Росс Макдональд - The Galton Case

“What was the matter with the girl?”

“The obvious thing, and it was obvious – she was seven months’ pregnant.”

“And you say they’d just been married?”

“That’s correct. She hooked him. I talked with her a little, and I’d wager he picked her up, hot off the streets. She was a pretty enough little thing, in spite of her big belly, but she’d had a hard life. There were scars on her thighs and buttocks. She wouldn’t explain them to me, but it was evident that she’d been beaten, more than once.” The cruel memory raised faint traces of scarlet on the doctor’s cheekbones.

The doe-eyed girl from the badminton court appeared in the doorway behind him. Her body was like ripening fruit, only partly concealed by her sleeveless jersey and rolled shorts. She glowed with healthy beauty, but her mouth was impatient:

“Daddy? How much longer?”

The color on his cheekbones heightened when he saw her. “Roll down your pants, Sheila.”

“They’re not pants.”

“Whatever they are, roll them down.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m telling you to.”

“You could at least tell me in private. How much longer do I have to wait?”

“I thought you were going to read to your Aunt Maria.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“You promised.”

“You were the one who promised for me. I played badminton with Cassie, and that’s my good turn for the day.”

She moved away, deliberately exaggerating the swing of her hips. Howell glared at the chronometer on his wrist, as if it was the source of all his troubles. “I must be getting along. I have other calls to make.”

“Can you give me the wife’s description?” I said. “Or her name?”

“I don’t recall her name. As for appearance, she was a little blue-eyed brunette, rather thin in spite of her condition. Mrs. Galton – no, on second thought I wouldn’t ask her about the girl unless she brings the matter up herself.”

The doctor turned to go, but Sable detained him: “Is it all right for Mr. Archer to question her? I mean, it won’t affect her heart or bring on an asthmatic attack?”

“I can’t guarantee it. If Maria insists on having an attack, there’s nothing I can do to prevent it. Seriously, though, if Tony’s on her mind she might as well talk about him. It’s better than sitting and brooding. Good-by, Mr. Archer, nice to meet you. Good day, Sable.”

THE MAID took Sable and me to a sitting-room on the second floor where Mrs. Galton was waiting. The room smelled of medicine, and had a hushed hospital atmosphere. The heavy drapes were partly drawn over the windows. Mrs. Galton was resting in semi-twilight on a chaise longue, with a robe over her knees.

She was fully dressed, with something white and frilly at her withered throat; and she held her gray head ramrod straight. Her voice was reedy, but surprisingly resonant. It seemed to carry all the remaining force of her personality:

“You’ve kept me waiting, Gordon. It’s nearly time for my lunch. I expected you before Dr. Howell came.”

“I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Galton. I was delayed at home.”

“Don’t apologize. I detest apologies, they’re really just further demands on one’s patience.” She cocked a bright eye at him. “Has that wife of yours been giving you trouble again?”

“Oh, no, nothing of that sort.”

“Good. You know my thoughts on the subject of divorce. On the other hand, you should have taken my advice and not married her. A man who waits until he’s nearly fifty to get married should give up the idea entirely. Mr. Galton was in his late forties when we were married. As a direct consequence, I’ve had to endure nearly twenty years of widowhood.”

“It’s been hard, I know,” Sable said with unction.

The maid had started out of the room. Mrs. Galton called her back: “Wait a minute. I want you to tell Miss Hildreth to bring me my lunch herself. She can bring up a sandwich and eat it with me if she likes. You tell Miss Hildreth that.”

“Yes, Mrs. Galton.”

The old lady waved us into chairs, one on each side of her, and turned her eye on me. It was bright and alert but somehow inhuman, like a bird’s eye. It looked at me as if I belonged to an entirely different species:

“Is this the man who is going to find my prodigal son for me?”

“Yes, this is Mr. Archer.”

“I’m going to give it a try,” I said, remembering the doctor’s advice. “I can’t promise any definite results. Your son has been missing for a very long time.”

“I’m better aware of that than you, young man. I last set eyes on Anthony on the eleventh day of October 1936. We parted in bitter anger and hatred. I’ve lived ever since with that anger and hatred corroding my heart. But I can’t die with it inside of me. I want to see Anthony again, and talk to him. I want to forgive him. I want him to forgive me.”

Deep feeling sounded in her voice. I had no doubt that the feeling was partly sincere. Still, there was something unreal about it. I suspected that she’d been playing tricks with her emotions for a long time, until none of them was quite valid.

“Forgive you?” I said.

“For treating him as I did. He was a young fool, and he made some disastrous mistakes, but none of them really justified Mr. Galton’s action, and mine, in casting him off. It was a shameful action, and if it’s not too late I intend to rectify it. If he still has his little wife, I’m willing to accept her. I authorize you to tell him that. I want to see my grandchild before I die.”

I looked at Sable. He shook his head slightly, deprecatingly. His client was just a little out of context, but she had quick insight, at least into other people:

“I know what you’re both thinking. You’re thinking that Anthony is dead. If he were dead, I’d know it here.” Her hand strayed over the flat silk surface of her breast. “He’s my only son. He must be alive, and he must be somewhere. Nothing is lost in the universe.”

Except human beings, I thought. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Galton. There are one or two things you can do to help me. Give me a list of his friends at the time of his disappearance.”

“I never knew his friends.”

“He must have had friends in college. Wasn’t he attending Stanford?”

“He’d left there the previous spring. He didn’t even wait to graduate. Anyway, none of his schoolmates knew what happened to him. His father canvassed them thoroughly at the time.”

“Where was your son living after he left college?”

“In a flat in the slums of San Francisco. With that woman.”

“Do you have the address?”

“I believe I may have it somewhere. I’ll have Miss Hildreth look for it.”

“That will be a start, anyway. When he left here with his wife, did they plan to go back to San Francisco?”

“I haven’t any idea. I didn’t see them before they left.”

“I understood they came to visit you.”

“Yes, but they didn’t even stay the night.”

“What might help most,” I said carefully, “would be if you could tell me the exact circumstances of their visit, and their departure. Anything your son said about his plans, anything the girl said, anything you remember about her. Do you remember her name?”

“He called her Teddy. I have no idea if that was her name or not. We had very little conversation. I can’t recall what was said. The atmosphere was unpleasant, and it left a bad taste in my mouth. She left a bad taste in my mouth. It was so evident that she was a cheap little gold-digger.”

“How do you know?”

“I have eyes. I have ears.” Anger had begun to whine in the undertones of her voice. “She was dressed and painted like a woman of the streets, and when she opened her mouth – well, she spoke the language of the streets. She made coarse jokes about the child in her womb, and how” – her voice faded almost out – “it got there. She had no respect for herself as a woman, no moral standards. That girl destroyed my son.”