. The deal called for Brub’s help, a Nicolai and a cop ought to throw a little weight.

He finished eating, left the delicatessen, and went into the nearest drugstore. He called Santa Monica first but there was no answer. It was a guess but he called the Beverly Hills station. It wasn’t Brub’s bailiwick but at least they could steer him to the right number.

The cop who answered said Detective Nicolai wasn’t there. Dix hadn’t expected Brub to be there. He said. “I know. I just want to find out what number to call to get in touch with him.” He thought the cop was stupid but the cop was thinking the same thing of him; it finally cleared up, Brub was in Beverly but he’d gone out to lunch. The cop didn’t know where.

Dix was irritated when he left the booth. It shouldn’t have taken that long to find out that Brub was in the neighborhood. He didn’t want to go sit in the police station to wait; he wasn’t in the mood for that kind of amusement today. He hadn’t anything to do. He could probably run into Brub if he made the rounds of the near-by eating spots. It would be better to run into him instead of seeking him out. Make it casual.

He was lucky. He found Brub in the second place, the one he called the Ice House. Always a carved cake of ice in the window. Dix said surprised, “Well, look who’s here!” Before he saw the other man, the lean-visaged Lochner. Before he wondered why the two were together again in Beverly Hills.

Brub was surprised to see Dix. “Where’d you come from?”

“A guy gets hungry.” He spoke to Lochner, “How d’you do. Captain Lochner.”

Brub moved over in the booth and Dix sat by him. It was invitation to join them. He had to eat again but he didn’t care, he ordered a chicken sandwich and a bottle of beer. It was a good omen, running into Brub as he’d wanted, not having to seek him out. It made him feel more cheerful. “More trouble in Beverly?” he asked.

“No.” Brub shook his head, took a big bite of spaghetti, blurring his words. “Same old case.”

“You’re still working on that?” He was surprised.

“We don’t give up,” Lochner said in his flat voice.

He really was surprised. “It’s still important enough that the head of Homicide is giving special attention to it?”

Lochner said, “We aren’t going to let it happen again.”

“Then you honestly believe it stems from this neighborhood.”

Lochner shrugged. “It’s the last clue we have.”

“Seems rather hopeless.” Dix said kindly. Brub’s words were audible again. “We pick up a little every time we check.”

Dix didn’t show any disturbance. He was as calm as an innocent bystander. “But where do you check? How?”

“We’ve been talking to the help again. At the drive-in where he stopped with her that night.”

He was more calm. When there was anything to face he could play up to it. “Any luck?”

There wasn’t. He could tell by Brub’s expression. Lochner said, “There may be. Nicolai’s got a good idea there.” The chief left it for Brub to tell.

Brub said. “I don’t know that it will amount to anything. But in these neighborhood spots, a lot of the same faces recur pretty regularly. Down at Doc Law’s, for instance, in the canyon, you get to know people just seeing them over and again. I got to thinking about it. There must have been some of the regulars around that night when he took Mildred in for coffee.” He let out a gust of breath. “God, the nerve of him! Walking in there, facing all those lights and gambling no one would remember what he looked like.”

“Like you and me.” Dix dared, “an ordinary man.”

Brub nodded slowly. “Yeah. An ordinary man. With the nerve of a jet pilot.” He took another bite of spaghetti fast and talked through it. “My idea, whatever good it is, is to have the help ask questions of the regulars when they come in. Were they at the drive-in the night of the murder, and did they notice the couple?”

“Not bad.” Dix said, as if he were thinking about it. “And I suppose you’re hoping this fellow is a repeater too.” “Yeah. That would be a break.” Brub was exasperated quickly. “What a break, but no chance. Except for his nerve.”

“You mean he might have the nerve to walk in again.”

“Yeah.”

“And you think the help would spot him in that case.”

“I’m sure they would. At least I think they would. They’re keyed up to remember. The little girl. Gene, her name is, is sure she’d know him if he came in again. She says she’d know him if she ever saw him. Only she can’t describe him.”

“The trouble with people in these cases,” Lochner droned, “is that they’re not articulate.”

“What about the tailor?” Dix asked.

“What tailor?” Brub frowned.

“The one you told me about. The one that saw this fellow and that earlier girl come out of the movie in Hollywood.” He’d nearly said the Paramount. He took a swallow of his beer. “Are you working on him too?”

Brub shook his head. “He wasn’t close enough to them to be any good at identification. The guy could go in and be measured for a suit and he wouldn’t know.”

“He might,” Dix smiled. “Mightn’t he? A tailor might be expected to recognize the shoulders or the body length, don’t you think?”

Lochner hmmed and Brub thought that the tailor might. Dix had given them an idea. And welcome to it. Brub was thinking out loud again. “Walking right into that battery of lights. What a nerve!”

Dix said. “Maybe he didn’t intend to do anything to her. Maybe it wasn’t so much nerve but no intention.”

“We’ve considered that,” Brub said thoughtfully. “But it doesn’t fit the pattern. He picked them up to kill them. It wasn’t ever without intention.”

“According to your reconstruction.”

Brub’s smile was a little abashed. “I don’t think I’m far off base. He’s first of all a killer, that we know. He kills because he’s a killer.” He tallied on. “He’s a gambler. He’s reckless. I mean he’ll take chances, like that drive-in, or taking the other girl to the movies. But he’s not so reckless that he doesn’t realize his chances; it’s the recklessness we had at the sticks during the war, we took chances but we were sure, God willing, that we’d pull out of them.”

“He’s an ex-serviceman,” Lochner supplied.

Dix raised his eyebrows. When Lochner didn’t explain, he said. “That’s something new.”

“Ten to one,” Lochner said. “He’s the right age, good healthy specimen, average. The average were in the service.”

“He’s a nice-looking fellow, nice clothes,” Brub said, “We know that from our inarticulate observers. He’s well off, he has a car. He has a pleasant approach, we know that too or these girls wouldn’t have let him pick them up. Except maybe that first one.”

“What was a fellow like you reconstruct doing on Skid Row?”

‘That’s one of the things we don’t know.” Brub admitted.

“Maybe he was slumming,” Lochner said.

“Maybe he knew he was off on a kill,” Brub was feeling it out, “maybe he didn’t want to do it. Maybe he thought it wouldn’t matter so much if he picked a girl that didn’t matter.”

“And after the first time, he didn’t care?” Dix asked soberly.

“It wasn’t the first time,” Lochner said with authority. Dix’s eyes slewed to him, letting his surprise show through.

“It was too professional.” Lochner explained. He picked up his check. “I’m going back to the station and go over those Bruce reports again. Coming?”

Bruce reports. Bruce wasn’t an uncommon name. There must be a hundred thousand Bruces in the United States. Hundreds in L.A. Dix didn’t show any reaction to the name. He went right on eating the sandwich. They could have been examining him, putting out this information to get reaction from him. There was no reason for them to have any suspicion of him. There was nothing at all that made him open to suspicion. Absolutely nothing.

“I’ll be along shortly.” Brub said. “Soon as I finish eating.” He’d ordered apple pie and coffee, the girl was bringing them now.

Dix waited until Lochner was at the door. “Smart guy.” he said.

“The best.” Brub was testing the pie.

Dix got away from the subject, onto a natural one. “You and Laurel hit it up pretty chummy last night, didn’t you?”

Brub didn’t grin it off. He said seriously, “I like her.”

“I didn’t realize you and Sylvia had known her before.”

“Just met. Never had a chance to talk to her until last night.”

“You did pretty well last night. Looked like a serious confab.” He was fishing. But he could fish openly; Laurel was his girl. He didn’t catch anything.

Brub said. “I have my serious moments.”

Dix said, “Won’t do you any good. Looks like Laurel and I aren’t going to be around much longer.”

Brub wiped his mouth. His eyes were opened in surprise.

“Didn’t she tell you about the show she’s going into? And its about time for me to head back to New York.”

“You’re going back East?” Brub was surprised. He added with mock rue, “Just when I thought we had you sold on California.” He took another bite. “What’s the trouble? Mel Terriss coming home?”

Laurel had talked to Brub about Mel Terriss. Brub wouldn’t have had the name so glibly if she hadn’t. Harping on Mel. Wondering aloud to Brub if Mel was in Rio? He bit his anger between his teeth. “I haven’t heard from Mel. No telling about him. I’ve got to go back and get financed.” He remembered the check. “By the way, Brub, wonder if you could help me out?” He was quick, “This isn’t a touch, pal. I tore up my check, got the envelope mixed in with a bunch of ads. I’m too stony to wait for Uncle Fergus to send another, and the old boy wouldn’t wire money if I were selling pencils. Would you want to vouch for me at the bank here?”

“Sure. I don’t know the rules but it’s worth a try.” Brub picked up both tabs. Dix took them out of his hand. “I’m not that stony. My turn.”

The gray day settled over them as they emerged. It was depressing: no matter how good you’d been feeling, to step to this dirty wash was depressing.

The bank was only across the street. He’d borrowed trouble about the check. There was none. Brub’s identity as good. The bank manager was pleasant, saying, “I don’t know why anyone should be penalized for making a mistake. As long as you have all the parts.” You could tell by his manner he considered Dix an honest young fellow, friend of the Nicolais was certain to be all of that.

He felt better with the two fifty in his billfold. The day even looked brighter. He said, “Thanks, Brub. Thanks a million.” He was ready to go. He’d buy a present for Laurel, he’d never given her anything. He couldn’t splurge, not on these peanuts, but he could buy her something, if only one orchid. He’d drape her in orchids someday.

It was Brub who was making the delay. Brub who blurted it out, “Those reports.”

He knew what was coming. He felt the gray close in on again but he showed only polite courtesy.

”Would you want to look them over? They’re the reports on Brucie.” Brub was rattling. He was embarrassed. Expecting Dix to break down? Or ashamed that he was suspecting a friend, a friend he had no reason to suspect? A shocked, grave look was the right one from Dix.

“I was talking to Lochner about her. I couldn’t help talking about her, I was knocked off my pins when I heard the news. He cabled for a report on the case from the London police.” Brub was speaking more slowly now. Because Dix hadn’t burst into sobs? Because he was warning Dix? “He thought it might help us out. That maybe Brucie was one of a series, like our series. It’s far-fetched, but the killer might have been an American, England was full of G.I.’s at that time. Maybe even a California man.”

He asked only one question, “Was she one of a series?”

Brub’s face was torn. “They don’t know. There was a series but it didn’t start right after Brucie. A couple of months—and then it began. The same pattern. A strangler.”

“He was never caught?”

“No, he was never caught.” Brub hesitated. “After six months it stopped. As suddenly as it had begun. Maybe he was shipped back home.”

“And did it start then, over on this side?” It was a good question.

Brub slurred it. “N-no.”

No series, no pattern. Isolated cases. They hadn’t caught up with the isolated cases. On the east coast. Or had they? Was Brub keeping quiet because it might sound too pointed? Why should Brub suspect him?

He knew he’d better get away. He was beginning to grow angry. Brub had no business suspecting him. Yet he didn’t believe that was any part of it. Only a part of his own depression. He said, “I don’t think I could take the reports, Brub. You understand?”