Эд Горман - Riders on the Storm

“Well of course Cullen killed him. Who else would have?”

“Possibly Anders.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“He wanted you and he wanted the business.”

An amused noise. “You have it backwards. He wanted the business and he wanted me.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

The same amused noise. “I forgot. You overheard me on the phone just now. Well, what you heard was me salving a very pretty man’s ego. He’s fun. He thinks because I’ve been sleeping with him — and he’s very skilled at that — that I’m one of those stupid little girls he’s used to. He expects me to swoon every time he calls me. He’s also deluded himself into believing that I want to marry him. I don’t want to marry him any more than he wants to marry me. What’s funny is that he’s a romantic. He likes convincing himself that he’s in love with certain women who just happen to have something he wants besides the love story nonsense.”

“Do you think he understands that you don’t love him?”

The smile of conquest. “Not right now. He’s still in the romance phase. He still wants the business and me as a bonus.”

“Well, he’s got one of them, anyway.”

“Not necessarily. With Steve gone I’ve now got fifty percent of everything.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Steve. With Will and Steve fighting, Anders saw the chance to lay the murder on Will.”

“I don’t believe that. I just keep thinking of poor Steve lying in that parking lot all night. And I mean ‘poor’ in case you think I didn’t care for him. Loved him madly for a number of years, but that all got lost because he cheated on me so much. I begged him and I warned him but he wouldn’t listen. So I started sleeping around myself. I could’ve kept a private investigator busy for years.”

Then from on high: “You’re a pesky little prick. I suppose some women find you cute.”

“I’m too modest to comment.”

An actual smile. “So if you’re not going to blackmail me, what’ll you do with the photographs?”

“I haven’t decided. I might try them on Anders.”

“Do you usually get this obsessed? I told you Lon had nothing to do with Steve’s death.”

“Then if you believe that, help me.”

“How?”

“Don’t tell him we talked. Let me try these photos on him.”

“It’s a waste of time but I suppose I could go along with it.”

“One more thing — what did your husband think of Anders as a business partner?”

“That’s the only interesting question you’ve asked me.”

“How so?”

She sat back on the couch. The azure eyes were reflective. Her looks would not let go of me. “He loved Al like a little brother.”

“Al Carmichael, his former business partner.”

“Yes. They were like a couple of college boys together. The first years of the business were so successful they had plans to get as much as thirty percent of the market. Then one of their competitors invented a new spin on the basic product and Steve and Al lost market share instead of gaining it. The friendship suffered to the point that even Amanda — Al’s wife — and I were cool to each other. And then Lon came along. I understand why so many people dislike him but he’s a fantastic sales manager. He got profits up almost from the start. And he also made it clear that he wanted Al out and that he planned to be Steve’s partner. I felt sorry for Al and Amanda and I didn’t like Lon at all. But Steve did and Al was out. Just like that. Lon made things so uncomfortable for him there that one day he walked out and never came back.”

“But eventually you took to Lon.”

A subtle exquisite smile. “I told you he was a fantastic salesman.”

She moved with instinctive grace and offered a slender hand. “I’ve never been in a conspiracy before.”

“You’re betraying Anders, you know.”

“How many times do you think he’s betrayed me? Sometimes I worry that he’s going to give me one of those diseases he might get from all the stupid little girls he sleeps with. I was very careful in the days when I was sleeping around. Lon’s never careful about anything. Part of his charm is his recklessness.”

“He might have been reckless enough to kill your husband.”

“I still don’t believe you, but you’ve managed to plant a very tiny seed of doubt in my mind.”

“And if I prove that he did it?”

She hesitated. Closed her eyes. And when she opened them she looked at me directly. “I’ll do everything I can to see that he never leaves prison. I’ll go on the stand and admit to having an affair with him and not worry about my reputation at all.”

That was when the chubby, cute little dog barked. “That’s Ivanhoe. Steve got him from the pound about six weeks ago. I prefer cats myself. But I have to admit Ivanhoe has ingratiated himself with me. A bit like you have with me, McCain. Even though I think you’re way, way wrong about Lon.”

On the way back to my car I played with Ivanhoe for a few minutes. He liked to ram headfirst into my leg as if he was trying to topple a statue.

The way I was trying to topple Lon Anders.

From Valerie’s I drove out to Cherie’s, the roadhouse where Donovan had been drinking the night he was killed. Saturday was the only day they served lunch here so the packed parking lot didn’t surprise me.

I took a stool and surveyed the dining area that spread out below the raised bar. Customers generally dressed up some when they came here at night but this afternoon summer clothes, even beach clothes, were the standard.

I ordered a Hamm’s draught and then asked if I could speak to Mr. Hobart, the manager.

“Something wrong, sir?”

“No, no, this is a very nice place. No complaints. This is a private matter.”

“I’ll need a name.”

“Sam McCain.”

He was mid-twenties with Beatles hair and a jaunty way of mixing drinks. He also had a good bartender’s innate suspicion for anything untoward a customer might say.

“Just a second.”

He stepped over to the phone next to the cash register, punched in three numbers, and then started talking in a quiet voice. He nodded and hung up and came back to me.

There were four booths in the west corner of the bar. He pointed to them and said, “Neil said to wait in one of the booths over there and he’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” I picked up my draught.

A few minutes turned out to be sixteen or seventeen minutes according to my watch. The bar got more and more crowded. Most of the men along it were now watching the Cubs game on the elevated twenty-seven-inch screen.

I knew Neil Hobart from the downtown group that perpetually tried to have its way with the city council. The group was the new Establishment but they wouldn’t have full power until the present group retired or passed on.

Very cool, very expensive fawn-colored collarless shirt, flowing white trousers with fawn-colored belt yet. Rimless glasses and thinning blond hair in a ponytail. How cool is too cool?

No handshake. He sat down across from me and said, “You’re wasting your time, McCain.”

“I hear that a lot.”

“Everything I know I told to that new police chief.” I wanted to give him a quarter tip for not calling him “Paul.”

“So I suppose you think Will Cullen is guilty?”

“I have a friend in the department. He laid it all out for me. Of course he’s guilty. And if that isn’t enough, I was at the luncheon for Senator O’Shay this noon. He’s convinced it’s an airtight case. That kind of says it all, doesn’t it?”

“When Donovan was out here drinking the other night did you talk to him much?”