Ten o'clock Sunday morning: Janek woke with a start. The first anniversary, exactly a week since Al had pulled the trigger. Louella had phoned him that Sunday at 10:05. She'd awakened him and when he figured out what she was saying he had clenched his fists and beaten them against his bed.
He shaved, showered, got dressed and went out to a coffee shop on Broadway. He slipped into a seat behind the counter, ordered a mug of coffee and a bagel, and wondered how he was going to handle things today with Lou.
He was still wondering as he drove to Queens. He was going to lie to her and he wasn't going to enjoy that very much. She would look at him with her big sorrowful eyes and believe him because there wasn't any reason why she shouldn't. Already he was feeling uneasy, beginning to dislike himself, and starting to dislike Al too, for pulling that trigger and creating this situation he didn't want to face.
Stupid. How could he dislike Al? If it weren't for Al he'd never have met Caroline. Al was gone now and he was alive. He would just have to deal with Lou the best he could.
The DiMona house was on a side street in Corona that made him sad whenever he drove onto it, a residential street of "starter homes" inhabited by middle-aged people who knew even when they were starting out that they would probably end up there, too.
The house was wood-frame and narrow like its neighbors, with a brick porch added to the back. A big TV antenna, a meager barbecue pit and some redwood outdoor furniture. The clapboard on the outside was starting to peel. Al had said he was going to paint it himself in the fall when the days were cooler and he wouldn't feel dizzy on the ladder.
The card table where he'd been whittling just before he'd fired had been folded up and stored away. Lou led him into the living room. Al had hated it. Gold carpeting. Gold velour upholstered sofa. Gold tassels on the cushions. Coffee table made out of a lacquered antique trunk. They sat on the sofa with an empty space between them, facing each other but with their legs sticking straight out.
"Dolly still here?" Janek asked.
"She went back to Pontiac."
"What about the move to Houston?"
"She's putting that off awhile."
"Look, Lou, this is a stupid question. It's only been a week. But I wondered if things were better now."
She nodded. "They have counseling people down at Police Plaza. They helped me take care of the paperwork, and there's a therapy group I can join if I want."
"Think you will?"
"Don't know. They have groups for divorced wives too. Sarah was thinking about getting involved in one right after you walked out. They know about all the problems and they have the support systems to help. For leftover people like Sarah and me. God, I'm sorry, Frank. I didn't mean that the way it came out."
He didn't answer. She turned away. "Sarah called me when she heard," she said. "She asked about you, too. I didn't tell her much. I think she'd still like you to come back. You ever think about that, Frank? It might help, you know. I hate to think you'd do what Al did. They say being alone just makes things worse."
He cut her off. "I know you mean well, but I want you to stop that stuff right away. I don't want to go back to Sarah. If I did I'd shoot myself for sure."
"She says you never call her anymore."
"That's right. I don't. When I used to call all she'd do was complain about the appliances. The dishwasher was out. What should she do? The disposal's stuck up. Who should she call to get it fixed? The car won't start. The furnace runs too cold. The water's brown. The roof's sprung a leak. I told her, 'It's your house now. It's up to you. You get a good hunk of my salary and you have a bookkeeping job and a nice house and I'm living in a semi-basement and driving a Volvo that ought to be sold for scrap. So worry about your own goddamn appliances.' I told her that, and she didn't call me anymore." He shook his head. "It's been almost two years."
Lou nodded. She'd tried, said whatever she'd promised Sarah she would say, and now he knew it was his turn to keep his promise, his turn now to lie.
"I checked around a little about what you told me."
"He was working on something, Frank. Did you find out what it was?"
Janek paused. "I don't think he was exactly working on something, Lou, in the sense that he was doing anything more than walking around thinking about things, maybe visiting a few old crime scenes, stuff like that. He wasn't entitled to carry on an investigation, you know. He had a lot of experience and he was like an old racehorse. He liked to get out and trot a little, work up a little sweat. It's hard to stop cold. So he spun his wheels. But there wasn't any particular case he was working on. Unless he mentioned something to you."
"He said there was a case." She spoke abruptly to signal he was going to have to work harder if he wanted to change her mind.
"There're always cases, Lou. You know that. Ones you never solve. Al had this expression. He'd say, 'Such-and-such case was like that broad in high school you wanted but could never make. You'd make the other girls and then forget them, but the one you couldn't have, you'd think about her all your life.'"
She smiled. "Sounds like Al. Still, he was out so late those times."
"He'd meet some of the guys after work. They'd have a few drinks and talk. He liked that. He didn't want to stay home all day. You knew him. He was an active guy. I just wish he'd found himself a better hobby than trying to put together boat models and whittle flutes."
"He didn't like that. He hated that."
"Why the hell did he do it, then? And make that huge investment in woodworking tools? There must be a couple grand worth of stuff downstairs."
"God, I wish I knew. It was like he thought, 'All right, now I'm retired, so the thing to do is have a hobby.' So then he went out and bought himself a hobby without even trying it out to see if he liked it first."
"Okay, Lou, let's suppose he was working on a case. Let's even say he was working seriously, unauthorized, you understand. Now, does it make sense, then, that he would have shot himself? You know it doesn't. He hated to leave anything undone. That's why I say he was spinning wheels."
She studied the carpet for a while, then looked up and nodded. She believed him, as he knew she would. It wasn't a bad lie, nothing wicked, nothing that would do her any harm, but it made him feel uneasy, and then, as if she could read his mind, she suddenly asked him a question that made him turn away.
"How about you, Frank? Someone in your life?"
"Did Sarah ask you to ask me that?"
"Of course not. Oh—Frank..."
He studied her, could see that she was lying, and he was glad because that made him feel better about having lied to her.
"There wasn't for a long time," he said. "I'm not a woman chaser—you know that. But recently I met someone, and, well, it's someone I like a lot. She makes me happy. I'd be even happier if I wasn't boxed in with a stinking case."
She asked if he wanted another cup of coffee. He looked at his watch and shook his head. She led him down to the basement to Al's den where he'd kept his woodworking tools, his unconstructed model kits, his little refrigerator stocked with beer and his supplementary TV. She had gathered all his clothing together, everything she could find in all the drawers and closets of the house, and she had it all arranged neatly in piles on the couch and the chairs and on the workbench too.
"I called the Salvation Army. They're coming tomorrow. Anything you want, better take it now."
Janek looked at the clothes. He didn't want anything. He shook his head. "Wrong size," he said.
She hugged him suddenly and he hugged her back and patted her hair and cuffed her on the shoulder and told her she should call on him, that he was always available, that he'd always come if she needed anything.
"I know that, Frank. We both loved you very much. I hope you're happy with this new gal of yours." She walked him to his car.