Эд Горман - Fools Rush In

No hello. “I’ll be there for a month. Or so they tell me.”

“I’m glad you’re going.”

“Of course you are. I won’t be there to make sure you earn your paycheck.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s why you hired me. Because I’m so lazy.”

A hesitation. “There’re an awful lot of people who’ll get a good chuckle out of me going to a hospital for drunks.”

“To hell with them. You’re doing what you need to do.”

“I hope you’re not expecting any corny speeches from me about how I’ve finally realized that I need help. I’ll save all that for AA.”

This time the hesitation was mine. “I hate to say this, but I’m going to miss you and I’m going to be praying for you.”

“Now you’re the one getting corny.”

“I figured you’d say that.”

“I want to be nice and sober when my friend Dick Nixon visits me here in July. And I don’t want any remarks about Dick. He’s my good friend and one of these days he’s going to be president again.” Then: “I’m scared, McCain.”

“I know you are. But you’ll make it. You’re too strong not to.”

“You really believe that?”

“I do, Your Honor. I do.”

Hesitation. “They’re going to make fun of me.”

“And you’ll make fun of them right back.”

Hesitation. “You know that I like you more than I let on sometimes.”

“You’d almost have to.”

She laughed. “Yes, I would at that, wouldn’t I?” Pause. “Now I’m the one in danger of being corny. Good-bye, McCain.”

“Good-bye, Judge.”

I doubted that she had tears in her eyes, but I sure did.

At home I stripped to boxers, fixed an egg-and-ketchup sandwich, and sat on the couch watching the news.

The cats collected around me, ready for a good long sleep with, by default, their favorite human being.

Something Stan had said still bothered me, but not until now did I understand why. How had Marie Denham known that Will Neville had violated his probation?

I quickly called Stan. It took him a few minutes to find the name of the school administrator he’d talked to the other day while following up on the David Leeds story. He didn’t have the phone number. I had to call information for the home phone number of the guy.

Deep, aggrieved sigh. “Yes, this is he.”

“I’m sorry to be calling so late, Mr. Tooker.”

“Then why are you? This is a school night.”

“This concerns Marie Denham.”

“Who?”

“Marie Denham. A teacher at your school.”

“I don’t know who you are, but I’ve been principal here for eleven years and I’ve never heard of any Marie Denham.”

We spent four or five minutes longer on the phone. He gave me no more useful information.

I next called the local hospital and got a report on Will Neville. He was listed in fair condition but was in the hospital overnight for observation. I asked if there was a phone in his room.

“Yes, there is, but you can’t call him now.”

I said, “May I have your name? I’m McClintock on the hospital board. In fact, my law firm takes care of all your legal matters.”

I hated this particular game. Lying to an employee who could get in trouble if she let me have my way.

“I’ll ring the number, sir.”

When he picked up, he said, “I didn’t even notice the phone when they rolled me in here. Who is this?”

“McCain.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“There isn’t time for that now. You can call me all the names you want after this is settled.”

“After what is settled? What are you talking about? Ouch. My damned head. You made it worse, you son of a bitch.”

“What I’m talking about is you not being considered a suspect in these murders.”

“I wouldn’t kill my brother. Even the cops would know that.”

“We’re talking Cliffie here, remember? He might decide to come after you for those killings. You know Cliffie.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to know who you and your brothers have been hiding from.”

“This colored bitch — we were shaking down her father, or tryin’ to. And he killed himself over it. She’s been stalking us ever since.”

Then he told me all about it, her real name and what she’d been up to. Now the murders made sense.

I parked in a No Parking zone and rushed into the Greyhound terminal. The man behind the ticket counter looked shocked when he saw me running toward him.

Out of breath, I told him who I was looking for.

“That bus is leaving in about five minutes. She’s probably already on it.”

The loading area held only one bus. Most of the windows had passengers looking out them. At me.

The door was open. I climbed aboard. At first I couldn’t see much. But after my eyes adjusted, it was easy enough to spot her. She sat in an aisle seat about halfway back. She sat with her head back. Her eyes seemed to be closed.

It was a busload of corpses for the most part, longdistance travelers so fatigued they slept through most stops.

I walked back to her, passing through sections of perfume, tobacco, unclean flesh, whiskey.

I couldn’t tell if she was seeing me or not. Maybe she really was dozing.

“Hi, Marie.”

The eyelids parted instantly. “I figured my luck would run out.”

The woman next to her said, “Is everything all right?”

Marie said, “I killed some people. He’s going to take me in.”

“I need your wrist, Marie.”

I handcuffed her to me and then we left the bus. Whispers hissed behind us.

A killer. Handcuffs. My God. A dull trip suddenly became an exciting one.

When we reached the pavement again, she said, “How about we get a tenderloin and some fries?”

“I won’t let you get away.”

“You want to hear about it or not, McCain?”

“And the price of hearing about it is—”

“A tenderloin and fries. And a Coke. Be a long, long time before I ever have food like that again.”

The bus depot diner hadn’t been redecorated in years.

The place was a time trip. Framed newspaper pages of World War II vintage; framed photographs of Joe Louis and Harry Truman and of course FDR; the most recent movie stars were Clark Gable and Ava Gardner. There was a museum feel to it all.

I’d taken the cuffs off outside. We sat at a wobbly Formica-covered table. An exhausted waitress dragged herself over and took our order.

“You had us all fooled, Diane.”

“Diane?”

“You’ve used two other names since you got to town here. I don’t blame you for being confused.”

She just watched me. She knew it was over. Her dark and lovely eyes sparkled with tears.

“Diane Foster. The daughter of a Chicago alderman, the Reverend Thomas Foster. He was admired by black people and white people alike. Unique in Chicago politics in that he never took a bribe, never used his position to improve his own finances.”

“Don’t tell me about my father. He was the most wonderful man who ever lived.”

“But he fell in love with a woman in church and they had an affair. She had a baby out of wedlock.”

She angrily tapped a cigarette from her pack and put it in her mouth. I held my lighter out for her. She slapped it away.

“You keep your filthy thoughts about my father to yourself. You don’t have the right to even speak his name.”

“I’m not judging him. I’m explaining why you’re here and why you murdered three people.”

“Two people I murdered. Richie Neville and James Neville. David Leeds lunged at me after I shot that bastard Richie. I didn’t mean to kill him at all. It was completely accidental.”

“The woman your father had the affair with, she worked in the same office James Neville did. That’s how those three found out about your father. They were already blackmailing several other people, so they just added him to the list.”