We got back to Grey's office at around midnight. I was going to give Tommy his body back after I made a call. For the first time in a long time, I actually wanted out. I didn't desire any more of the physical world. I wanted the peace my intangible state gave me. No more pain, no more murder and fire. I sat behind the desk, again noticed the crushed glass sound coming from the cushions then dialed Mrs. Alan Cotton, 333 Sea Heights.
"Good evening," I heard the butler answer. His voice had its characteristic pissed and snotty edge to it.
"Hello, Edward. Sorry to call so late. It's Wildclown. I'd like to talk to Mrs. Cotton." I lit my final cigarette of the possession.
"It is very late. May I take a message?"
"Edward, you're not doing your job again. Mrs. Cotton told me to call day or night."
"Mrs. Cotton is entertaining."
"You know, Edward, I found her a lot of fun myself."
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Wildclown, she has company." He cleared his throat.
"It's important."
"But Mr. Wildclown, the time…" Suddenly I heard a voice in the background, muffled at first then rising with intensity accompanied by the squeaky handclasps of a wrestle over the phone.
"Oh, for God's sake, Edward, let me talk to him." A pause. "Mr. Wildclown?"
"Mrs. Cotton. I'm sorry to call so late."
"That's quite all right. Edward and I were playing a little canasta. He keeps me busy that way."
"That's fine by me, Mrs. Cotton. There's nothing I like more than a little canasta before bed. To calm my nerves."
She was silent for a moment, looking for affront. "What is it, Mr. Wildclown?"
"I just wanted to give you a report, and ask you a few questions."
"This couldn't wait until morning?"
"It's important. I want you to know how you're spending your money." She had already given me a package containing a post-dated check for the first two weeks.
"Very well, Mr. Wildclown." Her tone was beginning to gain a level of interest.
"I believe I know who killed your husband, and why. I'm not going to name any names yet, because I'm not positive. You'll be the first to know when I've finished checking a few things out." I paused for a deep drag of smoke. "May I ask you a personal question?"
"If it will help."
"Did you and Alan have any kids before the Change?"
"No, we tried, but were unsuccessful. It seems my, well, this is personal. I simply wasn't able. It hurt Alan a great deal, but he seemed to adapt to it. In fact, he even froze some of his, well…"
"I know, carry on." I did know, and I didn't feel like hearing it.
"Anyway, he froze some so that he could have a child with me, if there were some medical breakthrough or in the event something happened to him, an injury, whatever. Anyway, I always thought he began his work with genetics in an attempt to solve the problem." She paused. Then her voice honked. "What does this have to do with Alan's death?"
"A great deal. Tell me, Mrs. Cotton. You and your husband. Were you getting along, before he died."
"I'm not sure what you mean."
I hated coyness. "Were you playing canasta with Mr. Cotton, before bed."
"Mr. Wildclown!"
"Please, Mrs. Cotton. It is late. I am obviously in a foul mood. Were you and Mr. Cotton?"
"No, no. We hadn't been together as husband and wife for years before his death." I heard a barely suppressed sob. "He was always away with his work, and he just didn't seem interested in me any more."
"I wonder-have you called Authority again? Have they called you?"
"Why, no."
"Well expect a call. I believe I saw Mr. Cotton's lab, or what I was expected to believe was his lab. It all looks very convincing." I paused. "They'll probably offer the grieving widow a look now."
"Was there a fire?" Her voice was tired.
"Yes, and no. I have the feeling I saw the setting for an act in a play that got rewritten along the way. There's no point to going into that now. I'll fill you in later. Thank you, Mrs. Cotton. I'm sorry to disturb you." I listened to muffled honking noises. "I'll keep you informed."
Suddenly Edward's voice came on the line. "Mr. Wildclown. I must ask you to make your calls earlier in the day. Mrs. Cotton is still fragile from her husband's death."
"Sure Edward. But an emergency is an emergency. I hope I didn't spoil the mood."
He slammed the phone down. So that was why the butler was so protective of the Cotton manor. He was lord of it. Now, for sleep. Elmo was in the outer office reading old magazines. A brown-bagged bottle of whiskey was twisted up in front of him. "Come on, Fatso. We can't stay here. I need sleep. But not here." I knew that I needed one more day to solve this case, and I wouldn't get it if I were caught napping. I knew that my time had run out. "Let's go for a drive, Elmo. You and I should find a place to hole up."