Ed Gorman - Wake Up Little Susie

“I expect not.”

Then, trying to regain some dignity, he said, “But Chalmers was the one what killed her, that Squires girl.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I don’t have proof yet, but I think I will have pretty soon. So before you arrest Chalmers, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me first.”

He stood up. Rage had replaced hurt in those dog-brown dog-stupid eyes of his.

“We’ll see how Mr. Fancy Squires likes it next time he wants a favor done and stupid ol’ me tells him no.”

“That’s right. You’ve got to stand up for yourself.”

“Just because I ain’t educated.”

“Right.”

“And just because I ain’t pretty like him.”

“Right.”

“And just because I got this here skin condition and can’t bathe often as I should.”

“Right.”

“And just because people think the only reason I got this job is because my old man runs the town.”

“Right.”

“Well, I’ll show Mr. Fancy.”

“Damn right you will, Cliff. Damn right you will.”

For just a moment there, I almost felt sorry for him. I almost forgot about the many times he’d billy-clubbed me and punched me and kicked me, just in the line of duty as he saw it, and the many times he’d cheated and railroaded and framed my clients. For a moment, I forgave him all of it. And then, being Cliffie, he had to go and disabuse me of my Christian charity.

“Chalmers is the man, McCain.”

“He didn’t have any reason to kill her.”

“He hates Squires.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Well, I guess that’s a good point. But he’s also an ex-con.”

“So that automatically makes him the killer?”

“McCain, I’ve read a lot about ex-cons. Hell, let’s face it, my family’s got a lot of ex-cons in it. Our family reunion looks like a prison yard.”

He walked to the door.

“I’m gonna be one busy boy, McCain.

First I’m gonna meet up with our friend Squires and tell him what I think of him; then I’m gonna go arrest Chalmers. You can take that as fair warning.”

A minute later, he fired up his Indian and was gone.

The phone rang a few minutes later.

Dick Keys.

“Any word on Mary yet?”

“Not yet, Dick. Thanks for asking.”

“She’s sure a sweetheart. You give her folks my best.”

“I sure will.”

Hesitation. “I’m kind’ve embarrassed about somethin’, McCain.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I’ve got this employee, Merle

Ramsdale? He served a little time for taking a car a few years ago, but I hired him here as a mechanic and he’s been a real good employee.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” What was he getting at?

“He was here Friday night, too, and he saw somethin’, and he shoulda stepped up to the plate before this. But you know how it is when you’re out on parole.

You don’t want to get involved in anything you don’t have to.”

“What’d he see?”

“I’ll let him tell you. He’s standin’ right here.” Then he said, “Just tell him what you told me, Merle, and everything’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that killing, Mr. Keys.”

“I know you didn’t, Merle.”

“People think just because you’ve been in prison-”

“Just talk to Mr. McCain, Merle. He’s a nice young lawyer.”

The phone was handed off and Merle Ramsdale said, “Hi, Mr. McCain.”

“Hi, Merle. I really appreciate you doing this.”

“I just don’t want the parole office to think I had anything to do with the murder.”

“I’m sure they won’t, Merle. Just relax and tell me what you saw.”

“Well, I stepped outside to have a cigarette. It was a nice night and I’d been puttin’ in a lot of hours and I just thought some fresh air would do me good. And that’s when I saw him, when I was outside having a smoke.”

“Saw who?”

“The big guy.”

“What’d he look like?”

“Well, as I said, a big guy. Like a basketball player. But heavier. Stronger.”

“You notice anything else about him? Kind of clothes he was wearing?”

“Dark jacket of some kind. Zipper, I think. And dark pants. Nothing that really stood out.”

“Anything else?”

“His hair. There was a whole lot of it.

Curly.”

“The color?”

“I think it was red. It was dark. He was over in the shadows. Back by the used cars.”

“What’d he do when he saw you?”

“Just kind of ducked down between a couple of cars.”

“What’d you do?”

“I shouted out, “You want some help with somethin’, mister?” I figured that’d chase him away.”

“And did it?”

“Yeah. He took off running.”

“You see him again?”

“Nope. But then I was inside until quittin’ time.”

“You didn’t tell anybody about it?”

“Wasn’t anybody around but me.”

“The other mechanic?”

“He was on dinner break.”

“How about Susan Squires?”

“Oh, she was there, but up front. Decorating the showroom. I didn’t want to bother her.”

“And you haven’t told anybody about this till now?”

“Uh-uh. Like I said, I want to stay away from the cops as much as I can. It’d look funny, me involved in some kind of thing like this. I just got married. My wife wouldn’t like it either. She won’t like this, me talkin’ to you. But it just kept stayin’ on my mind. You know how things get sometimes.”

“Well, I appreciate this.”

“I hope I’ve been helpful.”

“You’ve been very helpful.”

“I’ll put Mr. Keys back on.”

“Thanks again, Merle.”

“Don’t know if that was any help,” Keys said, when he came back on, “but I thought you should know.”

I thanked him and hung up.

So young Dr. Jensen had paid Susan a visit at the Ford dealership Friday night just before she was killed.

I wondered how he’d explain it.

I tried his number twice. Nothing. Then I tried the Illinois number and got no answer there either.

I wanted to go looking for Mary, but in the past two days I’d covered the entire town, talked to a good fifty people, followed up every lead and partial lead that’d been offered me. And nothing.

I spent half an hour trying to rig up the lie detector. It was like a Martian trying to plug in a Venusian appliance, to borrow a phrase from Galactic Adventures, one of the magazines I’d read as a kid.

I was just getting ready to go home for the day when I decided to give the Illinois number another try.

A female voice said, “Carmichael residence.”

“My name’s McCain. I’m a lawyer in

Black River Falls, Iowa.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“Ma’am?”

“This is about the taillight, isn’t it?”

“Why, yes, ma’am, it is.”

“I told Ronnie he should’ve made her turn it in.”

“Ronnie being-”

“My son. He was over there visiting my sister.”

“I see. And your sister is-?”

“Amy Masters-Squires is her married name.”

“You said, “He should’ve made her turn it in.” She was driving the car?”

“Yes. She was having some kind of trouble with hers so she borrowed his.”

“I see.”

“You know about her ex-husband then?”

“Yes, I do.”

“He was a peach. Any man tried to beat me up, I’d be out of there in two minutes flat.”

“That’s how she should have handled it.”

“It sure is. I expect Ronnie back in an hour or so.”

“I’ll call later.” I didn’t want to tell her that she’d just told me the best part of her story: the ex-wife at the murder scene.

“It may be tomorrow.”

“If you see that sister of mine, tell her I’m thinking about it.”