Росс Макдональд - Meet Me at the Morgue

“It’s on his mind,” I said. “He told me about his father yesterday, as much as you’d let him know. I think he may have recognized the dead man, more or less unconsciously.”

“Impossible. He was only three when he last saw his father.”

“Childhood memories often go back as far as the second year.”

“Not Larry’s. He has very little recollection of his childhood.” She pulled herself upright and leaned towards me tensely. “Mr. Cross, if you have any mercy for a woman who has suffered miserably, you will not tell my son the truth.”

“If he asks me for it, I’ll tell him.”

“No! You’ll drive him into insanity if you do, into suicide. He’s a sensitive boy. All his life I’ve had to look after him and protect him.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirty-four.”

“He’s not exactly a boy, Mrs. Seifel. He’s a man. If he isn’t a man now, he never will be.”

“He never will be,” she said.

“Not if you have your way.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?”

“It isn’t kind, I know. But kindness is out of place in some situations. It’s possible to kill a man with kindness.”

She rose, a dark, slim figure against the window. “I’m at your mercy, of course. I made one serious error thirty-five years ago, and I’ve been at the world’s mercy ever since. I promise you, however, if you do anything to harm my son – I have powerful connections in this county.”

“This is where I came in.” I got up and moved to the door. “Where is Larry now?”

“I have no idea. Your little blonde person came here about an hour ago–”

“Miss Devon?”

“Is that her name? She literally forced her way into my house. They drove away together in her car.”

I found them, still together, at the mortuary . Larry Seifel was standing over the table where the dead man lay. Ann was at his side, her arm around his waist. When they turned to look at me, I saw that both their faces were marked with drying tears. Seifel looked thinner and older.

Ann detached herself from him and crossed the room to me. “You know who he is, Howie?”

“Yes. Does Larry?”

“I told him, just now. I was talking to Mr. Forest this afternoon, and some of the things in Lemp’s record – well, they fitted in with other things that Larry had told me about his father.”

“How did Larry take it?”

“I don’t know. I’m waiting. But I think he already knew. He simply couldn’t admit it to himself.”

“What do we do now?”

“Nothing now. Please, Howie.”

She looked up anxiously into my face. Apparently there was nothing there to worry her. She went back to Larry Seifel. He was gazing down into the dead face, trying to descry the lineaments of the past.

My testimony to the Grand Jury took up most of the morning. I expressed my doubts about Fred Miner’s guilt, but I didn’t say anything about a red-headed woman. She was hearsay evidence, anyway. Molly Fawn was scheduled to testify in the afternoon, and it could wait till then.

From the tenor of the District Attorney’s questioning, and the comments of individual jurors, I judged that Miner’s guilt was taken for granted. The fact that he had died violently in an attempt to escape seemed to the jury to be proof of his complicity. Because he had been on probation under my supervision, they considered me a prejudiced witness. I was accustomed to that.

When I came out of the jury room, Sam Dressen was waiting for me. His nose was red and his eyes were moist with excitement. Behind him, on a bench against the wall, Amy Miner was sitting with a matron.

The door closed with a shushing sound. Sam grasped my arm:

“Howie, she’s run out on us.”

I thought for a bad moment that he meant Helen. “Who’s run out?”

“Molly Fawn. I left her here with Mrs. Johannes, about an hour ago.” He cocked an accusatory thumb at the matron. “The D.A. thought he might have time to put her on this morning after Mrs. Miner. I went downstairs to the office for a while, and when I came up she was gone.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” the matron grumbled. “My orders were for Amy here. They didn’t say anything to me about anybody else. The girl asked permission to go down the hall and wash her hands. I told her to go ahead.”

“What did you think she was doing?” Sam said. “Taking a bubble bath?”

“It ain’t my responsibility. You didn’t say anything to me that she was going to try and run away.”

“I’m no prophet.” He turned to me anxiously. “She was as nice as pie out at our place all day yesterday. How could I tell she was going to make a break for it?”

“Take it easy. We’ll get her back. If there’s any blame passed out, I’ll take it. I guess I should have had her held in jail.”

“Sure.” Amy Miner spoke up bitterly. “Why don’t you put the whole population in jail? That’ll solve all your problems for you.”

I looked into her face. Though it still showed grief and strain, she was calmer than she had been Saturday night. Her graying hair had been brushed, and there was a touch of lipstick on her mouth. I recognized for the first time that she had probably been an attractive girl.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Miner?”

“As good as can be expected, after a weekend in your dirty jail.”

“It isn’t dirty,” the matron asserted.

“Okay, so it isn’t dirty. I loved it. It was swell. Everything’s been swell.” She raised her heavy brown eyes to my face. “You saw Fred before he died?”

“I saw him.”

“Did he mention me?”

He hadn’t, but I decided to tell the lie. She had been stripped of everything else.

“He sent his love to you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“He sent his love to me?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Why did he do it? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. I’m sorry.”

She said in a low voice: “Everybody’s got plenty to be sorry about.”

“When are they letting you out of here?”

“Today.” But the prospect of freedom didn’t seem to cheer her. “The District Attorney promised to let me go after I say my piece to the Grand Jury.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“I don’t know. Bury Fred. Mrs. Johnson said I can live on in the gatehouse as long as I want. But I’m not staying in this burg, not after all that’s happened.”

The bailiff opened the door of the jury room and spoke to the matron: “They’re ready for Mrs. Miner now.”

Sam pulled at my elbow. “We better get moving, eh?”

“Right.” We started down the hall towards the sheriff’s wing. “How was Molly dressed when she took off?”

“The same dress she had on before, gray cotton, and that brown coat. She had a yellow rayon scarf over her head. My old woman lent it to her to wear.”

“Any money?”

“Not that I know of. We treated her to the drive-in movie last night. So this morning she runs out on us, just when we need her. That’s gratitude.”

“You’d better broadcast a description: Highway Patrol and city police as well as the sheriff’s cars. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s hitch-hiking north on the highway. Unless she stole a car.”

“She’d have no trouble hitch-hiking, not with that figure. What are you going to do, Howie?”

“Sit tight. I had enough running around over the weekend to last me the rest of the year. If you hear anything, call me at my office.”

“Will do.”

I crossed the street to the small restaurant that subsisted on the courthouse trade. I felt empty, in more than the physical sense. I had seen and heard a great deal in the last two days, and needed time to absorb the experience. My emotions were in the state of suspension that sometimes precedes a violent change.