Games to Keep the Dark Away

Chapter 11

Another unpleasant confrontation awaited me at All Souls. As I came through the front door, I ran into Hank. His eyes, behind his thick, horn-rimmed glasses, went from my face to the still-bulging briefcase in my hand.

“You didn’t file those documents yet.”

“Uh, no.’

He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly four-thirty. What have you been doing all afternoon?”

In truth, I couldn’t tell him. After I’d left Snelling’s I’d stopped at the McDonald’s near City Hall for a hamburger to make up for the one I hadn’t eaten at lunch. I’d sat there on the upper deck and watched the traffic on Van Ness Avenue, occasionally reminding myself that I should be going about my business. But the mental prodding had done no good and, after three cups of coffee and two hours of meandering thoughts about Jane Anthony and Abe Snelling, I’d packed it in and gone back to the office.

“I had some other business to attend to,” I said lamely.

‘Sharon, those documents are important.”

“I know.”

“So why didn’t you take care of them?”

“Something came up.”

“Sharon, this isn’t like you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you have to say-you’re sorry?”

I felt a flush of irritation. “What do you want me to do, kneel and beg forgiveness?”

“You could at least explain-”

“Look, Hank, I’ve had a bad day.” I started to push past him. “The documents will be filed first thing tomorrow.”

He blocked me. “It was important some of them be filed today.”

“Then why didn’t you…” I stopped, realizing that what I was about to say was unrealistic, to say nothing of petty.

“Then why didn’t I what?”

I was silent, feeling sullen and totally in the wrong.

“Why didn’t I file them myself? Is that what you were going to say?”

Hank’s bony frame loomed over me. Usually my boss was as mild-mannered as they come, but he couldn’t tolerate people shirking their responsibilities.

“Look, Hank, just forget it.”

“Why didn’t I file them myself? My God, Sharon, I’m a lawyer!”

The conversation was bordering on absurd. “Don’t lawyers file documents?”

“Not when they have someone on salary to do it.” He waved his hand wildly and almost poked me in the eye. “Not when they pay someone else to handle it.”

Why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut? Why had I made it worse? “Drop it, Hank. Please drop it.”

He glared down at me, then moved around me toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Hank never left the office before six.

“Out.”

“Yes, but where? I might need to talk to you before I go home.”

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “You are not the only one who has had a bad day. I am going down the street to the Remedy Lounge, where I will have a couple of Scotches and contemplate my problems in silence.”

“No one has that hard a day. The Remedy Lounge is the sleaziest bar in Bernal Heights, maybe in the entire city.”

“Ah, but it has its advantages.”

“Which are?”

“It is dark, nearly always deserted, and-best of all-you are not likely to follow me there.” He went out, slamming the door for emphasis.

I sighed and went down the hall to my office. Hank was wrong; whether it was sleazy or not, I planned to join him at the Remedy Lounge in a very few minutes. But before I did that, I wanted to call a friend at San Francisco State, to see if Abe Snelling had ever given a lecture on photography there.

My friend, Seamus Dunlap, was temporarily out of his office. Tapping my fingers impatiently on the desk, I waited for him to call back. He was a color photographer who did work for classy magazines like National Geographic and, in fact, the person who had interested me in photography when I’d been dating him years before. If anyone would know about Abe Snelling, it was Seamus.

My phone buzzed and I answered it. “Sharon! How are you doing?” Seamus’ deep voice seemed to fill my tiny office.

“Pretty good. You?”

“Can’t complain.”

“Seamus, I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“To your knowledge, has Abe Snelling ever lectured at State?”

“Abe Snelling.” He paused. “Not that I know of. Why?”

I ignored his question. “If he had, within the past year, you would know, right?”

“Does anything ever go on here that I don’t know about?”

I chuckled. “Occasionally, as I recall.” About a year before I’d met him, Seamus’ wife had run off with one of his students. The photographer had been so caught up in his work that he hadn’t even noticed for a week.

“Come on, that was centuries ago. Speaking of centuries, when are you and I going to get together?”

“Later this month, maybe.” Seamus was attractive and intelligent, but difficult to get along with for any length of time. After Greg Marcus, another temperamental man was exactly what I didn’t need.

“Just as easy to pin down as ever, hey? But back to your question: as far as I know, Snelling’s never lectured here-or anyplace else. Not that we wouldn’t love to have him; but the guy’s a recluse.”

That was what I’d expected. So why had Snelling lied to me?

“Thanks, Seamus,” I said.

“Hey, why are you interested in Snelling?”

“I’ll tell you when we get together.”

“I’ll call you.” He probably would, too-a year from now, when he remembered he was supposed to.

“Buy you a drink?”

I slipped onto the cracked vinyl stool next to Hank. He was hunched over the bar, a glass that I knew contained Scotch and soda in front of him. As usual, the Remedy Lounge was dark and empty. The glasses on the back bar were spotted, the mirror fly-specked, and the bartender had a large, nondescript stain across the front of his apron.

Hank looked sidelong at me, then back at his glass. “That’s okay. I’ll buy.”

“But it’s a peace offering.”

“So’s mine.”

Since he’d insisted, I ordered bourbon and water. The bartender plunked the glass down in front of me, and some of the drink slopped over.

“I’m sorry about those documents,” I said. “I was preoccupied and time just got away from me. I’ll file them first thing in the morning.”

He nodded.

“I seem to have a lot of trouble keeping on top of things lately,” I went on. “Maybe I need a vacation.”

“Probably.”

I leaned forward on the bar, laid my hand on a sticky place, and pulled it back. “So I was thinking-could I have a few days off? The tenants’ dispute doesn’t go to trial until next week and, once I file that stack of documents, I really don’t have anything else pending.”

Slowly Hank turned to look at me.

“With the weekend, I could get away for around five days. It might do me some good.”

“Where were you thinking of going?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I sipped my drink. “Maybe back to Port San Marco. I really enjoyed it there; I hadn’t been there, you know, for years and years. It’s still warm enough to sit on the beach and I could-”

“Uh-huh.”

I ignored his skeptical look. “I could relax.”

“Right.”

“Well, I have to admit there’s more to it.”

“I guessed as much.”

“I met a man there.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. His name’s Don Del Boccio. He’s a disc jockey but he’s also a classical musician. He has the most wonderful apartment, and this horrible metallic gold Jaguar and…” I let the words drift off, realizing that Hank had seen through me for sure now. I never discussed my private life with him if I could help it-which was one reason why it fascinated him.

“Right,” Hank said again.

“Well, I did meet such a person.”

“I didn’t think you could make someone like that up. But you also stumbled onto a murder.”

“True.”

Hank signaled for another drink. “Shar, didn’t Snelling say the investigation was closed?”

“Yes, but-”

“You can’t just go down there and snoop around without a client.”

“I’m not going to ‘snoop around.’”

“What do you call it?”

“Look, Hank, I’ve been straightforward with the Port San Marco police. I’ve given them everything I know and they’ve appreciated it. I wouldn’t go back there without checking in with the lieutenant in charge of the case.”

“And what would you tell him?”

“That I was back in town and…”

“And what?”

“And that I was interested in hearing whatever they’d come up with.”

“Would you tell him Snelling was no longer employing you?”

“He probably wouldn’t ask.”

“So you’d imply you still had a client.”

“I guess you can say that.”

“Sharon, it’s too risky. You’ve gotten in trouble with this sort of thing in the past.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

I finished my drink. “I’m more sensible now.”

“More sensible than you were last year?”

“Yes. I promise, I’ll talk to Lieutenant Barrow first thing. And I’ll report anything I find out immediately. Please, Hank, let me have this time off.”

He stared down at his glass. “I don’t suppose I can stop you. You could always call in sick if I said no.”

“Would I do that?”

“Yes.” He looked at me, and then the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled. “Ah, what the hell. Go. With my blessing. Maybe you’ll come back less of a grump.”

“A grump?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been impossible the last few weeks.”

“Well, I told you I needed a vacation.”

We finished our drinks in silence and then Hank said, “I’ve got to get back to the house.”

I stood up. “I’ll come with you and pick up my briefcase. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just file the documents and take off without coming in tomorrow morning.”

He slid off the barstool, looking uncomfortable.

“That is all right-just to file them and go-isn’t it?”

“Uh, sure.”

“What’s wrong then?”

He paused. “Nothing, really. Come on.”

When we entered the big brown Victorian, I understood what had made Hank hesitate. Greg Marcus sat on an edge of the front desk, chatting with Ted. I supposed Greg and Hank had dinner plans; the two of them had been friends years before I had entered their lives and I couldn’t expect that to change now.

When Greg saw me, there was a barely perceptible hardening in his eyes and the lines of his jaw grew taut. Then his face smoothed and he said, “Hi, papoose.” To Hank, he added, “You’re late.”

“I’ll only be a minute.” Hank hurried off down the hall without so much as a glance at me.

Ted, craven coward that he was, got up and muttered something about the men’s room.

I turned to Greg. “So, how have you been?”

“Okay. How about you?”

“Busy. I’ve been hunting for a new apartment, but without much luck.”

“Hank tells me you found a body down near Port San Marco the other night.”

Now why had Hank done that “Yes.”

“Up to your old tricks?”

“What tricks?”

“Well, I hope you’re cooperating with the police down there better than you’ve cooperated with me in the past.”

For a moment when I’d seen him sitting there, handsome in his blue suit and striped tie, I’d felt a momentary softening. But now all the reasons I’d ended our relationship came flooding back.

“Cooperation,’ I said, “has to be mutual if it’s to work properly.” In the instant before I turned and started down the hall, I saw him do a double take.

Greg, however, could not be humbled for long.” Always quick with the snappy comeback, eh, papoose?”

I kept going, into my office. No wonder I had broken up with him! No wonder. Besides, what kind of woman could remain in love with a man who called her by such a ridiculous nickname?