the wheel. The headlights came on like eyes and the car surged forward. Bill Lynott put himself in front of the silver car, daring it to run him over.
He went over to the driver's side. I edged closer, so I could hear.
"What's the trouble here?"
" No trouble." Ted Forester was obviously not used to answering the questions of some cop, of the uniformed variety yet.
" Why did you push that man into the car?"
" To be exact, Officer, I didn't push him into the car. My friend Larry Price pushed him into the car. And he did so because David Haskins, the man who is now snoring soundly in the back seat, got very drunk and obnoxious tonight. If, that is, it's any of your business."
" I'd like to see your license, please."
"What?"
Whatever powers the Supreme Court takes away from the police, a cop can always irritate you with his authority by asking to see your license.
" Your license, please."
"Why?"
"Because I have the legal authority to ask to see it and because I am asking to see it."
It was at this point that Ted Forester's eyes fell on mine and he frowned immediately. He glanced over at Larry Price, who nodded to him. I wondered if they were going to come after me in their big silver Mercedes. Then I wondered why they'd want to come after me in their big silver Mercedes.
Forester, tall, trim, handsome in the way of a bank president from central casting, took out a long slender wallet and opened it up like a diplomat presenting his credentials.
Billy Lynott, playing it out, took the wallet and shone his flash on the license and studied it as if he were going to be given a pop quiz on it.
Then he handed it back.
"All right, Mr. Forester," he said. "Just be sure to drive carefully."
Forester glowered at him and then at me again and then the Mercedes pulled out of the lot, Larry Price's eyes on me like lasers in the gloom.
"Asshole," Bill Lynott said when he came back to me. "He always was."
"Maybe I should have made him walk the line."
"He probably would have sued you."
"Yeah, he's the kind all right."
The ambulance attendants were closing the back doors and coming around to get in the cab.
For a moment I felt her in my arms again, the warmth of her flesh, the lovely smell of her hair, the unknowable mysteries of her gaze. I'd loved her and hated her and been afraid of her, but after it all, she'd still been the little girl I'd first met in kindergarten, shared a nap-time blanket with, watched grow into the beauty among the weeds and screams of the Highlands. Then I thought of the suitcase again. What was in it she'd wanted so badly? What was in it that somebody would beat up Glendon Evans for?
"Maybe you should get out of here," Billy Lynott said.
"Yeah. Maybe I should."
"I mean, if downtown wants to get a hold of you, they'll just give you a call."
"Right."
He put a hand on my shoulder. "I'll say 'hi' to Benny for you."
Suddenly, ridiculously, I wanted to see Benny again, have a beer or four with him, shoot some pool, speculate on women and the Cubs and why Democrats just always seemed better than Republicans. I didn't want to be nearing forty-five.
"Yeah," I said, " if downtown wants me, they can give me a call tomorrow."
I went and got in my Toyota and got out of there.
Chapter 9
Â
D onna wasnât there.
She has an apartment building you can get into only if someone inside buzzes you in. I buzzed several times. Nothing.
I walked out to the parking lot and watched the moon and thought about Karen Lane, alternating between absolute certainty that what had happened to her had been coincidentalâstroke, aneurysm, as Bill Lynott had suggestedâand knowing with equal certainty that she'd somehow been murdered.
" Hello, " said a couple walking past me from their car. They were both stockbrokers and both wore gray flannel suits, and both drove Datsun Zs and smoked Merits and belonged to health clubs and vacationed in Aspen and subscribed to the Book-of-the-Month Club. I knew all this
He went over to the driver's side. I edged closer, so I could hear.
"What's the trouble here?"
" No trouble." Ted Forester was obviously not used to answering the questions of some cop, of the uniformed variety yet.
" Why did you push that man into the car?"
" To be exact, Officer, I didn't push him into the car. My friend Larry Price pushed him into the car. And he did so because David Haskins, the man who is now snoring soundly in the back seat, got very drunk and obnoxious tonight. If, that is, it's any of your business."
" I'd like to see your license, please."
"What?"
Whatever powers the Supreme Court takes away from the police, a cop can always irritate you with his authority by asking to see your license.
" Your license, please."
"Why?"
"Because I have the legal authority to ask to see it and because I am asking to see it."
It was at this point that Ted Forester's eyes fell on mine and he frowned immediately. He glanced over at Larry Price, who nodded to him. I wondered if they were going to come after me in their big silver Mercedes. Then I wondered why they'd want to come after me in their big silver Mercedes.
Forester, tall, trim, handsome in the way of a bank president from central casting, took out a long slender wallet and opened it up like a diplomat presenting his credentials.
Billy Lynott, playing it out, took the wallet and shone his flash on the license and studied it as if he were going to be given a pop quiz on it.
Then he handed it back.
"All right, Mr. Forester," he said. "Just be sure to drive carefully."
Forester glowered at him and then at me again and then the Mercedes pulled out of the lot, Larry Price's eyes on me like lasers in the gloom.
"Asshole," Bill Lynott said when he came back to me. "He always was."
"Maybe I should have made him walk the line."
"He probably would have sued you."
"Yeah, he's the kind all right."
The ambulance attendants were closing the back doors and coming around to get in the cab.
For a moment I felt her in my arms again, the warmth of her flesh, the lovely smell of her hair, the unknowable mysteries of her gaze. I'd loved her and hated her and been afraid of her, but after it all, she'd still been the little girl I'd first met in kindergarten, shared a nap-time blanket with, watched grow into the beauty among the weeds and screams of the Highlands. Then I thought of the suitcase again. What was in it she'd wanted so badly? What was in it that somebody would beat up Glendon Evans for?
"Maybe you should get out of here," Billy Lynott said.
"Yeah. Maybe I should."
"I mean, if downtown wants to get a hold of you, they'll just give you a call."
"Right."
He put a hand on my shoulder. "I'll say 'hi' to Benny for you."
Suddenly, ridiculously, I wanted to see Benny again, have a beer or four with him, shoot some pool, speculate on women and the Cubs and why Democrats just always seemed better than Republicans. I didn't want to be nearing forty-five.
"Yeah," I said, " if downtown wants me, they can give me a call tomorrow."
I went and got in my Toyota and got out of there.
Chapter 9
Â
D onna wasnât there.
She has an apartment building you can get into only if someone inside buzzes you in. I buzzed several times. Nothing.
I walked out to the parking lot and watched the moon and thought about Karen Lane, alternating between absolute certainty that what had happened to her had been coincidentalâstroke, aneurysm, as Bill Lynott had suggestedâand knowing with equal certainty that she'd somehow been murdered.
" Hello, " said a couple walking past me from their car. They were both stockbrokers and both wore gray flannel suits, and both drove Datsun Zs and smoked Merits and belonged to health clubs and vacationed in Aspen and subscribed to the Book-of-the-Month Club. I knew all this
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