Эд Макбейн - Snow White and Rose Red

“That I’m totally bananas.”

“That’s his belief.”

“He actually said I could leave here?”

“If the court so orders. And in the presence of an attendant, of course.”

“Jake?”

“He didn’t specify which attendant.”

“To go to Southern Medical? In town?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe it. When is this supposed to happen?”

“As soon as I get the court’s response. Next week sometime, I’d guess.”

“How long will I be there? At Southern Medical?”

“For however long it takes to determine your status.”

“Whether or not I’m ‘mentally competent,’ you mean.”

“Yes. you’re not worried about that, are you?”

“No, but I’m suspicious. Will Cyclops be there?”

“I doubt it. Why would that matter, Sarah?”

“Because then he’ll be able to spread his poison, you see.”

“His poison?”

“he’ll tell them I’m crazy.”

“I’m sure the court would want an examination totally free of prior judgment.”

“What does that mean? No records from Knott’s?”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Will Jake be with me while I’m there?”

“we’re not even sure it’ll be Jake who—”

“Whoever — Brunhilde, Ilse. Will an attendant from Knott’s be with me all the while I’m at Southern Medical?”

“I don’t see why anyone would have to remain with you. The examining physicians—”

“God, Matthew, suppose they decide I am nuts?”

“I hardly think that will be the case.”

“But... suppose?”

“We’ll worry about that if it happens. I’m sure—”

“God, I’ll be in here forever !”

“I feel certain they’ll find you competent,” I said.

“Hoo, listen to the big psychiatrist,” Sarah said, and smiled. “What then? Suppose they do decide in my favor?”

“Upon issuance of a certificate of competency, it’ll be sent to the court where you were originally found incompetent.”

“Oh shit, Judge Mason again.”

“Not necessarily. The statute doesn’t specify a particular judge, only the court. In this case, the Circuit Court.”

“Because he’s in my mother’s pocket, you know. That’s how I got in here to begin with. Because of Mason.”

“Well... in any event, there’ll be a hearing to determine competency, and if the court finds you quote of sound mind and capable of managing your own affairs, you shall be immediately restored to your personal liberty unquote.”

“Amen,” Sarah said. “How do I get there? To Southern Medical? In a padded ambulance or something?”

“I’ll pick you up,” I said. “The attendant will be with us, of course. I’ll have to rent a bigger car. The Karmann Ghia’s got only that little back seat, not even a seat, really.”

“Is that what you drive? A Karmann Ghia? Do you realize how little I know about you? You know everything there is to know about me—”

“Hardly,” I said.

“Tell me about yourself, Matthew. you’re not married, are you? God, I’ll kill myself if you’re married. Tell me all about yourself.”

We sat on the closest bench and looked out over the lake, holding hands like lovers, though Jake was never very far away, and I started to tell her “all about myself.” And because she’d asked me if I was married, the first thing I told her was that I was now divorced. She wanted to know all about my former wife — was she a nice person, had I loved her very much, what color was her hair, how tall was she, was she very beautiful, did I call her Susan or Sue or Suzie — and then she asked which one of us had wanted the divorce. So I told her all about my affair with Agatha Hemmings, the passion of my life, or so I’d thought at the time...

“Did you love her more than Susan?” she asked.

“I thought I did, yes.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I haven’t seen Aggie in years,” I said.

“Is that what you called her? Aggie?”

“Yes.”

“That’s very pretty, Aggie. Was she as pretty as her name?”

“I suppose so.”

“What color hair did she have?”

“Black.”

“But blondes have more fun, don’t they?” she said, and grinned. “Especially in the booby hatch. Tell me what happened after the divorce. Do you have any children? Do they live with you? Where do you live?”

So I told her about my daughter, Joanna, and the trouble I was having right now because Susan wanted to send her off to a school in Massachusetts...

“How old is Joanna?” she asked.

“Fourteen,” I said.

“Oh my,” Sarah said. “Almost a woman.”

“Almost,” I said.

“What color hair does she have?”

“Would you mind telling me what this fascination with hair is?” I said.

“Well, your wife Susan had brown hair...”

“Still does.”

“And your girlfriend Aggie had black hair...”

“Yes?”

“So what color hair does your daughter have?”

“Blonde,” I said.

“Ah. Like me.”

“Yes.”

“Is she pretty?”

“I think she’s beautiful.”

“Do you think I’m beautiful?”

“I think you’re very beautiful.”

“Am I more beautiful than Joanna?”

“you’re both very beautiful.”

“Who else do I have to worry about?” she said.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone,” I said.

“Not even Joanna?”

“Of course not. I want you to meet her one day. Once this is all over with—”

“Oh, I’d love to meet her,” Sarah said, and suddenly she kissed me.

I didn’t know whether Jake was watching us or not.

I didn’t care.

I knew only that I had never been kissed like that in my life. Not as a boy, not as a man. There was fierceness in that kiss... urgency... anger... unimaginable passion. I felt for a moment as though a succubus had attached itself to my mouth, trying to draw the very breath of life from me. Sarah’s hands were at the back of my neck; I could feel her fingernails digging into my flesh, feel her teeth on my tongue. I fully expected to taste blood in my mouth. And then she pulled away from me.

And smiled.

And said, “You’d better be true to me, Matthew.”

On the day I was to accompany Sarah to Southern Medical, it occurred to Bloom that he had overlooked something obvious.

Both he and Rawles had been working on the assumption that someone who owned a chauffeur-driven Cadillac had sent his or her car and driver to pick up Tracy Kilbourne on the day she’d moved out of her shack on stilts.

But, instead, why couldn’t Tracy have done a very simple thing?

Pick up the phone — she still had a phone when she was living next door to Harvey Wallbanger and his charming lady Lizzie — dial one of the limousine-rental services in Calusa, and ask for a chauffeur-driven car to pick her up.

“Smart, smart, dumb ,” Bloom said out loud, and once again both detectives hit the telephone book.

There are only three limousine-rental businesses in all of Calusa. Maybe there aren’t very many funerals down here, an unlikely conjecture when one considers the age of many of the citizens. But surely there are weddings galore, although my partner Frank maintains that rednecks never marry, they merely mate . Nonetheless, there are only three limo services, and one of these is called Luxury Limousine, and the man Bloom spoke to there was named Arthur Hawkins. Hawkins’s telephone voice sounded either British or affected, Bloom couldn’t tell which. When advised that Bloom was working a homicide, Hawkins said, “Oh dear.”