Breaking Up Is Hard to Do (The Sam McCain Mysteries Book 6) (12 page)

“I see.”

“You can sit there and smirk at me all you want. But it’s the truth. Those three, they grew up with money. Hell, Murdoch, he even went to Dartmouth. Me, I never finished high school.”

“I’m not sure what this has to do with the two murders, Mr. Wheeler.”

“Gavin, please.”

It’s kind of strange. People who ordinarily wouldn’t even speak to you want you to call them by their first names when they get into trouble.

“You want to know what my background has to do with those two murders? I’ll tell you. When you come from where I come from—those shanties where the Southerners lit during the Depression, them tin shacks and you know what I’m talking about—you never feel quite right about yourself. And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, McCain, because you’re from the Hills and you know how that affects you. Deep down, you never feel as good as other people. Deep down, you’re ashamed of yourself and you can’t ever kick that feeling. No matter how much money you have; no matter how many people tell you how great you are; no matter how many civic awards they give you—inside here you know you could lose it all at any minute. The money, the prestige, the rich friends—all gone like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I walk around with that feeling in the pit of my stomach every day of my life. That’s where I envy you so much.”

“You envy me?”

“Hell, yes, I do. Look at you. You don’t have jack shit. Your law practice is a joke and all you do most of the time is play gumshoe for some old wino judge who has to tell you ten times a day that she knows Leonard Bernstein. You’re about the most unsuccessful professional man in this whole state and you should be damned happy about it.”

“God, I never realized how lucky I was. Every time I have to prowl through garbage cans to get my dinner, I should realize that I’ve got it made. Something like that?”

“Now you’re being sarcastic again. And you know what? That’s about the only thing you’re good at. That sarcasm of yours.”

I sat up with my elbows on the desk, leaning forward the way those TV actors do when they’re selling you a product of some kind. “First of all, Gavin, you forgot about the Hills as soon as you left. All those years you were on the city council you didn’t do squat for the Hills. Hell, you even blocked all the sewage bills so your country club friends could get the council to build that sports park we didn’t need. And second of all, you’re here to rat out somebody else to throw suspicion off yourself. You’re going to give me a name and some little morsel of a lead and I’m supposed to get excited.”

He took his flask out again and set it on the desk. “Take a drink of that, McCain. And while you’re doin’ that, I’ll tell you who killed those two people.”

“Sure you will.”

“Two weeks ago somebody beat up Karen.”

“And you know that for a fact?”

“Hell, yes I know it for a fact. It was my night to be with her. Two of us a week. That was the setup. More than that she would’ve felt like a whore. This way she could pretend she just had two dates a week.”

“She say that?”

“Many times. Anyway, I saw the bruises all over her body. First hand.”

“Who did it?”

“Peter Carlson.”

“C’mon. Carlson?”

“Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“He’s sort of a priss. Hard to imagine him working up that kind of passion for anything except putting people down.”

“Well, whatever he is, that didn’t stop him from falling in love with her.”

“Are you serious?”

“He offered to buy out our shares. He even tried to get her to move back to Chicago, where he’d set her up by himself.”

“When did all this happen?”

“Over the last couple months. He had a hard time controlling himself when one of us went up there. Sometimes he’d drive around her block. I know it’s hard to believe but that’s how bad he got. He even picked a fight with Hardin one night when they were both drinking. Hardin made some crack about her starting to show her age a little bit. And speaking of cracks, I didn’t forget about the Hills. I give three Christmas baskets to the nuns every year. For the poor.”

“Be still my heart.”

“It’d be real easy not to like you, McCain.”

“Ditto. Why don’t you just take this to Cliffie?”

“That dumb ass? Are you kidding? He’s already got Murdoch good for it. You know Cliffie. Case closed. He won’t even consider anybody else now.”

I leaned back in my chair. Watched him tilt his flask up again. Watched him set it back down on the desk. Watched him watching me.

“You going to help me clear Ross? Ross said you were working for him.”

“What if I find out you killed her?”

His jowls got red before the rest of his face did. An interesting visual display. “Why would I kill her?”

“Well, Cliffie thinks Ross killed her. You say Carlson killed her. And I’m sure somebody’ll tell me they think Mike Hardin killed her. Your name’s bound to come up sometime.”

“Well, I didn’t and I can prove it. I was in a poker game till almost two o’clock. And I was drunk enough that I had one of the other guys give me a ride home.”

“He got a name, this guy?”

“You’re a jerk, you know that, McCain.”

“You want me to help Ross, I’m helping Ross. I’m trying to find the killer.”

“I’m not the killer.”

“I need the name of the guy who drove you home.”

He sat back. He seemed to shrink. He aged by a few years. He looked embarrassed. “I was making that up about the poker game.”

“You got any other alibis? Shacked up with Jackie Kennedy or something like that?”

He stood up. “I was home. Watching TV and pretty drunk. The wife was upstairs asleep.”

“So you don’t have an alibi.”

“I was home.”

“You could always leave home.”

“I was drunk.”

“So you say.”

“This is all because of that sewer thing, isn’t it?”

“A good part of it, anyway.”

“I don’t vote for sewer improvement so you’re going to hang a murder rap on me?”

“You even voted against extending services to the people down by the river. Of any kind. That’s pretty shitty.” I leaned forward on my elbows again. “I’m not going to hang anything on you that doesn’t fit. But it wouldn’t break my heart if it turned out you killed those two people.”

He walked to the door. Started to say something. Got all red-faced again. And then left.

I spent the next hour working on my notebook list. I hadn’t been kidding when I said that I expected to hear from Peter Carlson and Mike Hardin. They’d be implicating one of their friends just as Wheeler had. The panic had crazed them. It didn’t matter who was ultimately blamed as far as their reputations went. They were already destroyed merely by association with the dead woman and her brother.

The phone rang.

“What time you coming home?” The beautiful Pamela Forrest said.

“I don’t know. Another couple hours. Why?”

“We, uh, wondered if we could make you a business offer.”

“‘We’ being?”

“We being Stu and me.”

“What kind of business offer?”

“Well, we’re still at your apartment. And we started talking. And—well, we wondered if we paid you motel rates, could we stay here?”

“You mean sleep there and everything?”

“Yes. You could take the couch. And it’d only be a few nights.”

“Why don’t you just get a motel room?”

“Because somebody’d spot us for sure. And we’re not ready to face up to everything yet. It’s going to be terrible. It’s going to be like the Salem Witch Trials. And guess who’s the witch?”

“Oh, man, I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to worry about the sex. I mean we kinda caught up during the day today.”

“That’s nice to know. I’m glad I’m not in love with you any more. I mean, if I was, that’s not the sort of thing I’d want to hear.”

“Well, you told me you weren’t in love with me so I’m taking you at your word.”

“Well, maybe I’m still in love with you a little bit. A smidge. An iota.”

“Well, I took that into account. That’s why I didn’t go into any details. You know, tell you how many times we did it or anything.”

“That was very nice of you.”

I could hear her getting a cigarette going. “Stu’s not here right now. He took the back road into Iowa City. He’s getting groceries. He’s going to fix dinner for all three of us. He makes the best steaks I’ve ever had.”

“You know, I used to hate Stu. And now he’ll be sleeping in my bed. And with you.”

“Well, he used to hate you, too. In fact, I think he still does in a small sort of way.”

“Well, since we’re being honest here, I think I still hate him in a small sort of way.”

“Well, there you have it.”

“Have what?”

“You’re even up. He still hates you in a small sort of way and you still hate him in a small sort of way.”

“I want a new bed.”

“What?”

“Before you leave, I want $75 for a new bed. I know where I can get a good one for that.” I’d been planning on replacing the lumpy bed I had. And here was a chance to get a new one for free.

“I’ll have to ask Stu.”

As we hung up, I tried very hard not to picture Pamela and Stu in my bed. You really never can predict life’s twists and turns. And that’s what makes life so exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. And if you don’t believe me, just ask the Three Stooges. Curly almost never knows when Mo’s going to hit him.

For two hours I canvassed the apartment complex where Karen Hastings had lived. The three buildings were red brick with a central section between that held a swimming pool and flagstone-floored social area. It was getting cold for outdoor activities. Most of the residents were in their twenties, single, and worked in either Cedar Rapids or Iowa City. Several of the apartments were rented by small groups of young women who couldn’t afford the address otherwise. It was all piss elegant.
Striving
is the correct word here. It strove to be fancy and big city and sexy but it didn’t quite make it because the design was strictly Apartment House 101 and the workmanship was terrible. Joints didn’t fit right. Door handles were loose. The indoor carpeting was already worn thin. And pieces of the hall trim had already fallen off and not been replaced.

Two of the young women were stewardesses who flew out of Cedar Rapids. Joan Cawlings was the one I talked to. Her roommate was in the shower the whole time I was there.

Joan was a slight blonde with enormous blue eyes. She wore a U of Illinois T-shirt. She had very merry, happy little breasts that looked as though they’d be a lot of fun to play with. She wore a pair of jeans that fit her wonderfully as only jeans can. Her small feet—pert as baby rabbits—were bare.

“I think I talked to her once in the seven months I’ve been living here. Everybody said that she was almost hostile. A lot of people thought she was a prostitute. Different men were always coming here.”

I described them.

She nodded. “Yes. Those men and one other.”

“Could you describe him?”

“He looked like a boxer. Not mean or a crook or anything like that. But his nose was sort of flattened and just the way he carried himself—he was probably in his forties but one of the guys I was seeing said ‘That’s somebody to walk wide of.’ I remember his exact words because they sounded like something from a cowboy movie. Walking wide of somebody, I mean.”

“How often did you see him?”

“Well, when I first moved in, I didn’t see him that much. With my schedule, it’s hard to say. Maybe he came a lot when I was working. But the last couple months, I’ve seen him a lot more often.”

“Anything different you notice about him?”

“His Corvette.”

I wrote that down in my notebook. “What about it?”

“He had one of those little things you put on your license plate. It says ‘MD.’ You know, medical doctor. That’s why he always struck me as interesting. He sort of looked like a boxer but he was always dressed in very good suits. And he drove this black Corvette. And you could tell he took very good care of it.”

“How’s that?”

“You never saw a speck of dust on it. And it always looked like he’d just gotten done shining it.” Then: “God, when I heard her name on the radio this morning—and heard how those four men had set her up here—I’m from Cleveland so I guess I always thought of this area as kind of hicky if you know what I mean. And no offense if you grew up here or anything. But I’ve never heard of anything like this even in Cleveland. You know, you wouldn’t be surprised if it happened in Paris or Hollywood or some place like that. But here—”

“This is great.”

“It is?”

“Finding a doctor who drives a black Corvette shouldn’t be too tough.”

“I actually thought he was the coolest guy of all of them. The ones who called on her, I mean. He’s kinda sexy, actually.”

I thanked her and walked to the door.

“Say,” she said, “anything new with the missiles?”

“Nothing that I’ve heard of.”

“The company is warning us what to do if a missile hits a city we’re supposed to land in. It’s really scary.”

That detail made the whole crisis even more real. You never think of things like that. You’re in a plane thirty thousand feet up and the city below you becomes a mushroom cloud. Then what?

“Thanks again,” I said.

I
HAD A BEER AT
a tavern with animal heads on the wall. The way I feel about hunting is I’d rather see the hunters’ heads on the wall. But I don’t suppose I’ll ever get to be president of the United States saying things like that now, will I? Or didn’t I tell you that I have this diabolical plan to take over the United States?

I called a friend of mine on the Cedar Rapids police force and asked him to run a check on the black Corvette driven by a doctor.

Then I dawdled over a second beer, not wanting to go back to my apartment, which was turning into a crime scene, the crime being French farce. The woman I’d loved most of my life sleeping with the man I’d hated most of my life under my roof? God either has a great sense of humor or none at all. When I figure out which it is, I’ll get back to you.

On the third and final beer—I am not a great drinker—I decided, and I think truthfully, that I didn’t love Pamela any more. I know you’re not supposed to trust beery revelations but there was something dead inside me now where she was concerned—I started thinking of all the F. Scott Fitzgerald short stories I’d read in college where the protagonist ends with something dead inside where his woman is concerned—but when I thought of her now I just felt a sadness. Even though she’d never loved me, she’d been the center of my life all those years. But she wasn’t now and never would be again and I felt alone in a way I’d never felt before.