Richard Deming - No Pockets in a Shroud

The day was brisk, but a lazy sun was beginning to take the edge from the air. Eleanor drove desultorily, drifting down one street and up another in aimless fashion. Neither of us felt much like talking, particularly me, because I was fitting together some unpleasant ideas which were beginning to form in my mind. Superimposed on these ideas I unexpectedly got the impression that there was plan behind the seemingly purposeless driving. And as Eleanor’s aimless turnings brought us closer and closer to the highway leading past El Patio, I grew sure of it.

Eventually a side street spewed us out on the main road. Eleanor turned in the direction away from town and increased the car’s speed.

Although I knew, as we neared El Patio I asked: “Where we going!”

El Patio’s stone pillared gates came in sight and Eleanor slowed the car. “Let’s stop for a drink.”

“It’s closed.”

“Your blonde friend will let us in.”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself. But lots of places that are open serve drinks.”

She swung the car between the stone gateposts and brought it to a stop next to the building’s front steps. We left it parked there instead of driving back to the lot.

Vance Caramand let us in when I pounded on; the big bronze doors.

“Fausta around?” I asked.

“Shopping in town.” He closed the door behind us and walked off, leaving us to our own devices.

Mouldy Greene and Romulus sat at a table near the bar playing gin rummy.

I said: “How about a couple of drinks?”

“Help yourself,” Mouldy said.

Going behind the counter, I found a bottle of rye and plunked it in front of Eleanor.

“There a tray back there?” she asked.

I looked. “Yeah. Why?”

“Put some glasses and things on it and we’ll take it back to Louis’ office.”

The suggestion didn’t startle me. I almost expected it. I began to feel as though we were acting out a play that had been rehearsed, and were responding to each other’s cues, knowing in advance what was to happen next.

I asked: “Why?”

“We can talk privately there.”

“With the ghost of your ex-lover looking on?”

She pouted. “Don’t be common.”

“O.K.,” I shrugged. “If the association doesn’t bother you, it won’t me.”

I slapped the tray on the bar, set the rye, a jug of water, a siphon, two glasses, a spoon and an empty bowl on it. Emptying a shelf of ice cubes in the bowl, I picked up the complete equipment and followed Eleanor back to Bagnell’s office. I sat behind Bagnell’s desk and mixed two drinks while Eleanor perched on the desk edge and swung her feet.

“Satisfy your morbid curiosity?” I asked.

“The drink?”

“The atmosphere.”

She said: “I don’t see why you’re acting so silly about coming back here. Louis Bagnell was nothing to me.”

“I’m not acting silly. I’m just trying to figure out why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you wanted to come here.”

Setting down her drink, she looked down at me puzzledly from her elevated position. “I didn’t insist, you know. It was just a spur of the moment idea. If you don’t like it, we’ll leave.”

“I don’t like it.”

She frowned in annoyance. “What’s the matter with you?”

“It wasn’t a spur of the moment idea. You meant to come here from the moment we left my place. Why?”

“You’re being silly.” She took a long drink and left her nose up in the air after she lowered the glass.

The desk telephone caught my eye and I lifted the receiver and dialed Homicide. Eleanor watched me from her eye corners, but she wasn’t giving me the satisfaction of indicating interest. I got Hannegan on the phone.

“Moon,” I said. “How’s Horne doing?”

“Just started to work on him,” Hannegan told me. “We closed shop, once he was safe in jail, and the inspector and I both slept till noon. The inspector’s talking to Horne now.”

“Good. I’m at El Patio. Will you ring me back after Day goes over him?” I read him the number from the phone’s dial plate.

“Sure,” said Hannegan.

When I hung up the phone, Eleanor said: “Mix me another drink.”

“I thought you weren’t speaking to me.”

“I’m not, except as a bartender.”

I put together two more drinks and leaned back in the desk chair to enjoy mine. Just as I started to raise the glass, the office door crashed back against the wall and Fausta, her eyes sputtering like a shorted neon sign, stood in the doorway.

“So?” she hissed.

“So what?” Eleanor snapped right back at her.

Fausta prowled dramatically into the room. “To my own house you bring him, you — you she wolf!” She stopped in front of Eleanor and bared her teeth.

Eleanor said: “Get away from me, blondie, or I’ll bat your brains oat.”

Easing out of my chair, I circled toward the door around the side of the desk opposite the two women.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’ll be at the bar. Let me know how things turn out.”

Fausta spun on me. “You, Manny Moon! Why you bring this woman here where I am?”

“I’ll be at the bar.”

“Wait, Manny.” All at once her voice was contrite. “I be good.”

I paused in the doorway. “Yeah?” I said cautiously.

“You think I act bad to make scene?”

“Yes. Very bad.”

“You desire I go leave you alone?”

“Yes.”

Her expression turned forlorn. Slowly she moved to the door and stopped next to me. Turning her head over her shoulder, she looked sorrowfully at Eleanor. Then her face screwed up, her tongue shot out at Eleanor and at the same time she gouged a sharp heel into my one good shin.

“Ow!” I yelled, but before I could grab her, she was flitting down the hall toward the dining room.

Limping back into the room, I got my foot on a chair and began to rub my shin cautiously.

“Little brat,” I growled.

Eleanor came over and kissed me behind the ear. “Don’t mind, Manny. I’m all the woman you need.”

Continuing on around me, she went toward the bathroom. I noted that the eternal oversized bag was clutched tightly beneath her arm. When I heard the bolt slide to, I quickly but softly moved to the bathroom door and pressed one ear against the panel. I heard her fumbling at the washbowl, and the clash of metal on porcelain. Then the phone rang. I cut it off in the middle of its second ring.

“Yeah?” I said.

“El Patio?”

“Yeah.”

“Manville Moon there?”

“Speaking.”

“Hannegan. We’ve been going over Horne and he admits everything you told us, but still won’t break on the actual killing. Insists he never got out of the car.”

“I never said he did.”

Hannegan was silent for a long time. “Jeepers creepers!” he said finally. “No wonder the old man hates you!”

“How long was he parked?”

“He says about an hour. Seven-thirty to eight-thirty.”

I thought a moment. “That covers the time from before the murder until after the cops arrived. Did you ask him if anyone else entered the grounds while he was there?”

“Yeah. He said no one could without his seeing it, and he didn’t see anyone.”

I said: “I’ll phone you back in a few minutes,” and hung up just as Eleanor came from the bathroom.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Hannegan, reporting nothing new. Horne denies the killing.”

I walked over to her, put a hand on either shoulder and looked down into her face. She raised her lips to be kissed.