Bill Pronzini - Mourners

“Runyon.”

“Mr. Runyon. Policemen and now a private detective trooping in and out, asking questions… it isn’t good for business. We’re just making ends meet as it is, and the landlord is threatening to raise our rent again…”

“Who hired you anyway?” Tess Something asked. “Erin’s sister?”

He just looked at her.

“I didn’t think she had enough money. And besides, what can you do that the police haven’t?”

“We’d help if we could,” Joy Something said. “We liked Erin, she was a pleasant girl, a good employee, what happened to her was a terrible thing, but we just don’t know anything.”

“Nothing at all.”

“And we do care, even if you don’t think so.”

“But you can only grieve for someone so long, especially someone you didn’t really know well. Life has to go on. You can’t expect us to put ours on hold.”

Runyon still didn’t trust himself to speak. He put his back to them and walked out, fast, before the anger in him boiled over and he said or did something he would later regret.

Risa Niland said, “Fatso? Yes, I remember Erin mentioning him. But that was two years ago, and she didn’t have any trouble with the man.”

On the phone her voice sounded lower, with some of the same huskiness as Colleen’s. Imagination? He tried not to focus on it as he said, “Are you sure about that?”

“She’d have told me if she had.”

“What did she say about him, exactly?”

“Just that he was worshipful, like a big dog. She laughed about it.”

“Did she say where and how she’d met him?”

“Let me think… In the park somewhere, the first time. Stow Lake? Yes, Stow Lake. She was there with one of her girlfriends and he came up and spoke to her. I guess it surprised her.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, he weighed three hundred pounds.”

“You saw him yourself?”

“No, that’s what Erin said. I never saw him.”

“Did she describe him in any other way?”

“… Yes. Long hair in a ponytail.”

“What color?”

“I don’t remember her saying.”

“Age?”

“Around her age. Not much older or she wouldn’t have found him so amusing. She had a thing about older men hitting on her.”

“Anything else you can tell me about him?”

“Apparently he was shy and stumbled over his words. Afraid of rejection, I suppose. He must have had a lot of it in his life. Oh, and she said he looked silly in his uniform. She laughed about that, too.”

“Uniform?”

“That’s all. Not what kind it was.”

Runyon asked, “The first time she saw him at Stow Lake-what did he say to her?”

“He offered to buy her a soda. Erin said no, and that was the end of it.”

“Did he tell her his name?”

“Well, he must have at some point, at least his first name.”

“But she didn’t mention it and you didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t see any reason to.”

“How soon did he turn up again after Stow Lake?”

“A few days later. At a tavern on Geary where she went sometimes.”

“Talk to her there? Hit on her?”

“No, nothing like that. Just said hello and bought her a drink.”

“And hung around, watched her?”

“In a worshipful way. He never bothered her.”

“How many other times did she see him?”

“Once or twice more at the tavern. And once or twice when she was out jogging.”

“Following her?”

“She didn’t get that impression,” Risa said. “She thought he might live in the neighborhood.”

“Did he give her any idea where?”

“I don’t think so.”

“This went on, him turning up, for about a month?”

“No more than that. Then he must have lost interest or moved away.”

“And your sister never saw him again?”

“I’m sure she’d have told me if she had.” Risa paused before she said, “Two years is a long time.”

Runyon said, “There aren’t any time limits on sexual obsession.”

“But why would he go away and then all of a sudden come back and attack her without provocation?”

“People disappear for any number of reasons. And there may have been provocation that night-a more aggressive approach, rejection, sudden rage and loss of control.”

“My God.”

“Just speculation at this point,” Runyon said, “but worth looking into. What’s the name of the tavern on Geary?”

“McRoyd’s Irish Pub.”

“And the name of the girlfriend who was with Erin at Stow Lake?”

“Sally Michaels. Sally Johnson now. She got married about six months ago and moved to Morgan Hill.”

“Do you have an address and phone number?”

“Yes, but not here. At home.”

“Call me on my cell phone when you get there. Number’s on the card I gave you. All right?”

“All right. And… thank you, Jake.”

Jake, not Mr. Runyon. With almost the same little catch in her voice Colleen had when she said his name No. Bullshit, Runyon. What’s the matter with you?

He said gruffly, “There’s nothing to thank me for yet,” and broke the connection.

Nobody at McRoyd’s Irish Pub knew a three-hundred-pound, ponytailed man or remembered anyone like that from more than a year ago. The bartender said, “Check back after six o’clock. The boss comes on then, Sam McRoyd. He’s owned this place thirty years-he’s got a memory like an elephant, knows just about everybody who ever lived around here.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

A woman’s deep voice said, “Yes? This is Justine.”

“Is your husband home, Mrs. Linden?”

“No, he isn’t.” Then, suspiciously, “Who is this?”

“My name is Runyon, I spoke to him this afternoon-”

“I know, he told me.” Cold now, as if her voice had been quick-frozen in dry ice. “You should have come to me instead of Ralph.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“It might have. I’m not as easy to intimidate as he is.”

“There was no intimidation. We had a conversation, that’s all.”

“You threatened him.”

“Wrong. I don’t make threats. He offered cooperation and I accepted, that’s all.”

Humming silence for several seconds. Then, “I suppose that’s why you’re calling. You want the key.”

“If you’re willing to put it in your mailbox and leave it there for the next couple of days, then you won’t have to deal with me in person.”

“And then what? You keep calling up and coming back whenever you feel like it?”

“Chances are you’ll never hear from me again.”

“What does that mean, ‘chances are’?”

“Just what I said.”

“How do I know you won’t keep hassling us?”

“I’m not hassling you now,” Runyon said. “I’m accepting your husband’s offer. Unless you’d rather rescind it.”

“Oh, sure. And then you’d go straight to the Housing Authority.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that.”

“So you say.”

“You have my word on it.”

“Your word. How do I know you’d keep it?”

“You don’t. You’ll have to trust me, either way.”

Heavy sigh, exaggerated. “You’d better not do any damage to our property.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“And if Mr. Troxell finds out you were snooping around, I won’t take any abuse from him. I’ll lay it all on your head.”

“Or about that.”

“The key will be in the goddamn mailbox,” she said, and broke the connection.

RIST NILAND

The past two months had been hard, so hard. She couldn’t have gotten through them without the support from Mom and Dad, friends, neighbors, the people she worked with, and the customers at Get Fit. She’d’ve broken down completely and ended up in a hospital or institution. As it was she’d barely survived the first couple of weeks. Sleepless nights, depression, sudden crying fits. Nothing she tried, not Ambien or pot or vodka, made her days and nights any easier.