suicide attempts where the victim gambles on help arriving before death. Claudia's was a genuine attempt to die.'
'And you're afraid she might try again.'
'It's possible, maybe even likely. Coreen and I wanted you to find out about this the right way. We want you to know that Claudia is on a dark edge, Mr. Nudger. We want to make sure you understand that.' She frowned, staring into interior distances, as she sought words to make him grasp her compassion and meaning. 'She's fragile. So fragile. We want you to be careful with her.'
Nudger sat looking at Laura Cather. He'd developed a sense about people like this, gentle people who couldn't dissemble or deceive. He knew them. They were easy to read; they wanted to be read, to live in a world without deception.
'There's more, isn't there?' he said.
She knew herself, too. She'd been expecting him to ask, maybe hoping for it. 'I don't think Claudia left that window open, Mr. Nudger. I think Ralph went to the sick daughter's room that night. Maybe Vicki was feverish, complained of being too hot and wanted Ralph to open the window for just a few minutes. The child had vomited; maybe Ralph opened the window to let out the stench of sickness and forgot and left it open.
'Child abuse brings out the vigilante in juries, Mr. Nudger. Claudia didn't have a chance. But I read the court transcript with an objective eye, and I got to know everyone involved in the case. Ralph left that window open, Mr. Nudger. He knew it and denied it and let Claudia be convicted so he could get the children in the divorce. It eats on the bastard and he can't let Claudia alone. Maybe he hates her because she put him into that situation. Or maybe he's got himself talked into thinking she's actually guilty as charged. But Ralph left that window open, Mr. Nudger. I'm sure of it.'
She sat fondling her silver brooch. There was nothing more to say. Maybe she'd said too much. Nudger stood up and moved to the door, turned.
'Thanks for telling me about this,' he said.
She walked over and shook his hand, squeezing hard.
'I promise to be careful with Claudia,' he told her.
She watched him walk down the stairs, into the street.
As he drove away he saw that she had come down onto the porch and was standing hunched forward with her thin arms crossed, wondering if she'd done the right thing by talking to him.
XIX
Nudger bounced along Grand Avenue in the Volkswagen, wondering how he really felt about what Laura Cather had told him. How would he feel about it tomorrow? He was shaken and befuddled, devoid of answers and afraid of what they might be when they took form. He couldn't imagine Claudia harming anyone, becoming uncontrollably angry, yet he had been told that she'd been caught in a pattern of pain and violence. Trapped by her past, and now trapped again because of Ralph Ferris. Claudia had been painted as victim rather than perpetrator by two people who knew her well and long. They had wanted to tell him about her to judge his reaction, to protect her. Nudger wasn't sure himself of his reaction.
When he saw a phone booth on the corner of a service station lot, he pulled in and parked next to it. Holding one ear with a cupped hand to block the sounds of traffic, he stood in the booth and listened to Jeanette's phone ring.
No answer. Maybe she was working again today for the temporary-help firm that sent her out on part-time secretarial jobs, and so hadn't made any nightline appointments. Nudger thought that would be all right. They might not make any progress on the case, but then they weren't exactly leaping from clue to clue anyway. And Jeanette would stay out of trouble for a while and be able to afford his fee.
He hung up the phone, got back into the car, and drove on toward his office. There he would check his mail, then phone Natalie Mallowan on the pretense of inquiring about Ringo's well-being and apply gentle persuasion in an attempt to hurry payment of his nine hundred dollars. It was lunchtime, but he wasn't hungry and wouldn't stop anywhere. There was no point in eating anyway until he'd checked the mail for McDonald's coupons.
As he parked near his office he forgot all about lunch and looking at the mail and phoning Natalie Mallowan. A Third District patrol car was parked at the curb in front of Danny's Donuts. As Nudger crossed Manchester, Danny appeared at the doughnut-shop window and motioned with a nod of his long head toward the car, indicating that it was there because of Nudger.
Nudger walked past the car, waiting for the voice he knew would come.
'You Nudger?'
He turned. There were two blue uniforms in the car. The one on the curbside had the door open and was leaning out, waiting for Nudger's answer. He had a deadpan face with eyes as full of expression as shirt buttons.
It suddenly occurred to Nudger why the uniforms might be there. Claudia! In that instant he knew exactly how he felt about her. It was the way he had felt before his conversation with Laura Cather.
'I'm Nudger,' he said, walking toward the car. 'What's this about?'
'Lieutenant Hammersmith sent us to pick you up and drive you to where he is. Wants you to get there before they remove a body.' He climbed out of the car, a big man with the back of his blue shirt dark with perspiration. He held open the car's rear door for Nudger.
'Where is he, goddammit?' Nudger demanded.
The uniform looked surprised, but only for a moment. 'Over on Utah at a murder scene,' he said. 'Woman got herself killed. The lieutenant thought you'd be interested.'
Nudger breathed out hard. Utah Avenue! Not Claudia, a woman on Utah! His world had lurched to a stop, then started again. He nodded to the uniform and got into the car.
Utah wasn't far from where Laura Cather lived on Wyoming. They drove back the way Nudger had just come, down Highway 44, then south on Grand. The scenery was still vivid in Nudger's mind, only running in reverse, lending what was happening the air of a recurring bad dream. For a murdered woman on Utah it had been more than a dream; it had been the end of dreams.
The scene of this murder was a brick two-family flat on a good block of Utah. Property here had become expensive despite its near proximity to poverty. The higher tone of the neighborhood hadn't helped; sex murderers were more likely to be influenced by a full moon than by property assessments. The flat's front porch was wide, with brick columns, and featured the ornate stonework that was prevalent in this part of town and that 'craftsmen' would charge prohibitively for today, in this the age of the plastic heirloom.
One of the blue uniforms directed Nudger to the door on the right, to the ground-floor unit. Nudger immediately recognized the faint odor of putrefaction as he pushed open the door and stepped into a spacious beige living room decorated with too many potted plants. Something bitter moved at the back of his throat.
'Deja vu, Nudge,' Hammersmith said, waving to him from a doorway in the hall.
When Nudger approached, Hammersmith said, 'I leave it up to you as to whether you want to look at this one.'
Nudger felt his stomach drop a few notches. Beyond Hammersmith, a couple of police technicians inside the bathroom were wearing surgical masks as they went about their specialized tasks. The stench here was horrible, much worse than at the Valpone apartment. Nudger wondered how Hammersmith could stand it.
'The heat did it to her,' Hammersmith said, reading Nudger's sickly expression. 'She hasn't been dead much longer than Grace Valpone was when we found her, but the bathroom faces south and catches too much sun. I'm afraid it'll make determining the exact time of death a little tricky.'
'Have you got an estimate?' Nudger asked.
'The ME's preliminary guess is that she's been dead about two days, two warm days.'
A plainclothes cop came out of the bathroom with an alcohol-soaked handkerchief pressed to his nose and mouth. He was greener than the giant who sold peas, and not half as jolly. He seemed to stagger slightly as he walked down the hall, then he got in a big hurry.
Nudger looked at Hammersmith, who gazed back at him and shrugged. Here we go! Clutching his roiling
