Violent ward, p.20
Violent Ward, page 20
‘If your pal Sir Jeremy is in hiding somewhere on the other side of the world, it might be tricky for anyone to prove he’s still alive,’ I said. ‘If Stojil convinces them he isn’t the perpetrator, the cops will start looking at us.’
‘Is this on the level, Mickey?’ asked Billy Kim. ‘Were the cops really looking for a body?’
‘You’ll find out when they come sniffing around your backyard. Meanwhile, you’d better get rid of any evidence you wouldn’t like to see passed to the jury for closer inspection. Kiss and make up, guys. Close ranks, sit tight, and pray.’
‘You’re right, Mickey,’ said Billy Kim in a chastened way. Vic nodded. By the time I left the office I believed I’d managed to make them see sense. In fact, they were waiting for me to go away in order to plan their next escapade.
11
When my next-door neighbors, the Klopstocks, had people over, they always parked their own three cars along my curb. This way they had their front and their ramp for parking the cars of their guests. There was nothing I could do about it, but looking out the window and seeing the Klopstocks’ big white Mercedes sitting outside my front door exasperated me. They knew how I felt about imports. Sometimes I wondered if they did it deliberately, but there were no city ordinances or local regulations to prevent people from parking anywhere in the street they wanted, except when the disposal trucks came to collect the garbage on Friday mornings. But with those cars positioned at my curb it was tricky to steer a course into my own garage, and that bugged me.
So I was mad a few days later, when I got home very late, to find the street looking like a parking lot. It was a clear moonlit night with just a slight breeze, and I could smell charred chicken and hot wine punch. I’d suspected that morning that one of the Klopstocks’ fancy barbecue parties was coming on-line. Suddenly the trees in their yard were strung with colored lights, and stacks of rented chairs and tables were being delivered. Now here it was.
‘Hi there, Mickey honey!’ Binnie Klopstock was standing outside saying good night to some guests.
Henry Klopstock was there too, wearing a tuxedo – a tuxedo! – and helping a tipsy woman into her Lexus. ‘Do you really have to leave so early?’
I watched him as he wrapped her long fringed coat under the seat so it didn’t get caught in the door. She was giggling, and the driver of the Lexus – her husband, I guess – said, ‘Pull yourself together, Fleur’ in a voice amplified by alcohol and, when it had no effect, said, ‘Pull yourself together and say we had a great time.’
Binnie and her daughters were all wearing short 1920s-style dresses glittering with sequins and glass fringes and bugle beads. Binnie came across to me as I drove slowly onto my ramp. I was trapped.
I brought the window down. ‘Hi, Binnie!’ I said.
‘Working late at the office again, you toiler?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘I could tell by your go-to-work outfit. You should get out more. Spoil yourself.’
She had some nerve. Go-to-work outfit. This was my best suit; a dark wool three-piece I’d bought to wear in court. I smiled and pressed the garage-door opener. My overhead door rolled back with a crash to expose the terrible disorder in my garage. Apart from oilstained newspapers all over the floor, the rear section had become a storage space for old dusty broken things: a bicycle Danny had outgrown, a stuffed toy lion my folks had given him for his ninth birthday, some tires with a lot of mileage left on them. It was stuff I didn’t need but couldn’t throw out.
Binnie looked sadly at the mess. The Klopstocks were obsessionally well-ordered: they even stored their paper Christmas decorations. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind about all the cars,’ she said. I kept the smile coming, but it wasn’t easy. ‘Now your wife has left and Danny has flown the coop, there’s plenty of room.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said in my usual cowardly way.
‘And it gives the old shack a touch of class having the five hundred SEL standing outside, right?’ She’d turned around and said it loudly so her friends could hear.
‘Have a good evening, Binnie,’ I said and rolled forward into the garage.
‘Come and have a drink,’ she called.
‘It’s past my bedtime.’
‘We’ll go on for hours yet,’ she threatened. Oh, my God. I pressed the garage control so my door came down with a crash.
As I stepped through the garage into the house, I switched on the light in the hallway and spotted a sheet of orange-colored paper. It had been pushed under the front door instead of into the mailbox. I picked it up and read it. A drawing of palm trees framed a hand-lettered invitation to a party at the Klopstocks’. Today’s date: a last-minute resort. Dooo come Mickey dearest! Binnie had scrawled in felt pen along the margin. Well, every inhabitant of suburbia knew what kind of ultimatum that was. As the hands of the clock came creeping around to zero hour, my neighbors had decided on a preemptive strike that would deprive me of any chance of complaining about 1,000 watts of Japanese woofer and tweeter that would bring Cher and her greatest hits into my home with me. The music was still going. Cher had now given way to heavy metal, a tuneless boom boom boom, Cole Porter on a life-support machine.
I sat down and listened to the messages on my phone, hoping Danny had called. I liked to hear his voice. But there was nothing from Danny. I made myself coffee and started to load the dishwasher. I hadn’t been kidding Budd about the state of the house. I needed Mrs Santos real bad. I wondered how fast her daughter was recuperating, but I couldn’t think of a tactful way of calling and asking. Did she really have a sick daughter? Maybe that was just her Latin way of saying she was going to work for someone else for more money. Maybe I should advertise. Maybe I should throw a cleaning lady festival: hot Latin music, polish as a floor prize, and everyone brings a bottle of Palmolive.
I went to bed and read until midnight; then I turned off the light and worried. I do that sometimes when I take in too much caffeine. When finally I did drift off to sleep, the phone rang. I was going to let it go, but then I thought maybe it was Danny and Danny didn’t like leaving messages.
‘Yeah?’
‘Mickey?’
‘Yeah, Mickey. How are you?’
‘It’s Ingrid.’ Her voice was thin and strained.
‘Sure it is.’ Did she really think I wouldn’t recognize that velvet voice?
‘What’s that noise?’ she said. ‘What’s going on with you?’ The noise from next door was number six on the Richter scale and was getting down the wire to her.
‘I’ve rented my spare room to the Philharmonic.’
‘I need your help, Mickey.’ She sounded very shaken.
‘What is it?’ I switched on the light, looked at the time, and yawned nervously.
She didn’t answer. It was like she was having second thoughts about calling me and was debating whether to hang up.
‘What can I do for you, Ingrid sweetheart?’
‘Mickey …’ I let her pause, and she said it in a rush. ‘Would you drive out here and pick me up?’
‘Where are you? I mean, sure I will; but tell me where. You’re not in Aspen?’
‘I’m standing outside Alice’s.’
‘Malibu, on the pier?’
‘Yes.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes. No. There are people fishing.’
‘Is Alice’s still open?’
‘I don’t think so. The windows are all dark. Why?’
‘How did you find a phone?’
‘In my purse. This is my own phone, silly.’ It was the first time her voice lightened. She almost laughed.
‘Malibu pier?’
‘Don’t keep asking the same questions, Mickey. Can you come or not?’
‘Sure, but it will take me thirty minutes. Maybe more.’
‘I can wait. Just do it, dearest.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I don’t want to talk on the phone.’
‘I’ll be there.’
I hung up and shivered. I dressed hurriedly, sorting out a turtleneck pullover and a green nylon flying jacket that belonged to Danny. I looked like hell, but I couldn’t spare the time to shave. As I rolled out of the garage the music from next door was making the tarmac tremble.
Topanga and Malibu are both winding and inconvenient on a dark night, so I went up the 101 through Kanan, which is wider and straighter. Stabbing my way through the buttons I found a late-night station playing hits of the fifties: I guess geriatrics just can’t sleep.
Soon the ocean came into view. There is something awe-inspiring about being on the rim of the Pacific at night. The black sky reaches down to join the black ocean so that it is like a ride through space. Jammed tightly together along the Pacific Coast Highway at Malibu stand the million-dollar hovels of the rich and successful. Facing them on the other side of the road is a diverse collection of eating places, stores, motels, and gas stations.
The lights never go out on the PCH, but right now there was little or no traffic. Standing under a restaurant’s flashing neon sign, revelers in furs and tuxedos stood by their shiny new light-dotted cars saying protracted farewells. They stopped talking and turned to watch as I cruised past looking for Ingrid. What a scene it all made: like one of those big outdoor Italian operas they stage for the tourists in Verona: the star-littered sky, the battlements dotted with stagy lights, the costumed chorus carefully posed and silent, staring out into the hushed auditorium and waiting for the dramatic entrance of the prima donna. And there she was.
Ingrid was waiting for me at the side of the road. Dressed in an ankle-length green Loden coat, hair tucked into a black beret pulled down tight on her head, she looked like Marlene Dietrich in an old black-and-white spy movie. She was barefoot, holding her expensive shoes in her hand, and a cellular phone stuck out of her pocket. An old recording of ‘Perfidia’ was playing softly on my car radio as I opened the car door, and the roar of the ocean came flooding in to overwhelm Dorsey.
‘Jump in!’ I said. She brought in a draft of cold air. ‘What are you doing out here alone at this time of night?’
She slammed the door and didn’t answer, just dropped her shoes on the seat beside me, flicked the heater fan full on, and held her hand against the outlet to feel if there was warm air coming. I waited there for a moment to let her catch her breath. Across the road the chorus split up and drove away. A moment later the neon sign was extinguished and two waiters came out to stack bags of garbage at the roadside. The opera was over.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked her.
‘No, I’m not all right.’ She was hunched on the seat, massaging her bare toes.
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Can we go back to your place, Mickey?’
‘If that’s what you want to do.’
‘I need time to think,’ she said. She opened the glove compartment and looked inside.
‘Whatever you say, Ingrid.’
‘Have you got a gun?’ She closed the compartment.
‘No, I haven’t got a gun.’
‘Budd is getting a gun,’ she said.
‘Wasn’t that some party the other day? I’m sorry I missed you there.’
‘Budd says everyone should have a gun,’ said Ingrid. ‘He says this is a dangerous town.’
‘It will be when Budd gets a gun,’ I said.
‘Thanks for coming to get me, Mickey. You were the first person I phoned. I thought of phoning Budd, but I phoned you.’
‘I’m glad you did, Ingrid. Budd is in Albany.’
The party next door was still going on. A little group of unsteady guests had gathered on the sidewalk, saying a noisy good night to the Klopstocks. The Klopstocks were saying good nights back to them. The Klopstocks were the noisiest people I ever encountered. They couldn’t toss a tissue into the trash without creating a racket loud enough to raise the whole street. But what could I say? Danny had strummed mega-decibel guitar for years. I couldn’t suddenly start playing Mr Hush-hush-whisper-who-dares.
Binnie Klopstock saw me, of course. You can’t avoid that woman’s gimlet eyes. She waved and bent down low to see who was in the car with me. When she saw it was an attractive woman, she leered and waved those long spindly fingers at me.
When we got inside the house, Ingrid just stood there, blinking in the light and holding her arms across herself like someone who has just been rescued from drowning. She went to the window and pressed her nose against the glass, trying to see into the yard. There was nothing to see beyond the lights strung across the next-door yard.
‘Coffee? A drink?’ I asked.
She remained where she was, face pressed against the glass. ‘Where are we?’ she said at last.
‘What do you mean? This is my home.’
‘This is not Mulholland. You can see right across the valley from Mulholland.’
‘I live in Woodland Hills,’ I said.
‘I thought you lived in Mulholland.’
‘That was years ago. Coffee?’ I flicked the switch of the coffee machine. ‘I need a hot drink.’
She turned around to face me. ‘Yes, coffee. Thanks, Mickey. Did I get you out of bed?’
‘Ingrid, did you tell anyone else that I lived on Mulholland? I mean, did you give anyone that address recently?’
‘I may have.’
‘Who?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Try. Please try.’
‘Poor Mickey. I’m a terrible trial for you.’ She came away from the window. ‘I’m so cold. May I take a bath? Is the water hot?’ She was moving around restlessly now, gripping her coat in front as if all the buttons had come off.
‘You want to take off your coat? Sit down? The coffee will come through in a minute. Shall we phone Zach and tell him you’re safe and well?’
‘He’s in Minneapolis, a business trip. You see, Mickey …’ Again there was the awkward pause. She was standing under the light, holding her coat with both hands and looking very disheveled, very vulnerable, and very beautiful.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I haven’t got any clothes on,’ she said in a little-girl voice. ‘I’m naked under this coat.’
‘Are you kidding?’
‘I wish I were.’
Oh, my God, how did I get into this situation? ‘What were you doing naked out there on the pier?’
‘I’ve just got a coat on … and these shoes.’ She raised a foot in a childish gesture.
‘What’s going on, Ingrid? Tell me who you gave the Mulholland address to. It’s important.’
Deep sigh. ‘I was going to drown myself tonight.’
‘You were what?’
‘I worked it all out. I threw my clothes into the ocean as soon as I got there.’
‘What for?’
She turned away and spoke over her shoulder. ‘It was like the point of no return. I figured I’d never have the nerve to walk back along the pier naked.’ She came closer to me.
‘I mean, why would you want to drown yourself? You said you had John Junior to care for.’
She reached out for me, putting her arms around my neck like she was in the ocean and going down for the third time. ‘But I just couldn’t do it. I’m a coward. I didn’t have the nerve to go through with it. It was so cold, Mickey. Hold me tight.’
I held her tight and felt the warmth of her body.
She whispered, ‘There was a wind off the ocean and I looked down at it, and it looked so gray and rough. I just couldn’t jump in. I just couldn’t. Don’t laugh at me.’
‘I’m not laughing.’ Her face was very cold, and I could smell her perfume and the ocean smells in her hair.
‘Ingrid,’ I whispered, ‘did you ever try to kill your husband?’
I thought she might react fiercely to such a suggestion, but she remained very still. ‘I have thought about it, Mickey. May God forgive me, I thought about it a lot.’
‘That bomb in the phone, the night of the party … remember?’
‘You found it.’
‘Yes, I found it. I’ve thought about it a lot. Who do you think put it there?’
‘You don’t think I did that?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it. Whoever put it there would have had to get your husband to use the phone. Who could have persuaded him to go up to that office? Someone close to him, I think.’
Without letting me out of her tight embrace, she twisted her head to see my face. ‘Goldie? Is that who you mean?’
‘Goldie could have arranged it. But Goldie spotted the wiring. You see, Ingrid, you could have found some way of getting your husband there.’
‘How?’
‘You could have invented some reason.’
‘You’re not serious?’ Her eyes looked directly into mine.
‘I’m trying to show you how an investigator could make out a strong case against you.’
‘But it’s Zach who wants to get rid of me,’ she said angrily, tears welling up in her eyes.
‘Take it easy, Ingrid. I want you to remember who you gave that Mulholland address to. These things might be connected.’
‘You don’t want me to just make up a name, do you, Mickey?’
‘I want you to remember who it was.’
‘Give me time and I will,’ she promised. ‘But let me take a tub bath. Once I’m really warm again I’ll be able to think properly.’
‘Take the master bathroom. On the left. There are clean towels right there in the closet. I don’t use the other one since Danny left home, so there’s no soap or anything.’ The coffee had dripped through, and I poured some for us both.
‘Am I being a dreadful nuisance?’ Between sips of coffee she looked down at the little gold watch on her wrist. ‘Look at the time; it will soon be daylight. Can I sleep here? I’ve got to think this problem through, Mickey. You’re the only person I could turn to and know I’d be safe.’
What kind of rep have you got, Murphy? If the word ever gets out that a beautiful naked woman said that to you in the middle of the night, you’re going to have to move to another town.
But I was still dopey about Ingrid. I couldn’t think straight. Having her here like this was everything I’d ever dreamed of, but this crazy situation was everything I didn’t need. ‘Sure, Ingrid. I keep Danny’s bed made up. You can sleep in his room if you can find a way past the airplane models and amplifiers and broken clocks he’s going to fix someday.’
