Francis Nevins - Night and Fear

“It’s me,” I said. “I forgot something,” when he flashed his torch at my face.

“Yes sir, Captain Endicott,” he said, and quickly cut it off again.

I went up the walk to the porch, took out the key, unlocked and put the lights on. He stayed out on the sidewalk, since I hadn’t told him to come in with me. I went through into the kitchen, lit that, eased the door shut after me.

I picked up the glass, the one with the rouge-smear on its rim, and looked at it. They’d missed it. They hadn’t dusted it. It was one of those flukes. If it stayed here they’d be bound to discover the oversight. Nothing could be done about the prints they had already, and they had plenty, but something could be done about this. I tilted it slowly, hypnotizedly, emptied the stale contents down the sink. Then I stuffed it in my pocket, not caring whether it bulged or not. Then I put out the lights, locked up, and came out again.

“Did you get it, Cap?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I got it.”

He called after me, “G’night, Cap,” as I moved down the street.

“Good night, officer,” I said.

I took out the glass and smashed it against the curb, on a quiet corner near my own place. Shoveled the fragments down into the mouth of a sewer with the edge of my foot.

They’d both gone to bed long ago. I spent a long time in the kitchen with a piece of rag, scouring my gun. The ashes still glowed red underneath the white linen when I lifted the stove-lid. The handkerchief went right away, with a flare of yellow; the heel, leather-covered wood, more slowly, burning down to a char. A heel, a handkerchief, a highball glass.

Maggie had left a bottle of beer and two slices of rye on the table for me, like other nights. But I couldn’t touch it.

I eased open the door of their room, peered in. There was no light behind me but enough in there coming through the window to see them by. Maggie was asleep with her mouth open. She wasn’t. She was lying perfectly still, but I could tell she was awake. She had her face turned toward the wall, and her two hands were up hiding it, and she was crying into them without making a sound. I could tell by the way her shoulders kept shaking a little. It had been going on so long, it was mostly reflex by now.

When daylight came I was still sitting on the edge of my bed holding onto the back of my neck with both hands, staring... staring at nothing that anyone else could have seen.

You’d think hope would have been all gone, but it wouldn’t die. It flickered up weaker each time, but somehow it still was there.

She sneezed at the breakfast table and blew her nose on one of those handkerchiefs, a pink one with a rabbit’s head on the corner. I said, “Where do you get those handkerchiefs?”

“Kringle’s. They come by the set, a half-dozen for a dollar.”

“You can’t buy them separate?”

“Yes, but you’ve got to buy them six at a time to get that price. All the girls are going in for them.”

All the girls — anyone at all could buy them. But honeysuckle, chocolate—

I said, “Did you take your shoe over to have it repaired?”

“Yes, last night, after you left.”

It flickered up again. Maybe she had the heel. Maybe... “How much is he going to charge you?”

“A dollar,” she said. She looked down at her plate and closed her eyes. “I lost the heel. He’s got to make me a new one. It fell down in that conduit where the trolley transmission-cable is laid.”

I said, “Where — what were you doing at six yesterday, what kept you out that long?” Trying to make my voice sound kindly, casual.

“I was having a soda at Gruntley’s...” She suddenly threw her hands over her ears. “Don’t! Don’t ask me, any more questions! I can’t stand it!” She got up and ran out, with a stricken look.

Maggie started to lace it into me. “What are you trying to do, practice up for your duties on her? The poor child didn’t sleep a wink all night!”

She pulled herself together in about five minutes, came out again, picked up her books, went past me into the hall. I said “Jenny,” got up and went out there after her. She was standing by the clothes-tree, getting her jacket. I said, “Don’t — wear that leather jacket any more, leave it here where it was.”

She didn’t ask me why not. I noticed that; as though she didn’t have to be told. I reached out and took the knitted cap off her head too. I let them both drop on the floor behind me. “Don’t go out in these things any more,” I said helplessly.

I half-stretched my arms out toward her, dropping them again. I said huskily, “Isn’t there... is there anything you want to tell me? You can tell me anything. Is there — any way you want me to help you?”

She just gave me a stricken look, turned and ran out with a sort of choked sob.

I went over to the window and stood there looking out after her. I watched her go down the street. A minute later a car came drifting along — very slowly, at a snail’s pace. It was going the same way she was. There was just a young guy in it, a sleek-looking young guy with a mustache. It was hard to tell exactly how old he was. He was inching along so slowly, you had an impression he was stalking somebody. If I’d seen him try to close in on her, I would have rushed out. But he didn’t, just kept his distance, creeping along so slow the spokes of his wheels didn’t even blur. I grabbed out my notebook and jotted down his license number.

I opened the bureau drawer where she kept her things and looked into the box of handkerchiefs. There were three left in it, two whites and a pink. The lid said they came two to each color. She’d taken one pink with her just now. The blue I’d seen between her books yesterday was in the laundry-bag. It was the only one in it. One blue was missing entirely.

I stopped in at Gruntley’s on my way to the precinct-house. I said to the soda-jerker, “Do you know my daughter, son?” When he nodded, I went on. “What, was that sweet stuff you gave her last night just before supper-time? It came near ruining her appetite.”

He looked surprised. “She didn’t come in here last night, sir. First time in weeks, too. I had her special kind of a sundae all made up waiting for her, but she didn’t show up. Had to finish it off myself.”

I started off with the usual, “Do you know of any reason why your husband should have been killed?” Holmes had already established Mrs. Trinker’s alibi, she hadn’t budged from her sister’s house in Mapledale for two whole days.

“No, Captain,” she said dully, “I don’t.”

This was only beating around the bush, and we both knew it. “Were there any other women in his life?” I blurted out.

“Yes,” she said mournfully, “I’m afraid there were.”

“He was killed by a woman, you know.”

“I was afraid of that,” she admitted.

“Can you tell me who they were?”

“I tried — not to find out,” was her answer. “I did my best not to know.”

“You want to see justice done, don’t you? Then you’ve got to help me.”

“Several times there were folders of matches in his pocket, from that road-house out at Beechwood, the Beechwood Inn. I never went with him there. I suppose somebody else may have.” She smiled a little. What a smile! “I tried not to look, I tried not to find things like that. I kept my eyes closed. That’s something to be grateful for: I don’t have to try — not to know — any more.”

She was a fine character. That didn’t make things any easier all around, either...

I had Jordan go out to the Beechwood Inn and lay the groundwork. “Find out just who the interest was out there, who he was seen with. When you’ve got that, call me for further instructions before you tip your hand.”