Free Westlake, Donald E - Novel 41 by Levine (v1.1) Page B

the jawline still strong, the nose
large and straight, the forehead wide, the brows out-thrust, the eyes deep and
now wide and wild. A good-looking man, probably in his late
forties.
                   Levine knew a lot about him already. From the
look of the son in there, this man had married young, probably while still in
his teens. From the sound of the wife, the marriage had soured. From the look
of the office and the apparent education of the son, his career had blossomed
where his marriage hadn't. So this time, one of the exceptions, the trouble
wouldn't be money. This time, it was connected most likely with his marriage.
                   Another woman?
                   It wouldn't be a good idea to ask him. Sooner
or later, he would state his terms, he would tell them what had driven him out
here. Force the issue, and he might jump. A man on a ledge goes out there not
wanting to jump, but accepting the fact that he may have to.
                  Cartwright had been looking at Crawley , and now he turned his head, stared at
Levine. "Oh, no you don't!" he cried. His voice would normally be
baritone, probably a pleasant speaking voice, but emotion had driven it up the
scale, making it raucuous, tinged with hysteria. "One distracts me while
the other sneaks up on me, is that it?" the man cried. "You won't get
away with it. Come near me and I'll jump, I swear I'll jump!"
                   "I'll stay right here," Levine
promised. Leaning far out, he would be almost able to reach Cartwright's
out-stretched hand. But if he were to touch it, Cartwright would surely jump.
And if he were to grip it, Cartwright would most likely drag him along too, all
the way down to the sidewalk sixty-six feet below.
                   "What is it, Cartwright?" demanded Crawley again. "What do you want?"
                   Way back at the beginning of their
partnership, Levine and Crawley had
discovered the arrangement that worked best for them. Crawley asked the questions, and Levine listened to
the answers. While a man paid attention to" Crawley , erected his facade between himself and Crawley , Levine, silent and unnoticed, could come
in on the flank, peek behind the facade and see the man who was really there.
                   "I want you to leave me alone!"
cried Cartwright. "Everybody, everybody! Just
leave me alone!"
                   "Look up at the sky. Mister
Cartwright," said Levine softly, just loud enough for the man on the ledge
to hear him. "Look how blue it is. Look down across the street. Do you see
the red of that girl's sweater? Breathe in. Mister Cartwright. Do you smell the
city? Hark! Listen! Did you hear that car-horn? That was over on Fulton Street , wasn't it?"
                   "Shut up!" screamed Cartwright,
turning swiftly, precariously, to glare again at Levine. "Shut up, shut
up, shut up. Leave me alone!"
                  Levine knew all he needed. "Do you want
to talk to your son?" he asked.
                   "Allan?" The man's face softened all
at once. "Allan?"
                   "He's right here," said Levine. He
came back in from the window, signalled to the son, who was no longer talking
on the phone, "He wants to talk to you."
                   The son rushed to the window. "Dad?"
                   Crawley came over, glowering. "Well?" he said.
                   Levine shook his head. "He doesn't want
to die."
                   "I know that. What now?"
                   "I think it's the wife." Levine motioned
to Gundy, who came over, and he said, "Is the partner here? Anderson ?"
                   "Sure," said Gundy. "He's in
his office. He tried to talk to Cartwright once, but Cartwright got too
excited. We thought it would be a good idea if Anderson kept out of sight."
                   "Who thought? Anderson