It wasn’t until I was back in my own home that I remembered the wheel tracks going into the culvert. I was bone tired, too tired to think about it further, let alone try to decide whether I should do something about the tracks. I soaked in the tub for half an hour and ate a bowl of canned chicken soup. It wasn’t anything like as good as Mrs. Aguilar’s, but it was what I had.
I was drifting off to an early sleep when Deputy Protheroe called me back. I tried to rise to her level of energy as she explained what she’d done. The guard at the entrance to Anodyne Park couldn’t possibly identify my intruder: too many people came in all day, either making deliveries or visiting families, for him to recognize anyone from my vague description.
She added, almost casually, “You didn’t bust the lock on that desk, did you, during your look-around?”
“Deputy, if I’d gone into that desk, you wouldn’t know about it. You got a crime scene team doing prints and so on?”
“The Anodyne management doesn’t like a big police presence-it lowers morale and leads to lawsuits.” She gave a dry laugh. “But just to keep you from calling six times an hour, I did take the glass into our lab.”
“And you’ll let me know what they tell you? Just to keep me from calling you six times an hour?”
“You never know: I might even do that.”
When she’d hung up, I went back to bed, but I’d woken up too much and couldn’t relax. It was still early, only nine. I phoned Amy Blount to see if she’d had any luck either at T-Square, or from Mare’s other neighbors. Unfortunately, the nursing mother was the only person who’d been up in the middle of the night, or at least the only one who’d seen any sign of activity at Mare’s house.
“When I asked who used to visit him, the kids thought I was some jealous girlfriend trying to stake him out-they could remember seeing me come out of Mare’s house, but not anyone else. They began creating a scenario where I had murdered him. It made me laugh, and then it made me cry-I can’t believe how lonely he must have felt, and I can’t believe he’s dead.”
“Yeah. Investigation sometimes feels like a game, until you remember a person died who was important to their friends and family… What about Mare’s editor-Simon Hendricks?”
“Umh. Cold fish. He had to talk to us, because Harriet was there. We started the way you suggested, with Mare’s assistant Aretha, but she didn’t think there was anything specific to the tension between him and Hendricks beyond professional insecurity. Marc had a contract for a book about Kylie Ballantine-we found that in his desk drawer at the office. Aretha said Hendricks was furious about that because he-Hendricks-had been trying for five years to sell a book about Martin Luther King’s summer in Chicago.”
“So why did Marc tell him about his own book contract?” “Had to-terms of employment.”
“Do you think Hendricks was bitter or jealous enough to kill Marc over it?”
She thought it over. “I’m no expert on why people kill each other. But-well, why would Hendricks lure Marc all the way out to that pond?” “There is that,” I admitted. “What about Mare’s cellmate, Jason Tompkin? Did you get him to say anything about the company relations with Bayard?”
“He runs his mouth so much it’s hard to know whether to trust anything he says. For what it’s worth, the company policy is not to discuss work in progress with anyone outside Llewellyn Publishing. However, he says that
Hendricks really stresses it in relation to Bayard Publishing. J.T. says that comes down from Llewellyn, that there’s some kind of bad blood between Calvin Bayard and Augustus Llewellyn, nobody knows what, but he, J.T., thinks it’s because Llewellyn took money from Bayard to start up T-Square, and Bayard acted patronizing-like Llewellyn was proof of what a goodhearted liberal Bayard was. But here’s something really weird: according to J.T, Hendricks and Marc had a big blowup last week because Marc tried seeing Llewellyn in person.”
I was astounded: you don’t survive corporate life by trying to see the company owner behind your boss’s back. “What was that about?”
“No one knows. Maybe Marc wanted to persuade Mr. Llewellyn to relax the company’s policy on talking to Bayard because Bayard was part of the Kylie Ballantine story”
“So if Marc had wanted to talk to Bayard, he’d definitely have done it quietly,” I said. “I found out today that Marc went out to New Solway at least twice, and the first time wasn’t to see Bayard, but Olin Taverner.”
I told her the odd things I’d learned about Olin Taverner’s death, and the man who’d broken into Taverner’s apartment. “I’d give a month’s pay with chocolate sauce to know what was in Taverner’s papers. Marc didn’t say anything to Aretha Cummings, did he?”
“Not that she reported to us,” Amy said. “And you know, that was a big story, an old man opening a locked drawer, showing off his secret papers. If Marc had mentioned it, I think she would have said, even if he swore her to secrecy, although I can call her again in the morning to double-check.”
“Right.” I made a note. “We need the notes Marc took at Taverner’s last Thursday night. Or we need the connection between Taverner and Kylie Ballantine-although I’m assuming it’s something to do with the blacklist. Maybe she was hauled before HUAC, even though it isn’t mentioned in any of her papers down at the Harsh Collection.”
“I can go to the university library tomorrow,” Amy offered. “All those hearings are on microfiche. I did try with Hendricks to see if he might have any of Marc’s notes-I could sort of see him going to Marc’s desk and helping himself when the news came in Marc had died-in case there was something he could either use, or needed to cover up. He definitely was jealous of Marc’s success. So was Jason Tompkin. Tompkin thinks Marc
flew solo too much because he wanted glory. His theory is Marc got hold of something dangerous, but all he saw was the prize he’d get for scooping the world, so he didn’t tell anyone. I-don’t like that idea. Someone like this J.T. would make Marc retreat into his shell, but not out of-of jealousy or ambition. More out of-he didn’t like a lot of noise.”
“It’s hard when you have to investigate affairs of people you’re close to,” I sympathized. “I went through that when my cousin Boom-Boom diedit’s almost like being the fly on the wall when people are talking about you, isn’t it?”
I looked over the notes I’d been making. “Marc visited Taverner a week ago, on Thursday. When did he try to see Llewellyn? Or at least, when did he and Hendricks have their big dustup,” I asked. “Before or after Marc met Taverner?”
“I don’t know.” Paper rustled as she went through her own notes. “You think Taverner told him something about Llewellyn? But what?”
“I don’t think anything,” I said impatiently. “I don’t know enough to think.”
“The fight was recent,” she said slowly. “It could have been last Friday. I can call J.T. tomorrow and ask him.”
“Do: it could be important,” I said.
Before hanging up, we organized the next day’s work. I told Amy that the archivist thought Marc might have found some original documents in Kylie Ballantine’s old home.
“I’d like to make one last desperate effort to find those papers, or any papers of his. It just isn’t natural, the way everything has vanished.”
We agreed to meet at Marc’s house in the morning. While I broke into his Saturn to see if any documents were there, Amy would start a finetooth-comb search of the house itself, in case we’d missed anything yesterday. Then Amy would go down to the university library while I tried to talk to Renee Bayard. After all, Renee had met Calvin doing volunteer clerical work for people who had been called before Congress; she might know if there had been a connection between Taverner and Ballantine.
While we’d been talking I’d had another idea about that secret file of Taverner’s: young Larry Yosano, the lawyer doing odd jobs for Lebold, Arnofl: It was a little late for business calls, but he was on the emergency shift this week. I figured I’d get further faster by assuming Taverner had been another of Lebold, Arnoff’s New Solway clients, and started by saying that Taverner’s death must be generating a certain amount of work at the office.
He concurred, but added, “You know, Ms. Warshawski, nothing against you, but I do have a private life. It’s hard enough when all those New Solway clients think I’m the Japanese houseman they can call in the middle of the night. Can’t we have this conversation tomorrow in my office?”
I had to agree, although I didn’t really want to add another trip to the western suburbs to my crowded Friday schedule. We settled on three in the afternoon-Yosano had wanted to do it earlier, but I wanted to get things clear at Whitby’s house so that I knew whether I really had to clutch at straws by going into the Larchmont pond.
I was finally climbing back into bed when my phone rang. I was startled to hear Darraugh Graham’s voice, bitingly angry.
“Didn’t I make it clear that you were not to trouble my mother any further? You have thirty seconds to explain why you’ve so blatantly disregarded my orders.”
I stiffened. “Darraugh, you are not a marine colonel and I am not one of your recruits. I owed your mother the courtesy of a visit to explain what I’d done and why I wouldn’t be further involved in her problems. And I won’t apologize for seeing her.”
“It was unconscionable of you to upset her. That wasn’t a courtesy visit, it was an interrogation.”
“She called you to complain? Oh, no. Lisa called to complain. Your mother was upset by learning how ill Calvin Bayard was, not by anything I asked her. I think it’s permissible for a woman to weep over the decay of an old friend.”
“Talking to my mother can have nothing to do with your murder investigation. I warned you about that earlier. If you wish to continue in my employment, I am ordering you to stay away from my mother.”
“I’ll think about it, Darraugh. About my wishes, I mean. Good night.” I hung up before my anger rode me into an outright declaration o? quitting. His thousand-a-month retainer-one could pay too high a price for money sometimes.