The Way Some People Die (28 page)

“That’s right,” I said. “Sunday night Speed came to baby-sit for you. Later, when I talked to him, he covered for you. It will convict him along with you.”

She mastered her sobbing, and spoke behind her hands: “I should have saved a bullet for you.”

“I served your purpose, didn’t I? I couldn’t have done it better if you had briefed me. Of course you set it up for me rather nicely, phoning Dowser Tuesday morning to let him know you were available. You must have trusted me pretty far at that. I know three or four private operators who wouldn’t have followed you up to Dowser’s house. Ironic, isn’t it? I thought I was rescuing a maiden from a tower. Fall guys usually do, I guess. And the women who use them often make the mistake you did. They forget that even fall guys have minds of their own, until they fall for keeps.” I looked down at Mario, and her gaze followed mine. Her fingers were still spread across her face, as if she needed them to hold it together.

The siren rose nearer and higher, building a thin arch of sound across the desert.

“It’s sort of sad about you,” I said. “All that energy and ingenuity wasted, because you had to tie it in with murder. Now before the police get here, do you want to tell me where the money is? I need it for a client, and if I get it I’ll give you the best break I can.”

“Go to hell.” Her eyes burned furiously between her fingers. “They won’t be able to hold me, you know that? They can’t prove anything, not a thing. I’m innocent, do you hear me?”

I heard her.

The siren whooped like a wolf in the street. Headlights swept the window.

CHAPTER
36
:     
After Galley was taken away, a
deputy named Runceyvall and I spent an hour or so going over the house. Mario had left a trail of blood across the kitchen floor and out the back door to the attached garage. We followed it and found the place where the gun had been cached, behind a loose board in the wall between the garage and the house. It contained a box of .45 cartridges, but no money. We found only one other thing of any significance: a couple of black hairs stuck to the interior wall of the deep-freeze. I told Runceyvall to seal it shut, and explained why. Runceyvall thought the whole thing was delightful.

Shortly after two I checked in at the Oasis Inn for the rest of the night. The clerk informed me that Mrs. Fellows was still registered. I asked to be called at eight.

I was. When I had showered and looked at my beard in
the bathroom mirror and put on the same dirty clothes, I strolled across the lawn to Marjorie’s bungalow. It was a dazzling morning. The grass looked as fresh as paint. Beyond a palm-leaf fence at the rear of the enclosure, a red tractor was pulling a cultivator up and down through a grove of date-palms that stood squat against the sky. High above them in ultramarine space, too high to be identified, a single bird circled on still wings. I thought it was an eagle or a hawk, and I thought of Galley.

Marjorie was breakfasting alfresco under a striped orange beach umbrella. She had on a Japanese kimono that harmonized with the umbrella, if nothing else. At the table with her a gray-headed man in shorts was munching diligently on a piece of toast.

She glanced up brightly when I approached, her round face glowing with sunburn and
Gemütlichkeit:
“Why, Mr. Archer, what a nice surprise! We were just talking about you, and wondering where you were.”

“I slept here last night. Checked in late, and thought I wouldn’t disturb you.”

“Now wasn’t that thoughtful,” she said to the gray-headed man. “George, this is Mr. Archer. My husband, Mr. Archer—my ex, I guess I should say.” Surprisingly, the large kimonoed body produced a girlish titter.

George stood up and gave me a brisk hand-shake. “Glad to know you, Archer. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He had a thin flat chest, a sedentary stomach, a kind bewildered face.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. From Marjorie.”

“You have?” He bestowed a loving look on the top of her head. “I feel darn silly in these shorts. She made me wear ’em. Oh well, as long as there’s nobody here from Toledo—” He gazed short-sightedly around him, seeking spies.

“You look handsome in them, George. Pull in your
stomach now. I love you in them.” She turned to me with a queenly graciousness: “Please sit down, Mr. Archer. Have you had your breakfast? Let me order you some. George, bring Mr. Archer a chair from the porch and order more ham and eggs.” George marched away with his stomach held tautly in, his head held high.

“I didn’t expect to find him here.”

“Neither did I. Isn’t it wonderful? He saw my name in the papers and flew right down from Toledo on the first plane, just like a movie hero. I almost fainted yesterday when he walked in. To think that he really cares! Of course it was somewhat embarrassing last night. He had to sleep in a separate bungalow because we’re not legally married yet.”

“Yet? Don’t you mean ‘any more’?”

“Yet.” She blushed rosier. “We’re flying to San Francisco at noon to pick up the car there, and then we’ll drive over to Reno and be married. They don’t make you wait in Reno and George says he won’t wait a single minute longer than necessary.”

“Congratulations, but won’t there be legal difficulties? You can have your marriage to Speed annulled, of course, since he married you under a false name. Only that will take time, even in Nevada.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Her face, blank and unsmiling now, showed the strain she was under. “The San Francisco police recovered my Cadillac last night. He left it in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“No.”

“Yes, he’s dead. Several persons saw him jump.”

It hit me hard, though Speed meant nothing to me. Now there were four men violently dead, five if I counted Mosquito. Galley and I between us had swept the board clean.

“You didn’t find him, did you?” she was saying. “You didn’t reach him?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, you had nothing to do with his suicide? If I thought he did it because I hunted him down—it would be dreadful, wouldn’t it? I couldn’t face it.” She shut her eyes and looked like a well-fed baby blown up huge.

There was only one possible answer: “I didn’t find him.”

She breathed out. “I’m so relieved, so glad. I don’t give a hang for the money, now that I’ve got George back. I suppose it was swept out to sea with his body. George says we can probably deduct it from our income tax anyway.”

George stepped off the porch with a deck-chair. “Is somebody using my name in vain?” he called out cheerfully.

She smiled in response: “I was just telling Mr. Archer how wonderful it is to have you back, darling. It’s like waking up from a nightmare. Did you order the food?”

“Coming right up.”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” I said.

They were nice people, hospitable and rich. I couldn’t stand their company for some reason, or eat their food. My mind was still fixed on death, caught deep in its shadow. If I stayed I’d have to tell them things that they wouldn’t like. Things that would spoil their fun, if anything could spoil their fun.

“Must you go? I’m so sorry.” She was already reaching for her bag. “Anyway, you must let me pay you for your time and trouble.”

“Fine. A hundred dollars will do it.”

“I’m sorry it turned out the way it did. It’s hardly fair to you.” She rose and pressed the money into my hand.

“Marjorie’s taken quite a shine to you, Archer. She’s
actually a very remarkable woman. I never realized before what a very remarkable woman Marjorie is.”

“Go on with you.” She pushed George playfully.

“You are. You know you are.” He pushed her back.

“I’m the silliest fat old woman in the world.” She tried to push him again but he clung to her hand.

“Good-bye. Good luck. Give my regards to Toledo.”

I left them playing and laughing like happy children. Above the date-palms, half-hidden in space, the unknown bird described its dark circles.

The case ended where it began, among the furniture in Mrs. Lawrence’s sitting room. It was noon by then. The dim little room was pleasant after the heat of the desert. Mrs. Lawrence herself was pleasant enough, though she looked haggard. The police had come and gone.

We sat together like strangers mourning at the funeral of a common friend. She was wearing a rusty black dress. Even her stockings were black. Her drawn and sallow cheeks were spottily coated with white powder. She offered me tea which I refused because I had just eaten. Her speech and movements were slower but she hadn’t changed. Nothing would change her. She sat like a monument with her fists clenched on her knees:

“My daughter is perfectly innocent, of course. As I told Lieutenant Gary this morning, she wouldn’t hurt a hair of anyone’s head. When she was a child, I couldn’t even force her to swat a fly, not if her life depended on it.” Her eyes were sunk deep in her head, under brows like stony caverns. “You believe her innocent.” It was a statement.

“I hope she is.”

“Of course. She’s never been well-liked. Girls who are pretty
and
clever are never well-liked. After her father died and our money went, she withdrew more and more
into herself. She lived a dream-life all through high school and that didn’t help to make her popular. It earned her enemies, in fact. More than once they tried to get her into trouble. Even in the hospital it happened. There were unfounded accusations from various people who resented Galley’s having had a distinguished father—”

“What sort of accusations?”

“I wouldn’t taint my tongue with them, or offend your ears, Mr. Archer. I know that Galley is inherently good, and that’s enough. She always has been good, and she is now. I learned many years ago to close my ears to the base lying chatter of the world.” Her mouth was like iron.

“I’m afraid your conviction isn’t enough. Your daughter is in a cell with a great deal of firm evidence against her.”

“Evidence! A wild fabrication the police made up to conceal their own incompetence. They shan’t use my daughter for a scapegoat.”

“Your daughter murdered her husband,” I said. It was the hardest speech I ever uttered. “The only question is, what are you going to do about it? Do you have any money?”

“A little. About two hundred dollars. You are quite mistaken about Galley’s guilt, however. I realize that things look black for my girl. But as her mother I know that she is absolutely incapable of murder.”

“We won’t argue. Two hundred dollars isn’t enough. Even with twenty thousand, and the best defenders in southern California, she wouldn’t get off with less than second-degree murder. She’s going to spend years in prison anyway. Whether she spends the rest of her life there depends on just one thing: her defense in Superior Court.”

“I can raise some money on this house, I believe.”

“It’s mortgaged, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I do have an equity—”

“I have some money here.” I took Dowser’s folded bill from my watch pocket and scaled it into her lap. “It’s money I have no use for.”

Her mouth opened and shut. “Why?”

“She needs a break. I’m going to have to testify against her.”

“You are kind. You can’t afford this.” Tears came into her eyes like water wrung from stone. “You must believe that Galatea is innocent, to do this.”

“No. I was police-trained and the harness left its marks on me. I know she’s guilty, and I can’t pretend I don’t. But I feel responsible in a way. For you, if not for her.”

She understood me. The tears made tracks on her cheeks. “If only you’d believe she’s innocent. If only someone would believe me.”

“She’ll need twelve and she won’t get them. Did you see the papers this morning?”

“Yes. I saw them.” She leaned forward, crumpling the bill in her lap. “Mr. Archer.”

“Is there something I can do?”

“No, nothing more. You are being so good, I really feel I can trust you. I must tell you—” She rose abruptly and went to the sewing machine beside the window. Raising the lid, she reached far inside and brought out an oblong packet wrapped in brown paper. “Galley gave me this to keep for her, Tuesday morning. She made me promise not to tell anyone, but things are different now, aren’t they? It may be evidence in her favor. I haven’t opened it.”

I broke the tape that sealed one end, and saw the hundred-dollar bills. It was Galley’s thirty thousand. Speed’s thirty thousand. Marjorie’s thirty thousand. Thirty thousand dollars that had lain hidden in an old lady’s sewing machine while men were dying for it.

I handed it back to her. “It’s evidence, all right: the money she killed her husband for.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Impossible things are happening all the time.”

She looked down at the money in her hand. “Galley really killed him?” she whispered. “What shall I do with this?”

“Burn it.”

“When we need the money so badly?”

“Either burn it, or take it to a lawyer and let him contact the police. You may be able to make a deal of some kind. It’s worth trying.”

“No,” she said. “I will not. My girl is innocent, and Providence is watching over her. I know that now. God has provided for her in her hour of greatest need.”

I stood up and moved to the door. “Do as you like. If the police discover the source of the money, it will wreck your daughter’s defense.”

She followed me down the hallway: “They shan’t know a thing about it. And you won’t tell them, Mr. Archer. You believe that my daughter is innocent, even though you won’t admit it.”

I knew that Galley Lawrence was guilty as hell.

The colored fanlight over the door washed her mother in sorrowful purple. She opened the door, and noon glared in on her face. The tear-tracks resembled the marks of sparse rain on a dusty road.

“You won’t tell them?” Her voice was broken.

“No.”

I looked back from the sidewalk. She was standing on the steps, using the brown paper package to shield her eyes from the cruel light. Her other hand rose in farewell, and dropped to her side.

ALSO BY
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M
ACDONALD

BLACK MONEY

When Lew Archer is hired to get the goods on the suspiciously suave Frenchman who’s run off with his client’s girlfriend, it looks like a simple case of alienated affections. Things look different when the mysterious foreigner turns out to be connected to a seven-year-old suicide and a mountain of gambling debts.
Black Money
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Crime Fiction/978-0-679-76810-4

THE GOODBYE LOOK

In
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, Lew Archer is hired to investigate a burglary at the mission-style mansion of Irene and Larry Chalmers. The prime suspect, their son Nick, has a talent for disappearing, and the Chalmerses are a family with money and memories to burn. As Archer zeros in on Nick, he discovers a troubled blonde, a stash of wartime letters, and a mysterious hobo.
In The Goodbye Look
, Ross Macdonald delves into the world of the rich and the troubled and reveals that the past has a deadly way of catching up to the present.

Crime Fiction/978-0-375-70865-7

FIND A VICTIM

Las Cruces wasn’t a place most travelers would think to stop. But after Lew Archer plays the good samaritan and picks up a bloodied hitchhiker, he finds himself in town for a few days awaiting a murder inquest. A hijacked truck full of liquor and an evidence box full of marijuana, $20,000 from a big time bank heist by a small time crook, corruption, adultery, incest, prodigal daughters, and abused wives all make the little town seem a lot more interesting than any guide book ever could. And as the murder rate rises, Archer finds himself caught up in a mystery where everyone is a suspect and everyone’s a victim.

Crime Fiction/978-0-375-70867-1

THE CHILL

In
The Chill
a distraught young man hires Archer to track down his runaway bride. But no sooner has he found Dolly Kincaid than Archer finds himself entangled in two murders, one twenty years old, the other so recent that the blood is still wet. What ensues is a detective novel of nerve-racking suspense, desperately believable characters, and one of the most intricate plots ever spun by an American crime writer.

Crime Fiction/978-0-679-76807-4

THE FAR SIDE OF THE DOLLAR

Has Tom Hillman run away from his exclusive reform school, or has he been kidnapped? Are his wealthy parents protecting him or their own guilty secrets? And why does every clue lead Lew Archer to an abandoned Hollywood hotel, where starlets and sailors once rubbed shoulders with two-bit grifters—and where the present clientele includes a brand-new corpse? The result is Macdonald at his most exciting, delivering 1,000-volt shocks to the nervous system while uncovering the venality and depravity at the heart of the case.

Crime Fiction/978-0-679-76865-4

ALSO AVAILABLE:
The Ivory Grin
, 978-0-307-27899-9
The Galton Case
, 978-0-679-76864-7
The Moving Target
, 978-0-375-70146-7
Sleeping Beauty
, 978-0-375-70866-4
The Underground Man
, 978-0-679-76808-1
Wycherly Woman
, 978-0-375-70144-3
The Zebra-Striped Hearse
, 978-0-375-70145-0

VINTAGE CRIME/BLACK LIZARD
Available at your local bookstore, or visit
www.randomhouse.com
.