when they were in college together and didn't care now. 'Take it from the top, all right.'
Colin blew smoke from his nostrils. 'I'm leaving Hallock's office and I stop to say hello to Kathy, the radio operator, you know her. I always shoot the breeze with her, nice kid. So Kathy's on the phone and then hangs up, tells this guy to go in. I stand and talk to Kathy, we laugh about something, then there's this silence right after us laughing, you know how that is?'
A few squawks from Mark's big police radio in the corner distracted Colin for a moment, but then he went on. 'So during that silence I hear the guy who goes into Hallock's office say: 'The woman they found in the pool. I killed her.''
'And what does Hallock say?'
'He tells him to sit down but Kathy starts talking again, telling me this long story about her sister and some boyfriend, and so I don't hear anything else. Besides, I couldn't act like I was listening. Friendly as Kathy is, she's all rules and regulations. Okay. I go out and sit in my car across the street, figuring Hallock's going to come out with this guy in cuffs, take him over to the jail or drive him over to East Hampton jail, but no. Fifteen minutes later this bimbo comes out alone. No cuffs, no nothing. He walks.'
'So?'
'So? What do you mean, so? A guy confesses and Hallock lets him walk? I don't get it.'
'Colin, obviously the guy didn't do it. Describe him.'
'You've got to be kidding.'
'Let's hear your powers of observation.'
Colin mashed out his cigarette in a large ashtray that said Stork Club on it. He felt like twisting the fucking alligator off Mark's blue shirt. 'Okay. He was on the short side, about your height.' He knew this would bug Mark, who hated being reminded of his size. 'No, maybe a little taller. About five ten, eleven. Medium build. Dark hair, dark beard, scraggly looking. Wearing Levi's, leather belt, work shirt over a brown polo, work boots.'
Mark, smiling, said, 'Dirty nails?'
'I didn't notice. What is this? Why the stupid grin?'
'You just described a nut case. Jim Drew. Every time anything happens around here, burglary, vandalism, it doesn't matter what, Drew confesses. He's got a guilt complex or something. Didn't I brief you about him?'
'No.'
'Sorry, pal. I should have.'
'So what you're telling me, Mark, is that he’s one of those guys confesses to murder, but didn't do it.'
'You got it.'
'Jesus.' He flopped down in an easy chair, legs outstretched. 'How long's he been doing that, confessing to stuff?'
'Let's see, he came here about three years ago. He wasn't here a month before he made his first confession. A burglary. The paper listed it; then Drew goes into Hallock and confesses. Hallock books him. The next day another guy's caught burglarizing a house and confesses to the first one. Hallock confronts Drew but he sticks to it. So Hallock asks him about a detail only the real burglar could know. Like, 'Will the real burglar please stand up?'' Mark laughed.
Colin didn't.
'Anyway, Drew gets it wrong and Hallock lets him go. He doesn't figure it, until two weeks later Drew comes in to confess about a hit-and-run of a dog that's already been solved. Then Hallock realizes the guy is some kind of wacko. Harmless, but wacko in this area. Vietnam veteran. He runs an antique and junk shop. A loner. Probably he killed some innocent people in Vietnam or something and has this need to confess.'
'Spare me the amateur psychology.'
Mark shrugged. 'You wanted to know, pal.'
'Yeah.' Colin pushed himself up out of the chair.
'Where're you going?'
'The office. I didn't get to writing the story last night.'
'Write it tomorrow. Stay. The Mets and the Phillies are playing this afternoon.'
'Maybe I'll come back.'
Driving to the office he wondered why the hell he hadn’t just asked Kathy who the sucker was? Slipping? Or was it circumstances? There was no denying that the discovery of the body in Gildersleeve's pool had given him a jolt. And maybe his attraction to Annie Winters had thrown him too. He looked at his watch, wondering when she did her church thing. Then he glanced in his rearview and saw a car close behind. He realized it had been there since he'd left Mark's. The driver was a man but that was all he knew.
Pressing down on the pedal, he watched the car behind him speed up, too. When Colin turned a corner, so did the other car. Obviously he wasn't worried about being spotted. Colin slowed, turned from Fielding into Center, then coasted to the Gazette building, where he stopped. The other car pulled up behind him. Colin waited. The man got out of the car and came up to Colin's window. Colin recognized Phil Nagle, a local insurance broker. He'd met the guy twice and didn't like him much.
Nagle bent, eye level with Colin. 'I want to talk to you.'
'What about?'
'Gloria Danowski.'
LOOKING BACK-25 YEARS AGO
On Saturday May 30, there will be a special dance for teens at the popular American Legion Hall in Seaville. The wonderful Moonflowers will be featured and two other singing and instrumental groups will be on hand: The Divebombers and The Persuaders, featuring vocalist Gary Bell. Dancing will be strictly for teenagers only, from 8 to 11 P.M.
SEVEN
Sundays after church Ruth Cooper always went to her linen store, even though it wasn't open for business. In Seaville they stayed open on Sundays but not in Bay View. Although the towns were adjacent to one another, they couldn't have been more different. As Ruth saw it, Seaville was a working-class town and Bay View was chic, elite. She was proud she lived and worked in Bay View.
The reason she came down to her store on Sundays was because it was quiet and she could review stock, place new orders, and go over the books in peace. During the week it was impossible to get that sort of work done. Too much chattering between the clerks and customers, too much gossiping and fussing. Another reason Ruth liked to come to the store on Sunday was so she could get away from Russ.
Still excited by Annie's suggestion, Ruth put her key in the lock-made in the shape of a heart-let herself in, and locked the door behind her. Blissful quiet. No annoying sounds from a television, and most of all, no annoying hands trying to paw her.
What was wrong with Russ anyway? Married twenty-nine years, and all of a sudden he was chasing her around like she was a dog in heat.
She flipped on a light and pulled down the ruffled pink shade on the door. Looking around she took a deep breath, sighed. Ruth loved the look of the colorful towels stacked on the shelves, the printed sheets, the napkins, tablecloths. And in the center of the room were the decorative doorpulls, soap dishes, toothbrush holders, gold, silver, and porcelain light switches.
She walked down an aisle, let her hand trail across the stacks of Cannon and Fieldcrest towels, thinking maybe Russ was getting senile or something. But that was ridiculous, he was only fifty-six.
They both were. So what was going on, then? He hadn't touched her for eight years and all of a sudden it was sex, sex, sex every minute. Maybe it was all those girls on the television with the big bazooms that were getting him crazy. Whatever, he was getting her crazy. It was so peaceful those eight years, and now he had to start
