Ed Gorman - Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

My final call was to Gavin Wheeler. He was a mite drunk, especially considering that it was barely eleven a.m. “I walk down the street and they stare at me like I’m some kind of monster. Or they snicker. People who always used to speak to me, say hello to me, smile at me. It’s like they’re embarrassed to see me. All my life I’ve tried to build up my reputation. I’m not some nobody from the Hills any more. I’ve got a name, I’ve got money, I’ve got some power. Or I had ’em, anyway, McCain. I don’t know why the hell I ever got into this thing. My poor wife won’t leave the house. She went to the grocery store nine o’clock last night when it was just about closing time. There weren’t any customers but everybody who worked in the store stood there whispering about her. A couple of them even made a couple of smart remarks. I did that. Me. All the years she’s stayed married with me—and I ain’t no prince to live with, believe me—and look what I do to her. We should be thinking of retiring now. But we’re gonna have to get clear the hell away from here.”

I’d waited him out. “The afternoon before Karen Hastings’s body was found in Murdoch’s house. You happen to remember what you were doing?”

He had an answer right away. “Driving back from Davenport. Had to look at some property over there.”

“Alone.”

“Yes, alone.”

I could sense that he would be most unhappy if I pushed beyond this point. I didn’t feel up to arguing with an eleven a.m. drunk. I said thank you and hung up.

I was just going through my notebook, transferring some of the notations to a larger sheet of paper, when the phone rang.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. McCain.”

“I’m Mr. McCain.”

“My name’s Janice Wilson. Scotty told me you were looking for me. I need to drive into town, anyway. Why don’t I stop by your office in two hours or so?”

“That’d be fine. I appreciate the call.”

That’s the best way of all, when they come to you.

The Judge has paid exactly two visits to my office. Today was the second one. In her tailored gray suit with the long leather and very dramatic gray gloves, she had the imperious elegance of a fading movie queen. Every move was straight from finishing school, every utterance straight from her upper-class New England education. I’m pretty sure she once gave lessons to Katherine Hepburn in haughtiness.

“You really do need to get better digs, McCain.”

“So I hear.”

I said this as I walked around my desk, brushed off the better of the two client chairs, and held one out for her. She looked at it as if I’d just bought it at a leper colony garage sale. But she put her important ass in my unimportant chair, lighted a Parliament and dramatically exhaled smoke. She saw the rubber band before I did. A lone rubber band sitting near the edge of my desk. How could she resist picking it up, using her thumb and forefinger as a bow, and firing it at me the way she usually did? But we were both getting crafty. She pretended not to see it and I pretended not to see her pretending not to see it. She went so far in trying to fake me out that she sat all the way back in her chair and raised her eyes to meet mine.

“I’m here because Deirdre Murdoch asked me to be.”

“Deirdre? Why doesn’t she call me herself?”

“She’s in a panic now since she found out there’ll be no bail.”

“No bail?”

“The judge—me—has decided there’ll be no bail.”

“But why?”

“I’m recusing myself from this whole matter. But until a new judge is selected, I’m not going along with bail. I’m too good a friend of the family.”

“So meanwhile he sits in jail.”

She paused a moment. I wondered if she was thinking about the rubber band. She loved playing Pearl-Harbor-sneak-attack.

“I came here, McCain, to ask a simple question. I wanted to see your face when you answered it. Irene Murdoch is an old friend of mine. I’m afraid she’ll have to go back into the sanitarium.”

“I know. Deirdre told me.”

“Thank God for Deirdre. Ross was gone so much—the only lasting friendships Irene has had were with me and Deirdre.”

“I guess I don’t know what your question is.”

“It’s a very simple question, McCain. Because if I don’t get the answer I want, I’ll have to start preparing Irene and Deirdre for the worst.”

“That being?”

“That being that Ross did commit these murders and will be going to prison.”

“And you want to know if I think he’s guilty?”

“Exactly. We don’t always get along, McCain, but I do have some respect for your word.”

I smiled.

“Did I say something funny?”

“That ‘some respect’ crack. You could’ve just said, ‘I have respect for your word.’ You didn’t need to hedge your bet that way.”

“Shilly-shally. You’re just stalling because you don’t know how to answer my question.” Then she smiled. She had a mischievous smile that was almost girlish. “You’re getting slow, McCain.”

So like a dummy I followed her gaze to where the rubber band had been. I’m emphasizing the past tense here. Because the rubber band was no longer there. It was on its way to my—nose. She shot it with her usual callous skill and now it lay across the bridge of my nose.

“I imagine you feel triumphant,” I said.

“No more so than usual where you’re concerned.”

“This really is quite immature, you know, for someone of your age and stature.”

“Oh, McCain, let’s not talk about my age and stature. That’s so dry. Let’s talk about how ridiculous you look with a rubber band lying across your nose. That’s a lot more fun.”

“You came here just to shoot me with that rubber band, didn’t you?”

“My, aren’t we the paranoid one today? Yes, McCain, I’m psychic. I knew there’d be a rubber band sitting there on your desk, out in the open as it were. So I hurried over to take advantage of it.” Then: “Don’t be ridiculous. I came here because I’m concerned about Irene and Deirdre. They’ve been through so much with him and now this. He’s such a charmer that I always forgave him his indiscretions, too—he’s tried to get me into the sack upon occasion, too, difficult as it is for you to imagine, McCain—but I just put it down to the martinis. And now this. This—with that girl—is impossible to forgive. Irene will never recover. I’ll say it again, thank God for Deirdre. They’ve decided to put off going to the sanitarium until tomorrow, by the way. They’re both just too tired today.”

“I’ll put it this way. If I had to bet, I’d bet he was innocent.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Why?”

“People as smart as he is don’t leave bodies in their bomb shelters.”

“But maybe that’s the beauty of this whole thing.”

“What is?”

“He puts the body in there and everybody thinks just what you said—he’s too smart to put the body where somebody’s sure to find it. A jury would take his status, his history and his intelligence into account and find him not guilty.”

“I’m getting a headache.”

“Oh.”

“This is all getting pretty complicated.”

She smiled sweetly. “Perhaps for a tiny brain like yours.

“You really did look funny with that rubber band hanging off your nose like that. Been a long time since I did that to you,” she continued with a smirk as she stood up.

“Not long enough.”

“Oh, you crab,” she said as I walked her to the door. “You know you like it as much as I do. The little rubber band thing.”

“Love it,” I said. “Positively love it.”

It was just past one. That gave me an hour before Janice Wilson came to my office. I had a sandwich at Rexall. Mary was behind the counter but the place was still packed with late lunchers. Mary and I exchanged, in order, smiles, winks, smiles and melancholy looks because we wouldn’t have a chance to talk. I didn’t even see her at the cash register. Somebody else took my ticket.