As he approached the front door, he could hear the phone ringing inside. But, since he did not think it could be for him, he did not hurry to get to it. By the time he reached it, it had rung four more times. And, he was immediately sorry when he finally did answer it and heard the thick, honeyed accents of his sister-in-law in reply.
“Wal, hell-o theah luvuh boy! Watta’ y’all doin’ home this tie-em o’day? Y’all come home for a quickie?”
The cornpone was, as usual, purposely exaggerated for his particular benefit. He was momentarily tempted to hang up rather than respond to the drawling sarcasm which she invariably used in addressing him. Ever since the fiasco she had made of the wedding reception, he had not tried to conceal his disgust and dislike for her and her husband. For the most part, he had managed to avoid both of them but, to protect Cassandra and appease Marie, he occasionally felt compelled to endure their company. With calculated irony, she consistently referred to him as “luvuh boy”, frequently accompanied by none too subtle allusions to her availability in the event that Marie was-as she well knew-unwilling to accommodate him. Almost masochistically, Marie would seemingly encourage him to take advantage of her sister’s generosity while Floyd; apparently not caring whether he did nor not; would add his own encouragement, bellowing “Hell, boy! Theah’s plenny theah for both of us!”
In spite of his antipathy for her, he had-to his own regret-caught himself, on occasion, speculating on the possibility of accepting her offer if, for no other reason, than to find out if it was genuine. But also; despite her coarseness and over-indulgence in food and drink; because she still possessed a ripe and sensual body that, only now, was beginning to show signs of blowziness. The temptation had been growing stronger in recent months and, possibly sensing it, Julie Fay had become increasingly more blatant in her blandishments, and more pointed in her references to his sex life-or lack of it. Now though; remembering the feel of Elise in his arms; he felt only revulsion that he could have ever contemplated copulating with the owner of the foul mouth and filthy mind on the other end of the phone. But, since she had called, he decided it was as good a time as any to find out if she knew of Marie’s whereabouts.
He smothered the inclination to retort in kind to her sarcasm. “I was looking for your sister. Have you seen her?” It was a lie, of course, but he had no intention of discussing the real reason for his being there, with her.
“Ah ain’t seen her since Monday night, luvuh boy. Ah sure was disappointed when y’all didn’t come home, too. Ah was wearin’ my blue dress with the real now neckline. Y’all member it don’ you , luvuh boy?”
To his chagrin, he did-and the cleavage it displayed. “Could you cut down on the cornpone for a minute, Julie? This could be serious.”
“What’s the matter, luvuh boy? You not gittin’ ‘nuff action lately? I’ll be raht glad to.”
“Oh, for Chrissake! Will you forget what you’ve got between your legs, and try to use what you’ve got between your ears for a change!”
She thought it was funny. He could hear her laughing before she responded, “But, luvuh boy! Ah do mah bes’ work between mah legs!”
“I’ll take your word for it. And I’ll try to keep the questions simple. If you haven’t seen her, have you talked to Marie since Monday night?”
“Uh, Uh. Haven’t you?” She appeared to have detected more than just curiosity in his tone, and her own was more serious.
“No. She was asleep when I left yesterday morning and I haven’t seen her since.”
“Didn’ you come home las’ naht, either?”
“I was home. She wasn’t.”
“She didn’ come home all naht?”
“No, I thought she might have stayed with you.”
“Uh, uh. She warrant heah, luvuh boy.” The accent thickened again. “Wal, wal, So mah big sistuh is fin’ly gittin’ smaht inner ol’ age.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped. He was losing patience with the heavily sarcastic drawl now that he realized she did not know where Marie was-or was not going to tell him if she did.
Her tone hardened. “Shee it! You ain’t give a dam for her in more’n five yeahs. It’s abaht tie-em she got herse’f a new luvuh boy.”
A similar thought had begun nagging at him during the past weeks-although now that she had put it into words, he suddenly realized that he did not care if it was true or not, now that there was Elise. Still, out of a half-forgotten sense of loyalty to Marie, he felt compelled to defend her. Or, was he only defending his ego against admitting the truth to Julie Fay?
“That might be your solution to the problem, Julie. It wouldn’t be Marie’s.”
“Wal, don’ fret yersef non abaht it, luvuh boy. If y’all git lonely, y’all kin always call on lil’ ol Julie Fay.”
Ignoring the offer, he told her, “If you should hear from Marie-or if you do know where she is-just tell her that I only want to know that she’s all right.” He hesitated, then added “If she can’t reach me, tell her to leave a message at the office, or with the Adamsons.”
“Shore, luvuh boy. Ah’ll teller how wurrid y’all are if’n ah heah fum ‘er, but.”
“Thanks. Goodbye Julie. I have to go now.” He hung up knowing the ‘but’ would only have led to more of her heavy-handed innuendoes. Also, a glance at the kitchen clock had showed the time to be almost two forty-five. He could not afford to waste any more time with her if he was going to see Dan before the afternoon was over. He quickly punched the buttons on the underside of the phone’s handgrip for Mid-Continent Insurance and, after going through the switchboard, was greeted by a pleasant, female voice.
“Mr. Tobin’s office. Miss Vickers speaking.”
He must have heard her respond in the same way dozens of times in the past, but her name-like herself-had never meant anything to him before. Now, she represented a very real-if tenuous-link with Elise and, for a moment, he forgot the purpose of his call as his mindwas flooded with the expectation of being with her again in a few hours. Miss Vickers repeated her greeting, dispelling the image.
“Miss Vickers, this is Mark Tuesday,” he replied. “Is Mr. Tobin in?”
He thought he detected a slight intake of breath at the other end of the line. “Oh! Mr. Tuesday! Yes. He’s been waiting for your call. I’ll connect you right away.” There was an air of confidentiality in her voice that, he thought, was at least partially due to her knowledge of his acquaintanceship with Elise. But, he wondered if she suspected it was anything more than that. He had not asked Elise to be circumspect about their relationship, but felt he could count on her discretion. Still, remembering the honesty of her emotions, and believing in their sincerity, he doubted her ability to conceal the truth for very long.
Dan’s gruff Irish tone interrupted his speculations. “Mark! Now, where in hell have you been all day, boyo? If I called your office once more, I think Gladys would have the phone disconnected.”
Dan was a middle-height, broad-shouldered red-haired Irishman in his late forties, with the map of his ancestor’s birthplace indelibly stamped on his freckle-faced, ruddy countenance. He was tough and dogged in his investigation of the claims that crossed his desk, but fair-minded in their settlement. In the years since his father’s partner, Joe Spencer, had died, Dan had become the one person in the insurance business whose advice he sought, and whose judgment he both trusted and respected. Although there was only about ten years difference in their ages, Dan had gradually assumed a father-partner image that had developed into the closest thing to a true friendship that he had ever known.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner, Dan,” he said, picturing the shaggy red eyebrows pulled down over the bright, blue eyes that always seemed to be concealing some secret joke, no matter how agitated, or rarely angry, their owner became. “I got tied up with a couple of other things and this is the first chance I had to call. I suppose you want to see me about the Central States accident.”
“You might say that. Yes, indeed. Me and the FBI.” His tone was bantering, but earnest.
“The FBI? What do they want to see me about?”
“Oh, hell, Mark! They’re not a bunch of ninnies y’know”, Dan retorted. “They know you’re Ben’s agent, and that you talked to Closter before he did the dutch. They wouldn’t have to know much arithmetic to add the two together.”
“How did they know either?”
“I told them the first, and one of their own men told them the second.”
“One of their own men.?”
“Yes,” Dan interrupted. “But it’s too long and complicated to explain over the phone. Come down to the office, and I’ll get the local agent-in-charge and the President of Affiliated Distribution Systems over here to meet with you.”
“I can’t come downtown now, Dan. It’s almost three o’clock. It would take me over an hour to get there, and then I’d get stuck in the rush hour traffic coming back.” He did not want to take a chance on losing any of the precious time he could spend with Elise before going to see Wanda.
“I don’t think I have to tell you that it’s pretty important for us to get together on this,
Mark,” Dan was saying. “I had the two of them here earlier, hoping you would call.”
“I appreciate how important it is, Dan. But, it’s just not convenient for me to come all the way down there just now. How about the three of you meeting me at my office? I can be there in half an hour and it shouldn’t take you much longer.”
Dan took a moment to weigh the suggestion before replying, “It’s okay with me, but I don’t know if the other two can make it. Where are you now?”
“At home.”
“All right. Wait there until I call them and find out if they’re available. I’ll call you back, one way or the other, in a few minutes.”
They broke the connection and he remained sitting at the counter wondering what, and how much, he should tell Dan and the others. It was not that he did not trust Dan or want to cooperate with him. And, certainly, he had no reason for not trusting or cooperating with the FBI, or Closter’s employer, for that matter. But, he now felt a personal sense of responsibility for what had happened to Closter and Wanda, and hoped to be able to salvage the man’s memory for his wife, and what was left of the girl’s life for whoever she might find to share it with. He was certain that Closter was-had been-the source of the information for the hijackers, and that Flynn and Bucheck, acting on Bentley’s orders, were the perpetrators. But, it seemed possible-even probable that Wanda, and her vulture-like boss, held the key to the whole problem. He had only talked to her for a few minutes, and she had told him nothing except that Haggerty had stopped there-as Ben had guessed-before he was hijacked and killed in the crash. But, her obvious fear of Grossman; the angry, red marks that he had left on her arms; and the subsequent assault at the hands of the two deputies; were all clear indications that she knew more-much more. He did not know how or why she had got herself involved in such an ugly and dangerous situation, but he hoped he would be able to persuade her that her only salvation now was to get out of it as quickly as possible by telling him the truth.
He was temporarily stalemated until he could talk to her, and get the enlargements of the pictures from Phil. He felt certain that; if she told him what he thought she could, and if the pictures turned out the way he expected; he would then have enough evidence to turn over to the FBI to guarantee the end of the hijacking operation and the conviction of Bentley and his two deputies for the murders of Haggerty and Closter. He hoped it also would be enough to reveal the identity of Mr. In-Between. Despite the animosity she had displayed toward him at the truck stop, he still felt confident that he could break through the hard, outer shell of her visible self and reach the tender core of the teenager who still resided within. But, he was afraid that if he told the FBI about her-assuming they did not know about her already-her fear would only destroy her effectiveness as a witness. And, if the matrices could not be transformed into usable evidence, they would then have nothing except whatever evidence they had already about the hijacking and smuggling. Even if it was enough to put an end to the gang’s operations, it still would leave Haggerty’s and Closter’s deaths unresolved and unpunished-and Mr. In-Between, unknown.
As long as Bentley and the others faced only a charge for hijacking and/or smuggling, they might be willing to protect Mr. In-Between-or, his knowledge of their part in the two murders would insure their continued silence. But, if Wanda definitely could tie Bentley and Grossman to the hijacking-and, thus to the driver’s death-then her testimony; together with Closter’s pictures, could leave both of them-and the two deputies-open to a charge of murder. Then, they would have no reason to remain silent and, one of them, he was sure, would be bound to crack, and the others would follow until Mr. In-Between’s identity was finally revealed.
By tomorrow morning, he would know how helpful Wanda and the pictures would be in providing a solution to the case. Until then, he would keep his information about both from Dan and the others-unless they indicated they were already aware of either’s existence or significance, But, by then, regardless of how valuable they had proved themselves, he would not be able to conceal their existence any longer without facing the possible consequences of his actions. Besides, by then, he would have to do something more definite about finding Marie, if she did not turn up in the meantime. If she did, he could concentrate on the problem of how quickly, and equitably, they could dissolve their marriage, so he could marry Elise.
His mind began to fill with thoughts of Elise again, but before her image could achieve full clarity in his memory, the ringing of the phone dissolved it. It was Dan, calling back to tell him that he was picking up the other two, and that they would meet him at his office. When they exchanged “goodbyes” again, he picked up his raincoat from the wrought iron railing separating the entrance from the sunken living room, and left the house. It was not raining, but the humidity that hung in the surprisingly warm, pale sunlight felt almost more dampening and penetrating through his clothes, and blurred the outlines of the surrounding houses and trees. Getting into the car, he turned on the air-conditioning and backed out of the driveway. As he turned right at the end of the street to follow his usual route through the village to the highway, he passed the school bus bringing Cassandra home. It took almost the full half-hour of the ride to where his office was located on the western edge of the city, to salve his conscience.