I is for Innocent

16

I couldn't believe I had to go back to Morley's again, but that's where I was headed. Burt Walker had asked me to bring him any household products that were possible poison candidates. Louise was out in front, standing at the mailbox, when I pulled up. If she was surprised to see me she gave no indication. She waited patiently while I parked the car and got out. We began walking toward the house as companionable as old friends.

"Where's Dorothy?" I asked.

"She's gone to her room to rest."

"Was she upset?"

Her look was frank. "My sister is a realist. Morley's gone. If someone poisoned him, she wants to know. Of course it's upsetting. Why wouldn't it be?"

"I hated to add to her burden, but I didn't see a way around it."

"There's nothing either one of us can do about that. What brings you back?"

I told her about my conversation with the coroner. "He doesn't seem optimistic, but at least he's willing to check into it if I round up some possibilities. I'm going to need some sort of carrier for the items we find."

"How about a kitchen garbage bag? Ours are the small ones with a drawstring at the top."

"Perfect," I said.

I followed her to the kitchen and together we gathered up everything that seemed pertinent. The storage area under the sink turned out to be a rich lode of toxic substances. It was sobering to realize that the average housewife spends her days knee-deep in death. Some items I declined, like the Drano, reasoning there was no way he could have sucked down a fatal dose of hair-ball solvent without being aware of it.

Louise had a sharp eye, pointing out items I might have overlooked otherwise. Into the bag went oven cleaner, Raid, Brasso, household ammonia, denatured alcohol, and a box of ant motels. I had a brief incongruous image of Morley with his head back, slipping ant motels down his gullet like a succession of live goldfish. There were several of Morley's prescriptions lined up along the kitchen window sill and we tossed those into my trick-or-treat bag.

In the bathroom, we emptied the medicine cabinet of everything with Morley's name on it, plus a few over-the-counter medications that might be lethal in quantity. Aspirin, Unisom, Percogesic, antihistamines. None of it felt particularly ominous or threatening. We checked all the wastebaskets, but came up with nothing the slightest bit suspicious. The garage netted us a few containers, but not nearly as many as I'd anticipated. "Not many insecticides or fertilizers," I remarked idly. Louise was loading my bag with turpentine and paint thinner.

"Morley hated working in the garden. That was Dorothy's bailiwick." She stood back from the shelves, doing a slow turn as she scanned the premises. "That looks like it. Well, motor oil," she said. She turned and looked at me.

"You might as well put it in the bag," I said. "I can't believe he OD'd on Sears heavyweight, but anything's possible. What about the office? Does he have a medicine cabinet in the bathroom there?"

"I hadn't even thought about that. He sure does. Here, let me rustle up his keys while we're at it."

"Don't worry about it. I can have the woman in the beauty shop let me in from her side."

We returned to the front of the house, where I got out my car keys. "Thanks for your help, Louise."

"Let us know what they find," she said.

"It'll be a while yet. Toxicology reports sometimes take a month."

"What about the autopsy? That should tell them something."

"Nothing's going to happen till after the funeral."

"Will we see you at the service?"

"As far as I know."

Driving over to Morley's office I found myself nearly overwhelmed with uncertainty. This was ridiculous. Morley wouldn't have eaten anything laced with Brasso or Snarol. He was hardly an epicurean, but he surely would have noticed the first time he slurped up a spoonful of Malathion or Sevin. I couldn't speak to the issue of his medications. None of the bottles had been empty, or even low, so it didn't look as if he'd overdosed, accidentally or otherwise. The two prescriptions that came in capsule form could have been tampered with, of course. I gathered that most days the back door was left unlocked and open. Anyone could have walked in and replaced his pills with something fatal.

I reached Morley's office and parked in the driveway. I rounded the bungalow and moved toward the front door, toting my plastic garbage bag like a vagrant Santa Claus. On second viewing, the place seemed even more depressing than it had at first. The exterior siding was painted the bright turquoise of Easter eggs, the window frames and roof trim done in sooty white. Various signs in the plate glass window, tucked in among the snowdrifts, announced that the salon was now stocking Jhirmack and Redken. I went in.

This time the shop was empty and Betty, whom I took to be the owner, was having coffee and a cigarette at the back while she worked on her accounts. "Where is everybody?"

"They're all out at lunch. Jeannie has a birthday and I said I'd mind the phones. What can I do for you?"

"I need to get back into Morley's office."

"Help yourself," she said and shrugged.

Someone had pulled the shades down. The light in the room was tawny, overcast sun filtered through cracked paper. Along with the smell of mildew and carpet dust, I picked up the scent of old cigarette butts mingling with the smell of scorched coffee and fresh smoke that wafted through the heating vent from the salon adjacent.

A cursory check of the desk drawers and file cabinets netted me nothing in the way of toxic substances. In the bathroom, I found a can of Comet so close to empty the remaining cleanser had formed pellets that rattled around the bottom like dried peas. The medicine cabinet was empty except for a half-empty bottle of Pepto-Bismol. I added that to my plastic bag in case the contents had been infused with rat poison, powdered glass, or mothballs. Having staged this little melodrama, I felt obliged to play it all the way out to the end. The bathroom waste can was empty. I returned to the office to check the wastebasket under Morley's desk but there was no sign of it. I looked around in puzzlement. I'd seen it in here my first trip.

I opened the connecting door and stuck my head into the salon. "Where'd Morley's wastebasket disappear to?"

"Out on the porch."

"Thanks. Can you do me another favor?"

"I can try," she said.

"Morley's office might turn out to be a crime scene; we won't know for another couple days. Can you keep it secure?"

"Meaning what? Don't let anybody in?"

"Right. Don't touch anything and don't throw anything away."

"That's how Morley kept it in the first place," she said.

I closed the door again and retrieved the wastebasket from the front porch, where the Ho Chi Minh of ant trails now meandered across the concrete. Gingerly, I poked through, brushing ants away. I sat down on the top step and began to empty the contents. Discarded papers, catalogues, used Kleenex, Styrofoam coffee containers. The cardboard box, with the half-eaten pastry in it, had now become sole food source for the teeming colony of ants. I set the box on the porch beside me and did a quick study of the contents. Morley must have stopped off at the bakery on his way into the office, picked up a sweetie, and brought it back with him. He'd eaten half of it and then tossed the rest in the trash, probably feeling guilty about breaking his diet. I peered at the pastry closely, but I had no idea what I was looking at. It didn't appear to be fruit, but what else do you make strudel with? I gathered the remnants carefully and wrapped them in the paper that had come with the box.

There was nothing else of interest. I piled everything back in the wastebasket and tucked it just inside the door, which I locked behind me. I returned to my car and took the entire collection of detritus to the coroner's office, where I left it with the secretary to pass along to Burt.

I was ready to pack it in for the day and head home. The whole case was making my stomach hurt. I was feeling bummed out and depressed. The only thing I'd actually accomplished so far was to dismantle Lonnie's case. Thanks to my efforts, the informant's testimony had now been called into question and the defendant himself had an alibi. If I made many more of these sterling contributions, Barney's attorney would have grounds for dismissal. I could feel the anxiety begin to churn in my chest and I felt the kind of gut-level fear I hadn't experienced since grade school. Not to whine about it, but in some ways I could see that my being fired from CF was generating a crisis of confidence. I had always acted from instinct. I was often frustrated in the course of an investigation, but I operated with a sort of cocky self-assurance, buoyed up by the belief that in the end I could do the job as well as the next man. I'd never felt quite as insecure as I was feeling now. What would happen if I had my ass fired for the second time in six weeks?

I went home and cleaned my apartment like Cinderella on uppers. It was the only thing I could think of to offset my anxiety. I grabbed some sponges and the cleanser and attacked the bathroom off the loft. I don't know how men cope with life's little stresses. Maybe they play golf or fix autos or drink beer and watch TV. The women I know (the ones who aren't addicted to junk food or shopping) turn to cleaning house. I went to town with a rag and a johnny mop, mowing down germs with copious applications of disinfectants, variously sprayed and foamed across every visible surface. Any germs I didn't kill, I severely maimed.

At 6:00 I took a break. My hands smelled of bleach. In addition to sanitizing my entire upstairs bathroom, I'd dusted and vacuumed the loft, and changed the sheets. I was just about to tackle my dresser drawers when I realized it was time to stop and grab a bite to eat. It might even be time to knock off altogether. I took a quick shower and then donned fresh jeans and a clean turtleneck. My stab at domesticity didn't extend to home cooking, I'm afraid. I snagged my shoulder bag and a jacket and headed up to Rosie's.

I was somewhat taken aback to find the place just as busy as it had been the night before. This time, instead of bowlers, there appeared to be a softball team-guys in sweatpants and matching short-sleeved shirts that sported the name of a local electrical supply firm in stitching across the back. Much cigarette smoke, many raised beer steins and bursts of the sort of raucous laughter that drinking unleashes. The place looked like one of those beer commercials where people seem to be having a much better time than they actually do in real life. The jukebox was pounding out a cut so distorted it was difficult to identify. The television set at one end of the bar was turned to ESPN, the picture showing laps of some dusty and interminable stock car race. No one was paying the slightest attention, but the sound was turned up to compete with the din.

Rosie looked on, beaming complacently. What was happening to the woman? She'd never tolerated noise. She'd never encouraged the patronage of sports buffs. I'd always worried the tavern would be discovered by the yuppies and turned into an upscale drinking establishment for business executives and attorneys. It never crossed my mind I'd be rubbing elbows with a bunch of Ben-Gay addicts.

I spotted Henry and his brother William. Henry was wearing cutoffs, a white T-shirt, and deck shoes, his long tanned legs looking muscular and sturdy. William still wore his suit, but he'd removed the matching vest. While Henry slouched in his chair with a beer in front of him, William sat bolt upright, sipping mineral water with a slice of lemon. I gave Henry a wave and headed for my favorite back booth, which was miraculously empty. I stopped at the halfway point. Henry's gaze had settled on mine with such a look of mute pleading that I found myself opting for his table instead.

William rose to his feet.

Henry shoved a chair toward me with his foot. "You want a beer? I'll buy you a beer."

"I'd really prefer white wine if it's all the same to you," I said.

"Absolutely. No problem. White wine it is."

Since I'd seen the two of them the day before, I could have sworn they'd regressed. I could almost picture them as they'd been at eight and ten years old respectively. Henry was all elbows and knees, conducting himself with a sullen-younger-brother belligerence. He'd probably spent his youth being victimized by William's fastidious and lofty manner. Maybe their mother had assigned Henry to his brother's care, forcing the two of them into unwanted proximity. William looked like the sort who would lord it over Henry, tormenting his younger brother when he wasn't tattling on him. Now at eighty-three, Henry looked both restless and rebellious, unable to assert himself except in clowning and asides.

He was searching now for Rosie while William sat down again. I turned to William and raised my voice so he could hear me over all the ruckus in the place. "How was your first day in Santa Teresa?"

"I'd say the day was fair. I suffered a little episode of heart palpitations…" William's voice was powdery and feeble.

I put a hand to my ear to indicate I was having trouble hearing him. Henry leaned toward me.

"We spent the afternoon at the Urgent Care Center," Henry yelled. "It was fun. The equivalent of the circus for those of us on Medicare."

William said, "I had a problem with my heart. The doctor ordered an ECG. I can't remember now what he called my particular condition…"

"Indigestion," Henry hollered. "All you had to do was burp."

William didn't seem dismayed by Henry's facetiousness. "My brother's uncomfortable at any sign of human frailty."

"Hanging around you all my life, I ought to be used to it."

I was still focused on William. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, thank you," he replied.

"Here's how I feel," Henry said. He crossed his eyes and hung his tongue out the side of his mouth, clutching his chest.

William didn't crack a smile. "Would you care to have a look?"

I wasn't sure what he was offering until he took out the tracing from his electrocardiogram. "They let you keep this?" I asked.

"Just this portion. The remainder is in my chart. I brought my medical records with me, in case I needed them."

The three of us stared at the ribbon of ink with its spikes at regular intervals. It looked like a crosscut of ocean with four shark fins coming straight at us through the water.

William leaned close. "The doctor wants to keep a very close eye on me."

"I should think so," I said.

"Too bad you can't take a day off work," Henry said to me. "We could take turns checking William's pulse."

"Mock me if you like, but we all have to come to grips with our own mortality," William said with composure.

"Yeah, well, tomorrow I've got to come to terms with somebody else's mortality," I said. And to Henry I added, "Morley Shine's funeral."

"A friend of yours?"

"Another private investigator here in town," I said. "He used to be pals with the guy who trained me so I've known him for years."

"He died in the line of duty?" William asked.

I shook my head. "Not really. Sunday night he dropped dead of a heart attack." The minute I said it, I wished I'd kept my mouth shut. I could see William's hand stray to his chest.

He said, "And what age was the man?"

"Gee, I'm not really sure." I was lying, of course. Morley was a good twenty years younger than William. "Golly, there's Rosie." I can "Gee" and "Golly" with the best of 'em in a pinch.

Rosie had just emerged from the kitchen and was staring at us from across the room. She approached, her face set in an expression of determination. As she passed the bar, she reached over and muted the volume on the TV set. Henry and I exchanged significant looks. I was sure he was thinking the same thing I was: She was going to take care of William and no two ways about it. I found myself almost feeling sorry for the man. The jukebox shut down and the noise level dropped. The quiet was a blessing.

William pushed his chair back and rose politely to his feet. "Miss Rosie. What a pleasure. I hope we can persuade you to join us."

I looked from one to the other. "You've been introduced?"

Henry said, "She came over to the table when we first got here."

Rosie's gaze strayed to William and then dropped modestly. "You might be engaged in conversation," she said, fishing for reassurance as usual. This from a woman who bullies everybody unmercifully.

"Oh, come on. Have a seat," I said, adding my invitation to William's. He remained standing, apparently waiting for her to sit, which she showed no signs of doing.

Rosie barely acknowledged Henry and me. Her glance at William shifted from coquettish to quizzical. She focused on the ECG tracing. She tucked her hands beneath her apron. "Sinus tachycardia," she announced. "The heart is suddenly beating one hundred times a minute. Is horrible."

William looked at her with surprise. "That's it. That's correct," he said. "I suffered such an incident just this afternoon. I had to see the doctor at an urgent care facility. He's the one who ran this test."

"There's nothing they can do," she said with satisfaction. "I have similar condition. Maybe some pills. Otherwise is hopeless." She settled herself gingerly on the edge of the chair. "You sit."

William sat. "It's much worse than fibrillation," William said.

"Is much more worse than fibrillation and palpitations put together," Rosie said. "Let me see that." She took the tracing. She adjusted her glasses low on her nose, rearing back to see it better. "Look at that. I can' believe this."

William peered over at it again as if the strip of paper might have been injected with a whole new meaning. "It's that serious?"

"Terrible. Not as bad as mine, but plenty serious. These wavy lines and these spiky points?" She shook her head, her mouth pulling down. She handed the tracing back abruptly. "I get you a sherry."

"No, no. Out of the question. I don't imbibe spirits," he said.

"This Hungarian sherry. Is completely different. I take myself at first sign of attack. Boomb! Is gone. Just like that. No more wavy lines. No more spike."

"The doctor never mentioned anything about sherry," he said uneasily.

"And you want to know why? How much you pay to see this doctor today? Plenty, I bet. Sixty, eighty dollars. You think he don' want you come running beck? You got that kind of money? I'm telling you, do what I say and you'll be just like new in no time. You try. You don' feel better, you don' pay. I guarantee. I give you the first. On the house. Ebsolutely free."

He seemed torn, debating, until Rosie turned a steely gaze on him. He held his thumb and his index finger an inch apart. "Perhaps just a bit."

"I pour myself," she said, getting to her feet.

I raised my hand. "Could I have a glass of white wine, please? Henry's treating."

"A round of blood pressure medication for the bar," he said.

Rosie ignored his attempt at humor and moved off toward the bar. I didn't dare look at Henry, because I knew I'd smirk. Rosie had William eating out of her hand. While Henry had been mocking and I'd been polite, Rosie was treating William with the utmost seriousness. I had no idea where she intended to go from here, but William seemed to be thoroughly disarmed by the approach.

"Doctor never said anything about spirits," he repeated staunchly.

"It can't hurt," I supplied just to keep the game afloat. Maybe she meant to get him drunk, soften his defenses so she could tell him the truth-for a man his age, he was as healthy as a horse.

"I wouldn't want to do anything counterproductive to my long-term treatment," he said.

"Oh, for God's sake. Have a drink," Henry snapped.

Under the table, I placed my foot on top of Henry's and applied some pressure. His expression shifted. "Yes, well, that just reminded me. Grandfather Pitts partook of occasional spirits. You remember that, don't you, William? I can still picture him on the front porch, sitting in his rocking chair, sipping his tumbler of Black Jack."

"But then he died," William said.

"Of course he died! The man was a hundred and one years old!"

William's expression shut down. "You needn't shout."

"Well, shit! People in the Bible didn't live as long as he did. He was healthy. He was hale and hearty. Everybody in our family-"

"Hennnnrrry, you're losing it," I sang.

He was abruptly silent. Rosie was returning to the table with a tray in hand. She'd brought a glass of white wine for me, a beer for Henry, plus two liqueur glasses and a small ornate bottle filled with amber liquid. William had obediently risen to his feet again. He pulled a chair out for her. She put the tray down and sent him a simpering smile. "Such a gentleman," she said and actually batted her eyes. "Very nice." She passed the wine to me, the beer to Henry, and then sat down. "Permit me, please," she said to William.

"Just the tiniest amount," he said.

"I'm telling you the amount," she said. "I'm showing you how to drink. Like this." She poured sherry to the rim of the small glass and placed it to her lips. She tossed her head back and drained the contents. She dabbed the corners of her mouth daintily with the knuckle of her index finger. "Now you," she said. She filled a second liqueur glass and handed it to William.

He hesitated.

"Do what I'm telling you," she said.

William did as she was telling him. As soon as the alcohol hit the back of his throat, he began to shudder… a wonderful involuntary spasm that started in his shoulders and traveled rapidly down his spine. "My stars!"

" 'My stars!' is correct," she said. She studied him slyly and her chuckle was positively lascivious. She poured them both another round, tossing her shot down like some old cowboy in a John Wayne movie. Having got the hang of it, William did likewise. A bit of color had come up in his cheeks. Henry and I were watching with mute amazement.

"Done!" Rosie banged a hand on the table and gathered herself together. She stood, placing the sherry bottle and the two glasses carefully on her tray again. "Tomorrow. Two o'clock. Is like medicine. Very strict. Now I bring you dinner. I know just what you need. Don't argue."

I could feel my heart sink. I knew dinner would consist of some incredible concoction of Hungarian spices and saturated fats, but I didn't have the nerve to flee.

William watched her depart. "That's remarkable," he said. "I believe I can actually feel my blood pressure drop."