Ransom Game (23 page)

“I didn't want to ask you about Mrs. Jarman's brother in front of her, Mr. Jarman.”

“I understand. He was a wild young man, and his loss has tended to shadow certain things about him.”

“Like …?”

“Well, let's say he never realized his potential.”

“You could have said that in front of your wife.”

“That's right. You should have asked. He was a madman in many ways. He drank widely, deeply, and indiscriminately.”

“You know that he was acquainted with Johnny Rosa?”

“No. I can believe it, now that you say it, but I didn't know that they were acquainted. He knew lots of people just as bad.”

“What do you know about the circumstances of his death?”

“What do you mean?”

“What started him drinking that last day?” Jarman had stopped at the diving board and was busy refastening the neat black lace of his right shoe.

“Russ didn't drink because of any particularly stressful incident, he drank all the time. He and his father had stopped speaking to one another. He was also on the outs with the family because of Helen Blackwood. You know about that?”

“Yes”

“All of it?”

“Well, I could be wrong.”

“Did you know that she was under age? That they were living together quite openly? That George thought it was all a plot against him, an attempt to heap discredit on the family name?”

“More or less.”

“Well, I tried to talk sense into him several times, but I had no standing in those days. I was almost equally on the outs with George. I was a fortune-hunter to George, a cashless opportunist.”

“He didn't like you.”

“He didn't like anyone that Gloria liked. An interest in Gloria was automatically suspicious. I had been seeing her for over a year and not getting anywhere. Every time I met George, it was like meeting him for the first time. I couldn't build up any credit with him. He was always polite, of course. He knew that I was in business, and that I was ready to move up, but he wouldn't say the word. If it weren't for unforeseen circumstances, Gloria would still be meeting me on the sly. I've always been an outfront kind of person, Ben. I don't like hole-in-the-corner business.”

“By ‘unforeseen circumstances' you mean the kidnapping?

“Yes. During that crisis, I was able to be of service. I guess that George could see that I was worried about Gloria, that I felt responsible for not protecting her. I got to know that he was a man with a profound affection for his daughter, and that his suspicion of me was no more than I deserved. I was flattered that he let me come with him to the point where we exchanged the money. It was a long hot drive, and I had a large bump on my head. We talked frankly to one another. When the day was out, I think I had a better opinion of him and he had some sort of opinion of me, which was a modest improvement in my stock.”

“You left the money in suitcases behind a bush?”

“Yes, we got our instructions in a series of calls coming to pay telephones. We did a lot of waiting and a lot of driving. I don't want to admit to you the fantasies that went through my mind. I'm not a violent man, Ben, but I'm glad I didn't catch up to any of the kidnappers myself. I just wasn't rational.”

“I see. And the last time you saw the suitcases was when you put them behind that bush. How did the voice on the phone describe the place?”

“Oh, it was clear that they'd been over the ground very carefully. Everything was exactly where they said it was going to be.”

We started down the length of the pool. The underwater lights were making dancing shadows on the walls. “Is this the pool where Mr. Warren drowned?” I asked.

“Yes. He used to swim about twenty lengths a morning. He was a good swimmer, but he was in his seventies. Blackwood said that he looked like he was resting on the bottom. He couldn't have suffered. I got to know him very well after I married Gloria. He was a truly wonderful human being. I mean that sincerely.”

“I'm sure you do,” I said, worrying the corner of my mouth. “But you wouldn't describe Russ that way?”

“We got along, but then our paths didn't cross much. I didn't go to car races, knew nothing about rallies or fast cars, detested speed for its own sake, and, for his part, he showed no interest in business, hated the routine of office work, and simply disliked the notions of stocks, shares, corporate business and power. I think he respected me for liking his sister. That was really our only bond.” We had by this time cleared the end of the pool and come out into a side hall leading to the parking lot. A coat and hat were waiting for Jarman here and he slipped into a pair of slim rubbers.

“Did you see Russ the day he died?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I did. I'd been hanging around trying to see George about business, and Gloria about us, when I ran into him in the morning-room. He'd been drinking, but he took pity on my long face and brought me a much-needed drink. He gave me some advice about handling his father better, which I discounted seeing that he had failed to handle his father at all, and I tried to get him to ease off on the drinking. It was a touchy point, but as I had no particular axe to grind, I thought he might listen. Unfortunately, he didn't.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“Russ drove his Lotus off the road at over a hundred miles in hour, He was drinking from a small bottle of whisky, a ‘mickey' they call it. The bottle was driven right into his skull.” I heard myself give a long low whistle through my teeth, and so felt more than usually awkward when he shook hands with me at his own threshold. He strode off toward the car, leaving me to find my own way back to Helen's apartment to retrieve my hat and coat.

Helen was waiting for me when I found my way through the loot of Europe to her door. I had wandered back the way I'd come, through the hall and along the long side of the pool. The green water was shimmering. I tried to imagine an experienced swimmer like George Warren drowning there with the array of life-saving equipment standing readily at hand. Helen had another drink going, and quickly got up to get me a fresh one. It was bad enough it being February without bringing
delirium tremens
into it. But she was a good hostess. What could I do?

“Here, drink this. How was it? How did you get along with Bob?” Her eyes were big because she was standing close. I wasn't used to people, especially girl-people, standing so close that I became conscious of my oral hygiene. I sat down on her blue couch listening to the ice hit the sides of the glass, and trying to make sense of the conversation in the library.

“Why are you dressed up?” I asked. Helen was still wearing the blue and white striped dress she had welcomed me in, and it still looked too festive for just Benny Cooperman. I realized that the world of the Warrens wasn't my world, but I expected to see a few familiar outlines at least. She was wearing a very fetching fragrance too, that made concentrating on the library conversation very difficult.

“Oh, it's just something old and comfortable that I like to wear. Don't you like it?”

“I like it fine. When I stand this close to you, I can see your contacts. It's a new skill I'm working on. Don't they bother you?”

“Not a bit. Greatest invention since strong drink. I was always misplacing my glasses, but I've had these for three years without a hitch. I can't really get along without them now, but I do sometimes take them out in the evening when I'm tired. If you look close, you can see a tiny dot on the right one.” I stood close to her, but I couldn't see anything except a face I wanted to touch. “That's in case I get them mixed up,” she said. I had to take a step backwards.

“Helen, was Gloria working in her studio at …”

“Oh, Benny! Stop asking questions for ten minutes. Stop those little wheels running around in your head. Forget the case for a while.” She broke away from me and fell into the blue couch. I followed her, but to the neutral corner at the far end.

“Okay. It's forgotten. Do we still have anything to talk about?”

“That's aggressive and unfriendly. What's the matter? I sometimes think that you're afraid of me. Are you?”

“Is there something I should be afraid of?” She put her palms to her ears in mock horror.

“More questions! Don't you know that there's another way to talk? It's called conversation. Some people develop it to a sophisticated level. Why are you cramped into the corner of that couch like that? The Jarmans are away for the evening, and I'm not the babysitter. You should see your neck, Benny, the cords in it look like they're going to break.” She got up and came around beside me. “Here,” she said, “turn your back to me.”

I thought of the bump on Jarman's head on the day of the kidnapping. I thought of the—what was it that Savas called it? The ecchymoses, that was it—at the back of Muriel Falkirk head. I turned my back, slowly, hoping that I would be able to recover enough after the blow to prevent a second. I was still under the impression that it wasn't sporting to hit a lady first. I could smell her perfume and hear the rustling of her dress as she planted one knee on the cushion beside me, and with her long clever fingers was able to seek out and rub away the stiffness in my back and shoulders. She had a real talent for it. I loosened my tie and took off my jacket. She was able to get closer to the deep tense centres then, and with a little more of her very welcome skill, the names of Muriel Falkirk and Johnny Rosa slipped out of my head, across the warm rug and out the window for the next two and a half hours during which I asked no questions.

TWENTY-SEVEN

It was very late when I turned the key in the lock of my hotel room. After the Warren place, the City House was feeling a little cramped. I felt like I wanted to go back to my seat at the movie. Life was nicer there. Here the dusty curtains, the pile of books on the chair, the laundry balled up with promises in the cupboard, the faint chemical smell that came from the sheets, even when they'd been changed, always got me thinking the things I didn't want to think about. I heard distorted voices of my parents coming at me from the notice on the door about loud noises after ten o'clock at night. I pulled my clothes off and threw myself in the shower for ten minutes. It didn't do any good. When I got the blacks there wasn't anything I could take to wipe them out. I tried doing the crossword puzzle in the TV guide that came with last Saturday's paper. But who the hell cared what a four-letter word for “oblique or slanting” was? I buried my head in the pillow and tried to pretend that I was going to get some sleep. The last few days had hammered at all my muscles so that I was twitching with weariness under the covers.

But I did finally get to sleep. I even had a dream. I was walking down the curved lane leading away from the Warren mansion to the road. I heard a noise and turned to see a big Rolls Royce coming down the lane after me. I tried to step aside to let it by, but the thick green hedges on both sides prevented me. The Rolls fitted the gap between hedges like a bullet fills the barrel of a gun. The Rolls wasn't speeding, but I was aware of its mass and its determination to sweep me out of its path. I started to run. The Rolls speeded up. I kept looking back over my shoulder, trying to see who was at the wheel, but I couldn't. The face was a blank. I ran faster and faster, the highway kept retreating. I could feel the heat from the radiator on my back as I ran. I could feel a scream starting down under my diaphragm. It rose and overwhelmed me. Then I was sitting up in bed wearing a pair of pajamas that had been sweated through. The horror of the dream began to disperse, and I was about to punch my pillow and try again, when I was suddenly aware that I had company. I could see two shadows at the foot of my bed. For a second I tried to put them into the context of the nightmare I'd just come out of. But they were real. I could see faces in the shadows, and I recognized the faces.

“Get dressed,” Vito said

“We ain't got all night,” Frank added, crunching a Lifesaver between his back teeth.

“If you're going to finish me, why not do it here? I'm beat.”

“Grab your socks, Cooperman,” Vito added, “the boss wants words with you.”

“You'll have to tell him about the telephone. It'll change his life.” They didn't move around, although Vito looked with some disgust at some art on the wall. It was from a friend, what could I do? By the time I was fully awake I was in my trousers and zipped. Another minute and we were all trooping out of my room and down the hallway. Frank led the way with me in the middle and Vito bringing up the rear. It must have been about three in the morning, but I hadn't put my watch on. I didn't care about time anymore. I was too tired to care. I felt like my blood had been drained and sold to the highest bidder.

The smell of the papermill was heavy on the chilly air as we stepped out of the dark hotel and onto the deserted sidewalk. Even the flashing neon sign had called it a night. I scanned both sides of the street. For some people there might be a cop trying doors along King Street, but not for me. Frank opened the curb-side door of the blue Mustang and bent the seat forward. I got in. Vito followed. Frank went around and opened the door on the driver's side.

“Comfortable,” I said.

“Save your wind,” Vito suggested with an elbow in my ribs, not hard, but hard enough to discourage any further sallies of wit or conversation to lighten the road ahead.

Frank started the car, nearly flooding it, since it was hot and the night wasn't. He followed Lake Street out to the highway and turned toward Niagara Falls.

“Mind if I smoke?” I tried again, with my arm protecting my ribcage.

“If you have to,” said Frank from the front, pushing in the car lighter. I carefully fished for my cigarettes in my coat pocket. Vito stiffened until I brought out the pack instead of what he was afraid of. He passed me the lighter when Frank waved it generally in our direction.