The Bookwoman's Last Fling (19 page)

Erin sat coldly through my account that night. The police had arrived at two o'clock with the coroner's men on their heels; Baxter and I had been questioned in separate rooms; I explained why I was there and showed them my note from Sharon; I told them about my own adventure in the trunk of Cameron's car and the gun, recently fired, that I had found there. I was released after two hours with the usual polite request to keep in touch. They were still questioning Baxter as I left. I knew they weren't satisfied with his part of the story: If he had told them what I had seen or heard from him, I wouldn't be satisfied either. They would ask, for example, how he had suggested a walk and then led me almost straight to his brother's body. I hadn't told Baxter about this likelihood: the last thing I wanted was to coach the suspect, if that's what he turned out to be, but this was one of those times when I longed to be on the other side of the badge. I did take his gun away from him when he put it on the table: I picked it up carefully, put it on another table across the room, and left it to the cops to deal with when they arrived. Other than a few brief comments, we had nothing else to say until the police came.

“I didn't kill him,” he did offer at one point. “How long's he been dead do you think?”

I didn't say but I thought it could be a week on the long end.

“I've been up at Golden Gate till early this morning.”

People could verify that, he said, he was well known up there. “Besides, why would I kill him?”

Now, hours later, Erin listened to my story without a word. We ate our dinners in that awful silence, and at last I said, “Okay, if you're gonna chew me out, let's have it.”

“Would that do any good?”

“In what context?”

“Don't be dense, Janeway, it doesn't become you. I'm just very calmly asking if you'd do it again under the same circumstances, which of course you would, like a bat out of hell. I thought we had all this out months ago.
Years
ago.”

“If it makes any difference, I did bring my sword to fall on.”

“Which means nothing when push comes to shove. I predict one of these days we will have us an ugly parting over something like this.”

A scary thought. I pondered it and said, “But what would we do without each other?”

“That is the question, isn't it?”

That was indeed the question. I had once come so close to losing her that now I got edgy if she was running late in traffic, tense if she failed to call. I was nervous in all those harmless down times where before, in my old life, I had felt invincible.

“You worry way too much,” she said. “You're becoming…”

She fished for a term and I gave it to her. “A pain in the ass.”

“Thank you. I was thinking of a mother hen but your description is better.”

“So,” I said expansively; “what do you think of our little dilemma?”

“I don't think with all your scratching around you've done much to further your cause.”

“Getting brained with a poker and left for dead; finding Cameron's body—you don't count that as progress?”

“You've demonstrated again that you have an uncanny ability to stick your head in front of hard, fast-moving objects. I admit that's a nice talent, but what did you learn?”

“Somebody killed Cameron.”

“A fact that surely would have materialized anyway, but yes, you did let the brother lead you straight there, I should give you points for that. That does make the brother the top suspect. So far, however, your footwork has been lagging.”

I glared at her.

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do; your experience as a cop far outweighs mine. But forget about Cameron for a moment. Doesn't sound like anybody will miss him anyway, so, unless his death is connected to Candice somehow, what's the point?”

“I believe it is connected. It's not often that you get two unrelated murders in the same family. Rare, actually, as people like to say in the book business.”

“That's an overused term in books as well.
Where
is the connection and
how
are they connected and why? Did someone kill her, did she do it herself, or was it an accident? We still don't know these things yet. I'm sure it must have occurred to you to question some people if you have any hope of finding out what happened to that woman all those years ago, but so far the only ones you've pushed at all seem to be Sandy and that dumb guy across in the next barn.”

“There's a reason for that. Can you guess it?”

“You're reluctant to give up your undercover status.”

“That's true. Once you go public, so to speak, you can't ever change your mind and tell people to forget it, you really are just a racetracker like them.”

“Okay, but what's the harm?”

“I'm afraid if the stewards find out they'll kick me out of there. Where would I be then?”

“Hmmm,” she said. “I admit that's one argument I hadn't figured on.”

“No, but you were starting to have some great fun at my expense.”

“Would they kick you out?”

“For coming in under false pretenses? What do you think?”

“Hmmm.”

“Sandy might get in trouble as well. Now maybe you see it's more complicated being a cop than a lawyer. Especially if you're a cop without a badge.”

She ignored this dig. “What about that guy you hassled…what's his name?”

“Rudy.”

“Yeah. Won't he tell?”

“Rudy can't tell time without help. He has no clue who I am.”

“But he knows you're somebody now.”

“You give him way too much credit. I don't worry much about a guy who struts around and then, when some inevitable showdown happens, hasn't got the balls, pardon me, to back it up. I doubt if he's had a real thought in thirty years. His act is his whole life.”

We sat for a while in a ponder-mode, saying nothing.

“Hmmm,” she said. “Want some dessert?”

“No thanks, but you go ahead.” I looked at her with admiration. “You burn calories like other people breathe and you never gain a pound.”

She smiled sweetly and ordered a piece of lethal-looking chocolate swirl cheesecake.

“So,” she said. “This does make it difficult. This will require some deep thought.”

We thought deeply, but in the end she said, “You can't just keep coasting. At some point you'll have to take a chance and shake things up.”

Of course I knew that. Meanwhile I asked how Blakely was and her face lit up.

“Incredible library, fascinating stuff; what can I say? Your friend Carroll Shaw was cool, too. But you know all that.”

“Actually I've never been up there. I've always done business with them by telephone.”

“Do yourself a favor and stop on your way back to Denver. You could spend days and never see a fraction of what they've got.”

I asked about Carroll and she said, “Nice man. Spread a little thin when I dropped in on him out of the blue so he had an assistant show me around. He did say hi to you.”

She had picked up an artist's drawing of the new library, which would break ground next year and be finished in 1998. A pamphlet integrated its mission statement with drawings of the various rooms and listed its current officers and benefactors. Lots of old money, plenty of public spirit. I recognized many high-class horse owners among the board of directors: Gallaghers, McWilliamses, Adamses, Wentworths, and in fact Sandy's friend Barbara Patterson was on the board.

“There's a woman who gets around,” I said.

“Good to have a busy life.” She pushed her dish across the table. “Last bite of the cheesecake.”

I shook my head and she ate it.

Later, as we prepared to call it a night I said, “You wouldn't leave me.”

“Not till the pain really outweighs the joy.”

Baxter Geiger had his horses stabled in Barn 14, a few rows over from my tack room. He had already arrived when I walked into his shedrow at quarter to four the next morning, a solitary figure standing in an open tack room drinking coffee from an old porcelain mug. I could hear his ginneys stirring about in the other rooms: I heard an alarm clock ring and a radio softly playing elevator music nearby. Bax stood like a statue and watched me come to him. I came up close and said good morning and he grunted out a response. “Thought they threw you in the clink,” he said.

“Is that what they told you?”

“They didn't tell me anything. But you weren't there when I came out.”

“And you had me figured for Cameron's killer.”

“Just like you figured me.”

“I try not to jump to conclusions like that, Bax. If you do, it leaves you with egg on your face when the truth comes out.”

“I told you I didn't kill him. But you didn't believe me.”

“Didn't believe or not believe. I had just met you, what did I know? But you don't seem too broken up about it.”

“Cameron's a hard guy to mourn, even for a brother. So what do you know now?”

“Not much more. I was wondering if we could have a little talk.”

“Got to be after work this morning. This rain's played hell with my schedule.”

“You say when.”

“Come back around noon, I'll talk to you then.”

I crossed over to Sandy's barn and began the morning's work. Again he was moody and tense. He was short with his ginneys and the bug boy but said nothing to me. I heard him raise his voice as I walked Erica's Eyes down the shedrow: “Jesus, Obie, hold him still; can't you even keep his head straight?” I turned my horse into her stall and hugged her head, then started another walk. The tow ring had dried considerably and we were able to walk in the sunshine as the morning spread its glory over the backstretch and on across the bay. It was a crisp cold autumn day. Sandy took ten horses to the track, six to gallop and four to work. This made the morning busy for his hands. I walked without letup, around and around, yet my mind was full and I never got tired or bored. The horses were alert and feisty, they kept me on my toes, and so the hours passed.

At the end of the morning Sandy came up to me and said, “Let's talk.” We went into the tack room and he closed the door. “How's it going?” he said.

“Slow.”

“You got anything solid yet?”

I shook my head.

“I heard you found Cameron yesterday.”

“Yeah, Bax was with me.”

“Well, I wouldn't mind having a progress report now and then.”

“What kind of report do you want, Sandy? I haven't even had time to call Sharon yet.” I looked at him, expecting the worst. “She is my client, after all.”

His face boiled over with anger. “I
know
who she is. I shouldn't have to remind you that you are here in the first place as a personal favor to her.”

I nodded, warily, but I hoped pleasantly. He said, neither warily nor pleasantly, “So from now on I want to be kept better informed about what's going on.”

“Sounds like you're already pretty well informed.”

“Goddammit, Janeway, don't play games with me. Everybody on this racetrack knew what had happened before I got here this morning.”

“I'm sorry about that. But surely you don't expect me to chase you down every time something happens, just so you can hear it first.”

“I expect you to use a little courtesy and respect. Is that too much to ask?”

“I don't know, it might be. Depends on what it means.”

A long thirty seconds passed. He held his ground and I could see he was trembling mad. He got up from the saddle trunk, walked to the door, and turned to me. He said, “I'd like you to wind this up as soon as possible.”

I smiled, the soul of reason. “So would I.”

“So I'm
asking
you how long this is gonna take.”

“And I'd tell you if I knew. I can't even guess at the moment.”

He opened the door and the shedrow stretched away into the distance. I saw Obie and Bob watering their horses. Wisely, they didn't look up, but Pompeii Ruler was curious as usual. Sandy hovered in the doorway as if he couldn't make up his mind what to do. Finally he said, “I want this done with by early next week.”

“A week seems to be everybody's time frame,” I said. First Junior wants me gone in a week; now you.” He walked away without another word.

I tried Sharon from the pay phone in the kitchen and got her on the first ring. We talked about Cameron. Like Baxter, she was finding it difficult to care.

“But something ought to be done for him,” she said. “He's their brother, for God's sake. They'd be just as happy if he was thrown in some potter's field in an unmarked grave.”

She would have him cremated, and the ashes buried up in Idaho.

“How are you doing?” she said.

“Not as well as I'd like. If Cameron stole those books, only his killer knows for sure.”

“You still think Mamma's death is tied to the books.”

“Yeah, I do. Just don't ask me to prove that in a court of law.” I took a deep breath. “Your friend Sandy is getting impatient.”

“Would it do any good if I talked to him again?”

“I don't know. What would you say?”

“Ask him to give you some more slack.”

“Let's play it by ear for now. If he actually runs me out of here, I'll let you know.”

“Then what?”

“Then I've got to drop back and punt,” I said, but in fact I didn't know what. I had never worked like this before. All the people I needed to see were in a closed, protected environment where I had no official standing. I was here by permission that could be revoked at any time. I had already offended some of them and would probably offend the others the first time I asked a question. No one had to talk to me about anything. “I don't know whether to walk on eggs or come out swinging.”

“Follow your heart. Whatever you do, it'll be fine.”

“That ain't necessarily so, Sharon. But I'm going to see Baxter in a little while. What else is happening up there?”

“I'm playing telephone tag with your friend Carroll. He wants to come out here in a few weeks and see my books. You do think I should do that?”

“I think he's worth knowing even if you never sell or donate them. Sometime I'll show you that bibliography he wrote. Incredible piece of work.”

“It would be nice if you could be here. December tenth was mentioned.”

I wrote it down but I had no idea where I'd be then. Almost as an afterthought, she said, “By the way, Junior knows where you are. He got a call from some California policeman, asking questions. They talked to me as well.”

“What'd they ask?”

“Questions about you, a few about Bax. Mainly they wanted to verify where you'd come from and what you were doing.”

“How are you getting along with the junior one?”

“He never gives me any grief. Yesterday he actually appealed to my sense of reason. He and Damon want to come out to Santa Anita and bring HR's horses. So if you go that way you'll see them there before too much longer.”

I wondered again if they could just do that on their own.

“Unless I raise a fuss, who's gonna stop them?” Sharon said. “Even if I do, my lawyer tells me they'd probably win. Junior's the manager. He'll argue that this is in the estate's best interest. These horses have a definite racing life span, two years, maybe three, and if any of 'em do well their value could go up enormously. So theoretically at least, the clock is ticking.”

“Try to talk to Junior before he comes. Tell him if he screws up what I'm doing it'll work against him in the long run.”

“What do I tell him if he asks what you're doing?”

“Tell him nothing.”

“He won't like that.”

“Then I guess you'll have to get tough with him.”

 

Bax took a long drag on his smoke. “All I can do is tell you what I told the cops. Hell, I don't know what happened to Cameron. But yeah, I'm sure I looked guilty as hell.”

“You look better today,” I said.

“I am better. But before you walked in on me yesterday, I had been down to the cut.”

“So you found the body before I ever got there.”

“Christ, I'll never forget it. I've never seen anything like that. I was shocked. I mean listen, there hasn't been any real love lost between Cameron and me for twenty years. But seeing him there in the water with his head blown open…and those worms eating his brains out…”

He shivered. “I couldn't move for five minutes; couldn't move, couldn't look at it. Then I turned and ran like hell. Man, I'm telling you, I never ran like that. Thought I was gonna drop dead myself.”

We had walked up to the backstretch rail to talk in private. He leaned on the rail and lit another thin black cigar. “Then I got to the house and I just…froze again. I could barely breathe when I thought about it. You ever see a dead man?”

“I was a homicide cop,” I said with a dry little laugh.

“You would have then, wouldn't you?”

“Once or twice.”

“I never have. Somehow the thought of death has always made me squeamish. I have a helluva time putting a sick horse down, gotta get the doc to do it. I hated being Candice's pallbearer, and I didn't even go over for the old man's funeral. Didn't want to see him, all waxy like that.” He blew a cloud of smoke. “Cameron was the first I ever saw.”

“It gets easier after the first dozen. You close your mind and just do the job.”

“I can't imagine. I don't know how anybody does a job like that.” He put his head down and said, “Whoever did that to Cameron never meant for him to get up, did they?”

“Doesn't look like it.”

He shook his head. “You ever know anybody like me?”

“Sure,” I said. “It's the fear of death. I believe it's called thana-phobia.”

“You mean I'm not the only one?”

“Not hardly.”

“I used to go shooting with Cameron, but that was all for show. I never shot anything. Cameron used to say I was the lousiest shot in the U.S. of A.”

“Where'd you get the handgun you had out at the farm?”

“It was the old man's. I remembered where he kept it; it was still there. Just for show, like all that other shit I did. It wasn't loaded.”

We stared out across the racetrack at the grandstand. “Now you know my secret,” he said. “Nobody else knows. I've been ashamed of it all my life.”

“Now you'll have to kill me,” I said, and we both laughed.

We stood there in the warming day and I watched the early birds beginning to fill up the lower grandstand. “You feel up to a few questions now?”

“I guess.” He shrugged. “But I might as well tell you right off, I don't know anything. Whatever Cameron was doing down there is anybody's guess.”

“What's your guess? You must've had some reason to go down there.”

“I knew he stayed there sometimes. Where the hell else would he be? He wasn't about to spend money on motels, even if he had it to spend.”

“So you went down there because you couldn't think of anywhere else.”

“That's about the size of it.”

“Were you worried about him?”

“When he just disappears like that, hell, a brother's got to do something about it, even if the brother's Cameron.”

“But you never expected foul play?”

“I thought I'd find him there, counting his money from some big score.”

“You just lost me.” I cocked my head. “Run that by me again.”

“Cameron always lands on his feet. You think he's down and out and up he comes with some money.”

“That's a nice talent. How does he do it?”

“Don't ask me. I just know he does.”

I fired a shot into far left field. “Maybe he still had access to the books.”

“I'm afraid you just lost me, pardner.”

“That's all right, I'm just trolling. You talked to his friend Rudy?”

“He's an idiot. Cameron's always got some moron like that hanging around, picking up his mess. Rudy's got no idea what Cameron went to do or why.”

“You told the cops this?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And you yourself have no idea. Not even a wild-hair notion?”

“Nope.”