Ross Macdonald - 1960 - The Ferguson Affair (4 page)

 
          
“What
happened last week?”

 
          
“I
kept reading about these houses and stores being broken into in town. I
couldn’t believe Larry was doing it. At the same time I knew he was mixed up in
it. I had to do something, settle my mind one way or the other. I borrowed a
car from a girl-friend and went out to Larry’s place. I intended to ask him
outright if he was the burglar. He wouldn’t tell me the truth, probably, but I
wanted to see the look on his face when I asked him. Then I’d know what to do.

 
          
“There
was a light in the house. I left the car down the road and sneaked up on it,
kind of. I could hear voices inside. He had a woman with him. I knocked on the
door—I didn’t care what happened. I saw her when he opened the door. She was
sitting on the studio couch, a blonde in a Japanese kimono—the same one I used
to wear. It sort of set me off, and I called him a name.

 
          
“Larry
stepped outside and closed the door on her. I never saw him mad before. He was
so mad it made his teeth chatter. He said if I ever came there again, or
bothered him in any way, that he would tell a friend of his to put a knife in
my heart. I was scared. My knees were shaking so that I could hardly get back
to the car.”

 
          
“Did
he mention the friend’s name?”

 
          
“No.”

 
          
“It
wasn’t Gus Donato?”

 
          
“I
never heard of any Donato. All he said was a friend. Some friends he must
have.”

 
          
“You
should have gone to the police, Ella.”

 
          
“I
know I should. You think I should talk to them now, don’t you?”

 
          
“Decidedly.”

 
          
“You
honestly think they’ll let me go if I talk?”

 
          
“It
won’t be quite as simple as that, I’m afraid. If you satisfy the District
Attorney, he should consent to a lowering of your bail at least. It was set
very high.”

 
          
“Yeah, five thousand dollars.
I can’t raise that kind of
money, and I haven’t got the five hundred to pay a bail bondsman. How low do
you think you can get it down?”

 
          
“I
won’t make any promises. It depends.”

 
          
“Depends
on what?” she said impatiently.

 
          
“On
whether or not you’ve told me the whole truth, and tell the same to the police
and the prosecutor.”

 
          
“Don’t
you believe this is the truth?”

 
          
“I’ll
be frank with you, Miss Barker. One or two things about your story bother me.
Why did you sell Broadman the ring that Larry gave you?”

 
          
“I
wanted Larry to know what I thought of him and his lousy ring. Broadman was a
friend of his, and I thought he’d probably tell him.”

 
          
“How
would Broadman know where you got the ring?”

 
          
“I
told him.”

 
          
“You
told Broadman?”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
“He
knew that Larry gave you the ring?”

 
          
“After
I told him, he must have.”

 
          
We
sat and looked at each other.

 
          
“You
think Larry killed Broadman, don’t you?” the girl said.

 
          
“Or had him killed.”

 
          
I
GOT IN TOUCH with Wills and a Deputy District Attorney named Joe Reach. We
convened with Ella Barker in the interrogation room on the first floor of the
courthouse. Ella went through her story again. It was recorded on stenotype and
wire by an elderly court reporter named Ed
Gellhorn
.

 
          
There
are some quite honest people who make poor witnesses because they can’t tell
the same story twice with any degree of conviction. Ella’s story hadn’t been
too plausible in the first place. The second time around, told in surges of
hysterical assurance with stretches of dismal self-doubt in between, it sounded
like something she was making up as she went along. Wills and Reach didn’t
believe her. To make matters worse, they assumed that I didn’t, either.

 
          
Wills
kept bringing up the name Donato, trying to make her admit that she knew the
wanted man. Reach kept insisting that she had been fully aware of Gaines’s
activities, and probably accessory to them. You didn’t shack up with a guy—

 
          
I
stopped him there. “That’s enough, Joe. Miss Barker has made a full and
voluntary statement. You’re trying to twist it around into a confession.”

 
          
“Any
twisting that’s being done, I think I know who’s doing it.”

 
          
“What’s
this about a blonde woman?” Wills put in. “This one you said you saw at
Gaines’s place in the canyon.”

 
          
“I
saw her, all right,” Ella said.

 
          
“Can
you describe her?”

 
          
She
looked around the circle of male faces, half despairing.

 
          
“I
said, can you describe her?”

 
          
“Give
her a chance to collect her thoughts, Lieutenant.”

 
          
Wills
turned on me. “You don’t have to think to describe a subject, not if you’re
telling the truth.”

 
          
“Why
would I lie about her?” Ella said.

 
          
“Just in case she never existed, for instance.
If she
existed, describe her to us.”

 
          
“I’m
trying to. She was very good-looking. Not so fresh, if you know what I mean, and
not a natural blonde, I don’t think, but very good-looking. You ever go to the
movies?”

 
          
“What’s
that got to do with it?”

 
          
“You
ever see this new actress they have, name of Holly May? The woman that Larry
was smooching with looked like Holly May.”

 
          
Wills
and Reach exchanged incredulous glances. Reach said: “What would a movie
actress be doing with riffraff like him?”

 
          
“I
didn’t say it was her. I said it looked like her.”

 
          
“You’re
certain she existed?”

 
          
I
got angry at this point, told Ella to say no more, and left the room. Wills and
Reach followed me into the anteroom.

 
          
“You’re
making a mistake,” the Lieutenant said. “This is a murder case now. That little
client of yours is dipping her tootsies into very hot water. You better lay out
all your cards on the table.”

 
          
Joe
Reach nodded agreement. “You owe it to your client to instruct her to tell the
whole truth. I know what it means when a witness starts picking faces off of
movie screens. I’ve had a lot more experience—”

 
          
“It
hasn’t done you much good. You don’t know the truth when you hear it.”

 
          
“Don’t
I? Let her bring that story into court, we’ll punch it full of holes like wet
tissue.”

 
          
“The
hell you will!”

 
          
Wills
laid a restraining hand on my shoulder. “Come on, now, don’t blow your top.
Don’t be a hothead all your life. Learn something.”

 
          
“She’s
conning you,” Reach said. “You just haven’t got the humility to admit it.”

 
          
I
was blind mad by this time, loaded with hot and cold running adrenalin. I
turned on my heel and walked out. Neither of them followed me this time.

 
          
The
public telephone booth in the corridor stopped me like a sentry box. I stepped
inside and phoned home.

 
          
“I
knew it was you,” Sally said, “as soon as I heard the phone ring. Now do you
believe in ESP?”

 
          
“If
you’re so strong on extra-sensory perception, what am I calling about?”

 
          
“Don’t
tell me you’re not coming home for dinner?”

 
          
I
sidestepped that question. “You go to a lot of movies. Did you ever hear of an
actress named Holly May?”

 
          
“Naturally
I have. Everybody has.”

 
          
“I
haven’t.”

 
          
“That’s
because you’re fixated on your work. If you took me to the movies more often,
you’d know what’s going on in the world. Not that she’s in the movies any more.
She decided to get out of the rat-race before it wrecked her emotional health.
That’s a direct quote.”

 
          
“Have
you been reading movie magazines again?”

 
          
“No.
She told me herself.”

 
          
“You
know Holly May?”

 
          
“I
met her.”

 
          
“Why
didn’t you tell me?”

 
          
“I
tried to last night, but you weren’t listening. I ran into her in the clinic
Monday afternoon. She wanted to know what time it was, and I told her. Then I
asked her if she wasn’t Holly May. She admitted that she was, but she said she
didn’t want it spread around. She’s trying to stay as incognito as possible.”

 
          
“What’s
she doing in town?”

 
          
“I
gather she’s living quietly here with her husband. I only talked to her for a
couple of minutes, and then Dr. Trench took me. Dr. Trench said I was in
wonderful shape for a woman in her ninth month.”

 
          
“Good.
Did she mention her husband’s name?”

 
          
“No,
but I read it in the columns last summer when she got married. I think she
married a Canadian oilman. Let’s see, it was some Scotch name—something like
Ballantine. Anyway, she seems to have done all right for herself. She was
dripping with mink and things.”

 
          
“What
kind of a woman is she?”

 
          
“She
seemed nice and down-to-earth for a movie actress. She asked me how long I had
to go and such. She’s a stunning creature, but it doesn’t seem to have gone to
her head. Why?”

 
          
“Nothing special.
Her name came up. I had no idea that she
was living in town.”

 
          
“A
lot of people live here that you never hear about.” Sally’s voice changed
gears, with a faint ominous clash. “There is, for instance, the unknown
housewife whose specialty is leg of lamb. She sits in her modest home awaiting
recognition—”

 
          
“Are
you fixing a leg of lamb?”

 
          
“It’s
already fixed.
With mint jelly.
I know it’s an
extravagance, Bill, but I wanted to make you something special for a change. I
spend so much time dreaming lately, I haven’t been doing my duty by you. You
will be home for dinner, won’t you?”

 
          
“As soon as I can make it.
Keep it warm.”

 
          
“But
you can’t keep a leg of lamb warm. It dries out.”

 
          
“I
enjoy it that way. Like pemmican.”

 
          
Sally
hung up on me, and there I was again with the adrenalin singing in my veins. I
decided to walk it off. Something that was not ESP pushed me down the long
slope of Main Street to the lower town.