“I’m glad you didn’t do it,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Didn’t do what?” he responded, more brusquely than he intended, his anger still seething below the surface.
“Whatever it was you were thinking of doing to that deputy just now.”
“Bucheck? How did you know I was thinking of doing anything to him?”
“I couldn’t see your face but I could see your hands. You had your fists clenched. I was afraid you were going to hit him.”
It surprised him. He had not been conscious of the reflex action. “I was sorely tempted,” he admitted.
“Why do you suppose he was so unpleasant?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But it seems to be a permanent condition.”
“Perhaps-although it sounded more personal than that.”
“I wondered if it was just my imagination.”
“Have you had trouble with him before?”
“No. I don’t recall ever meeting him before tonight.”
She fell silent again but he did not need the sound of her voice to remind him of her presence. He had never felt so aware of the proximity of another as he did with her. Without looking at her he was conscious of her every movement. It was as if on entering the car they had occupied the same energy field and a steady current of strong, if still indecipherable, signals was now being transmitted between them.
“Well, as unpleasant as he was, I’m not so sure that I wouldn’t have preferred to make my report to him rather than the other one,” she said reflectively.
“You mean Flynn? He did seem kind of odd didn’t he?”
“Odd isn’t the word for him. There was something-strange, almost frightening about him. He didn’t seem to have any interest in what had happened. He could just as well have been writing a parking ticket.”
It was curious how closely her reaction to the young deputy paralleled his own. “I suppose policemen have to develop a certain indifference to tragedy as a defense mechanism, or their job would soon become intolerable,” he suggested.
“It was more than just indifference with him. It was as if he was simply unaware of the significance of what had happened.”
“I know what you mean. I had the same feeling myself.” It was unintentional, but he immediately recognized the ambiguity of his words, and felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered analyzing his own feelings about the death of the driver.
He drove up the exit ramp, across the highway and back down to the eastbound lanes in the direction of Glen Park.
“Cassandra’s such a lovely child,” she said, changing the subject. “I know teachers are not supposed to have favorites among their pupils, but she really is mine.”
“Well, it’s obvious that the feeling is mutual. She’s hardly talked about anything-or, I should say, anyone else in the last six weeks. I almost feel as if we’ve met before tonight.”
“Yes. I do too.” Her voice sounded curiously husky and distant. “But, of course, Cassandra’s probably told me at least as much about you, as she’s told you about me.”
He liked the way she used the child’s full name instead of the sobriquet, “Sandy,” which Marie and everyone else thought was so cute. He had cynically selected the name before she was born because her impending birth had seemed to presage Marie’s alienation and the deterioration of their marriage. Marie had not attached any significance to his choice and had not cared enough to object even if she had. After she was born, the unhappy connotation of her name eventually dissolved in the delight and pleasure he found in her-even though his foreboding had ultimately become reality. Now, he was only sorry that the name lent itself to being so easily abridged.
As if she had been reading his mind, she added. “Of course, as with all the children, I use her full name in school. But, I suppose it’s abbreviated at home.”
“Not by me. I prefer ‘Cassandra.’ “
“I’m glad. I really don’t care for nicknames.”
“What about your own name? The deputy, Flynn, told me it’s ‘Elsie.’ Isn’t that a nickname?”
“Elsie!” She laughed shortly. “My name is ‘Elise.’ He must have copied it incorrectly from my driver’s license.”
He was glad, although not sure why. It just seemed to suit her better and, like everything else about her, had suddenly become a matter of great importance. It also reinforced his opinion of the deputy’s mental facility.
He saw Bucheck in one of the sheriff’s cars headed in the opposite direction on the other side of the median. A few moments later they drove through the viaduct beneath the railroad crossing and past the scene of the accident. Flynn stood stolidly watching as the tow truck; with the crumpled front end now hoisted high in the air; was preparing to haul the tractor away. He hoped that the deputy had not forgotten to tell him to come back for the Toyota.
As he rounded the bend and started up the long incline, he heard her make a soft, indistinguishable sound. Glancing at her, he saw that her eyes were tightly closed and she was hugging herself, as if trying to hold on to the reality of her life.
“Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes and relaxed the grip of her hands on her arms. “Yes. I’m fine, really. It’s just that I can still see that enormous truck crossing in front of me and hear the horrible sound of it crashing into the concrete.” She shuddered slightly. “It must have taken no more than a few seconds, but it’s like watching it happen over and over again in slow motion.”
She inclined her head and covered her eyes with her hand, as if trying to shield them from the sight of another re-run.
“Would a drink help?” he suggested, hopefully as well as helpfully.
For a moment, he was not sure that she had heard him, as she sat staring pensively throughthe windshield. He was about to repeat the offer when she replied.
“It’s kind of you to suggest it, but I really don’t think I should.”
She did not sound as if she was congenitally opposed to the idea. “Why? Because you’re a school teacher in a small community, and I’m a married man, and the father of one of your students?”
He was aware of her looking at him.
“At the risk of seeming as prudish as you make it sound, that does sum it up rather well.”
It did-for both of them. But something in her voice indicated it was not a closed subject. “On the other hand, you’re also a witness to an accident involving one of my clients. I need a report of what you saw. I could come to your apartment tomorrow after school, but perhaps it would be better if we discussed it now, while it’s still fresh in your mind. Besides, after what you’ve been through, I think you need to relax and I know just the place to do it, ‘The Sanctuary.’ “
He had forced himself to keep his eyes on the road uncoiling in his headlights. He was afraid that if he looked at her, his eyes would have betrayed the casual manner he was trying to affect. From the moment she had turned to look at him when she was still in the deputy’s car, he had felt a need to know her better-to talk to her and be with her. It was a need he had only rarely felt before and never so strongly.
There had been no love, and virtually no sex, between him and Marie for almost two years now. The only thing that was left was a sense of duty to see that she was properly fed, and clothed, and housed. Still, he had continued to remain faithful to her-not out of loyalty, but rather from a lack of interest in the extramarital opportunities that were available, and a reluctance to engage in the type of subterfuge that would be necessary to deceive her. And it was not that he felt any urgent sexual desire for the young woman sitting next to him, although he could still feel the full firmness of her breast on his arm where she had stumbled against him, and remember the look of her gracefully tapering legs as she got into his car.
But, if it was not sex, then what was it? The answer that flashed subliminally on the screen of his subconscious was instantaneously rejected as too fantastic for further consideration. The benign neglect of his parents had taught him early in life to avoid that pitfall of human emotion-and he had done so with almost total success; from his first tentative, teen-age contacts, through his marriage with Marie; until Cassandra was born.
At first, it had not been easy to suppress the words and feelings aroused by the close, tender, breathless moments of sexual stimulation. Later he had learned he could say the words and even make a pretense of the feelings, if necessary; not to deceive, but to satisfy the needs of his companion. Their true meaning in any event, had been lost in antiquity and perverted by history. Their continued usage, and the self-delusion that accompanied them, was dictated by the mores of contemporary society and the unrequited hopes of humanity.
So, what was there to hope for with her?
“All right, Mr. Tuesday,” she said finally. “I’ll accept your offer. A drink does sound like a good idea and it probably is foolish of me to be concerned about.. .our being seen together. Besides, I’m curious to see what ‘The Sanctuary’ is like.”
He did not turn his head to meet her gaze for fear that his sense of elation would be easily discernible. The headlights illuminated a sign on the shoulder lettered, ‘Glen Park Exit-1 Mile.’
“I think you’ll like it,” he told her. “The owner, Jim Sloan, is also one of my clients.” She made no reply and he sensed her eyes still studying him. He tried to divert her attention. “Is this your first year at the Glen Park School?”
She turned her head away. “Yes. In fact, it’s my first year as a teacher at any school. I only received my degree last Spring.”
He had not thought about her age but realized now that she was probably no more than twenty-three-at least twelve years younger than himself.
“Where did you take your degree?”
“Paynton Teachers College. It’s a small school in Fairview, Iowa. That’s where I was born and grew up.”
“You don’t seem like someone from any place as bucolic-sounding as Fairview, Iowa.”
She laughed. “You mean I don’t look like the proverbial farmer’s daughter?”
“I suppose that’s what I do mean-although I don’t mean to impugn the appearance of farmers’ daughters.”
“Well, actually, I’m not. My father is Chief of Police of Fairview. But, it wouldn’t make any difference, anyhow. None of the real farmers’ daughters that I knew and grew up with look the part anymore-if they ever did. Television is the great equalizer, you know.”
“Oh? What makes you say that?”
“Well any evening a girl can see what deodorants, cosmetics, shampoo, and toothpaste she should use and, if she watches attentively, even how to walk and talk and act, to achieve instant sophistication and an irresistible sex appeal.” Her tone was cynical but not bitter.
“Seeing is not learning, as you know in your profession. But, you’re right about my preconceived ideas. Of course, if you also watch the programs squeezed between the commercials, you know where they come from.” He was sure he sounded-and knew he felt-inane and inarticulate, like a teenager on his first date.
He slowed down, easing over to the right for the Glen Park exit ramp. At the top, he stopped and turned right. About a hundred yards off the highway, his headlights picked out a low, adobe wall and arched gateway on the right. Driving through the opening, he followed a short, winding road through a grove of gnarled, ancient oaks and emerged in front of a low, rambling Spanish-Mission style building with stucco walls and red-tiled roof. A small sign lettered simply ‘The Sanctuary’ hung on a chain above the massive double-doors of the recessed entrance, which was surmounted by a small bell tower.
The parking area was only about half full and he pulled into a vacant space close to the entrance. She waited while he got out and walked around the car to open the door for her. He liked that, and he liked it too when she stood back to let him pull open the restaurant door for her. Marie would have been out of the car and inside before he barely had the motor turned off.
Jim was standing in the entrance to the dining room as they walked through the foyer into the main part of the restaurant. He saw them and came forward, his welcoming smile not quite concealing the questioning look in his eyes.
“Good evening, Mark,” he said warmly in the surprisingly soft voice that always seemed so incongruous for a man his size. Forty pounds heavier and three inches taller than his own one-eighty-five and six-feet-two, Jim had the wide neck, long arms and massive torso of a pro-football lineman. His patrician head; with its thick crown of black, silver-streaked hair sweeping back from a broad, high forehead, deep-set brown eyes beneath heavy black brows, an aristocratic, high bridged nose and neatly trimmed guardsman’s mustache covering the upper half of his full-lipped mouth; was a startling contrast. His smile faded as he added, “I heard there was a bad accident a few miles up the highway. One of Ben’s rigs, I understand. Were you out there?”
Jim was his occasional golfing partner as well as his client and, since Ben Wozniak was also a regular patron of ‘The Sanctuary,’ it was only natural that he would anticipate his interest in the accident.
“Yes, I just came from there. It was pretty bad. Ben’s driver was killed. This is Elise Young. She was one of the witnesses, and very nearly one of the victims. Miss Young, this is Jim Sloan, owner of ‘The Sanctuary.’ “
Jim looked down at her, his voice quietly solicitous. “I’m very happy to meet you, Miss Young, and particularly to see that no injury was done to someone as obviously lovely as you are.”
Despite his size, Jim possessed a natural suavity that made it possible for him to say such things glibly, but believably.
She blushed slightly, but replied with equanimity. “Thank you. I’m very happy to be alive to visit your beautiful restaurant.”
He nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “Was your car badly damaged?”
“No. Not at all. I just didn’t feel up to driving myself home and when Mr. Tuesday kindly volunteered his services, I gladly accepted.”
“Miss Young lives here in Glen Park, Jim. She’s also a teacher in the elementary school. The sheriff’s office is going to have her car delivered to her tomorrow. I suggested that we stop here for.. .a few moments of relaxation before I took her on home.”
“Good. I’m glad you did.” He turned to look at Elise again. “Is this your first time in ‘The Sanctuary,’ Miss Young?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Then you’ll permit me to buy you your first drink. It’s a custom of the house.”
She smiled. “It’s a very nice custom, and I wouldn’t think of asking you to break it on my account.”
Jim grinned broadly, flashing him a look of approval. They then followed his broad back through a wide archway on the right into the dimly lit cocktail lounge. Only a few of the tables were occupied and not by anyone he recognized. When they were seated he tried to mask his surprise when she asked by name for a one hundred proof bonded bourdon on the rocks.
There was an ironic tilt in Jim’s left eyebrow as he asked, “The usual, Mark?”
Receiving an affirmative answer, he left them and headed towards the bar at the other end of the room to get their drinks.
When he looked back at her, he could see the amused gleam in her eyes. “I suppose you’re shocked at a small town school teacher from Fairview, Iowa ordering hundred-proof bourbon?” Before he could respond, she went on, “The truth is, that while my father doesn’t drink much, he does like the best and taught me to. The first time I went to a dance and came home sick from drinking spiked punch, he waited until I was over it and then set a glass of straight bourbon in front of me.”
Dropping her voice an octave lower and, with a stern look on her face, she mimicked her father, “ ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I want you to take a little sip of that.’ After I did, and got my breath back, he told me. ‘That’s good whiskey. If you’re going to drink, learn to drink good whiskey. If you can’t learn to enjoy good whiskey, and hold it without making a fool of yourself, don’t drink at all.’ “
Just as she finished, Jim returned with their drinks. He set them down saying pointedly, “Two bonded bourbons on the rocks,” and walked away chuckling gently to himself.
She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “Don’t tell me you got the same advice from your father?”
Her mimicry of her father had been delightful and he was glad to see that she was apparently relaxed and at ease with him. He wanted to maintain the mood but instead, unaccountably, almost destroyed it.
“No. I got very little advice from my father, and certainly nothing as sensible or useful as you appear to have received from yours.” A puzzled frown drew the ends of her brows together. He tried to clarify his reply. “That was a little gratuitous. In all fairness, I should say that I probably wouldn’t have taken his advice anyhow unless it had happened to coincide with my own opinion.”
A faint smile returned to her lips but her eyes remained thoughtful. “You sound as if you wish it had been otherwise between you and your father.”
He had regretted the words as soon as he had uttered them. He had never discussed his relationship with his parents with anyone-not even Marie. What the devil had prompted him to make such a reply in the first place-unnecessarily revealing even as much as she had perceived? She was still virtually a stranger, but it was as if he had opened the door to his life and invited her in. She had timidly started to enter and he realized that if he did not make her feel welcome, she would turn around and leave, forever-and that was the last thing he wanted her to do. Besides, she was right.
He took a small sip of his drink. “You’re very perceptive. Yes. I do sometimes wish it had been...otherwise between us. I doubt that it would have made any significant difference in either of our lives except that we would have known each other better. As you have probably guessed though, he’s dead now, so there’s nothing either of us can do about it.unless, we really do get a second chance in some other world.”
“I’m sorry for your father.. .and for embarrassing you with my prying.”
“You needn’t be, on either account. Except that he died rather young, my father enjoyed his life.. .especially the latter part of it. And you really haven’t embarrassed me in the least. I just haven’t thought about him in a long time and felt a little guilty about it.”
Feeling the warmth of the whiskey in his stomach-and eagerly grasping at the opportunity to change the subject-he remembered he had not eaten and realized that she probably had not either.
“Look, aren’t you hungry? Why don’t we have dinner?”
She seemed momentarily surprised by the sudden shift in the conversation but it was evident that the suggestion immediately appealed to her. Before she could think of a reason for him not to, he rose, telling her. “I’ll ask Jim to set a table for us in the dining room, and to bring you a menu. I also want to call the owner of the trucking company. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.”
“Not at all. Go right ahead.” She smiled up at him. “I’ll just relax and finish my drink.”
He could feel her eyes following him as he left the table. The restaurant owner was standing just outside the entrance to the lounge. He told him of their decision to have dinner.
“Fine. I’ll have a table prepared. It will just take a minute.”
“No hurry. I want to call Ben first. But you could take a menu to Miss Young and keep her company until I get through, if you’re not too busy.”
“Be glad to, Mark.” He grinned. “I won’t let her get away.” There was no trace of the smirking leer he had detected earlier in the eyes and voice of the deputy, Bucheck.
He walked to the phone booth just inside the entrance and dialed the number for Central States Motor Freight.
Ben’s voice resounded in his ear, “Wozniak!”
“Ben, this is Mark. I just came from the scene of the accident but I’m afraid there isn’t much I can tell you at this point, that you don’t know already.”
“I don’t know what caused it. Do you?” He sounded as if he thought someone was keeping something from him.
“I’d only be guessing, but from the way one of the witnesses described him, it’s possible the driver might have had a heart attack or something of the sort. He.”
“Bullshit!” The epithet reverberated in the confined space of the phone booth. “That driver was one of my best men! He was only twenty-eight and in perfect shape! He never missed a run! Besides, he only had a physical a coupla’ months ago when we changed over to your agency.”
“Well, it was only an impression the witness got from seeing his face as he went by. But, he must have been unconscious or paralyzed because he apparently made no attempt to avoid crashing into the abutment.”
“How do you know he didn’t?” Ben demanded.
“In the first place, there were no skid marks, and it was obvious from the way the cab was crushed between the abutment and the trailer that he must have been going much faster than the posted speed limit. The witness estimated he was doing better than fifty. He says he was just sitting there as if he was powerless to do anything to prevent what was happening.”
There was a brief silence on the line before Ben replied in a voice softened to a dull roar by his obvious puzzlement. “There’s something goddam funny about this, Mark. He left the terminal about two o’clock and the accident happened around five-less than fifty miles away. He should’ve been a good hundred miles west of there by that time.”
“Maybe he had mechanical trouble and stopped somewhere to get it fixed.”
“Nah. He would’ve called in. Nobody heard from him after he left here. I checked.”
“Well, maybe he couldn’t get to a phone-or maybe he felt sick and just pulled off on the side to rest awhile.”
Resuming his normal ear splitting tone, Ben exploded. “No, goddam it! I can’t buy that Mark! There was nothin’ wrong with him or the fuckin’ rig! He was a good two hours behind schedule and it sounds to me like somebody might’ve slipped him a mickey or something even worse. Maybe when he stopped at that Interstate Truck Stop just outside the city. A lot of the drivers stop there on their way west.”
His initial reaction was to reject the suggestion out of hand as completely outlandish and without foundation. But with the words half-formed on his tongue, he got a mental picture of how the witness, Closter, had described the stricken driver to the deputy. Ben’s suspicions still seemed highly improbable but, suddenly, not entirely inconceivable.
“Let’s wait and see what shows up in the autopsy before jumping to any conclusions like that. What makes you think somebody might have drugged him anyway?”
The heavy voice was sheepishly modulated. “Ahh, it was just some talk I heard lately.”
“What kind of talk?”
“About a coupla’ hijackings where the drivers claimed they were drugged. It sounded kinda’ far out at the time, and I didn’t pay too much attention to it.”
“It sounds pretty far out to me, too. But, if anything like that did happen to him, it should show up in the autopsy report. I’ll go over to Plainville first thing in the morning and check it with the coroner. I don’t suppose you know yet if anything is missing from the load?”
“No. We haven’t got the freight back yet. We had to send an empty out to reload it. It should be comin’ back in any time now, and we’ll check it against the manifest. How bad did it look?”
“The nose of the trailer was in bad shape. It looked as if there would be quite a lot of damage to the freight at that end. But the rear doors were still closed and the seals intact as far as I could see. What kind of load was it?”
“Nothin’ special. Just a mixed LTL load.”
He was sufficiently familiar with the lexicon of the trucking industry to know that “LTL” meant less-than-truckload, and that it connoted that the trailer had contained a mixture of miscellaneous small shipments.
“What was the ‘flammable’ freight?” he asked. The conversation with Ben was running longer than he had expected it to. He wanted to end it and rejoin Elise.
“That was just some lighter fluid,” Ben was saying. “It could have cost us the whole load if it had ignited. Nothin’ on the trailer was very valuable-at least, not valuable enough to kill a guy for.”
His voice had started to rise to a crescendo again. “Take it easy, Ben. We don’t know that he was killed other than as a result of the accident. Maybe the witness was exaggerating the way he looked. Anyhow, there’s no sense getting yourself all worked up about it now. We’ll know where we stand after I see the coroner in the morning. I’ll come to your office after I’ve talked to him.”
He sounded only slightly mollified. “Okay. But don’t let him give you any crap about a heart attack! That driver was in perfect health. Anybody that says different is full of shit, as far as I’m concerned.”
Ben abruptly hung up after this final blast and for a moment he debated whether he should call Marie. But there seemed no point to it since it would mean only more bickering about why he was not home yet-and now, it would also mean that he would probably have to lie about it. He could hardly tell her the truth. It would only confirm the unfounded suspicions which she already harbored. It was ironic how her jealousy had seemed to increase in proportion to her alienation, and incongruous that she should be so angered when he did not come home, since it was apparent she no longer enjoyed his company anyhow. She was the same way with Cassandra-seemingly frantic about the child’s whereabouts and safety when she was out of the house, but casually; even cruelly; aloof and unaffectionate when she was present. She was becoming more impossible to live with all the time. Maybe he should do something about finding out where, and with whom, she was spending so much of her own time lately. But, the thought of having her spied upon was repugnant. With all her faults, it was hard to believe infidelity was one of them. Or, was it just his ego that would not let him accept the possibility?
Whichever it was, there was certainly nothing he could do about it now, and no sense in calling her either, just to exacerbate the situation. The hell with her. Elise was waiting.