The Drowner (18 page)

“I feel sorry for her, Doctor.”

“She’s an extreme case, certainly. But spare a little sorrow for the rest of them. More people than you could count have bitched up lives on account of this crazy culture. The Puritan heritage says that sex is nasty. Life says sex is constructive fun. So we go around smirking, sneaking, making it a nasty mystery. The most sex-conscious, sex-oppressed nation in history. I treat a lot of the by-products—frigidity, impotence, despair. And it’s the most tortured ones, the most disturbed ones, who want to scrub what they think is filth out of their own minds, but they can’t, so they want to censor everything they can reach because it makes them feel cleaner, and very righteous. Such a stinking fuss over the simple beautiful mechanics of fertilization. If clothes were against the law, we’d be cured in one generation. Hah?”

Nile dropped him off back at his car, and at the motel desk he found a note from Barbara saying she was at the motel pool. There was heft and dazzle in the late afternoon sun, but the high pile of thunderheads across the eastern sky gave the day an odd light. There were small gusts of hot wind which rattled the palm fronds. All the metal chairs under the faded umbrellas were empty, and she was alone in the small pool, in a white cap and a yellow suit, gliding with slow efficiency back and forth the length of the pool, shoulders rolling slightly, hands slipping into the water cleanly. From time to time one foot would lift too high, and the hard chunking sound revealed the power of her stroke. She did not see him until he walked around to the end and waited there for her. Then she stopped and clung to the gutter, slightly winded, and smiled up at him, squinting in the light, shaking the water out of her eyes.

“You’re pretty good,” he said.

“Out of condition. But I wanted to do something exhausting.” She levered herself up into a sitting position on the apron and got to her feet. “And I saw a special on swim suits down the street. Three ninety-five.” She walked ahead of him to the table where she had left her towel and sandals, walking with the constrained and slightly knock-kneed stride of the woman who knows herself observed. She yanked the cap off and fluffed her brown hair. There was a pink cast of fresh sunburn over the ivories smoothness of her round arms and legs.

She dried her face and her bare shoulders and sat in the umbrella shade and looked up at him ruefully. “I talked an awful lot last night, Paul.”

He moved the other chair into the shade and sat near her. “No need to feel apologetic.”

“Not apologetic, exactly. Just sort of stupid and whiney.”

“It was a bad day for you.”

“Thank you for listening. And I want to stop feeling awkward with you. But I don’t know how, exactly. Too much self-exposure went on.”

He smiled at her. “How much is too much? Would you feel better if I tried to even it up? I can make some juicy confessions.”

“Paul, I didn’t mean…”

“Take last night. The attraction is strong. Don’t tell me you haven’t sensed it. And you were on the ragged edge of a sort of emotional collapse. And I came close to giving you another problem, and I don’t think you could have coped.”

“I… I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “But you didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t. And after I got back to my place, I regretted it bitterly. What the hell, I said to myself. What are you trying to prove, Stanial? There it was and you walked away from it, and it won’t ever be that easy again.”

“But I don’t…”

“I am not a very nice guy, Barbara. Maybe what I am trying to do right now, instead of making you feel better, is trying to set you up. And that’s all I would want. No emotional obligations. No moral obligations. Just the simplest, oldest hunger in the world. Tip my hat and walk away. Thank you, m’am.”

She looked at him with an oddly anguished expression, and in a barely audible voice said, “Maybe I’m not… worth any more than that.”

“You’re worth so much more… I walked away.”

She dropped her glance, and her posture in the chair had a look of meekness, almost of supplication. In the curious orange sunlight the droplets of water from the pool glistened on the fine-grained texture of her knees and thighs.

“I’m not very valuable,” she said.

“Don’t be such a fool!” he said irritably.

She looked at him calmly and nodded, as though approving some inner statement. “Attraction, yes. I did sense that. And it doesn’t mean much, I suppose. But I guess it’s the only starting place people have. It flatters me, Paul. It’s nice to have you want me. I guess I need that kind of reassurance these days. I’ve felt like a drab for a long time. I haven’t liked myself very much.”

“I like you.”

“Which is just what I wanted to hear. And I like you, too. And that should be enough, I suppose. So I want to say okay. Let’s. What difference would it possibly make to anybody in the world? But I can’t be so… cold-blooded.”

“I don’t want you to be. Damn it, Barbara, I was only…”

She laughed and looked away. “You don’t want any involvement, and apparently I can’t get along without one. A rationalization? Is that what I have to have? It’s a lousy price to pay. A whore’s bargain, but maybe not quite as honest. But don’t be completely pessimistic, dear Paul. Maybe when this is over, I can sell myself the idea it would be a nice dramatic gesture, a touching farewell.”

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

She smiled directly into his eyes. “Because I’m a plain tiresome slob. Now sit still and let me work some of this off.” She snapped her cap on and went to the pool so quickly it was like escape. She dived cleanly. On these laps she drove herself, her body riding higher in the water, making her kick turns with a racing haste. He saw lightning in the east, forking down through the black sky under the thunderheads.

When she came back she was panting and gasping. She half fell into the chair and leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her torso in the yellow sheath suit swelled and collapsed in the fast rhythm of her breathing.

“Now…” she said. “Tell me… if you found out… anything new.”

“I think I know who killed her.”

She tensed and her eyes opened wide, and the hard surge of her breathing changed, faltered, continued again. But by the time he had finished all there was to tell, all the guesses and the conjectures and hunches, there had been more than enough time, many times over, for her to recover from the strenuous exertion. She was hunched over, her elbows on her knees, head tilted sideways, looking at him with a dazed, sick expression.

“And that man, too?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“But not for the money.”

“I think she took the money. But I don’t think it was the main thing. She thinks… it was a good thing to do, to kill them. And she probably had to kill Gable because he suspected her. She’s been very bold and very clever.”

“But what will you do now, Paul?”

“The autopsy is going to bother Sheriff Walmo. I don’t have a single specific thing to go on. Doctor Nile accepts it as a possibility, perhaps even a probability, but I don’t think anyone else in this area who knows her will be able to be suspicious of her. She’s such a… big, sunny, healthy kid. Sam Kimber can’t make himself believe it. I don’t know what I can do next. Look for the money. Try to trap her. I don’t know exactly. She’s dangerous. I know that when I look at her the next time I’m going to begin to doubt the whole thing. And that is what makes her especially dangerous.”

“You can tell from Lu’s letter she thought there was something very odd about Angie Powell. She felt uneasy.”

“So do I.”

Barbara frowned and said, “Mr. Kimber would like to be certain, one way or another, wouldn’t he?”

“What do you mean?”

“He could lie to her, just to make sure, couldn’t he? If she killed my sister because she was having an affair with Mr. Kimber, what would she do if Mr. Kimber told her I was going to stay down here and live with him?”

“I can’t let you take a risk like that, Barbara.”

“Why would it be such a risk? Lu and that Mr. Gable couldn’t have known she was going to kill them. I know she might try to kill me.”

“I don’t like it.”

“But you’ll be here in case she tries, and you can stop her. Besides, what if you can’t ever prove anything against her? What other way is there?”

“I’d rather set myself up as the next victim.”

“How? Both Lucille and Mr. Gable were close to Sam Kimber. You’re not. Why should she care what you do?”

“I still don’t like it.”

“You promised you’d let me help, Paul.”

“This isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Can’t we at least talk to Mr. Kimber about it?”

“I have to think about it, Barbara.”

Suddenly they heard a faraway roaring sound. Looking to the east they saw the heavy curtain of rain coming toward them. They ran for cover into the thatched, three-walled structure beyond the end of the pool. The first fat drops began to fall before they reached it. The winds came, whipping the fringes of rain in toward them, sending them back into the far corner by some stacked tables and a pile of pool-side mats. Within minutes it was dark and cool and they were isolated from the world by the hard hiss of the rain against the thatch overhead.

“If Mr. Kimber says yes, let me try,” she shouted.

“If he says yes, and if you promise to do exactly as I say.”

“I promise.”

“I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I’ll be very careful, Paul. Really and truly careful.”

Eleven

STANIAL AND BARBARA Larrimore had arrived at the office building at seven-thirty in the morning and found the private entrance unlocked as Kimber had promised it would be. Stanial parked his car a block away in case Angela Powell might notice it. Kimber had said she was in by eight many mornings.

Sam Kimber greeted them, wearing a flannel robe and slippers. “Morning,” he said. “Can’t get over feeling like a damn fool. What do you expect her to do? Pull a knife?”

“I expect her to follow the same pattern she did before. I think she made a date with Gus. I think she had an appointment with Lucille,” Paul said. “She may be more reckless or more careful, but I think the pattern will be the same. And Barbara will be waiting wherever she says, and I’ll be close enough to protect her.”

Sam looked gaunt and red-eyed and listless. “You sound so damn sure of everything. You built this whole thing out of nothing.”

“Not exactly nothing.”

“As close as anybody can get to plain nothing and you know it. But I’m about as anxious to get her off your list as you are to prove she’d kill anybody. So we’ll do it. But I swear I’m going to feel plain ridiculous.”

“Do you think I’m enjoying it?” Barbara asked tartly.

Sam smiled at her. “Lu spoke right up to me too, honey.”

“Where should I go to… get ready?” she asked.

“Through that door. It’s the guest bedroom, Miss Barbara.”

After Barbara was gone, Sam said, “Where’s the best place to put on our little act?”

“The living room? Is there a place where I can watch?”

“Closet should be handy. And I better get out some ice and a bottle. Drinking is wicked, too.”

Barbara came out of the guest bedroom. She had rumpled her hair and put on a bright crooked smear of lipstick. She wore her robe over a frilly nightgown. She was barefoot. She looked sullen and bawdy. “Will I do?”

Sam Kimber shook his head and marveled at her. “Girl, you look like we’ve been living here a week without sticking a head outdoors.”

Barbara curled up in a corner of the leather couch in the living room. Sam Kimber paced the floor. Paul found the precise angle of the closet door where he could see the most without being seen.

At twenty after eight Sam listened at the door and then turned to them. He took a swallow of his drink. “That’s her. Nobody else can run a typewriter that fast. Pick your drink up, Miss Barbara. I’ll play this by ear.”

As soon as Paul was in position, Sam opened the door between the apartment and the ante-office and said heartily, “Morning, Angie. Come on in here a minute.” Paul saw the big girl come smiling through the door, and saw the smile disappear instantly.

“Angie, this here is Barbara Larrimore and she’s Lucille’s kid sister and I wanted you two gals should know each other.”

“How do you do,” Barbara said in a slurred and husky voice. Angela Powell nodded. She stood straight, obedient, waiting.

“Barbie is going to be around a lot from now on, and she’s going to be here a long time, and you’re going to run into her frequent, Angie. So what I wanted to say to you, anything Miss Larrimore needs or wants, and I’m not around, she just mentions it to you, and it’s like the orders came straight from me.”

“My glass is empty again, lover,” Barbara said.

“You got the message, Angie?” Sam said.

“Yes, Mister Sam,” she said in a low voice.

“You want she should do anything for you right now, honey?” Sam asked.

“When I think of something, lover, I’ll let her know. See you around, Angie.”

“Is that all, Mister Sam?”

“All for now. Maybe I’ll be in the office later on. Maybe not.”

Angie made a military about face and walked out, her head high. The door hissed slowly shut and the lock hatch clicked.

Stanial came out of the closet. The three of them glanced at each other with an obvious uneasiness.

“Paul, she didn’t look at me once. She looked past me but not at me. Paul, are you… really sure? She looks so… sweet and decent.”

“It sure turned all her lights right off,” Sam said sadly. “It hurt her real bad. You could see that. Like sticking a knife in her. You know, after you find out for yourself this whole thing is wrong, Paul, I’m going to tell Angie just how and why we did her this way. She’ll understand. She’s a quick bright girl.”

Barbara quietly left the room. As soon as she was gone, Stanial said, “Be a little careful yourself, Sam.”

“You serious?”

“You’re a sinner. Maybe you just lost your immunity.”

Sam sat down. “I have the feeling I’ve lost just about everything else in this world. Now what do we do? Just wait?”

“If she’s as unbalanced as I think she is, we won’t have long to wait.”