her.
She said, 'I'm sorry I'm so down tonight. It's my mother's birthday.'
'That should make you happy.'
'She's dead.'
'Oh. I'm sorry.'
'So, it kind of burns me out. She was only forty-one.' Then she said, 'So, I still get it, right?'
'Get it?'
'The fifty?'
'If you're a good little girl.' She looked out the window again. It was time. They were nearly out in the country. He needed a dark road.
He was getting excited.
9
Once they got the lights on and started talking, both men calmed down. Greg Wagner even rolled his wheelchair out into the kitchen and got them a couple of Diet Pepsis. As Brolan sipped his, he decided that there wasn't much alternative to telling Wagner the truth. So, he told him all of it. Her throwing the drink in his face the night before the murder. Finding the body in the freezer.
'She's in the freezer?' Wagner said.
'Yes.'
'How about turning her over to the authorities?'
'Right. And guess who they'd blame for killing her.' Wagner stared at him.
'I guess you're right.'
In any other circumstance Brolan would have been checking out this living room carefully. Especially the video library. Brolan enjoyed old movies. He'd read Norman Cousins's book about recovering from cancer, how once a day you had to treat yourself to pure enjoyment. For Brolan that meant putting his home phone on answering service and getting a big bowl of popcorn and a couple of ice-cold soft drinks and watching some old westerns. He liked particularly the Allan 'Rocky' Lane pictures of his boyhood, even though Rocky had ended up rather ingloriously doing the voice-over for Mr. Ed.
Brolan found himself smiling a lot He always did this around people with handicaps. He felt sorry for the guy and wanted to be sure the guy knew it At this point he was not able to see anything but the man's spina bifida. But all the movie icons in this orderly, beautifully appointed room told him a great deal about Wagner's soul.
'I just don't like thinking of her in a freezer,' Wagner said.
'I don't, either. But I don't have much choice. Not until I find out who killed her.'
'You may have killed her, Mr. Brolan.'
Brolan stared at him. 'Do you really believe that?'
'I'm not sure yet' He paused. 'Do you have any ideas?'
'One very good one.'
'Who would that be?'
'A former boss of mine named Richard Cummings.'
'Why would he kill Emma?'
'So he could blame me. He hates me.'
'Why?'
'I took one of his biggest accounts. We both own ad agencies.'
'For that he'd kill a woman?'
'You don't know Cummings.'
As he spoke, Brolan watched as Wagner straightened himself in the chair. The pain inherent in the movement was obvious on Wagner's face. When he was straightened out, Wagner said, returning Brolan's blunt stare, 'Why don't we get it over with, Mr. Brolan?'
'Get what over with?'
'Your questions about my condition.'
Brolan felt his throat constrict. 'Why would I ask questions like that?'
'Because right now a part of you thinks I'm a freak, and the other part of you is wondering why I talk so normally. For a freak that is.'
'No, I-'
'I was born this way. Spina bifida.'
Brolan sighed. He could imagine the struggle life had been for this man. 'I'm sorry.'
'So am I. Maybe if I'd had a body like yours, Emma would have fallen in love with me.'
Brolan laughed sourly. 'I haven't done so well with women, believe me.'
Wagner offered him a grin. 'You've probably done a little better than I have.' He pulled himself up slightly in his chair. 'There's no cure at present and very likely won't be one in my lifetime. I've gone against great odds just by living this long. I'm thirty-two, in case you're interested.' He smiled again politely. 'I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable.'
'Well-' Brolan said.
'If I irritate you, go ahead and get irritated. If you feeling like patting me on the shoulder, don't be afraid to touch. What I have isn't contagious, Mr. Brolan. And if you make an innocent slip of the tongue and say something you think might hurt my feeling-it probably won't. Not if it's innocent. I remember a next-door neighbour I had once. She was always saying why didn't I 'run over' and have a piece of cake. And then apologizing profusely because, of course, I can't run over. Not literally, anyway.'
'You're a hell of lot braver than I'd be. I'd be complaining all the time.'
'No, you wouldn't, Mr. Brolan. Because if that was your attitude, you would have died in your teens. If not before.' Brolan nodded.
Wagner sat up and raised his glass again. Brolan could hear the carbonation fizzing. 'Shouldn't drink this stuff. Really eats out your stomach.'
Brolan patted his own stomach. He drank too many carbonated beverages himself. 'You said I could ask you a question.'
'Yes.'
'Why the hell'd you get me over here, anyway?'
'I'm going to believe you, Mr. Brolan. That you didn't kill Emma. And therefore I'm going to use you as my surrogate.' Wagner nodded to a charcoal portrait of Charlie Chan. 'I watch a lot of detective movies, especially the ones with very elaborate puzzles. Charlie Chan, for one. Have you ever seen the Hildegarde Withers pictures?'
'Afraid not.'
'They're very good.'
Brolan grinned. 'Believe me, there's nothing I'd rather be doing right now than watching a movie.'
Wagner hoisted the glass to his mouth. Ice rattled. As the fake gun had, the glass looked almost too big for his small hands. But he handled it dextrously. After setting the glass back down on the end table, he said, 'You're the most likely suspect.'
'I wish I could disagree with you.'
'Somebody hired Emma to walk into that bar the other night and start some trouble with you.'
'You're sure of that?'
'It's on her computer.' He then explained how he was able to hack into her system.
'But she didn't give the name of the person who hired her?'
'Afraid not, Mr. Brolan.'
Brolan stared at him. 'You seem to have known her pretty well.'
'As I said, I was in love with her.'
'I see.'
'And she was kind to me, too. Kind in a way that was never patronizing. She accepted me, Mr. Brolan, for
