Ross Macdonald - 1960 - The Ferguson Affair (22 page)

 
          
Padilla
glared at him from the doorway, outraged by his levity. Simeon appeared not to
notice. He went out, and his rubber-soled shoes whispered away along the
corridor.

 
          
I
said to Padilla: “Let’s go down to
Secundina’s
place.”

 
          
Evening
light ran in the alley like red-stained water. The berries on the Cotoneaster
tree were the color of nail polish and blood.
Secundina’s
sister came to the door when we knocked. The baby was sleeping in her arm.

 
          
She
looked at Padilla with hard eyes.
“You again.”

 
          
“Me again.”

 
          
“What
do you want this time?”

 
          
“Ask
you some questions, Arcadia. Don’t be like that.”

 
          
“I
answered all the questions. What’s the use? The old woman says they wanted her
dead in the hospital, they gave her knockout pills. Maybe she’s right.”

 
          
“They
don’t do things like that at the hospital,” I said.

 
          
“How
do I know what they do there?” She held the child away from me, with her lifted
hand between my eyes and his face.

 
          
“This
is Mr. Gunnarson,” Padilla said. “He won’t give the little one mal
ojo
. He is a lawyer trying to find out what happened here
today.” He turned to me. “This is Mrs. Torres,
Secundina’s
sister.”

 
          
Arcadia
Torres failed to acknowledge the introduction. Her intense, dark gaze was
focused on Padilla. “What happened today? Secundina died today. You know it.”

 
          
“Did
she do it herself, with sleeping pills?”

 
          
“She
took the sleeping pills from the hospital, the whole bottle. The copper—the
policeman—he said when he came back here, there wasn’t enough pills to kill
her. But she’s dead, ain’t she?”

 
          
“What
would make her do such a thing?” Padilla said.

 
          
“She
was crazy about that Gus of hers, I guess. And she was scared. When she got
feeling like that, she’d drink down anything. Mrs. Donato said that she had
susto
.”

 
          
“What
do you mean by anything, Mrs. Torres?”

 
          
“Anything
she could get. Sleeping pills or GI gin, they call it, or the cough medicine.
They had her name on a list at all the drugstores. Indian list, they call it.”

 
          
“Did
she take other drugs when she could get them?”

 
          
Her
beautiful drooping mouth set itself in stubborn lines. Her Madonna eyes took on
the dusty glassiness that I had seen in her sister’s eyes.

 
          
“I
don’t want to talk about it.”

 
          
“Did
she have a habit?” Padilla asked her softly.

 
          
“Not
any more she didn’t. She was off of it. Maybe she smoked a little marijuana,
like on a party.”

 
          
“You
mentioned that she was frightened,” I said. “What was she frightened of?”

 
          
“Getting killed.”

 
          
“So
she tried to kill herself? It doesn’t make sense.”

 
          
“You
didn’t know Secundina.”

 
          
“But
you did, Mrs. Torres. Do you honestly believe she killed herself, or tried to?”

 
          
“That’s
what the old woman says. She says that my sister is burning in hell for it
now.”

 
          
“Is
Mrs. Donato here?”

 
          
Arcadia
shook her head. “She went to the
albolaria
. She says
there is a curse on the family which only the
albolaria
can take off.”

 
          
“Were
you here when they took her away in the ambulance?”

 
          
“I
saw them.”

 
          
“Was
she alive then?”

 
          
“I
thought she was alive.”

 
          
“Who
called the ambulance?”

 
          
“The policeman.”

 
          
“Sergeant
Granada?”

 
          
She
nodded.

 
          
“What
was Granada doing here?”

 
          
“He
wanted to talk to her about Gus.”

 
          
“How
do you know?”

 
          
“She
told me. He sent her a message by the corner grocery. But when he got here, she
was out, lying on the bed. He went in and found her.”

 
          
“Did
you see them together?”

 
          
“After
he called the ambulance, I did.”

 
          
“And
she was alive then?”

 
          
“She
was breathing, I think. But she wouldn’t wake up.”

 
          
“Was
she afraid of Granada?”

 
          
“I
don’t know. She was afraid of a lot of things.”

 
          
Padilla
spoke sharply to her. “Answer the question!”

 
          
She
gave her head a violent shake which left it tilted on her neck away from me.
She answered Padilla in Spanish.

 
          
“What
does she say, Tony?”

 
          
“She
doesn’t want to talk to you any more, I’m sorry. When a bad thing like this
happens we—I mean they turn against people, you know, people from uptown.
Maybe if you let me talk to her?”

 
          
“Go
ahead. I’ll wait in the car.”

 
          
I
smoked a couple of cigarettes and watched the daylight dying on Pelly Street.
Dark boys in twos and threes were prowling the sidewalk. The neon signs of the
bars and cafés hung like
ignis
fatuus
on the twilight. Jukebox music reached my ears like distant
battlecries
and lamentations. In competition with it, a chorus of voices rose behind the
painted windows of a storefront church. “Telephone to Jesus,” they were
singing.

 
          
Padilla
emerged from the alley. His movements were furtive, like a dog’s that has been
kicked. He looked up and down the street, pretending for an instant that he
couldn’t see me.

 
          
I
got out of the car. “Did she do any more talking to you?”

 
          
“Yeah.”
He moved uneasily, on his toes, his left shoulder
slightly
raised
. “I don’t get it. She says it was
Holly May that Secundina was scared of.”

 
          
“Did
she name her?”

 
          
“She
didn’t have to. It was her, all right. Secundina saw her with Gaines and Gus
Donato the night before last, the night she disappeared. They had a reefer
party up in the mountains.”

 
          
“Where in the mountains?”

 
          
“Arcadia
doesn’t know that. She only knows what Secundina told her. Gus had marijuana
contacts and he provided the weed. Secundina went along for the ride. It was
quite a party, the way she told it to her sister. Holly was picking fights with
people, yelling that she was the greatest actress in the world. Also, she had the
most beautiful figure in the world. At one point she took off her clothes to
prove it. Gus made a play for her, and Secundina stepped in, and Holly broke
off the end of a bottle and went for her. I don’t get it. She never acted like
that on liquor.”

 
          
Padilla
dropped his protective left shoulder and stood back on his heels.

 
          
“Was
Holly smoking marijuana?”

 
          
“She
was certainly high on something.”

 
          
“It
changes people sometimes, Tony. It acts like a trigger on unstable people.”

 
          
“Yeah.
I know, I’ve tried it.”
He
caught himself. “I mean, away back when.” His eyes were shabby.

 
          
“Where?”

 
          
“When I was a kid.”

 
          
“In town here?”

 
          
“Yeah.”
He looked up and down the street. “I didn’t mean to
tell you that, Mr. Gunnarson. It’s something I’m not proud of. I ran with the
ice-plant gang for a while, before I caught on to what it was all about. We
used to smoke the stuff when we could get it.”

 
          
“Did
you know Gus in those days?”

 
          
“Him and Secundina, too.”

 
          
“Granada?”

 
          
“Yeah.
I was there the night that Gus and
him
had their big fight. I could have stopped
them,
I was
boxing in those days. But, hell, I let them fight. I was hoping they’d knock
each other off. No such luck.”

 
          
“What
did you have against them?”

 
          
The
color left his face. After an ivory interval, he said: “Now wait a minute, Mr.
Gunnarson. You wouldn’t be trying to tie me in with all this.” He glanced over
his shoulder into the shadowed alley. “That was all years ago. I was just a
crazy kid out of high school, looking for kicks.”

 
          
“So
was Granada, wasn’t he?”

 
          
“
Him
and Gus was different. I’ve always hated the bastards,
both of them.”

 
          
“On account of Secundina?”

 
          
“Yeah.”
The blood rushed back into his face and turned it
cordovan. “I used to know her way back in Sacred Heart School. She was in the
third grade, I was in the sixth. She was just a bright-eyed little kid, not a
care in the world. Her mother sent her in clean dresses, ribbons in her hair.
Christ, she played an angel in the Nativity. Look at her now.”

 
          
“You
can’t blame the men in her life. People grow up.”

 
          
“Down,”
he said. “They grow down.” He grimaced at the sidewalk as if he could see hell
under it.

 
          
“I
want you to think about it, Tony. Could you be mistaken about Granada?”

 
          
“Yeah,”
he answered slowly, “I could be mistaken. I could be wrong about anybody, I
guess. I’m sorry if I gave you a bum steer.”

 
          
I
didn’t answer him. I was sorrier.

 
          
“I
got carried away, maybe, too many things at once. I get these days when my
whole damn life rears up on its hind legs and smacks me.”

 
          
He
threw a short left hook at an invisible opponent. His fist completed its arc at
the side of his own jaw. He half turned toward the alley.