Westlake, Donald E - Novel 41 (11 page)

 
          
 
"Would he have any business worries at
all?"
Crawley
undoubtedly realized by now this was a
blind alley, but he would go through the normal questions anyway. You never
could tell.

 
          
 
Anderson
, as was to be expected, said, "No,
none. We've —well, we've been doing very well. The last five years, weVe been
expanding steadily, we've even added to our stafi", just six months
ago."

 
          
 
Levine now spoke for the first time.
"What about Mrs. Cartwright?" he asked.

 
          
 
Anderson
looked blank, as he turned to face Levine.
"Mrs. Cartwright? I —I don't understand what you mean."

 
          
 
Crawley
immediately picked up the new ball, took over the questioning again. "Do
you know her
well.
Mister Anderson? What kind of woman
would you say she was?"

 
          
 
Anderson
turned back to
Crawley
, once again opening his flank to Levine.
"She's, well, actually I haven't seen very much of her the last few years.
Jason moved out of
Manhattan
five, six years ago, over to
Jersey
, and
I live out on the
Island
, so we don't, uh, we don't socialize very
much, as much as we used to. As you get older —
" he
turned to face Levine, as though instinctively understanding that Levine would
more readily know what he mejmt " — you don't go out so much any more, in
the evening. You don't, uh, keep up friendships as much as you used to."

 
          
 
"You must know something about Mrs.
Cartwright," said
Crawley
.

 
          
 
Anderson
gave his attention to
Crawley
again. "She's, well, I suppose the
best way to describe her is determined. I know for a fact she was the one who
talked Jason into coming into partnership with me, twenty-one years ago.
A forceful woman.
Not a nag, mind you, I don't mean that at
all.
A very pleasant woman really.
A
good hostess.
A good mother, from the look of Allan.
But forceful."

 
          
 
The wife, thought Levine. She's the root of
it. She knows, too, what drove him out there.

 
          
 
And she wants him to jump.

 
          
 
Back in Cartwright's office, the son Allan was
once again at the phone. The patrolman Gundy was at the left-hand window, and a
new man, in clerical garb, at the right-hand window.

 
          
 
Gundy noticed Levine and
Crawley
come in, and immediately left the window.
"A priest," he said softly. "
Anderson
said he was Catholic, so we got in touch
with St. Marks, over on
Willoughby
."

 
          
 
Levine nodded. He was listening to the son.
"I don't know, mother. Of course, mother, we're doing everything we can.
No, mother, no reporters up here, maybe it won't have to be in the papers at
all."

 
          
 
Levine went over to the window Gundy had
vacated, took up a position where he could see Cartwright, carefully refrained
from looking down at the ground. The priest was saying, "God has his time
for you, Mister Cartwright. This is God's prerogative, to choose the time and
the means of your death."

 
          
 
Cartwright shook his head, not looking at the
priest, glaring instead directly across
Flatbush Avenue
at the building across the way. "There
is no God," he said.

 
          
 
"I don't believe you mean that, Mister
Cartwright," said the priest. '*!
believe
you've
lost your faith in yourself, but I don't believe you'veiost faith in God."

 
          
 
"Take that away!" screamed
Cartwright all at once. "Take that away, or I jump right now!"

 
          
 
He was staring down toward the street, and
Levine followed the direction of his gaze. Poles had been extended from windows
on the floor below, and a safety net, similar to that used by circus
performers, was being unrolled along them.

 
          
 
"Take that away!" screamed
Cartwright again. He was leaning precariously forward, his face mottled red
with fury and terror.

 
          
 
"Roll that back in!" shouted Levine.
"Get it out of there, he can jump over it! Roll it back in!"

 
          
 
A face jutted out of one of the fifth-floor
windows, turning ^ inquiringly upward, saying, "Who are you?"

 
          
 
"Levine.
Precinct.
Get that thing away from there."

 
          
 
"Right you are," said the face,
making it clear he accepted no responsibility either way. And the net and poles
were withdrawn.

 
          
 
The priest, on the other side, was saying,
"It's all right. Relax, Mr. Cartwright; it's all right. These people only
want to help you; it's all right." The priest's voice was shaky. Like
Gundy, he was a rookie at this. He'd never been asked to talk in a suicide
before.

 
          
 
Levine twisted around, looking up. Two stories
up, and the roof. More men were up there, with another safety net. If this were
the top floor, they would probably take a chance with that net, try flipping it
over him and pasting him like a butterfly to the wall. But not here, three
stories down.

 
          
 
Cartwright had turned his face away from the
still-talking ' priest, was studying Levine intently. Levine returned his gaze,
and Cartwright said, "Where's Laura? She should be here by now, shouldn't
she? Where is she?"

 
          
 
"Laura? You mean your wife?"

 
          
 
"Of course," he said. He stared at
Levine, trying to read something to Levine's face. "Where is she?"

 
          
 
Tell him the truth? No. Tell him his wife
wasn't coming, and he would jump right away. "She's on the way," he
said. "She should be here pretty soon."

 
          
 
Cartwright turned his face
forward again, stared off" across the street.
The priest was still
talking, softly, insistently.

           
 
Levine came back into the office. To
Crawley
, he said, "It's the wife. He's waiting
for her."

 
          
 
"They've always got a wife," said
Crawley
sourly. "And there's always just the
one person they'll tell it to. Well, how long before she gets here?"

 
          
 
"She isn't coming."

 
          
 
"What?"

 
          
 
"She's at home, over in
Jersey
. She said she wouldn't come." Levine
shrugged and added, "I'll try her again."

 
          
 
The son was still on the phone, but he handed
it over as soon as Levine spoke to him. Levine said, "This is Detective
Levine again, Mrs. Cartwright. We'd like you to come down here after all,
please. Your husband asked to talk to you."

 
          
 
There was hesitation from the woman for a few
seconds, and then she burst out, "Why can't you bring him in? Can't you even
stop him?"

 
          
 
"He's out of reach, Mrs. Cartwright. If
we tried to get him, I'm afraid he'd jump."

 
          
 
"This is ridiculous! No, no. definitely
not, Fm not going to be a party to it. I'm not going to talk to him until he
comes in from there. You tell him that."

 
          
 
"Mrs.
Cartwright "

 
          
 
"I'm not going to have any more to do
with it!"

 
          
 
The click was loud in Levine's ear as she
slammed the receiver onto the hook.
Crawley
was
looking at him, and now said, "Well?"

 
          
 
"She hung up."

 
          
 
"She isn't coming?" It was plain
that
Crawley
was having trouble believing it.

 
          
 
Levine glanced at the son, who could hear
every word he was saying, and then shrugged. "She wants him to jump,"
he said.

 
          
 
The son's reaction was much smaller than
Levine had expected. He simply shook his head definitely and said,
"No."

           
 
Levine waited, looking at him.

 
          
 
The son shook his head again. "That isn't
true," he said. "She just doesn't understand —she doesn't really
think he means it."

 
          
 
"All right," said Levine. He turned
away from the son, trying to think. The wife, the marriage —A man in his late
forties, married young, son grown and set up in his own vocation.
A quiet man, who doesn't force his personality on others, and a
forceful wife.
A practical wife, who pushed him into a
successful business.

 
          
 
Levine made his decision. He nodded, and went
back through the receptionist's ofi&
ce
, where the
other patrolman, McCann, was chatting with the three women employees. Levine
went into
Anderson
's office, said, "Excuse me. Could I
have the use of your office for a little while?"

 
          
 
"Certainly."
Anderson
got up from his desk, came around, saying,
"Anything at all, anything at all."

 
          
 
'Thank you."

 
          
 
Levine followed
Anderson
back to the receptionist's office, looked
over the three women sitting against the left-
hand ,
wall. Two were fortyish, plumpish, wearing wedding bands. The third looked to
be in her early thirties, was tall and slender, good-looking in a solid
level-eyed way, not j glamorous. She wore no rings at all.

 
          
 
Levine went over to the third woman, said,
"Could I speak to you for a minute, please?"

 
          
 
She looked up, startled, a bit frightened.
"What? Oh. Oh, yes, of course."

 
          
 
She followed him back into
Anderson
's office. He motioned her to the chair
facing
Anderson
's desk, himself sat behind the desk.
"My name is Levine," he said.
"Detective
Abraham Levine.
And you
are ?"