No Cure for Death

ELEVEN

Half an hour later I walked into the cluttered living room of my trailer, picking things up as I went and spending half an hour cleaning up the place-more as a nervous accompaniment to buzzing thoughts than as an act of cleanliness. When I was finished playing maid, I went to the icebox and got out a Pabst and popped the top and went back and flopped down on the couch. After I’d drained the beer, I aimed the empty can at the wastebasket over by the stove, across the room; just as I pitched the can, the phone rang, shattering my concentration, ruining my trajectory. The can clattered on the kitchenette’s tile floor, bounced back onto the carpeted living room floor, rolled a couple times and came to a standstill somewhere near center-room, creating an eyesore in my freshly tidied quarters.

The phone was still ringing on the coffee table in front of me. I leaned over and picked up the receiver. “Yeah?”

“Mal? John.”

“Oh, hi. How was Suzie Blanchard?”

“Outstanding.”

“That’s Army for ‘good,’ as I recall.”

“At least.”

“So what’s up? No pun intended.”

“That’s what I called to ask you, Mal. What have you turned up where Janet Taber’s concerned?”

“I did some research at the library on that politician Janet worked for, and on his old man. Did you know that that guy Doc Sy, the old cancer quack, was Richard Norman’s father?”

“Come to think of it,” John said, “that’s right. You know, you don’t hear much about the old man around town. Funny.”

“Yeah. Funny. It’s one of those things Port City folks just don’t talk about. Unless the doors are closed tight. And I think I know why. I think the old ex-quack’s still powerful in Port City inner circles.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, I can’t really say for sure, I’m mostly reading between the lines. But it’s beginning to look like Simon Norman is Port City’s answer to Howard Hughes. One thing I know for sure is he made a bundle, and made it off of people’s misery, at that. And he probably used that bundle to get behind a few budding concerns that developed into this town’s major industries, which’d include the feed plant, the office furniture company, the alcohol plant, the tire retreading factory-all of these and more, I bet.”

“How does this tie in with Janet Taber?”

“I don’t know that it does.”

I heard chattering in the background, and then John’s voice came back: “Uh, look, I’m still over at Suzie’s and, uh, I guess she wants a word with me.”

“And I can just guess what word it is. Look, see if you can find time today, between rounds, to stop over at Brennan’s and pump him a little.”

“See what I can do. I’ll stop over and see you tonight.”

I cradled the receiver on my shoulder, thumbed down the button on the phone with one hand and fumbled through the phone book with the other, trying to locate the college’s number. I found it and dialed. I got Jack and filled him in on my library session.

“You aren’t thinking about trying to run down Washington’s sister Rita tonight, are you?” Jack asked.

“I was thinking about it, yeah.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Why? I’m a big boy now.”

“Not that big. With Thanksgiving tomorrow, the bars’ll be extra busy tonight. You know how it is night before a holiday. It might get a little rough if you go sailing in a black bar with that shinin’ white kisser of yours.”

“Ah, hell with that, Jack. I got to do something, and soon. I hate this sitting on the thing like this. I want to move on it, and I got nowhere else to go with it, except the Quad Cities and Washington’s sister, Rita.”

“Why don’t you just relax tonight-get your head together, son. Tell you what, I’ll do some checking tonight and see what I can find out about old Eyewash and his sister.”

“You don’t have to do that, Jack.”

“I insist.”

“But…”

“Look, it’s a terrific excuse for me to go bar crawlin’, son. I’m due.”

“Well, thanks. I’ll check back with you tomorrow morning.”

“Late morning. Gimme a break. Hey, what’d you turn up on Stefan Norman?”

“Who?”

“Stefan Norman. Did you try to contact him or anything?”

“I never even heard of him. Which Norman is he?”

“He’s the nephew of the old man. Norman’s late brother’s boy.”

“How does he fit into the Norman empire, Jack?”

“Well, the Norman empire, if there is one, appears to operate on a hereditary basis, only the ruling class has just about died out. You probably found out this afternoon that Norman’s wife died of cancer back in the forties, and son Richard’s dead, of course… and Richard was Norman’s only child. Norman has no brothers or sisters living-only had the one brother, and his only child was Stefan. Who is heir to the Norman empire, such as it is.”

“What role does this Stefan play in Norman’s life, as of now?”

“He’s in charge of something called the Norman Fund, has been ever since Richard died. Of course, he was pretty much in charge before that, too, since Richard was only a figurehead ‘chairman’ for the Fund; he had his political career, and his law practice as well.”

“What the hell’s the Norman Fund, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but I got a feeling if you could find out, the two of us could blackmail old man Norman and God knows who else and live comfortably for the rest of our lives off the proceeds. I suppose it’s a clearing house for the different under-the-table ties Norman has with the various industries in town. It plays at being a charitable organization. But all I can speak of for certain is the physical reality of a three-office suite here in town, in the Maxwell Building.”

“I wish I’d known about this this afternoon….”

“I forget that some of this stuff that’s common knowledge to me, from the business types I come in contact with, is news to you. I should’ve mentioned it. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. But I’ve got to see this Stefan Norman. He sounds like the man who could once and for all fill me in on how much-or how little-Janet Taber had to do with the Normans. The Maxwell Building, you said? Think anyone would be in the office now?”

“No way. It’s after five.”

“Damn. Stefan Norman live in Port City?”

“No. Davenport, I believe. Commutes down every day, I assume.”

“Well, sooner or later I’ll have to take a little drive up to the Quad Cities and see these people.”

“Make it later. I’ll handle this Washington thing for you tonight, and by myself. The first round of it, anyway.”

He hung up and so did I. I leaned back on the couch.

Next thing I knew, John was bursting in the door.

“Jesus Christ,” I said. “Why not give me a goddamn heart attack while you’re at it?”

“Never mind that,” he said. He threw his coat off and sat down near me on the couch. I glanced at my watch: I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I sure had, because it was almost nine P.M., now.

He said, “I went over to the jail for a few minutes and pumped Brennan, like you said, and I got some choice items for you. First off, they had the autopsy. Janet’s neck was broken, all right, and there was some discussion involving the fact that it could have been caused by a pair of strong hands, ’cause of the bruises and all, but in light of the crash’s impact, that’s hard to say. The final judgment was that she died in the crash, but get this… there was no alcohol in her bloodstream!”

I felt a smile work its way across my face.

“I asked him who okayed the autopsy,” he said, “and he told me no immediate member of the family was available, so with the court’s permission the hospital boys went ahead with it. But that’s bullshit.” He dug in his pocket for a moment, came up with a scrap of paper. “You think you’ve been playing detective? Dig this. You ever see in the movies or on TV where if somebody writes on a notepad, you can rub a pencil edge across the under-sheet and make out what was written on the sheet torn off?”

I nodded.

“Well, upstairs by the phone there’s a notepad. And I decided to check up on Brennan, make sure he’s being straight with us.”

“So?”

“Here’s what I found,” he said, and he handed me the scrap of paper.

It was a small square sheet, almost completely covered by the black shading of a lead pencil, but in white letters plainly on the page some words stood out: PHILLIP TABER, ROOM 7, PORT CITY COURT.