Murder with a Past

3

The girl sounded perfectly cool. If she was disturbed, it was more a matter of annoyance than worry. Tully gaped at her.

She went over to the bar and proceeded to fix another drink for herself. “It would have to happen now,” she complained.

“Now?” Tully repeated blankly.

“I mean, it’s darned inconsiderate of Ruth, getting herself involved in a mess just when I was settling my hooks for keeps in lover-boy. It’s certainly not going to help me with old lady Cabbott. She’ll snatch at this scandal the way a seal goes after a fish.”

“I see,” Tully said. He felt like grabbing her by the neck and the seat of the panties and heaving her through the picture window. “And that’s all you can think about?”

Sandra Jean sat down again in the same sprawled position and sipped her drink. “Oh, come off it, Davey. It’s obviously some kind of ridiculous mistake, and anyway Ruth’s always been able to take care of herself. Meanwhile, I have to make out with Mercedes Cabbott. She’ll look for any excuse to keep Andy and me apart. My sister being hunted by the police is made to order for that old barracuda.”

“I guess this just isn’t my day,” Tully said. He rubbed his forehead with one hand, leaning on the TV set with the other. “What kind of self-centered little slut are you, Sandra?”

Something very hard came into her eyes. But her voice was quite level as she said, “I don’t like that, Davey. Don’t call me that again.”

“All right, all right,” Tully muttered. “I can’t seem to grasp any of this, Sandra. Did Ruth know a Crandall Cox?”

“Ask Ruth that,” the girl said.

“Then she did!”

“I didn’t say that. Look, Davey.” Sandra Jean took a long swallow and then set her glass down. “You think I’m being awfully callous, don’t you?”

“I think you’re being damned unconcerned about a sister who’s knocked herself out for you!”

“I’m not unconcerned,” the girl said calmly. “It’s just that I’m not worried. I know Ruth a lot better than you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Ruth’s always managed just fine. She’s done pretty well for herself so far, hasn’t she? She’s never lost her head in her life. She’s far too smart to kill anybody, especially a crumb like this Cranny Cox.”

Tully straightened up, staring at her. “Crumb? How do you know he was a crumb?”

“He must have been. Who else but crumbs get themselves shot in cheap motels?”

“You’re lying,” Tully said. “You do know what this is all about, Sandra. You gave yourself away!”

“I did?” she said. She picked up the glass again.

“Cranny. You called him Cranny.”

“So what?”

“How do you know he was called Cranny Cox?”

“The announcer called him that.”

“The announcer called him Crandall Cox!”

For the merest instant Sandra Jean seemed perturbed. Then she shrugged and sipped her Scotch. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? A man named Crandall would be called Cranny, wouldn’t he?”

“Who was he, Sandra? What was his connection with Ruth?”

The girl rose. “Really, Davey. Playing detective! You weren’t cut out for the role. Good night.”

“Not yet!” Tully caught her by the wrist and spun her around. “By God, you know something about this, and you’re not leaving here until you tell me!”

“Isn’t this where I say, ‘Please, you’re hurting me’?” she said. “For the second time tonight, I might add. Under other circumstances I’d enjoy it. Now I’m bored. Let go of me.”

He glared down at her in a dumb rage. She had a special talent for making him feel foolish. He let go and turned abruptly away.

“You’re a darling,” his wife’s sister said sweetly. “Ruth’s lucky to have you. About this Cox business, it’s Ruth’s show. She’s innocent, of course, and I’m perfectly sure she’ll clear the whole thing up. Try not to worry about it.”

“Will you please get out of here!”

“I’m off to the races right now,” Sandra Jean said. “Where the devil did I throw my purse? Oh, here it is.” He heard her going to the door. “You see, Mercedes Cabbott and that stuffed Adonis she picked for a third husband might decide to pack my beloved off on a long trip, and I’ve got to get in a few licks of my own or lose Andy for good. How mercenary can a girl get! Night, Davey.”

He did not reply, and after a moment he heard the door open and close.

Tully went to the bar and poured himself a long jolt of Scotch. He gulped it and poured himself another. Then he sat down and tried to think again.

Sandra Jean had seemed so positive that Ruth would come through this — whatever it was — in one piece. Of course the girl knew all about it. She must have good reasons for respecting Ruth’s confidence.

That was the trouble, Tully thought. Those reasons.

He was completely confused. The implications from some of the things Sandra Jean had said... If Julian Smith were to phone him this moment to announce that Ruth was in the clear for Cox’s murder, could he honestly say that things would be just as they used to be between them?

He swallowed some more of the Scotch.

What had Cox really been to Ruth? He couldn’t have been unknown to her — not when his nickname fell so naturally from her younger sister’s lips.

Who was Cox?

For that matter, who was Ruth?

The question invaded and possessed his mind...

Tully was pouring his third Scotch when the phone in the den rang.

It was Oliver Hurst.

“Ollie,” Tully said. He felt a deep gratitude.

“What’s up, Dave?” the lawyer’s rich voice said. “I just got in and Norma says you sounded upset. Anything wrong?”

“Ollie, can you come right over?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“I don’t know, Dave. We’ve got this dinner engagement, and Norma’s all over my back as it is for getting home late.”

“Ollie, this won’t wait. It’s a serious personal matter. Believe me, I wouldn’t press it or risk upsetting Norma further if it weren’t. I’ve got to talk to you right away.”

Hurst was silent. Then Tully heard him say something, and Norma’s voice shrilling in the background. “Dave.”

“Yes, Ollie.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Thanks!”

Twenty minutes later Tully saw the lights of Hurst’s car swing into the driveway. He hurried to the door.

The lawyer’s flesh belied the promise of his voice. He was thick-set and moon-faced, and his head was a freckled, almost hairless, egg. But he had fine, light, clear eyes of a deceptive transparency which sometimes made Tully uncomfortable; they were almost the only remains of the lawyer’s youth — it was hard to believe, seeing what he had become, that Ollie had been voted the handsomest man in his class in the college yearbook. His hands were never still — pulling an ear, fingering his chin, rubbing his nose, scratching his skull, pinching the skin of his neck.

But if Oliver Hurst had settled into suet and chronic worry, he also — as Tully knew — had guts. He was a fighter. Back when the town had been little more than an overgrown village dependent on the local college of the state university system, Ollie had bulldogged his way through to a first-class education and a law degree. In those years it had been an exceptional achievement for a day-laborer’s son. As the town grew, Ollie had had to make his own opportunities; no one made it easy for him. Until David Tully began to throw business his way. That marked Hurst’s breakthrough; now he handled all Tully’s legal affairs, and he was the busiest lawyer in town. He owed a great deal to Dave Tully.

Ollie took a quick look around. “Where’s the fire, Dave? Everything seems normal.”

“Drink?”

“You sound as if I’ll need it. What’s the trouble?”

Tully splashed some bourbon into a glass. “Ruth.”

“Ruth?” Hurst looked puzzled. He merely moistened his lips with the bourbon, as if some sixth sense told him he was going to need his faculties unimpaired. “What d’ye mean Ruth? What kind of trouble could Ruth be in?”

“Have you seen her last night or today? Heard from her?”

“No. You mean you don’t know where she is?”

“That’s right.”

Oliver Hurst sat down, staring at the taller man. “It’s more than that, Dave. Come on, let’s have it.”

“She’s apparently mixed up in this motel business.”

“What motel business?”

Tully was surprised. He had been so preoccupied with the affair that he had assumed it was universally known. “Haven’t you heard the newscast, Ollie?”

“No, I just got home. And you know how Norma feels about the news these days — she’ll never let me turn the thing on, can’t stand the voices of doom.” The lawyer rather deliberately set the glass down. “What is this crud about Ruth and a motel, Dave?” he asked quietly.

Tully said in a bleak voice, “And a dead man.”

Hurst stared up at him. “And a what?”

“A man named Cox. He was shot to death in the Hobby Motel last night sometime — body wasn’t found till mid-morning.”

“So? What’s that got to do with Ruth?”

“A gun registered in my name killed him — we kept it in the house here. And a woman in the room next to Cox’s says Cox had a gal in his room last night — overheard Cox call her Ruth, she says.”

After a moment Ollie Hurst took up the glass of bourbon and drank half its contents. “I see,” he said, and he set the glass down again and rose. “How did you learn all this, Dave?”

“Julian Smith told me. He was here looking for Ruth. He has a pickup on her.”

“I see,” the lawyer said again. He stood frowning, pinching his lips, rubbing his nose, staring at the floor. Finally he looked up. “I don’t believe it, Dave. There’s something wrong somewhere. It’s got to be a mistake.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

“Good God, man, you sound as if you doubt her!”

“Do I?” Tully said.

“Not Ruth, Dave. You ought to know that better than anyone in the world. I can imagine what a shock this is to you, but so-called facts can often be terribly misleading. I’d stake a good deal on Ruth’s integrity.”

“Then how do you explain those facts?”

“I don’t — not yet. But even if Ruth was there last night, there are a dozen possible innocent explanations. Certainly she didn’t kill the guy — I can’t see Ruth killing a flea, let alone a human being. Who was he, do you know?”

“Who was who?”

“This fellow Cox.”

“I haven’t any idea,” Tully said tiredly. “Julian had me take a look at him over at the funeral parlor. I never saw him before.”

Hurst began to walk around the room, deep in thought. “Dave,” he said, stopping. “You have no idea where Ruth is? You found no note, no message?”

“No.”

“Have you tried calling around?”

“No!” Tully was astounded at the violence of his own tone. “The last thing I want to do is spread this. Julian promised to keep Ruth’s name out of the papers as long as he could. It’s true somebody leaked a hint to that damn newscaster, but he’s still not naming names. Ollie, I thought I knew her, I thought I knew her!”

“You did. You do.”

“Do I? How long did I actually know her before we got married? I don’t know a thing about her past. She never talked about it. She could have been a call girl somewhere for all I know.”

“That’s a fine thing to say about your own wife, Dave! I’m surprised at you — I really am.”

“Are you?” Tully heard himself shouting. “What the hell would you know about it? Your wife was never reported in a lousy motel room with a creep — your wife never had a murder charge hanging over her head!”

Ollie Hurst said mildly, “Go ahead, take it out on me if it makes you feel any better.”

“I don’t know what I called you for! Fat lot of help you are!”

“Here, Dave. Drink this.”

It was three fingers of Scotch. Tully started to take it mechanically, but then he shook his head. “I’ve already tried that. I’m sorry, Ollie, I don’t know what’s happening to me. A couple of hours ago I was living in a solid world, solid business, solid house, in love with a solid wife. All of a sudden everything’s turned to jelly — I can’t hold on to any of it! I don’t know what to think, where to turn, what to do...”

“You want me to get a lawyer?”

“A lawyer? What do I need a lawyer for? You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”

“This is a criminal case. Actually, I don’t think you need a criminal lawyer yet, not till Ruth turns up, anyway. But I’ll inquire around and have one on tap. The best way I can help right now is to try to locate Ruth. I could ask around discreetly—”

“No,” Tully said in a strained voice. “I’m sorry I even dragged you into this. You’d better get back to Norma and that dinner party of yours. She’ll be climbing the walls.”

“Wait till I finish my drink before you kick me out, will you?” Ollie Hurst said amiably. He sat down and picked up the glass of bourbon. “Look, Dave, I don’t pretend to know much about women. I’ve got my hands full just keeping poor old Norma going. And I certainly don’t know anything about Ruth that you don’t know. But maybe I can see her more objectively. That wife of yours is something special — and I don’t give a damn if she was a call girl, which you and I both know she wasn’t! The way she’s helped Norma, the way she looks at you when she thinks nobody’s watching, her honesty and frankness and kindness to others... Your wife is a lady, Dave, in the only meaningful sense of the word, and if I were to find out different I’d burn my lawbooks and take a job on the county roads. And that’s my speech for tonight.”

He finished his drink and got to his feet. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to tell Norma. Though how I’m going to break the news to her...” Hurst sighed and turned to go. “Problems, problems, hey, Dave? But we’ve got to manage. There’s no other choice. Keep in touch, will you? Especially if there’s any news about Ruth.”

“Good night,” Tully muttered.

Was Ollie’s judgment right? Except where his own emotions were involved, Ollie knew a lot about women, in spite of his disclaimer. But then why had Sandra Jean insinuated...?

The house, filled with silence, suddenly made itself known to him. Tully found himself looking around, like a child imagining monsters in the next room.

He jumped up. He couldn’t stay here doing nothing. There was that woman at the Hobby Motel, his feeling that something was wrong with her story...