Meet Me at the Morgue (22 page)

“Childhood memories often go back as far as the second year.”

“Not Larry’s. He has very little recollection of his childhood.” She pulled herself upright and leaned towards me tensely. “Mr. Cross, if you have any mercy for a woman who has suffered miserably, you will not tell my son the truth.”

“If he asks me for it, I’ll tell him.”

“No! You’ll drive him into insanity if you do, into suicide. He’s a sensitive boy. All his life I’ve had to look after him and protect him.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirty-four.”

“He’s not exactly a boy, Mrs. Seifel. He’s a man. If he isn’t a man now, he never will be.”

“He never will be,” she said.

“Not if you have your way.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?”

“It isn’t kind, I know. But kindness is out of place in some situations. It’s possible to kill a man with kindness.”

She rose, a dark, slim figure against the window. “I’m at your mercy, of course. I made one serious error thirty-five years ago, and I’ve been at the world’s mercy ever since. I promise you, however, if you do anything to harm my son—I have powerful connections in this county.”

“This is where I came in.” I got up and moved to the door. “Where is Larry now?”

“I have no idea. Your little blonde person came here about an hour ago—”

“Miss Devon?”

“Is that her name? She literally forced her way into my house. They drove away together in her car.”

I found them, still together, at the mortuary. Larry Seifel was standing over the table where the dead man lay. Ann was at his side, her arm around his waist. When they turned to look at me, I saw that both their faces were marked with drying tears. Seifel looked thinner and older.

Ann detached herself from him and crossed the room to me. “You know who he is, Howie?”

“Yes. Does Larry?”

“I told him, just now. I was talking to Mr. Forest this afternoon, and some of the things in Lemp’s record—well, they fitted in with other things that Larry had told me about his father.”

“How did Larry take it?”

“I don’t know. I’m waiting. But I think he already knew. He simply couldn’t admit it to himself.”

“What do we do now?”

“Nothing now. Please, Howie.”

She looked up anxiously into my face. Apparently there was nothing there to worry her. She went back to Larry Seifel. He was gazing down into the dead face, trying to descry the lineaments of the past.

CHAPTER
26
:
      
My testimony to the Grand Jury
took up most of the morning. I expressed my doubts about Fred Miner’s guilt, but I didn’t say anything about a red-headed woman. She was hearsay evidence, anyway. Molly Fawn was scheduled to testify in the afternoon, and it could wait till then.

From the tenor of the District Attorney’s questioning, and the comments of individual jurors, I judged that Miner’s guilt was taken for granted. The fact that he had died violently
in an attempt to escape seemed to the jury to be proof of his complicity. Because he had been on probation under my supervision, they considered me a prejudiced witness. I was accustomed to that.

When I came out of the jury room, Sam Dressen was waiting for me. His nose was red and his eyes were moist with excitement. Behind him, on a bench against the wall, Amy Miner was sitting with a matron.

The door closed with a shushing sound. Sam grasped my arm:

“Howie, she’s run out on us.”

I thought for a bad moment that he meant Helen. “Who’s run out?”

“Molly Fawn. I left her here with Mrs. Johannes, about an hour ago.” He cocked an accusatory thumb at the matron. “The D.A. thought he might have time to put her on this morning after Mrs. Miner. I went downstairs to the office for a while, and when I came up she was gone.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” the matron grumbled. “My orders were for Amy here. They didn’t say anything to me about anybody else. The girl asked permission to go down the hall and wash her hands. I told her to go ahead.”

“What did you think she was doing?” Sam said. “Taking a bubble bath?”

“It ain’t my responsibility. You didn’t say anything to me that she was going to try and run away.”

“I’m no prophet.” He turned to me anxiously. “She was as nice as pie out at our place all day yesterday. How could I tell she was going to make a break for it?”

“Take it easy. We’ll get her back. If there’s any blame passed out, I’ll take it. I guess I should have had her held in jail.”

“Sure.” Amy Miner spoke up bitterly. “Why don’t you put
the whole population in jail? That’ll solve all your problems for you.”

I looked into her face. Though it still showed grief and strain, she was calmer than she had been Saturday night. Her graying hair had been brushed, and there was a touch of lipstick on her mouth. I recognized for the first time that she had probably been an attractive girl.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Miner?”

“As good as can be expected, after a weekend in your dirty jail.”

“It isn’t dirty,” the matron asserted.

“Okay, so it isn’t dirty. I loved it. It was swell. Everything’s been swell.” She raised her heavy brown eyes to my face. “You saw Fred before he died?”

“I saw him.”

“Did he mention me?”

He hadn’t, but I decided to tell the lie. She had been stripped of everything else.

“He sent his love to you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“He sent his love to me?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Why did he do it? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. I’m sorry.”

She said in a low voice: “Everybody’s got plenty to be sorry about.”

“When are they letting you out of here?”

“Today.” But the prospect of freedom didn’t seem to cheer her. “The District Attorney promised to let me go after I say my piece to the Grand Jury.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“I don’t know. Bury Fred. Mrs. Johnson said I can live on
in the gatehouse as long as I want. But I’m not staying in this burg, not after all that’s happened.”

The bailiff opened the door of the jury room and spoke to the matron: “They’re ready for Mrs. Miner now.”

Sam pulled at my elbow. “We better get moving, eh?”

“Right.” We started down the hall towards the sheriff’s wing. “How was Molly dressed when she took off?”

“The same dress she had on before, gray cotton, and that brown coat. She had a yellow rayon scarf over her head. My old woman lent it to her to wear.”

“Any money?”

“Not that I know of. We treated her to the drive-in movie last night. So this morning she runs out on us, just when we need her. That’s gratitude.”

“You’d better broadcast a description: Highway Patrol and city police as well as the sheriff’s cars. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s hitch-hiking north on the highway. Unless she stole a car.”

“She’d have no trouble hitch-hiking, not with that figure. What are you going to do, Howie?”

“Sit tight. I had enough running around over the weekend to last me the rest of the year. If you hear anything, call me at my office.”

“Will do.”

I crossed the street to the small restaurant that subsisted on the courthouse trade. I felt empty, in more than the physical sense. I had seen and heard a great deal in the last two days, and needed time to absorb the experience. My emotions were in the state of suspension that sometimes precedes a violent change.

The tower clock struck the quarter hour as I stepped up onto the curb. It was a quarter past eleven, too late for morning coffee, too early for lunch. I felt relieved. The courthouse crowd would be after me for a story when they saw me, and
I wasn’t sure what story I had to tell. I wasn’t satisfied with my Grand Jury testimony. I knew what I had seen and heard, the shape and impact of the events. Their meaning still eluded me.

Wondering if Molly had found the meaning and eloped with it, I pushed in the screen door of the restaurant. Its dim brown interior and never-failing odor of cooking grease did nothing to stir my appetite. I sat on a stool at the counter and ordered coffee.

The place was empty, except for a couple in the back booth. Their heads were close together. I recognized them when my eyes became adapted to the dimness: Ann Devon and Larry Seifel.

Ann, who was facing in my direction, saw me at the same moment. She waved and called the length of the room:

“Howie! Come and join us.”

Reluctantly, I carried my slopping white mug to their booth. I had no desire to talk to anybody. With what seemed a similar reluctance, Seifel got out of his seat and slid in beside Ann. I sat opposite them.

“What’s the good word, children?” I was conscious of a phoniness in my voice.

Ann misinterpreted it. “I’m taking my lunch hour early,” she said in some embarrassment. “Larry wanted to talk to me.”

“A reasonable wish. He shows good taste.” The phoniness was persisting. The scene in the mortuary the night before was too heavy to be pushed out of my mind.

Seifel was pale and tired-looking. He smiled self-consciously, but no charm came. “You don’t mind, do you, Cross?”

“Why should I? Ann runs her own schedule.”

“I’m afraid you will mind, though, when I tell you what I wanted to talk to her about.”

“Try me.”

“I’ve been persuading Ann to leave her job.”

“We’re going to be married,” she said. “Larry just asked me now, and I accepted.”

“I hope you’ll be happy.”

She looked happy. Her face was glowing, and her eyes were bright. She turned to Seifel like a flower to the sun. He was trying hard, but he would never be really happy. He was a self-tormented man, living in the past or for the future, always despising the present that could save him. His present was an aching hollow inside of him, yearning like a woman to be filled.

He said through a pained grin: “I have heard heartier congratulations on occasions like this.”

“Now you.” Ann stroked his arm. “It won’t be right away of course, Howie. We’ll have time to break in a new assistant for you.”

“Have you thought of staying on in the department after your marriage?”

“We thought of it. I’m afraid it’s not possible. You see, we’re leaving town.”

“And going where?”

“Seattle, probably. We both want something different from this place.”

“I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

“So will Mother,” Seifel said. “Mother is staying here. I had it out with her last night. We settled a lot of things last night.”

Ann lowered her eyes, and smiled to herself.

“I also talked to Forest last night,” he said. “About my father. Forest promised to do his best to keep it out of the newspapers. I hope he does, for Mother’s sake.”

“Not for yours?”

“I don’t give a damn. The man was my father. If anybody wants to make anything out of it—”

Ann interceded gently: “Nobody wants to make anything out of it, Larry.”

His truculence disappeared suddenly, passing over like a squall. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, inquiring with boyish earnestness: “Who killed him, Cross? Do you know who killed my father?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Neither does Forest. He hasn’t even a lead. He says the kind of icepick that was used can be bought in hundreds of hardware and grocery stores.” A shadow crossed his face. There was malice in it, and a tragic fear. “Do you suppose that Mother—?”

“Certainly not.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t have said it. I’ve been having a bad time with Mother. But she’s through running my life for me. I’m going into criminal practice. I’m sick of living on the surface of things. One thing I’ve got out of this mess: it’s brought my life into focus, I hope. I’ve been playing around, making and spending money, shining up to old ladies—it isn’t good enough. You can use life, or you can waste it. I’m going to use it.”

“That was quite a speech.”

“It wasn’t a speech. It’s what I’m going to do. I tell you, Cross, life is a serious business.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

His teeth came together with an audible click. The muscles swelled in the corners of his jaws. “There are a lot of things I don’t feel like going into. One thing I’ve got to say. I made a bad mistake yesterday in the desert. I’ve been thinking about it off and on ever since.”

“Stop thinking about it. We all make mistakes.”

Ann said: “What are you two talking about now?”

“I told you yesterday, I fired a shot at Miner. If I hadn’t, we would have taken him alive.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe Miner is better off dead.” I finished my coffee and got up. “Good luck.”

He rose to shake hands with me. Each of us tried to crush the other’s hand. Neither of us succeeded.

Ann, who was tipsy on morning coffee and love, called out after me: “Why don’t you get married, Howie? Everybody’s doing it.”

I said that I intended to, but not out loud.

CHAPTER
27
:
      
My office telephone was ringing
when I went in. I got to it before the ringing ended. It was Sam Dressen.

“Have you spotted her?”

“The HP saw her, some time around ten thirty. She was thumbing rides on the highway, a block north of where it crosses Cacique Street.”

“Going which way?”

“North. You were right, Howie. She isn’t there now. I checked.”

“They didn’t see who picked her up?”

“Naw, they weren’t paying any attention. They figured she was a high-school kid or something. Think I should start an all-points?”

“What does the D.A. say? She’s his witness.”

“I can’t get to him. The jury’s still in session, and he’s questioning Mrs. Miner.”

“Molly may have simply gone home.”

“Where does she live?”

“Just above Pacific Palisades. I think I’ll take a run up there.”

“Why don’t we both go?”

“Fine. We’ll make it faster in one of your cars.”

“Be out front in two minutes flat.”

Sam had cut his teeth on a steering-wheel and had an intuitive traffic-sense. In spite of the noontime jam in the Long Beach bottleneck, and without benefit of siren, the souped-up sheriff’s car took us to the Palisades in a little over an hour. We parked it at a service station a hundred yards beyond the photography studio.