Bone by Bone

25

William Swahn refused an ambulance ride to the hospital, and a paramedic led the man indoors to patch his wounds. Oren sat alone on the front steps, watching the show as he nursed his beer.

Men and women in troopers' uniforms bagged the empty bottles found outside and inside the house. Every glass surface was a fingerprint examiner's wet dream.

A few yards away, Cable Babitt stood beside Sally Polk, saying to her, "Your guys are welcome to all the bottles they can carry. I don't need them. I've got the whole damn thing on film."

"I like a nice tight case," said the CBI agent. "The beer bottle I'd most like to have has a set of prints that might surprise you. Oh, and that film? That's mine now.

In answer to Cable's sputtered, "You can't do that!" Sally Polk explained that, yes, she could-now that she had charged a Los Angeles TV producer with conspiracy to incite a riot via some creative film editing.

"You can't make that stick," said Cable. "That's ridiculous."

"Oh, dear. You think I overstepped my authority? Well, maybe you're right. But it's gonna take a while to sort out the blame. Meanwhile the scope of the case extends across county lines." She surveyed the crime scene brightly lit by lights on poles. "And all of this belongs to me." Oren decided that he liked Sally Polk.

Morning came with the smell of furniture polish and the sound of a vacuum cleaner. Oren woke up on a couch in the front room of the house on Paulson Lane. Every shard of broken glass was gone, and glaziers stood on long ladders to replace the broken windowpanes.

Swahn's cleaning lady was the mother of one of his old classmates, and now Mrs. Snow reintroduced herself as she worked around his stretched-out body. "What a night," she said. "What a mess." As he rose from the couch, she brushed him down with a whisk broom. "Can't have you tracking glass splinters through the house."

Pronounced clean, she released him, saying, "Hannah's upstairs in Mr. Swahn's room." As he climbed the steps, she called out, "Second door on your right. He's been through a lot, so don't you tire him out."

"No, ma'am, I won't."

When he came to the open door of the bedroom, he hung back to watch Hannah changing a bandage on William Swahn's right cheek, exposing a patch of skin that was red and raw. This fresh injury paled the older damage to the other side of his face. Oren backed away from the door and lingered in the hall to listen to a conversation of two old friends, who called each other Miss Rice and Mr. Swahn.

"Well, that paramedic did a real nice job cleaning the wound."

"Will I look more symmetrical now?"

She laughed. "When the swelling goes down and the bruising fades, you won't have another scar."

There was a third person in the room. Oren saw the CBI agent reflected in the mirror over Swahn's bureau.

"This'll cheer you up," said Sally Polk. "I got film of a reporter chucking the first rock, and I got his prints on a beer bottle, too. I figure he was just priming the pump-didn't want to wait around all night for his big mob scene. But the whole thing started with a nasty piece of editing on the evening news. I'm gonna bring down a TV network just for you, Mr. Swahn. Won't that be fun?"

"What about the mob? Did you get them all on film?"

"No, maybe half. But the two Oren Hobbs laid out are awake and talking. They gave up three of their friends, but they didn't even know the rest of those guys. A barmaid gave us a few more names. And then we got a slew of fingerprints off the beer bottles they tossed through your windows. Idiots. I can promise you I'll get 'em all." The CBI agent said her goodbyes and stepped into the hallway, where she met Oren with a friendly smile.

He was certain that she would seem equally friendly on the business end of a gun. "Nice work," he said. "I mean the way you stole this mob case from the sheriff."

"Well, thank you. And when I get six minutes to catch my breath, I'll find out who killed your brother."

"Will that be before or after you wind up an investigation of the sheriff's office? I know you're using Josh to get close to Cable Babitt."

Her smile was still holding, but she was stalling. Weighing the odds? Would a lie well told beat whatever cards he was holding? Her shoulders squared off, and her feet were firmly planted. The lady was waiting for proof of this theory of his.

Oren nodded his understanding. "The CBI has a field office over in Shasta. But here you are in my county, camped out with the Highway Patrol. So I know you're not investigating them. That leaves the sheriff's office. And the investigation has to be department-wide, or you wouldn't need a gang of troopers for backup."

Sally Polk adjusted her purse strap, preparing to leave him now. "If you give the sheriff a heads-up, I'll cut your balls into little pieces and feed 'em to the hogs." She said this with such warmth, such cheerful goodwill, that she left him smiling.

Oren entered the bedroom, an austere place with no personal items on display. There was a light rectangle on one wall, where a picture frame had been recently taken down, the sign of an extremely private person-or a man with something to hide. That missing picture, once positioned opposite the bed, would have been the last thing Swahn looked at when he put out the lamp at night and the first sight of each new day.

Swahn's brow furrowed as he, too, stared at that empty space, no doubt recognizing his error.

And, of course, nothing got past Hannah. She held a roll of adhesive tape in one hand and, in the other, a pair of closed shears that might pass for the lance of a tiny knight. She hovered over her patient, prepared to take on all comers-even Oren. There was conflict in her eyes, and it pained him to see it. After pulling a chair close to the bed, he turned to her. "Hannah? Give us a minute?"

"I just gave him a sleeping pill. Can't this wait?"

"It won't take a minute," said Oren. "I promise."

Hannah bent down to William Swahn, laying one hand on his shoulder, and they held the silent conversation of friends for life. She asked by a worried look if she should stay and defend him. Swahn smiled in assurance that there was no need to fight for him-but thanks.

When the housekeeper had quit the room, Oren said, "I've got a question about those pictures of you in the post office. Josh caught you passing an envelope to the librarian. You dropped it into her tote bag. If it was addressed to Mrs. Winston, I can see why you couldn't just mail it. Half the gossip in town comes from the postmaster."

Swahn closed his eyes and turned his face away. The interview was over.

When Oren came out of the bedroom, he found Hannah sitting on the staircase. She reached up to hand him a prescription. "That's for his pain. Could you have it filled at the drugstore? Your father will be here by the time you get back. So there shouldn't be any more questions about those pictures of Mr. Swahn and Mavis."

"Eavesdropping, Hannah?" He sat down beside her.

"Mr. Swahn's a gentleman. He won't tell you what was in that envelope. But I will. The judge used to do the same thing for years. The line at the post office was the best place for it. Before we had rural delivery, Mavis always picked up her mail at the same time every morning. Coventry didn't have anything as grand as welfare, and Mavis hadn't seen a paycheck for a while. You may have noticed-no one goes to the library anymore. Officially, it was closed for years. But Mavis still showed up for work every day."

"A creature of habit."

"Right. And crazy. I'm sure you noticed that, too. So, once a month, people with money-like the judge, like Mr. Swahn-they'd slip her some cash on the sly. It was done that way so she wouldn't have to thank anybody. The envelopes were labeled as donations to the library, and that was to save her pride. I know Addison was generous, too. His envelopes were the thickest ones. It took the judge a long time to force the town council into reinstating Mavis so she could get regular paychecks. But back then, she was the town charity."

Hannah shook her head, slowly, sadly. "Josh and his collection of secrets. Hanging that one out in public made your father so mad. Only a handful of people would've understood what was going on in those pictures, and maybe a year passed by before any of them caught on to what the boy had done-exposing a sick woman that way. The judge was the first one to notice. I remember when he came home from the post office-so angry. His last conversation with your brother was an argument. After that, they didn't speak for days. And then Josh was gone-dead."

Oren stopped on the sidewalk outside the drugstore. Down the street, Alice Friday stood on the verandah of the Straub Hotel. The psychic was keeping watch on the judge's Mercedes. Well, if she wanted a word with him, the feeling was mutual. He had read her old interview with the sheriff and memorized every line:

Alice Friday: I know that boy is dead. Only the dead speak to me.

Sheriff Babitt: Josh went missing a year ago. So that's hardly a revelation from the great beyond. Did the Ouija board tell you where to look for his body?

Alice Friday: The dead don't care about such things. I can tell you he's not at peace. Josh's death was violent.

Sheriff Babitt: Lady if you know something about that kid, you-

Alice Friday: He's my spirit guide. Now I came here today because I have a question for you. Josh keeps asking me all the time. What about the other one? Josh says you'd know about that. Now what does he mean?

Sheriff Babitt: If you were a real psychic, you'd know I'm planning to boot your bony ass out of my office.

Oren walked toward the Mercedes. He was about to open the door when the psychic noticed him and waved. Evelyn Straub came outside as Alice Friday ran down the steps and crossed the street, yelling, "Young man!" When she had closed the distance, she stood before him, thin arms folded, her stance resolute. "You shouldn't have walked out in the middle of my séance. You have to come back. Your brother isn't done with you."

He was distracted by the speeding car, a standout in the crawl of Coventry traffic, and now Alice Friday also stared at this unusual sight. A redhead sat behind the wheel and aimed her automobile at Oren. He pushed the psychic into a space between parked vehicles, and then he rolled onto the trunk of the Mercedes. The nose of the black sports car almost kissed his rear bumper.

Isabelle Winston had looked right through him as if he were not there, as if-

"That woman tried to kill us." Alice Friday's words were hushed. Her eyes were startled and wide.

"No," said Oren. "She tried to kill me."

This distinction was lost on the stick-thin woman. She reached into her purse to produce a small notebook and a pen. "Not to worry. I got a good look at the license plate." After jotting down the numbers, she saw the stout hotelier crossing the street, and she yelled, "Evelyn, go call the sheriff!"

"Not a good idea." Evelyn Straub walked up to the smaller woman. "Cable's got enough to deal with this morning."

Alice Friday grabbed Oren's arm. "That woman tried to murder him with her car."

"No," said Evelyn, "that's just how they say hello."

The glazier's truck was gone, and the cleaning lady's car had also departed. Oren was surprised to see the yellow stray standing at attention in front of William Swahn's door. The animal must have followed the judge down the road to Paulson Lane.

Addison Winston sat on the hood of his Porsche, dangling his legs as he engaged in a staring contest with the wary stray, trying to win over a dog with his professional smile. The lawyer shrugged and turned to Oren. "I've got a great lawsuit to pitch to my client. Did you see those news broadcasts? He can get millions from the TV station and the California Bureau. But Hannah won't let me inside."

"The CBI agent had nothing to do with what happened last night."

"Sally's interview incited the-"

"That was no interview. That was an ambush."

"Why let the truth get in the way of a tasty lawsuit?"

Oren climbed the steps to the front door and leaned down to pet the yellow stray. "Don't press your luck with any more cops. That bogus settlement in LA might come back to bite you."

"We had a deal, Oren."

"Your client is the wild card. I think he's putting it together all by himself. When Hannah barred the door, she probably did you a favor."

News of attempted vehicular homicide traveled fast.

The judge and Hannah were sitting at the table when Oren entered William Swahn's kitchen. Their conversation suddenly stopped.

That was a clue.

His father winked at the housekeeper, and then looked up with a pretense of shock. "I heard Belle Winston tried to run you down."

Hannah smiled. "Never dull, is it? I love this town." She rose from the table to fetch another cup and pour him some coffee.

Oren thanked her when she set it down in front of him, and then he let the two of them sit and wait. The judge was foiled by his own policy of never asking an obvious question, such as why would the Winston girl try to kill him? Oren sipped his coffee-slowly-and slowly he set down his cup to gaze out the window and watch the clouds roll by-while listening to his father's tapping foot beneath the table.

Finally, he said to no one in particular, " Alice Friday moved to Coventry a year after Josh disappeared. She knows Mrs. Winston, but she didn't recognize the daughter."

"Well, Belle's only been back for a few months," said Hannah. "I guess she's never been to one of Alice 's séances."

"But over all these years…" He splayed his hands to ask how this lack of recognition was possible in a town the size of a postage stamp.

Hannah countered by holding up three fingers. "In all that time, Belle's only made three visits home that I know of. And I don't think the girl ever stayed a whole day."

So Isabelle Winston had been another exile. Had she also been sent away after Josh vanished? Or had she run away?

Cable Babitt's jeep rounded the last curve on the way to his house. He spotted the CBI agent's Taurus parked in the turnout just beyond his driveway. Her black sedan slowly pulled into the road and drove off.

That bitch! She had waited for him. She wanted him to see her.

He left the jeep's door hanging open and ran to the back of his garage. The cordwood was still neatly stacked against the rear wall, and there were no signs of disturbance among the individual logs. But he had to know for certain if the knapsack was still there, or he would get no sleep tonight. One by one, he pulled down the logs and flung them away. At last, he uncovered the bright green canvas wadded up inside the plastic bag. Perhaps it had been a mistake to move it from his former hiding place in the toolshed.

The cellar would be better, safer from Sally Polk. She'd never get in there without the proper paperwork, and that woman had burned her bridges with warrants in this county.

Half an hour later, he opened the storm doors that led him up to the light of his backyard, and he emerged from the cellar a satisfied man. Josh's knapsack was safe in its new resting place under piles of storage cartons and suitcases.

"Oh, goddamn."

He caught sight of the wind-whipped hem of a flowery dress, just a flash of material from behind the back wall of his garage. That bitch!

He rounded the corner and there was Sally Polk, standing in the middle of his cast-off firewood. The logs he had strewn all about the yard now advertised something once hidden in the woodpile and removed with great haste-and fear.

But the damn woman only made cheerful small talk while he sweated on a cool morning.