Up in Honey's Room (18 page)

“Or the third one,” Carl said, “was the other
guy
she caught her husband with? But where did he go?”

Kevin said, “You're not thinking it could be Honey.”

“Vera said Walter drove her home. I don't have any reason to believe Vera, but I do. I accept her lying about Jurgen.”

“Well, Walter's at the farm. I spoke to him for a while. In the surveillance report for last night, Walter arrived with most likely Joe Aubrey, but it was hard to get a positive ID. They know Walter because of his car. Surveillance says he left with a man and a woman.”

“You call him before or after you knew about the homicides?”

“After I went to the scene. I called him from there, asked him who he drove home. He said Honig Schoen. He dropped her off at her apartment. I said, ‘Walter, there were three people got in your car when you left the meeting.' Walter said, ‘You have a photograph of three unidentified people standing by a car at night somewhere?' He said whoever saw us was mistaken or lied. His wife was his only passenger.”

“That's what he called her?”

“Which, his wife or his passenger? I asked if she was at the farm with him. Walter said no. But she promised to spend time with him today.”

“She told him that?”

“Walter said he would see she kept her verd.”

“So we know what she's doing now,” Carl said. “She's hiding from Walter.”

 

Vera hadn't moved from the sofa. Sitting with her again Carl thought of giving her knee a pat for no other reason than having the war in common, on different sides but they'd feel the same way about it. He said to her, “You think the war's done anyone any good?”

“I'll say no one, because I'm too tired to think of something that sounds wise, or enigmatic. Or stupid.”

“What do you want to do when it's over?”

“Try not to be noticed.”

“You worried about people telling on you?”

“My friends?”

“Your spy ring.”

Carl looked up and there was Bo with a coffee service for one. He placed the tray on the cocktail table and poured a cup as Vera said to him, “This gentleman wants to know if I suspect you would tell lies about me to save your
dupa
from rapacious prison convicts.”

Bo said, “What's wrong with a rapacious convict?” He served Carl, handing him a cup of black coffee. Carl said thanks and Bo said
“Koorvya mat”
in a pleasant tone of voice and walked away.

Vera was watching him. Carl said, “What's
koorvya mat
mean?”

“You thanked him—you didn't think he was saying oh, you're very welcome?”

“He was too sweet.”

“I shouldn't tell you,” Vera said, “but what difference does it make.
Koorvya mat
is Ukrainian for ‘Go fuck your mother.' What did you say to him, before?”

“I might've raised my voice,” Carl said. “You don't think he'll turn on you, huh?”

“If they frighten him enough, I wouldn't be surprised. But whatever he tells them will be highly entertaining. Bo loves attention.” She said, “What will the others do if accused? Nothing. Joe Aubrey will continue to be Joe Aubrey. Dr. Taylor the obstetrician will inspect vaginas as he thinks up racial slurs, and Walter…Honey must have told you his astonishing plan.”

It took Carl by surprise. He said, “Yeah, Walter,” and said, “you think he'll pull it off?”

Vera started to smile. “You haven't spoken to Honey, have you? You're still upset she left you to come to my party. You know, you may not be smart enough for Honey. I saw the photo of your wife in
Newsweek
, in her uniform. She's quite attractive. I suppose she's pleasant. But if you haven't noticed, Honey is a rare human being, a free spirit who knows how to think. She's not simply in a rush to be entertained, try new things.”

“You're saying I should leave my wife for Honey Deal?”

“I'm saying she's one of a kind. If you're afraid to spend time with her, then don't.”

Carl said, “Let's get back to Walter.”

“I won't talk to you about Walter. I'm sure he told Honey. Ask her what he's doing, as Walter says, to meet his destiny.”

“You don't care that Honey knows?”

“It's too big for Walter,” Vera said. “It's his grand illusion, Walter Schoen becomes a prominent name in the history of the world.”

Carl said, “He wants to assassinate somebody.”

“I'm not saying another word.”

“I was thinking he might want to return to Germany for Adolf's last stand, but there's no way for him to get there. So it must be Walter's gonna shoot somebody like the president of the United States. Get him riding in that open car he likes. A fella by the name of Giuseppe Zangara, an anarchist, fired five shots at Roosevelt one time from no more than twenty-five feet away. In Miami, 1933.”

Vera said, “He missed?”

“A housewife by the name of Lillian Cross bumped Zangara and threw him off his aim. He missed the president, but hit five other people standing there, one of them Anton Cermak, mayor of Chicago.”

“Did she think five people shot,” Vera said, “was worth not losing the president?”

“I've wondered that myself,” Carl said. “One of these days I'll look Miz Cross up. In the meantime I'll see if I can find Honey—if her free spirit hasn't gotten her to run off.”

Carl had put his cup on the tray. He picked it up now, took a sip and put the cup on the tray again, the coffee served to him ice cold.

“You realize,” Carl said, “you could be indicted for knowing about Walter but not saying anything? It's called misprision, concealing treasonable acts against the U.S. government. Even if you take no part in the act.”

“I told you,” Vera said, “it's his dream. Do you think I should go to prison for something Walter has no intention of actually doing?”

“You're still liable.”

“Do you care?” Vera said. “You haven't asked if Jurgen is here.”

“Is he?”

Vera said, “No,” and smiled.

“How about Dr. Taylor?”

“What about him?”

“You think he might tell on you?”

“Dr. Taylor has no credibility. He continues to say Adolf Hitler is the savior of the world, and who believes that? No, the doctor is not a concern of mine.”

Carl said, “You mean now that he's dead?”

V
era came in the kitchen to see Bo hunched over the morning paper spread open on the table.

“Did you hear what he said?”

“I wasn't listening. He's a peasant.”

“He knows about Dr. Taylor.”

“It's not in the paper.”

“He doesn't
need
the paper.”

Vera's tone got Bo to look up at her.

“He knows policemen, federal agents. He asked if I was worried about the doctor informing on me. I said he's not a concern, and he said, ‘You mean now that he's dead?'”

Bo said, “He knows already?” sounding surprised.

“You call him a peasant,” Vera said, “with your prissy way. You serve him cold coffee. The man is the most famous law officer in America. They write stories about him in magazines. A book was written about him with photographs, you think he's of no concern.”

“I thought his behavior crude.” Bo shrugged in his new smoking jacket. “What did you say to him?”

“I said, ‘The doctor, he was in an accident with his car, and was killed?' I must've sounded stupid.”

“I'm sure you were convincing.”

Bo's gaze dropped to the newspaper and Vera said, “Look at me, I'm talking to you,” and swept the paper from the table. “The police know another person was killed.”

“Rosemary.”

“I don't know how you could shoot that poor woman.”

“I had no choice, she knows me.”

“I'm talking about Aubrey, in the loo. They found traces of blood someone tried to clean from the wall, blood and brains, Carl said, and did a poor job.”

“Since it was the powder room,” Bo said, “he should have said I did a piss-poor job.”

“I said to Carl, ‘Who could it be?' astonished, eyes wide with innocence. Do you know who he said it was? Not who he thought it might be? Aubrey.”

Bo frowned. He'd used soapy guest towels to clean up the mess, knew enough to take the towels with him, stuffed into Mr. Aubrey's pants once he got them pulled up. Then had to wrap Mr. Aubrey's head in a bath towel he got from upstairs when he went up to look around, found some jewelry he liked and the doctor's smoking jacket in green. Then he had to look for the Lugers and the machine pistol locked in a cabinet and had to pry it open but thought he did a rather professional job. He borrowed a blanket from Rosemary's warm bed he used to drag Mr. Aubrey across the tiled floor to the front entrance where, Bo decided to let Mr. Obnoxious wait while he cleaned the powder room and thought about driving all the way out to a cornfield near Walter's place at
four in the morning when he was already in Palmer Woods, not a forest but there were patches of woods here and there.

“They're sure the third one's Joe Aubrey,” Vera said. “Joe's the only one missing who was here last night.”

“It couldn't be someone else?”

“I know it's Aubrey and Carl knows it's Aubrey you shot in the back of the head to make a mess. Did you think about where you should shoot him?”

“There was his head only a few feet away,” Bo said, “while he's taking a whiz. Have you heard that one, for pissing? Mr. Aubrey was whizzing all over the floor.”

“You must have touched Rosemary.”

“I moved her hair aside.”

“With the Walther?”

“No, the tips of my fingers. I was gentle with her. But she saw me, so I had no choice.”

“You're very good at what you have to do,” Vera said, laying her hand on his shoulder. She had been harsh with him and didn't want Bo to sulk, waste her time acting hurt. She stroked his hair saying, “To make you feel better, we have Joe Aubrey's check for fifty thousand dollars. If I can put it in an account and make withdrawals within a few days, we'll have our going-away money.”

“And we can amscray out of De-twah,” Bo said. “Can I lay my tired head against your tummy-tum?”

Vera took his face in her hands and brought his cheek against her body. “What we don't want to happen, they find Aubrey before we amscray. Can you imagine the interrogations we'd have to survive? Two of my alleged aides found shot to death?” She said, “That won't happen, will it, Bo?”

“That's not the problem,” Bo said and waited for Vera.

She said, “There is always a problem, isn't there?”

“Walter could tell them I was to drive Mr. Aubrey out to the farm but we never arrived. Or as Kevin Dean would say, ‘We never showed.' That girl Honey Deal will say, ‘Oh, that's right, Mr. Aubrey. Didn't he go home with Bohdan?' That fucking marshal, you know what he called me? Bohunk.”

“I wondered what he said to you. Honey thinks you're cute.”

“She does? Well, Jurgen's with her now.”

“Having him for breakfast,” Vera said. “The girl's a man-eater.”

“The FBI will ask him, ‘Was Aubrey in the car with you?' Jurgen will say, ‘No, he vasn't.'”

“Jurgen doesn't speak that way. But they left with Walter before you put Aubrey in my car. They can't be certain you took him
any
where.”

“Do you want to leave it to chance?” Bo said. “Maybe the police will find out I took Aubrey to see the doctor and maybe they won't. Meanwhile, Vera wets her panties every time the doorbell rings.”

Vera said, “God,” weary of this war business, “all the dead we've seen.”

“Don't give up on me now,” Bo said. “What's a few more?”

At least three. Four, with any luck.

“All right,” Vera said, “when the police say to you, these other people told us you drove Aubrey to Walter's. If you didn't go there, where did you take Mr. Aubrey? What will you say to that?”

“I'll say, ‘Where in the world did they get that idea? I didn't take Mr. Aubrey anywhere. By the time he left the party I was in bed.'”

“So how did he get to Dr. Taylor's?”

“How should I know?”

“But you were here with everyone. What kind of arrangement was made if Walter didn't take him?”

“Give them my theory?”

“If it makes sense.”

“Well, the way I see it, Dr. Taylor and Mr. Aubrey had a thing going and made plans to meet somewhere after the party was over. Say, at a bar on Woodward or maybe in front of the cathedral, only a block away. Dr. Taylor picked up Aubrey and took him home so they could monkey around in peace, tease each other, and the doctor's wife Rosemary—I always thought of as a very sweet woman—heard them giggling, crept downstairs, caught the two old dears kissing and shot them with her husband's Walther. Then, so ferociously distraught by what she did, pressed the pistol against her temple and
kapow,
took her own life.” Bo, still looking at Vera, said, “Her breasts were so-so.”

Vera said, “‘Ferociously distraught?'”

“Enormously depressed to learn her husband the respected doctor is a sissy.”

“Where did she get the pistol?”

“She knew her husband was a scaredy-cat and kept it in his smoking jacket when he was downstairs alone at night.”

“How do you know that?”

“Rosemary told me one time. Or, she brought the pistol from upstairs.”

“You're wearing the smoking jacket he had on?”

“This is a different one.”

“So they say to you, ‘If Mr. Aubrey wasn't there this morning, what happened to him?'”

“I say, ‘How should I know, I'm not a detective.'”