FIRE AND FOG (25 page)

I went out for a spin anyway, putting aside a twinge of
unhappiness. As I have so often observed, Michael's ways are
mysterious and to try to fathom them is usually a waste of
time.

Another day passed. I got stronger and more curious. Michael
still did not come, nor had I seen Anson for two days. I drove by
Mickey's Kitchen, intending to inquire if he had found me a
place-not that I had any real hope in that direction-but he was not
there. The surly woman was there instead, so I drove on by.

I needed distraction. I begged a folding card table from a nurse
and dragged it behind me to my tent, where I set it up outside with
my typewriter upon it and my fremont jones typewriting services
sign propped in front. Within an hour I was typing letters as
people dictated them to me. I did not take any pay for my services.
In the camp at Golden Gate Park we gave to one another freely, that
was the way of it, and I wished it could be possible always to live
thus.

On the fifth day after my accident I was very restless indeed. I
wanted to see Michael, if he was still in town. I wanted my pistol
back. Anson was quite getting on my nerves with his solicitousness,
which was of a degree that seemed more than professional. Though I
had plenty of typing business-in fact, if I had been charging I
would have done very well-it did not hold my attention. My thoughts
began to stray in a discomfiting direction, toward the mysteries
I'd left unsolved in the house on Haight Street.

I had an idea what Alice had done with her aunt; and if, as I
suspected, it was Alice herself who had cleaned out all the records
one might expect to find in any house, I thought I knew what she
had done with them, too. One thing often leads to another;
therefore, if I could find the aunt's body and the records, I might
have a clue or two as to who had killed Alice. Who knew, I might
even find Alice's body, and then, perhaps, I could set about
clearing my reputation with the police.

I am by nature much concerned with the concept of justice, and
to my way of thinking, there had been a lot of injustices
perpetrated recently that in one way or another involved me. My
reputation with the police was the least of them, though Sergeant
Franks's attitude still rankled. There was the business of the
Sorensons and all the contraband, now disappeared-I had given up on
that, except for a nagging feeling that I should get rid of the
blue jewel in a beneficent manner, if I could ever figure out how.
Then there was Alice, about whom I still felt guilt no matter how
hard I tried not to, no matter if she had poisoned her aunt. And
finally there was the aunt herself, Gertrude Lasley, whom I had
never known but whose nightcap I still had in my possession,
burning a hole in my suitcase as it were. Yes, I should certainly
like to see some justice done!

By the dinner hour I had convinced myself that I must return to
Alice's house under cover of night. I was quite excited, and in a
positive frame of mind; in other words, I was more myself than I
had been in some time. As I worked out the details of my plan, the
location of my tent so near the trees seemed, for the first time,
fortuitous. In the twilight I moved Max to a side street that I
could reach by walking (or rather, sneaking) through the wood. It
would have been best if I could have walked to Haight Street, which
after all was not far, but my still healing ankle could not take
it.

Waiting was difficult. Time after time I peered out from my tent
flap only to find lights still burning in nearby tents. I kept
checking my pocket watch, the one Bartlett had given me eons ago,
chafing at the delay as minutes and then hours went by. Finally,
with all but two tents dark, I judged it was time to dress.

First I bound my ankle twice over, flexing my leg to be sure the
binding was neither too loose nor too tight. Then, with loving
care, I removed the black silk outfit Meiling had given me from the
tissue paper in which I'd stored it. The trousers glided over my
nether limbs like a silken second skin; likewise, the tunic
slithered sleekly down my body. I would not bother to hide these
exotic garments under my aubergine cape tonight; if I performed as
well as I intended, I would not be seen. I tucked Alice's keys,
with Max's key attached, into the waistband of my trousers. I blew
out the lamp, and in darkness, by feel, wrapped the black scarf
around my face so that only my eyes showed. There! I had once more
transformed myself into a dangerous Ninja. Suppressing a giggle, I
stole out into the black night.

I parked on Belvedere, a block away from Alice's house, and
flitted from the auto like a silent shadow. There was no fog
tonight but also no moon. For a moment I wished we were still
without electricity so that there would be no streetlights, but
only for a moment, because I would not have gone back to the
discomforts of those post-earthquake weeks for anything.

I approached Alice's house from the rear, as it faced onto
Haight. I wished I could run but could not on account of my ankle;
what I lacked in speed I had to make up in stealth. Slowly,
stealthily, I crept across the yard until I reached the garden
shed. Equally stealthily, I opened its door. The shed was old, not
used much anymore, and the door hinges creaked-not a loud creak,
but it might as well have been the crack of a rifle for the effect
it had on my heart.

I waited, breathing shallowly through the silk scarf, blood
pounding in my ears. The creaking door had not attracted any
attention. I slipped into the shed. What I wanted here was to
ascertain that the various poisons I had previously seen were still
in place on the shelves.

Owing to the darkness of the interior, I could see nothing. It
was black as pitch in here. I took a step forward and my shinbone
collided with something hard-I almost cried out, for though I
hadn't hit my ankle it was the same leg. My ankle made its
objections known in a literally nauseating manner. I should have
known better than to come on this expedition without a lantern. I
sighed, which sounded rather eerie in the small enclosed space, and
felt behind me for the door. I could do nothing in this darkness, I
might as well proceed to the house.

Carefully, carefully I pushed open the door and felt quite
satisfied with myself when I edged through sideways without a
single creak. Sometimes it is advantageous to be slim.

My self-satisfaction did not last long. No sooner was I all the
way out of the shed than an arm came from out of nowhere around my
neck. I could not even cry out, though I tried. Someone was
strangling me!

15.

A Fire in the Heart

He was very strong. One of Alice's murderers had me, I was sure
of it, and I was done for. I squirmed and kicked and flailed my
arms about and all the while my windpipe was being crushed.
Better crushed than slit,
I thought, kicking harder. The
next thing I knew, he had flung me to the ground, pinning me down
with a knee in my stomach. The dastardly creature brought his face
inches from mine as he ripped off my scarf.

I said, "Michael!" while he said, "Fremont!" and then we both
said in unison, "What the
hell
do you think you're
doing?"

I laughed (rather more hysterically than I might have wished),
until Michael said, "Hush! We don't want anyone to hear us," and
put his hand over my mouth. Whereupon I bit him, not very hard.

"You are a devilish creature," he hissed, pulling me to my
feet.

"So are you," I said.

He drew me over to the steps where we were in shadow, and gave
me a quick up-and-down glance. "Where did you get those clothes? I
thought you were a Ninja, even though we have never had the Ninja
in San Francisco as far as I know."

"I suppose you have encountered Ninjas in your Japanese
escapades?"

"Not firsthand," he said evasively. "Looking more closely, I see
your costume only superficially resembles that of a Ninja. Your
garments are not Japanese but Chinese. They are Meiling's, is that
it? You and she have been up to something?"

"You have it right in one, Watson. Congratulations. Now, why
don't you tell me what you're doing here?"

"I am watching this house. What are
you
doing here?
Damnation! I've just remembered your injury." He touched my leg
lightly. "How is your ankle? Did I hurt you, Fremont, was I too
rough?"

Involuntarily I rubbed my throat, which was a little sore. "I
shall live, though I confess the opposite thought did enter my mind
for a few seconds."

Michael wrapped both his arms around me and pressed my head to
his chest, murmuring near my ear, "I'm so very sorry. I would not
hurt you for all the world, Fremont Jones."

It was quite worth a little scare to be able to stand within his
arms and hear his heart beating beneath my cheek. His mouth brushed
my ear. But just as I felt a desire to snuggle, indeed to purr like
a cat, he dropped his arms and moved away, saying, "I beg your
pardon. Momentarily, I forgot. Please forgive me. Now, I will take
you home. Are you still in the park?"

"Michael!" I said loudly. Previously we had talked in a near
whisper.

Predictably he shushed me.

"I am not going back to the park," I said sotto voce, "I'm going
to do what I came for, and as long as you're here you may as well
help. I suggest we go inside and I'll explain. And may I remind
you, you owe me an explanation or two." Or three, or four, but who
was counting?

"I won't pretend that I have never broken into a building, but
in this case I would rather not."

"You don't have to. I have the keys."

We went up the back steps. Michael said, "Sometimes, Holmes, you
amaze me."

"Elementary, my dear Watson." I unlocked the door.

The house had already acquired a musty, lifeless smell, though I
had been gone from it less than a week. I had drawn all the shades
before leaving, so I did not have to do that, but I preferred
anyway not to turn on the electric lights.

"Wait here," I said. "The kitchen is as good a place as any to
talk, but I want to fetch an oil lamp."

"Any sort of light will attract attention. We can talk in the
dark. I rather like talking to you in the dark."

I forbore to inquire what he meant by that. "If I am correct, it
probably will not matter if we turn on every light in the house,
but still I would rather not. Anyway I cannot do what I came here
to do without some kind of illumination, so as I said: wait
here."

"I'm coming with you."

Really!
I strode out into the hall, observing that there
was a strange feeling in returning to a place where one has lived
when it is empty of habitation, even if one had not particularly
enjoyed one's time there. I went on through to the rooms that had
been mine, because the lamp that I kept on the desk was relatively
light and easy to carry.

Michael was a cool character, I gave him that. He said not a
word, made not a single sound at the mess in the rooms I'd
occupied: pictures pulled off the walls, desk drawers thrown on the
floor, and so on. As for me, my stomach fell down to the vicinity
of my feet, which was ridiculous considering that I had expected no
less. The handmade relocation sign I'd stuck in the window had been
pulled down and torn to pieces-and somehow that bothered me most of
all. However, the lamp was not broken. I lit it with a slightly
shaking hand, forgetting that I was making a spectacle of myself in
the curtainless bay window.

Michael was more alert. He put his arm around my waist and
walked me backward into the hall. I turned, holding the lamp high.
The poor Monstrosity had its mirror cracked and its drawers pulled
out and their hapless contents scattered around . . . which was
nothing compared to the parlor. That fussy furniture was not my
style, nevertheless I could not help feeling sorry for the chairs
and the camel-back sofa with their stuffing ripped out. The panel
door in the tall-case clock stood open; the wretched beasts had
yanked its chains out, and its pendulum was nowhere to be seen.

I mused, "I wonder what they thought they might find in the
clock?"

"None of this is a surprise to you, is it, Holmes?"

"I'm afraid not."

Michael started up the stairs, but I called him back. "There is
no need to go up there. We will only find more of the same."

"The woman who lives here-I understand she is a friend of
yours-she may be there, she may be hurt. If not worse."

"Michael, the worst has already happened. Come into the kitchen
and I will tell you everything."

We sat at the kitchen table and I told him all I knew about the
occupants of this unfortunate house. Actually it did not take much
time in the telling, for there were more questions than facts.
Michael rubbed thoughtfully at the sides of his chin, in the way
that he used to rub the silver streaks in his beard.

"It seems you have a talent for making connections with odd
people," he said. "I wonder how you do it."

"Probably that is what attracted me to you."

He grinned. "What now? How do you wish to proceed?"

"I'll tell you, but first I would like to know why you were
watching this house, and how you knew that Alice was my friend-if
one could call her that."

"I had a letter from Meiling, forwarded to me from Monterey. I
received it today. She told me about the dead things left on the
doorstep here. That continued to bother her, and she was concerned
about you. I knew, of course, that you were no longer living here
but thought it would be wise to do a little surveillance. I was too
late, obviously. I'm glad you got out before this happened."

"So am I." I thought for a moment. "You know, Michael, I think
it's quite possible that whoever did this deliberately waited until
I was gone."

"Do you have any idea at all who is responsible?"