Then Linda came out. She too went for O’Donlon and slapped him hard across the face.
“That’s for calling me a nobody!”
I could see Jeff was about to swing on him so I stepped between them.
“I want t’take him outside.”
“Forget it, Jeff. You got what you want.”
Linda put her arm through his. Pulled him away from O’Donlon. “Thanks, McCain.”
“My pleasure.”
“I really owe you one,” Jeff said.
“I didn’t even get my picture taken,” O’Donlon said.
I made O’Donlon leave first.
While they waited, Jeff said, “I’m sorry, Linda. I would’ve married you anyway.
I really would’ve.”
He said it magnanimously, which was a mistake.
“Don’t do me any favors,” she said.
He looked at me, then back at her. “I love you, Linda. And I want to marry you.” This time it came from the heart.
And then they were kissing and I was trying not to pay any attention.
When I said good-bye to them I planned to go home, open a can of Falstaff, pick up a paperback, and relax. I’d earned a good rest and I planned to take it.
Nineteen
I was just locking the door when I heard a car sweep up behind me in the two-car parking space.
A voice behind me said, “Hold it right there, counselor.”
Cliffie.
I came down the stairs. Turned my collar up. There was a mist that would soon be rain. Cold drops of it pattered in the leaves. The air smelled fresh and clean. There was an odd, quiet excitement about the first true night of fall. Time to haul out my bunny jammies with the feet in them. I already had a Captain Video notebook, why the hell not go all the way?
“You hear the news?” he asked. He’d left his motor running, lights on. He was silhouetted in the beams. The motor, which needed a tune-up, throbbed. I smelled car oil and gasoline.
“What news?”
He shook his head. “The sumbitch did it, all right.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Keys. You said he did it and he did.
Judge Whitney is probably sitting out in her mansion right now, gloating.”
Which she probably was, in fact.
“You interrogate him?”
“Not hardly,” he said. “Nobody’ll be puttin’ that head back together. Not even the funeral-home fellas.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“He blew his damned head off is what I’m talkin’ about.”
“When was this?”
“One of my men found him about an hour ago.
In the park. Down near the boat dock.
He’d put a gun in his mouth. I seen it myself.
A stinkin’ mess is what it is.”
“Oh, God.”
“What’s that for? He killed them people, didn’t he? Even left a note sayin’ he did.”
“He was a decent guy.”
“Yeah, McCain. Most decent guys I know go around killin’ people.”
“So he’s in the morgue?”
“Yeah. Novotny’s comin’ over after supper to do the autopsy.” He laughed. “Way that sumbitch eats, might be tomorrow by the time he gets there.”
I felt empty. “Guess I’ll go home.”
“I just wanted to warn you about next time.”
“Next time?”
“Yeah, next time there’s a murder. I catch you interferin’ with the investigation again, counselor, I’m gonna throw your ass in jail. Get me?”
“Yeah.” I was too drained to argue. “Got it.”
“And remember it.”
“I’ll remember.”
“And tell the Judge. I’ll throw her ass in jail too.”
I could just see Judge Whitney in a cell, running the jail staff into exhaustion with her orders.
He got in the car and drove off.
I couldn’t help it. I felt sorry for Keys. What Cliffie said was indisputably true. Good men don’t go around murdering people. But sometimes bad people are good people too. Or good people can do bad things. Life is like that sometimes.
I took a shortcut home, passing Dick Keys’s car dealership. Life went on. Even on a misty night like this one, people were out looking at the new and used cars. The Edsel was still drawing crowds.
When I saw two of the three service doors open and lights inside, I remembered the spare tire. I really needed to change it.
I wheeled up to one of the open doors and went inside. Only a couple of men were working. A radio was on. Guy Mitchell was “Singing the Blues.” So were we all, pal. Only two of the bays were being used. A large wrench fell to the floor, the clang unnaturally loud.
Henry had his head up under a monster-size Packard of ancient vintage.
“Hi, Henry.”
He brought his head out where I could see it.
“Hey, McCain. You hear about Dick?”
“Yeah.”
Shook his dark head. “Poor bastard.” Then, “Wonder what the missus’ll do. Way she depended on him and all.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I was wondering about that myself.”
He glanced at the big clock on the wall.
“If I want to get home to a warm meal, I got to get back to work here.”
“I just stopped to pick up my tire.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. I’ll go get it for you.”
He broke into a half run. His mention of a warm meal sounded good. He was back in two minutes. “Here you go.” He rolled it to me.
“I ain’t got the form or anything. You can just stop in tomorrow and pay at the service desk. Just a buck is all. That’s the sixth flat I’ve had to fix because of that damned taillight. Hell, even Mrs. Keys got a flat. It’s back there, too, all ready to go. Well, got to get back at it.” I did remember the mechanic taking a flat tire out of her car trunk the day after the murder, once Henry mentioned it.
I thanked him and left. Pitched the tire in the trunk. Fired up the Ford and headed home.
And about two blocks from my place I remembered something Mrs. Keys had told me: that she’d been helping decorate the showroom until about seven-thirty on the night Susan was killed but had then gone home and stayed there for the rest of the night. If that were the case, how had she managed to get a flat tire from the taillight?
