Билл Пронзини - In an Evil Time

Sunday Night

Cold and wide awake, he moved restlessly to fit his body against the curve of Cassie’s back. When her warmth seeped into him he thought he’d be able to sleep. But the gentle pressure of her buttocks, the pliant mound of her hip beneath his hand, had a different effect. To his surprise he felt a stirring in his loins, then a gradual hardening and lengthening. For the first time since that Saturday in May, and after another darkly eventful day — as if through some weird physiological reaction, his body was now able to respond sexually only in a time of great stress.

Cassie was awake; she reached a hand around between them. “Well,” she said, “what have we here.”

“I may not be able to sustain it.”

“Let’s find out.”

He managed. Better than he could have anticipated. Their coupling was a little too fast, but because it had been so long for both of them, he didn’t disappoint Cassie. After twenty-six years he knew well enough when her orgasms were genuine.

Afterward, resting with their bodies still joined, he heard himself say, “I am still a man,” without any conscious thought or intent.

“Of course you are,” she said drowsily. “Mm, yes.”

But sexual potency was only part of what the words meant. A small part, and not the most important at all.

Monday Morning

The weather changed overnight. Instead of blue sky and sunlight, he woke to low-hanging gray clouds and a raw wind. Gloomy Monday.

Cassie left early to take Kenny to day care; Pierce had to be at work at eight and Angela had a nine o’clock meeting. Hollis toasted two pieces of bread, soft-boiled two eggs, then found he had little appetite and left most of the food untouched. He’d planned to go to the office this morning, but he didn’t feel up to it. Things to do here today, anyhow. Call a couple of small contractors he knew, get estimates on gutting and remodeling the living room. Whatever the cost, it would have to come out of their savings: useless to file an insurance claim because the company would refuse to honor it without a police report. Contact one of the home security outfits, too. He had always resisted an alarm system, giving in to homeowners’ fear and paranoia, but now he wished he hadn’t been so stubborn on that point (and so many others). If they’d had a security alarm and it had been switched on yesterday, the vandalism would not have happened. Putting one in now would at least ensure that there would never be another break-in.

His first call was to Gloria, to tell her he wouldn’t he in but that he’d be available at home if needed. She said, “How’d the submission package look?”

“What submission package?”

“Dry Creek Valley. We worked all day Saturday to get it ready, Gabe and me. Didn’t he tell you?”

“I haven’t heard from him.”

“Ah, todo esta jodido . He said he’d give you a call. That’s why I just dropped the envelope off yesterday. I thought you’d be expecting it.”

“Where’d you put it?”

“In your mailbox. Yesterday morning, on my way home from church. I rang the bell but nobody answered. I wonder why Gabe didn’t call you?”

“He’ll have some excuse. He always does.”

“Envelope must still be in the box...”

“I’ll go over the package right away.”

“You’re gonna be pleased,” she said. “If we don’t get this job, I’ll swim naked all the way down to Black Point.”

“That I’d like to see. Tell Gabe to call me when he gets in.”

He fetched the envelope, took it into his study, and spread the contents out on his desk. Mannix and Gloria had done a fine job. The fee schedule had been pared to the bone, the schematic site plan and conceptual designs — as much Gabe’s in their final form as his — were clean and environmentally sound.

Gabe, he thought, you’re a hell of an architect when you set your mind to it. If you’d just stay focused, put a curb on the booze and the woman-chasing. Just had a little more ambition. I wish I could figure out exactly what makes you tick...

I can think of somebody right off the top of my head. You won’t like it, but he’s got just as much motive as Ryan .

For Christ’s sake, he thought. Don’t start suspecting Mannix now. Cassie wasn’t serious. Gabe, of all people.

Gabe?

The phone rang at a quarter of ten, just after he finished making an appointment with the Santa Rosa rep for Camden Home Security Systems. Mannix. Sounding lugubrious and hungover.

“I screwed up,” he said. “Other things on my mind yesterday... I just plain forgot to call.”

“A woman, I suppose.”

“Cute little piece from Paloma Valley. Her only fault is she drinks too damn much.”

“And you don’t?”

“Weak and easily led, that’s me.”

“That where you were yesterday, Paloma Valley?”

“Nope. My place.”

“All day?”

“We didn’t get out of the sack until dinnertime. Why?”

“No reason. Listen, the proposal looks fine. You nailed everything down just right.”

“ We nailed it down, all three of us. So we go with it as is? Or do you want to make any changes?”

“As is. I’ll bring it down this afternoon.”

“I don’t mind swinging by to pick it up.”

“I’m not an invalid, Gabe.”

“Did I say you were? You sound the way I feel.”

“I’m a little pressured right now.”

“Reason?”

“Some work that needs to be done on the house.”

“What kind of work?”

“Repairs. Living room remodel.”

“Kind of a sudden decision, isn’t it?”

“Very sudden,” he said. “We don’t have much choice.”

“Meaning?”

“Never mind. Tell you about it later.”

He hung up feeling ashamed of himself. There’d been nothing in Mannix’s voice except polite interest — of course there hadn’t. Why couldn’t he get rid of that nagging little worm of suspicion? It was ludicrous to think of Gabe sneaking into the house, slashing the furniture with a knife, wielding a can of spray paint like some drugged-up teenage tagger. It was an act of betrayal to give the notion even a second’s serious consideration.

Buy a gun and use it. That’s what I’d do in your place .

Oh, hell. Talk, false bravado.

Suppose I do it for you .

No way.

I wouldn’t have any qualms about it, moral or otherwise. Same as shooting a rabid dog .

Rakubian wasn’t shot, was he? Bludgeoned to death.

I’d do it. No lie and no bull .

Yes, bull. Mannix crushing a man’s skull with a statuette? Another ludicrous image.

People like Rakubian don’t deserve to live. Do the world a favor, take him right out of the gene pool .

Cut it out, Hollis!

But now he was remembering last week, their lunch at the Thai restaurant. He’d taken Mannix’s comment about doing the right thing to mean that Gabe thought he’d killed Rakubian, but it could have meant something else. Could’ve been an allusion to the cleanup, the body being taken away and disposed of. Guessed he was responsible for that and was thanking him in an oblique way

No, that didn’t make any sense. Why thank him on the one hand, devil him on the other? Those notes, the vandalism... what possible reason could Mannix have for turning on Angela, Cassie, himself after committing murder to protect them?

Crazy thoughts, crazy suspicions. It’s not Gabe, it couldn’t possibly be Gabe, it’s Pierce.

Pierce, Pierce, Pierce!

Monday Afternoon

It wasn’t Pierce.

By five o’clock Hollis had that proven to him beyond any reasonable doubt.

The day had been busy, and a good thing, because the activity kept him from thinking too much. He dropped off the proposal at the office, met with the Camden Home Security rep, met with the two contractors (explaining briefly to each of them that the damage was a case of vandalism, but offering no details). He was finishing up with Tom Finchley, the contractor he was probably going to use, when Cassie called at 4:10.