Torch Song (10 page)

“She began talking about buying him a cowboy hat then,” Constance said. “What in the world was she doing?”

They listened to it again. “I think she's settling for twenty-five cents on the dollar,” Charlie said finally. “She sells something for a hundred, says she got five hundred, and pockets twenty-five percent of that. No questions asked about her income; she has records, and happy artist clients, and probably fake receipts for shop owners in New York. My God, she could go through the whole schmear that way.” He glowered at the tape.

“The FBI will interview her contacts and they'll all come on like boosters,” he said aggrievedly. Then he said, “But that means she has the money within reach, in the house!”

“The figures she was using don't add up,” Constance pointed out. Then she said, “Oh, it doesn't really matter when or even if she sells anything, does it? Not if she's making up prices, paying off her clients with stolen money, collecting commissions on sales she might or might not make.”

“Twenty-five cents on the dollar,” Charlie growled. “God, she is crazy!”

And very smart, Constance added silently.

Marla talked about her mother, on the streets of New York, she said, just where she belonged. She talked about her father, whom she had never seen, about Breckinridge, a fat little toad. She talked about the weather, about Nathan's hair coming back in so thick, just like his father's used to be. Drivel, Charlie thought in disgust, listening to her read the descriptions of flowers from a catalog. Throughout the day, he had retaped no more than a few minutes and had listened to hours of drivel. Constance took his place and he left to do something about dinner; it was his day to cook. It was six o'clock Monday evening, and they were listening to the tape that had been made of Marla starting Sunday at three through Monday afternoon, when Brian had put in a new one. It made Charlie nervous to be a day behind all the time, hearing today what she had said the night before, no clue about what she was doing at the moment.

“Charlie!” Constance called. He hurried back to the office, where she was rewinding the second tape recorder. “She was reading from the catalog and he fell asleep, I guess. She just came back on.” Constance pressed the play button.

Marla said gaily, “Oh, I thought you might be awake by now. I can't come too close. I stink like gas. I'll just take a shower and be right back.”

There was a pause. Constance held up her hand. Then Marla was back. “Now I'm decent again. Did you have a good little nap? Roy will be here pretty soon and I'll make you turkey. And asparagus. You love asparagus! Tomorrow when I go out, I'll get some new library books, something we've never read… and groceries. We're almost out of ice cream…. And I have to put gas in the Buick, and check the oil and the tires. It would be terrible if I had road trouble, wouldn't it? There are car jackers out there, just waiting for a woman to have trouble in the middle of the night. Did you know that? I wonder which would be worse, a car jacker or a cop. Anyway, it won't happen, because I'll have the Buick checked out. I know what I want to read next.”

Constance turned off the machine. “She talked about stories and then Roy came in. Charlie, she serviced the Buick today, and yesterday she smelled of gas.”

He rewound the tape and played it again. Hours more on the tape, he thought then, and it was after six now. With few exceptions, they had to listen to it all in real time. They couldn't finish with this one before midnight. Too late? Right now she would be in with Nathan, feeding him, talking, talking. Call Chelsky, tell him everything? He shook his head. He didn't know where Chelsky was, how long it would take him to arrive, or if he could persuade him to come out now, tonight. And for what? He didn't even know if there was a reason to call for help. He went to the door. “I'll rustle us up a sandwich or something. You keep listening. Okay?”

She reached for the on switch. Roy was there; she fast-forwarded the machine until she caught Marla's voice again and listened until Charlie came to the door and motioned for her to turn it off.

“Anything?”

She shook her head.

“Come on out, take a break,” he said. He waited and they went back to the kitchen. “What I'm going to do is go down there and grab the new tape the minute she turns off Nathan's light. Eight, eight-thirty, about then. I'll listen to it in the car. Be back around ten. And that's just about all we can do right now.” When she started to object, he said, “And I want you to get on the pipe to Chelsky. Run him down if you can and tell him what we think is going on. If he doesn't call back in an hour, go after Bruce Wymouth up in Albany, and if he's not available, as a last resort try to get Pulaski.” He put a sandwich in a plastic bag as he talked, and kept a second one on a paper plate. “You know the old saying, Eat and run. 'Fraid I'm going to run and eat. Made a couple for you, too.” He glanced around as if checking whether he had forgotten anything, and then he said casually, “Of course, no one's going to believe you.”

“Probably not,” she said. “But someone might be curious enough to come around. Especially if they realize you're out somewhere.”

“Especially,” he agreed.

She gave him one of her looks that sometimes made him think he was as transparent as a crystal skull filled with spinning gears in rainbow colors.

“Charlie, when you don't show up again by eleven or twelve, do I tell Chelsky or whoever it is that you're keeping the vigil at Marla's house?”

He was pulling on a heavy jacket and stopped moving for just a moment, then grinned and said, “Honey, Brian has a cell phone. If I decided to do anything like that, I'd call you. Honest.” He was ready to leave. On the way out, he said, “Try not to give them the tapes if possible.”

“Resist torture to what point?”

“It won't get too serious before I get back. You can hold out.”

She walked to the garage with him, watched him back out and leave, and then locked the door and returned to the kitchen. It felt empty and cold. She called the numbers Chelsky had left with them and left a message on a machine with the first call, and left the same message with a man who wanted to know why she wanted Mr. Chelsky. Then she took a sandwich to the office and turned on the tape player again.

She couldn't eat and listen to Marla, she realized after only a minute or two. She put the sandwich down and listened to the sweet voice cajoling, laughing, lilting as Marla fed bite after bite to her son. Then Constance stiffened and turned on the other tape recorder.

“That toad called again. I don't know why he doesn't catch on. But he's dumb, even if he is a teacher. If he knew how much we hate hospitals, he'd never say that word again. I know what's good for you. Just look how you're growing… . Hospital! I know how much you hated it there, how mean they were to you. I won't see him ever again, I promise. I won't go near him again. I put just a little cinnamon on it, exactly the way you like it… .” She began to talk about getting a motor home, a little one, and the vacations they would take.

At ten minutes before eight, Chelsky called. He asked for Charlie.

“He isn't here,” Constance said. She drew in a deep breath and then said swiftly, “We have vital information you should have immediately. We think there will be another fire, probably tonight. We prefer to talk to you about it, but if you can't make it, then I'll call Bruce Wymouth in Albany.”

He was skeptical and he kept asking where Charlie was, when he would return, where they thought a fire might happen. She cut in sharply. “Mr. Chelsky, those fires never started before three in the morning. There's time for someone to get over here and talk about this and maybe avert a disaster. If you can't or won't come, say so, and I'll call Bruce Wymouth.”

“Now, Mrs. Meiklejohn, don't get in an uproar. I didn't say that, now did I? Happens I'm in Albany myself. I could take a run down that way. You expecting Mr. Meiklejohn back soon?”

“Around ten or eleven, or he'll call,” she told him, and he said he'd be there at ten, or a little after.

She ate her sandwich; the bread had already gone too dry. Then she ate an apple and drank a cup of coffee and finally started to listen again. How could Marla keep it up? That pleasant, cheerful prattle, on and on and on. Laughing over nothing, pretending he understood, responded. Constance began to pace the office, and she thought suddenly that she simply couldn't stand this any longer. She clenched her fists and after a moment sat down again.

When she took a break later, she made a pot of strong coffee. This would be a long night, she thought despondently. She had copied only two sections of tape since Charlie left; both of them had to do with hospitals, how everyone wanted Nathan in a hospital, how much they hated them. Slowly, she returned to the office and rewound the machine a little and listened again.

“… and there won't be any more talk about that. But they'll think of something different. They just don't give up, do they, honey?” Constance rewound it farther back.

“I'll make them stop talking about putting you in a hospital. I'll wave my magic wand and there won't be any more talk about that…

Marla went on talking about magic, about fairies who lived under flowers…. That's what she would start checking out of the library, she went on very happily. Everyone loved fairy tales.

When Chelsky arrived at ten minutes past ten, three other men entered with him. He introduced them: Carl Pulaski, and his assistant, Larry Dell, and his own colleague Stan Lehman.

“Where's your husband?” Pulaski demanded before he had his coat off.

“I'm not sure,” she said. She pointed toward the hall closet and let them hang their own coats.

“When did he leave?”

She ignored him and said to Chelsky, “I have to start at the beginning for this to make any sense.”

He nodded, but Pulaski demanded harshly, “Mrs. Meiklejohn, I want some answers, and I want them now!”

“Seems she wants to talk to us, if you'll just let her,” Chelsky said in a mild way.

She nodded. “I have a map on the kitchen table. It will be helpful.”

Pulaski's face was a tight furious mask, but he followed when she led the way to the kitchen and he remained silent until she told them what she and Charlie had surmised about Marla. Then he snorted.

“She's been investigated more than once and there's nothing. Where's Meiklejohn? What's he up to now? I'm warning you, if there's a fire tonight and you don't cooperate, you'll be an accessory.”

“He's watching Marla's house.”

“Do you mind if we look around?” he said gratingly, and started for the back door.

“Do you have a search warrant?” she asked coldly.

“No. Not yet.”

“Then you can't look around.”

He reached for the wall phone, and she said, even more coldly, “And don't use the phone. Charlie will call any minute now.”

He jerked his head at his assistant and they went out the front door. Constance watched them, and when she turned back to Chelsky, she caught a glint in his eye that looked suspiciously like a sparkle of silent laughter. He leaned over the map without comment.

The phone rang and she snatched it up. “Hi, honey,” he said cheerfully. “You have company?”

“Mr. Chelsky is here, and Mr. Pulaski,” she added when he reentered the kitchen.

“Everything under control?”

“So far.”

“Okay, put on the speaker phone. Let's chat.”

If she had had to reveal the tapes, she would have said so; they both understood that. When she turned on the speaker phone, his voice sounded as if he were in a deep mine. He told them he was at Marla's keeping watch and he suspected that she would venture out to set a fire that night.

“Could use some backup,” he said blandly.

“You know we can't do that,” Chelsky said. “Not with no more than we have.”

“Come on in, Meiklejohn, and let's talk,” Pulaski said harshly.

“I think he's getting a search warrant,” Constance said then. Pulaski glared at her.

“Uh-huh. You got a bug in place yet, Pulaski?” He didn't wait for an answer. “I'd guess not yet. I'll call back in half an hour or so, give you time to put things in place. Talk to you later.”

“Charlie! Wait a minute,” Constance cried. “If she tries to leave, can't you block the driveway? If she has the gas—”

He chuckled. “Honey, I'm afraid Brer Pulaski might claim I was out salting the mine or something. And she'd claim she was out to get a breath of air. Hang in there, kiddo.” He hung up.

Chelsky asked questions about Marla; she answered. They all drank coffee, and after a prolonged silence, Chelsky glanced at Pulaski. “You boys have a car down anywhere near Tuxedo Park?” Pulaski shrugged. “Neither do we, I guess. Not familiar with your roads around here. How long you suppose it'd take to get a car or two in the area?”

Pulaski motioned for Chelsky to go to the living room with him. They left together and murmured inaudibly. When they came back, Chelsky said to Constance, “Problem is, if your husband's telling the truth, won't do much good to have an APB out on the Volvo, now will it? I mean, he wouldn't try to follow anyone in a white car like that. You happen to know what kind of car the other fellow's driving?”

She didn't know.

He motioned to his companion, Stan Lehman. “Why don't you bring in another phone in case we decide to make some inquiries?”

Lehman went out as silently as he had remained since arriving. He was a tall young man who never seemed to take his gaze off Chelsky. They went to the living room together and spoke in low voices when he returned.

Charlie called again at twenty minutes to twelve. “Speaker phone,” he said. Constance felt a tremor pass over her at the sound of his voice. “Listen up, guys,” Charlie said over the speaker phone, sounding as distant as the man in the moon. “Find out where the kid has hospital treatments, where she takes him for checkups. I think that might be the target.” He hung up.