Working at it because he could barely fit through the doorway.
No more than five-seven, he had to weigh close to four hundred pounds, a pink egg dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt, gray slacks, white athletic shoes. The bathroom was narrow and he had to edge past the sink to get out. Breathing deeply, he winced, took several small steps, finally squeezed through. The effort reddened his face. Folding the towel, he tossed it onto the counter and stepped forward very slowly, rocking from side to side, like a barge in choppy water.
The trousers were spotless poly twill, held up by clip-on suspenders. The athletic shoes appeared crushed. Each step made something in his pocket jingle.
He was around the same age as his wife, had a full head of dark, curly hair, a fine, almost delicate nose, a full-lipped mouth pouched by bladder cheeks. Three chins, shaved close. Brown eyes nearly buried in flesh managed to project a pinpoint intensity. He looked at his wife, studied me, continued to lumber.
Mentally paring away adipose, I was able to visualize handsome structure. He pressed forward, perspiring, breathing hard and raspy. When he reached me, he stopped, swayed, righted himself, stuck out a ham-hock arm.
His hands were smallish, his grip dry and strong.
"Robert Ray Argent." A deep, wheezy voice, like a bass on reverb, issued from the echo chamber of his enormous body cavity. For a second, I imagined him hollow, inflated. But that fantasy faded as I watched him struggle to get to the nearer bed.
Every step sounded on the thin carpeting, each limb seemed to shimmy of its own accord. His forehead was beaded, dripping. I resisted the urge to take his elbow.
His wife got up with the handkerchief and wiped his brow.
He touched her hand for an instant. "Thanks, honey."
"Sit down, Rob Ray."
Both of them with that soft, distinctive Pittsburgh drawl.
Moving slowly, bending deliberately, he lowered himself. The mattress sank down to the box spring and creaked. The box spring nearly touched the carpet. Rob Ray Argent sat, spread-legged, inner thighs touching. The gray fabric of his pants stretched shiny over dimpled knees, pulled up taut over a giant pumpkin of a belly.
He inhaled a few times, cleared his throat, put his hand to his mouth, and coughed.
His wife stared off at the open bathroom door before walking over, closing it, sitting back down.
"So," he said. "You're a psychologist, like Claire." Dark circles under his armpits.
"Yes," I said.
He nodded, as if we'd reached some agreement. Sighed and placed his hands on the apex of his abdomen.
Ernestine Argent reached over and handed him the handkerchief and he dabbed at himself some more. She pulled another white triangle from her purse and pecked at her own eyes.
Milo said, "I was just telling Mr. and Mrs. Argent about the course of the investigation."
Ernestine gave a small, involuntary cry.
"Honey," Robert Ray said.
She said, "I'm okay, darling," almost inaudibly, and turned to me. "Claire loved psychology."
I nodded.
"She was all we ever really had."
Rob Ray looked at her. Parts of his face had turned plum-colored; other sections were pink, beige, white-apple-peel mottle caused by the variable blood flow through expanses of skin. He turned to Milo. "Doesn't sound like you've learned much. What's the chance you find the devil who did it?"
"I'm always optimistic, sir. The more you and Mrs. Argent can tell us about Claire, the better our chances."
"What else can we tell you?" said Ernestine. "No one disliked Claire; she was the nicest person."
She cried. Rob Ray touched her shoulder with his hand.
"I'm sorry," she finally said. "This isn't helping. What do you need to know?"
"Well," said Milo, "let's get a basic time frame, for starters. When was the last time you saw Claire?"
"Christmas," said Rob Ray. "She always came home for Christmas. We always had a nice family time, no exception last Christmas. She helped her mother with the cooking.
Said in L.A. she never cooked, too busy, just ate things out of cans, takeout."
Consistent with the kitchen at Cape Horn Drive.
"Christmas," said Milo. "Haifa year ago."
"That's right." Rob Ray flexed his left foot.
"That would be right around the time Claire left County Hospital and moved to
Starkweather Hospital."
"Guess so."
Milo said, "Did she talk about changing jobs?"
Headshakes.
"Nothing at all?"
More silence.
Ernestine said, "She never talked about her work in specifics. We never wanted to be nosy."
They hadn't known. I watched Milo hide his amazement. Rob Ray tried to shift his weight on the bed. One leg cooperated.
Milo said, "Did Claire talk about any sort of problems she might be having? Someone who was giving her difficulty-at work or anywhere else?"
"No," said Rob Ray. "She had no enemies. That I can tell you for sure."
"How did she act during her Christmas visit?"
"Fine. Normal. Christmas was always a happy time for us. She was happy to be home, we enjoyed having her."
"How long did she stay?"
"Four days, like always. We went to a bunch of movies; she loved her movies. Saw the
Pittsburgh Ice Extravaganza, too. When she was a little girl, she skated. The last day, she came into our store, helped us out a bit-we're in giftware, have to stay open somewhat during the holiday season."
"Movies," I said. Joseph Stargill had said the same thing.
"That's right-the whole family loves 'em," said Rob Ray.
"She was happy, had no problems," said Ernestine. "The only problem for us was we didn't see her enough. But we understood, what with her career. And travel's hard for us. The business."
"No buck-passing when it's yours," said Rob Ray. "Also, I don't travel well-my size.
But so what? This had nothing to do with Claire's trip home or her problems. There'd be no reason for anyone to hate her; this had to be some maniac on the loose-somewhere from that place she worked." His skin had deepened to scarlet and his words emerged between rough inhalations. "I tell you, I find out anyone put her in danger, I'll- Let's just say a lot of lives are going to be made miserable."
"Darling," said his wife, patting his knee. To us: "What my husband's saying is,
Claire was kind and generous and sweet. No one could've hated her."
"Generous to the nth," Rob Ray agreed. "Back in high school, she was always the first to volunteer to help others. Old people at the hospital, animals at the shelter-didn't matter, she was there at the head of the line. She loved animals especially. We used to have a dog, a little Scottie. You know how kids never take responsibility with pets, it's always the parents who end up with it. Not our
situation. Claire did everything, feeding it, cleaning up after it. She was always trying to fix things-broken wings on bugs, anything. We knew she'd be some kind of doctor, I would've guessed a veterinarian, but psychologist was fine. She always got good grades-it doesn't make sense, Detective Sturgis. At the morgue-what we just saw-I just don't... It had to be a maniac-this Starkweather place is nothing but maniacs?"
"Yes, sir," said Milo. "It's the first thing we looked at. So far, no leads.
Apparently the inmates never get out."
"Sure," said Rob Ray. "Isn't there always some screwup that lets someone out? Some stupid mistake?" Tears began coursing silently down the jelly of his cheeks.
"You're right, sir," said Milo. "But so far I haven't come up with anything."
His tone had gentled; suddenly he seemed like a much younger man.
"Well," said Rob Ray. "I can tell you're good people. Where you from originally?
Your folks, I mean."
"Indiana."
Satisfied nod. "I know you're trying."
Suddenly one log-arm moved with astonishing speed, slamming upward to the big man's face, as he ground the handkerchief to his eyes.
"Oh, Rob," said his wife, and she was crying again, too.
Milo went into the bathroom and brought them water.
Rob Ray Argent said, "Thanks, I'm supposed to drink a lot, anyway. For my joints, keep them lubricated." Half a shrug made his sloping shoulders jiggle. He plucked shirt fabric out of a fat fold.
Milo said, "So Claire visited only on Christmas."
"Yes, sir."
"Is that since she moved to Los Angeles or since she went to graduate school in
Cleveland?"
"Los Angeles," said Rob Ray. "When she was at Case Western she came home for
Thanksgiving, Easter, summers. She helped us out in the store, summers."
"Once she moved to L.A., how often did she write?"
Silence.
"We're phoners, not writers," said Ernestine. "Long distance is so economical nowadays. We have one of those calling plans."
I remembered Claire's phone bills. No recent calls to Pittsburgh. Had she dialed her parents from the office? Or had she become a stranger to them? Adding them to the club of strangers we'd encountered at every turn?
"So she called," said Milo.
"That's right," said Ernestine. "Every so often."
Milo scribbled. "What about her marriage? And the divorce. Anything I should know about that?"
Ernestine lowered her eyes. Her husband took a long, noisy breath.
"She said she'd gotten married in Reno," he said. "Soon after. One of her calls."
"So she told you over the phone," said Milo. "Did she seem happy about it?"
"I'd say yes," said Ernestine. "She apologized for not telling us before, said it was one of those sudden things- love at first sight. She said the husband was a nice fellow. A lawyer."
"But you never met him."
"I'm sure we would've, but Claire didn't stay married to him very long."
Two years, no contact.
"So she visited on Christmas while she was married."
"No," said Ernestine. "Not during the marriage. Last Christmas she was divorced already."
Milo said, "Did she explain why she got divorced?"
"She called after it happened, said she was fine, everything was friendly."
"She used that word?" said Milo." 'Friendly.' "
"Or something to that effect. She was trying to reassure me. That was Claire. Take care of everyone else."
She glanced at her husband. He said, "I know this sounds weird to you-our not meeting him. No big white wedding. But Claire always needed her freedom. She- It was-That's just the way she was. Give her her freedom and she got straight A's. She was always a good kid-a great kid. Who were we to argue? You do your best, who knows how your kids are going to turn out? She turned out great. We gave her freedom."
Focusing on me during most of the speech. I nodded.
"We asked to meet him," he said. "The husband. She said she'd bring him by, but she never did. I got the feeling it didn't work too well from the beginning."
"Why's that?"
"Because she never brought him out."
"But she never actually complained about the marriage," said Milo.
"She never said she was unhappy," said Rob Ray, "if that's what you're getting at.
Why? Do you suspect him of having anything to do with it?"
"No," said Milo. "Just trying to learn what I can."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely, sir. At this point, he's not a suspect. No one is, unfortunately."
"Well," said Rob Ray, "I know you'd tell us if it was different. The only mention she made of him was sometimes at the end of a conversation, she might say, 'Joe sends his regards.' She did say he was a lawyer, not a courtroom lawyer, a business lawyer. When she called he was never home. I got the feeling he was always working.
She was, too. One of those modern marriages. That's probably what happened, they were too busy for each other."
Ernestine said, "She did send us a picture. Of the wedding- the chapel. So we knew what he looked like. A redhead.
I remember joking to Rob Ray about little ginger-haired grandchildren."
