Росс Макдональд - The Doomsters

“I should, eh? So you can carry on your machinations without any interference?”

Zinnie crossed the room in an unsteady rush. I stayed between her and Mildred.

“Mildred didn’t hire me,” I said. “I have no instructions from her. You’re way off the beam, Mrs. Hallman.”

“You lie!” She screamed across me at Mildred: “You dirty little sneak, you can get out of my house. Keep your maniac husband away from here or by God I’ll have him shot down. Take your bully-boy along with you. Go on, get out, both of you.”

“I’ll be glad to.”

Mildred turned to the door in weary resignation, and I went out after her. I hadn’t expected the armistice to last.

I WAITED for Mildred on the front veranda. There were several more cars in the driveway. One of them was my Ford convertible, gray with dust but looking none the worse for wear. It was parked behind a black panel truck with county markings.

A deputy I hadn’t seen before was in the front seat of another county car, monitoring a turned-up radio. The rest of the sheriff’s men were still in the greenhouse. Their shadows moved on its translucent walls.

“Attention all units,” the huge voice of the radio said. “Be on the lookout for following subject wanted as suspect in murder which occurred at Hallman ranch in Buena Vista Valley approximately one hour ago: Carl Hallman, white, male, twenty-four, six-foot-three, two hundred pounds, blond hair, blue eyes, pale complexion, wearing blue cotton workshirt and trousers. Suspect may be armed and is considered dangerous. When last seen he was traveling across country on foot.”

Mildred came out, freshly groomed and looking fairly brisk in spite of her wilted-violet eyes. Her head moved in a small gesture of relief as the screen door slammed behind her.

“Where do you plan to go?” I asked her.

“Home. It’s too late to think of going back to work. I have to see to Mother, anyway.”

“Your husband may turn up there. Have you thought of that possibility?”

“Naturally. I hope he does.”

“If he does, will you let me know?”

She gave me a clear cold look. “That depends.”

“I know what you mean. Maybe I better make it plain that I’m in your husband’s corner. I’d like to get to him before the sheriff does. Ostervelt seems to have his mind made up about this case. I haven’t. I think there should be further investigation.”

“You want me to pay you, is that it?”

“Forget about that for now. Let’s say I like the old-fashioned idea of presumption of innocence.”

She took a step toward me, her eyes brightening. Her hand rested lightly on my arm. “You don’t believe he shot Jerry, either.”

“I don’t want to build up your hopes with nothing much to go on. I’m keeping an open mind until we have more information. You heard the shots that killed Jerry?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you at the time? And where were the others?”

“I don’t know about the others. I was with Martha on the other side of the house. The child seemed to sense what had happened, and I had a hard time calming her. I didn’t notice what other people were doing.”

“Was Ostervelt anywhere around the house?”

“I didn’t see him if he was.”

“Was Carl?”

“The last I saw of Carl was in the grove there.”

“Which way did he go when he left you?”

“Toward town, at least in that general direction.”

“What was his attitude when you talked to him?”

“He was upset. I begged him to turn himself in, but he seemed frightened.”

“Emotionally disturbed?”

“It’s hard to say. I’ve seen him much worse.”

“Did he show any signs of being dangerous?”

“Certainly not to me. He never has. He was a little rough when I tried to hold him, that’s all.”

“Has he often been violent?”

“No. I didn’t say he was violent. He simply didn’t want to be held. He pushed me away from him.”

“Did he say why?”

“He said something about following his own road. I didn’t have time to ask him what he meant.”

“Do you have any idea what he meant?”

“No.” But her eyes were wide and dark with possibility. “I’m certain, though, he didn’t mean anything like shooting his brother.”

“There’s another question that needs answering,” I said. “I hate to throw it at you now.”

She squared her slender shoulders. “Go ahead. I’ll answer it if I can.”

“I’ve been told your husband killed his father. Deliberately drowned him in the bathtub. Have you heard that?”

“Yes. I’ve heard that.”

“From Carl?”

“Not from him, no.”

“Do you believe it?”

She took a long time to answer. “I don’t know. It was just after Carl was hospitalized – the same day. When a tragedy cuts across your life like that, you don’t know what to believe. The world actually seemed to fly apart. I could recognize the pieces, but all the patterns were unfamiliar, the meanings were different. They still are. It’s an awful thing for a human being to admit, but I don’t know what I believe. I’m waiting. I’ve been waiting for six months to find out where I stand in the world, what sort of a life I can count on.”

“You haven’t really answered my question.”

“I would if I could. I’ve been trying to explain why I can’t. The circumstances were so queer, and awful.” The thought of them, whatever they were, pinched her face like cold.

“Who told you about this alleged confession?”

“Sheriff Ostervelt did. I thought at the time he was lying, for reasons of his own. Perhaps I was rationalizing, simply because I couldn’t face the truth – I don’t know.”

Before she trailed off into further self-doubts, I said: “What reasons would he have for lying to you?”

“I can tell you one. It isn’t very modest to say it, but he’s been interested in me for quite a long time. He was always hanging around the ranch, theoretically to see the Senator, but looking for excuses to talk to me. I knew what he wanted; he was about as subtle as an old boar. The day we took Carl to the hospital, Ostervelt made it very clear, and very ugly.” She shut her eyes for a second. A faint dew had gathered on her eyelids, and at her temples. “So ugly that I’m afraid I can’t talk about it.”

“I get the general idea.”

But she went on, in a chilly trance of memory which seemed to negate the place and time: “He was to drive Carl to the hospital that morning, and naturally I wanted to go along. I wanted to be with Carl until the last possible minute before the doors closed on him. You don’t know how a woman feels when her husband’s being taken away like that, perhaps forever. I was afraid it was forever. Carl didn’t say a word on the way. For days before he’d been talking constantly, about everything under the sun – the plans he had for the ranch, our life together, philosophy, social justice, and the brotherhood of man. Suddenly it was all over. Everything was over. He sat in the car, between me and the sheriff, as still as a dead man.

“He didn’t even kiss me good-by at the admissions door. I’ll never forget what he did do. There was a little tree growing beside the steps. Carl picked one of the leaves and folded it in his hand and carried it into the hospital with him.

“I didn’t go in. I couldn’t bear to, that day, though I’ve been there often enough since. I waited outside in the sheriff’s car. I remember thinking that this was the end of the line, that nothing worse could ever happen to me. I was wrong.

“On the way back, Ostervelt began to act as if he owned me. I didn’t give him any encouragement; I never had. In fact, I told him what I thought of him.