Authors: Jeremiah Healy
“If that means free ones, that's Charlie, alright.”
“Charlie drink heavily?”
“Charlie did everything âheavily.' He found out early in life that if you can get enough booze, drugs, and sex, the rest don't bother you so much.”
“How did you find out he was dead?”
Fearey looked past me again. “The cops. The fuckin cops. They roar up to the house, sirens and lights. I don't have a phone, but Christ, they'd coulda called a neighbor first, couldn't they? They didn't have to come tear-assing up here like it was a bust or something.”
“You go with them?”
“Yeah. This fat sergeant, he said they needed me to identify the body. Bastards!” Her voice rose. “Tiger's screaming his lungs out from the noise and all the strange people. Half the street's out on their lawns, shaking their heads at the fuckin lowlifes brought the cops down. Like they never had a cruiser come to their house, right?”
I heard a cry from the next room. Fearey said, “Shit. Just a minute.”
She stubbed out her cigarette and went down the hall. Left alone, I noticed something odd about the tape on the furniture.
Fearey returned shortly, hefting a little kid with just a diaper pinned on him. A smear on his cheek looked like jelly, but then anything on a kid's face looks like jelly. Tiger took one look at me and whipped his head back into his mother's breast.
“He'll be okay. Just don't raise your voice or you'll get him crying.”
“I'll do my best. You hear from anybody after Charlie's death?”
Fearey tightened. “Hear from anybody?”
“Yes. Charlie worked for Bunny Gotbaum, right? Anybody come by?”
She shook her head. “Bunny Gotbaum ain't exactly General Motors, you know? They don't have no benefit plans or anything like that down on The Strip.”
I fingered the taping on the sofa.
Fearey said, “What are you doing? Leave that alone there.”
“Tape looks pretty new.”
“Yeah, we change it every coupla weeks for guests.”
“What I mean is, the tape all looks new. On all the furniture. Even with a two-year-old running around the house.”
No response.
“Like it was all taped at the same time. Like because it all got ripped up at the same time.”
“That's none of your business.”
“When you got back that night, after the police and Charlie, I mean. This place was wrecked, wasn't it?”
“This place is always wrecked. I'm not much into housework.”
“I mean it was torn apart by somebody, like by somebody looking for something.”
She nuzzled the child, speaking more softly. “I left Tiger with a neighbor down the street. Old woman, nice enough to come up, see if I needed help with the cops and all. So there wasn't anybody here when I went off with them. Musta been two, three hours later when I got back. The cops dropped me at her house, I picked up Tiger, then walked over here. I opened the door and ⦠I didn't know what to do. The place was destroyed, the furniture, the closets, even the stuff from the refrigerator was all over the floor in there. Why'd they have to do that?” She started to cry softly. “We didn't have shit. Why'd they have to do that?”
I waited a minute, then said, “Can I ask you a couple more questions?”
Fearey wiped her nose on the child's shoulder. “Ask.”
“Was there anything that they could have been looking for?”
“Like what?”
“Anything Charlie might have been holding for Jane Rust?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Documents, photos, videotapes. Anything.”
“You mean the porn stuff again.”
“Right.”
“Look, I already told you. I don't know nothing about any of that, alright?”
“Alright. Do you know a man named Bruce Fetch?”
“No.”
“He was Jane Rust's boyfriend before she became involved with Charlie.”
“Oh, him. Yeah. She talked to Charlie about him, and Charlie'd say things to me. I never met the guy, though.”
“Charlie told you about Fetch?”
“Mister, Charlie told everybody about everything. That's why this confidential source shit is so stupid. Charlie was about as confidential as a loudspeaker.”
“Did Bruce Fetch know about Charlie being Jane Rust's lover?”
“I don't know, but like I said, Charlie shot off his mouth about everything, it wouldn't surprise me if Charlie told him himself.”
I said, “Ms. Fearey, on the level, what do you think happened?”
She raised her voice angrily. “What do I think happened?”
The child began to cry. I said, “Yes.”
“What I think happened is that bitch reporter got Charlie killed somehow.” The child began to wail. “Shut up, Tiger! I think that bitch got him to fall in love with her, really in love. She screwed him up so much he did something so stupid he couldn't get out of it.” The child was screaming now. “I said to shut up! God, none of this would've happened if I'd stayed with the Duck.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“Who didâ”
“Get fucked.” The child was shrieking hoarsely now, and Fearey struggled to her feet. “Get out! Get out of here!”
I left the other half of the twenty on the sofa. “We're square. I'm sorry about Charlie.”
She followed me to the door, the child nearly drowning her out. “Yeah, yeah, you're so sorry, do me a favor, okay?”
“If I can,” I said, going through the door.
“That Rust bitch. She in the ground yet?”
“Tomorrow. The funeral's tomorrow.”
“Yeah, well here's what you can do. You can hawk up a good one and spit on her fuckin grave for me.” Fearey kicked the door shut behind me.
“I
F YOU SO
much as touch Bruce, I'm calling the police.”
I smiled politely at Grace and said, “He swung on me last time. Can you let him know I'm back?”
She didn't return the smile. “Wait right here.”
Entering Fetch's office, she closed his door behind her, then reappeared, looking even less happy. “He'll see you, but remember what I said about the police.”
“I will.”
Fetch was seated at the computer terminal, an architectural drawing turned sideways on the monitor's screen. There was a splint on his right ring finger.
He said, “What do you want now?”
I took a seat in front of the desk, causing him to swivel around to face me. “Same questions as last time, but this time I'd like some better answers.”
“I already told you everything I know.”
“Not quite. Let's start with Charlie Coyne. You knew he was Jane's substitute lover, didn't you?”
“No.”
“Doesn't wash, Bruce. Jane told you about Coyne being her confidential source.”
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“I think I do. She didn't share things with her editor, that's for sure. Jane was pretty distraught by Monday afternoon, and after I pushed her some, she admitted talking it over with a couple of people, people she trusted. That would have to include you.”
Fetch sneered, but not very convincingly. “Sure, Jane's gonna tell me the name of the guy who's replacing me?”
“No. No, I don't see it that way. I see it more like Jane needing to talk with someone about her professional problems, and my guess is she just told you about Coyne as her source. You're the one who put two and two together.”
“You're crazy.”
“My guess is it made you crazy, thinking about them together, especially given the kind of guy he was.”
“Bullshit.”
“Or maybe Coyne himself told you about them. Bragged to you about how much he satisfied her by comparison.”
“Goddammit! I told you, I had the mumps so I'mâ”
“Sterile not impotent. I know. It's just that Coyne was spreading a different story.”
“You fucking bastard.”
“And speaking of which, then to realize he was the father of her babyâ”
“Look!” Fetch leaped up. “When Coyne got killed, I didn't even know Jane was pregnant! Hell, she didn't know, just thought the stress and all had fouled up her cycle somehow.”
“Which still leaves you with a pretty strong motive for killing Coyne when he got stabbed, because he was cutting in, humiliating you. Then a stronger motive to kill Jane, when you realized she was carrying his child.”
He brought the injured hand to his face, but winced from a pain that went beyond the finger. “I loved her, for God's sake. Why can't you see that? I loved her.”
“What kind of car do you drive, Bruce?”
“What?”
“Your car. What make and model?”
“The hell difference does that make?”
“I'm just curious. Save me a trip to the Registry.”
Fetch seemed to give in, sinking back into his chair. “Ford. Station wagon. Satisfied?”
“Big one?”
“The car?”
“Yes.”
“I guess so. Country Squire. I bought it used off my brother when he was getting a new one. Why do you care about all this?”
“Monday night, the night Jane died, you went to her house, didn't you?”
“No!”
“Bruce, I know your car was there.”
“I wasn't there, and it wasn't there.”
“It was late. You have a date planned with her?”
“No.”
“Reconciliation, maybe?”
“No. Look, why don't you get out of here?”
“Not until I get the truth. You loved her? Seems to me you'd be interested in finding out who killed her.”
“She killed herself, remember? Suicide, you know?”
“I don't think so. I think somebody mashed up some pills, a lot of pills, and put them in her cocoa. She didn't take pills generally, so she'd have no way to judge the potency of the dose from the taste. I think somebody stayed there for a couple of hours, searching the place very carefully and systematically for something, something that wasn't found at Coyne's house the night he died and it was ransacked. I think that person sat with Jane, sat and watched her die very slowly from the pills, just slip further and furtherâ”
“Stop it! Stop it now!”
Without knocking, Grace opened the door. “Are you alright, Bruce?”
“Yes.”
She treated me to a murderous glare. “Are you sure?”
Fetch said, “Yes, yes. Leave us alone, okay?”
Reluctantly, she drew back and closed the door.
I said, “You drove there Monday night, didn't you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
“I knewâI knew she'd been under a lot of pressure, that things weren't going any better at the paper, especially since Coyne died. She blamed me ⦠no, that's not fair. She didn't want to blame me for him being killed. She didn't want to believe I told anybody about Coyne being her source.”
“Did you?”
“Tell anybody, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“No, I didn't.”
“You're sure.”
“I'm sure.”
“Did Jane tell you who else she discussed Coyne with?”
“No. She said it was better I didn't know, like she was some kind of spy or something. I couldn't believe that she thought the guy was going to help her or anybody else. I kind of knew who he was ⦠that is, I'd seen him down at ⦠down on The Strip once in a while. I went down there ⦠to get stimulated, you know? To see if the ⦠shows and all could help me that way.”
“Go on.”
“Well, one night at this place, a bar called Bun's, he comes up to me between ⦠between shows and sits down and starts telling me, telling me to my face about how him and Jane ⦠made love. About what she said while he was ⦔
I gave him a moment. “How did Coyne know who you were?”
“He said from the picture.”
“Picture?”
“Yeah. At Jane's house. She had a photo of her and me together. On her dresser.”
“That night at Bun's, you guys fight it out?”
“No. No, I was ⦠too ashamed, I guess. I just ran out of there, never went back. Then Coyne gets killed maybe a week later, and Jane suspects, well, like I said.”
“So why did you go to Jane's on Monday night?”
“I was home, drinking. I don't ⦠don't drink well. I got a little high, and I started calling her. I'm not sure what I was thinking, I guess that I could convince her to take me ⦠to give us another try as a couple. Well, I called her, I don't know, four or five times, and let it ring out, no answer. So finally I pulled on some sneakers and sweat clothes, and went out to my car, figure to see her face to face but be dressed casually, you know? Like it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of idea.”
“When she wasn't home?”
“Huh?”
“You expected to see her at her house when she hadn't been answering her phone?”
“Oh, no. I ⦠I thought maybe she had somebody else now. Somebody else like Coyne. Every time the phone rang and she didn't answer that's what I ⦠pictured in my head. Anyway, I finally got mad enough to drive there. I still ⦠I still had a key to her front door. She gave it to me because the buzzer bothered her landlady.”
“What time was this?”
“I don't know. Late, maybe eleven-thirty, midnight. I shouldn't even have been driving, what I'd had to drink. Anyway, I open the door to her place, and the stereo is going, and so I sneak around to the bedroom, to sort of peek in I guess, I didn't really know what I was doing, and then I see her ⦔ Fetch put his good hand up to his eyes. “She was just lying on the couch, like she'd fallen asleep. I touched ⦠I touched her, and she was cold, and there was this smell, like a clogged toilet, and I realized she ⦠she was dead. I ⦠I'd never seen anybody dead like that. I panicked, I suppose. I remember running toward the front door. And I remember jumping in the car. And that's all. Except for being scared, every day after that.”