The Night Remembers

28

Twenty minutes later, Detective Gaute and I sat in Conroy’s living room, him with a pipe, me with a cigarette. Mr. Haversham appeared every few minutes to glare at me for deceiving him.

Detective Gaute said, “Why are you so interested in Conroy?”

“He was following me.”

“When?”

“Today.”

“Do you know why he was following you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Do you know who he was working for?”

“No.”

“Did you confront him about following you?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing much. I used my old service revolver to threaten him.”

“I’m glad you told me that.”

“Why?”

“Because Conroy told his secretary all about it this afternoon, and tonight she told us.”

“I see.”

“There could possibly be charges against you.”

“I know.”

“You might even be a suspect in his murder. Especially since you lied to Haversham to get in here. What were you looking for?”

“If I knew who hired him, I’d probably be able to tell you.”

“His secretary didn’t know, either. That’s the weird thing. She said he’d been in a strange mood for the past week, ever since he started on this thing.”

“What’s his background?”

“Reasonably straight. Did a lot of defense attorney stuff. Didn’t go into the divorce racket so much. Like I say, pretty clean.” He said, “So what’d you find up here?”

“Huh?”

“You should see yourself. You look like a little kid who just got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.” Gaute laughed. “Really, Walsh. You should see yourself.”

“I didn’t find anything.”

“Right.”

“I didn’t.”

“We’ll have to search you.”

“You won’t find anything.”

Gaute made a face. I wondered if it was over me or if his stomach had suddenly acted up. “Walsh, you used to be a cop. You know what a murder investigation’s like. A fellow needs all the help he can get.” He turned to nod at a uniformed officer who had just come through the door. Gaute’s easygoing manner worked against his blunt boxer’s profile. He turned back to me. “I know what you’re going through.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re starting to feel guilty.”

“I am?”

“Sure.”

“About what?”

“About George Pennyfeather. Those people have got you convinced that you arrested the wrong man twelve years ago.”

“Maybe I did.”

“So you’re being a nice guy and trying to prove that he’s innocent.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“But he’s not.”

“No?”

“No. He killed Karl Jankov and he killed the Czmek woman, too.”

“Why would he kill the Czmek woman?”

“Because she was blackmailing him.”

“For what? He’d already gone to prison.”

“She was blackmailing him for something else.”

“Such as?”

“We’re not sure yet. But we do know the Pennyfeather family paid her once a month. A check for a thousand dollars.”

I tried not to act interested. “Really?”

“Really, Walsh. A check for a thousand dollars a month all the time Pennyfeather was in prison.”

“And you can prove it?”

“Without any problem. We’ve got the bank records.”

“So who killed Conroy?”

He shrugged. “We may be looking at two different cases here. It’s at least a possibility. A man in Conroy’s line of work makes a lot of enemies.”

“You really believe that?”

He smiled. “Right now the only thing I believe is that George Pennyfeather killed the Czmek woman and that his family was paying her blackmail money.” He leaned back in the chair and said, “They haven’t been very good friends of yours, Walsh. They haven’t told you the truth. If I was you, I’d be mad.”

“I am mad.”

“Then I’d quit trying to help them and tell me everything you’ve found out.”

“Right now, that isn’t much.”

The photographic slide I’d put down my sock had tilted and was now leaning awkwardly against my ankle. I was thinking of telling Gaute about the slide when another uniformed man came through the door and said, “The lab crew’s finishing up with Conroy’s car.”

Gaute got up, drawing his overcoat around him. “I’d better get back there.”

Gaute said, “You feel like talking, you know how to get ahold of me.”

“I appreciate the way you’ve handled this.”

“You’re not off the hook yet.”

“I know.”

“And I’d really tell the Pennyfeathers where to get off. They’ve got you running around and they won’t even tell you what’s going on.”

“I plan to talk to them tonight.”

On the way down the stairs, I saw Mr. Haversham peeking out his door. When he saw me, he scowled and closed the door.

I stopped at his door and knocked. He opened it too quickly. His wife still sat behind him, staring at the TV.

“What?” he said.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“I’ll bet you are.”

“I am. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

He whipped his head to the left and said, “Honey, he’s apologizing.”

She said, not taking her eyes from the screen, “I heard.”

Back to me, he said, “She’s really disappointed.”

“Oh.”

“She tries to trust everybody, but it’s things like this that really get her down.”

She let out a mean little laugh just as one wrestler threw another to the canvas and proceeded to step on his throat. “I try to shelter her from the world,” Mr. Haversham said. “But it doesn’t always work.”

“I don’t imagine it’s an easy job,” I said, and left.

I drove three blocks very quickly, pulling over to a side street curb beneath a streetlamp that was almost lost in the relentless snow. Down at the far end of the block, I could see another sanding truck headed in my direction. With yellow lights mounted on the top of the cab, it looked like a ferocious metal insect.

I held the slide up to the light and immediately felt sick.

Before I looked at it a second time, I lighted a cigarette and put my head back and closed my eyes. During my years as a county detective, I’d come up against this sort of thing two or three times. In a way, there was nothing worse, not even the butchery some people visit upon one another.

I held the slide up again and took a closer look, and then I opened the glove compartment and tossed it inside. I didn’t want to handle it again. Ever.

The sanding truck made a furious grinding noise as it shot splashing yellow light through the falling snow. The two men inside the cab were as bundled up as little kids headed off for school on a cold day. One of them waved to me.

After what I’d just seen, I wasn’t too sure I felt like waving back.