“Don’t give me any crap, Watty. I’m not up to it.”
“And another psychiatric observation case? What do you think, the department wants to fund a complete mental hospital?”
“Please.”
“All right, all right,” he relented. “But what have you got? Captain Powell dragged me out of bed and told me to get down here on the double.”
Wordlessly, I handed him a letter Rachel had brought in to me. She had found it in Daisy’s jacket pocket. It was a signed suicide note that admitted the murder of Dr. Frederick Nielsen. It said that when she tried to talk to him, he was passed out. Drunk, she thought. She had attacked him without realizing what she was doing. The note went on to talk about wanting to dance with the elephants once before she died.
Watty read it over and handed it back to me with a shrug. “Maybe you’re right. She sounds crazy to me.”
“Incidentally,” he added. “His Honor the Mayor called the chief and told him what you’d done. He says there’s a movie company coming to town in the next few weeks to do some location filming on a murder thriller. He wants you to work with them as a special technical advisor.”
“Jesus Christ, Watty! That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“The mayor thinks it’s a reward. You’ll do it and like it, Beau. That’s an order.“
We dropped the subject. “What about Larry Martin?” I asked.
“Richard Damm refuses to press charges. He says it was his own damn fault. With this letter, I suppose I’d better see about getting Martin released.”
“Good,” I said.
Just then the doctor came in carrying my Xrays. “I’ve got some good news for you, Detective Beaumont,” he said. “Nothing’s broken, but did you know you’ve got a bone spur?”
“A what?”
“A bone spur. It’s an old injury that you’ve hurt again. Those things happen as we get older.”
He was maybe thirty-five years old, and he said it with an engaging grin, but I wanted to punch his lights out all the same.
“Here’s something that should help you get some sleep tonight, and an anti-inflammatory prescription for later. You’ll have to take these for a month or so. At least until the pain goes away.”
“Fan-goddamn-tastic,” I told him.
“The car’s right outside, Beau,” Watty said. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
Rachel’s suitor, George, was just pulling up in the Buick as I hobbled out the emergency room door.
“Where is she?” he asked, hurrying up to me.
“Upstairs, with Daisy.”
“Is Daisy all right?”
I nodded.
“And what about Rachel?”
“She’s all right, too, but she’s going to need all the help she can get,” I said.
“What’s going to happen to Daisy?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Years ago, she would have gone to prison, no question. These days, things are different. It depends on premeditation, frame of mind, any number of things. It’s up to the judge and jury.”
“I see,” he said. “Well, I’ll go tell Rachel. I know she’s worried about it.”
When George walked away, Watty and I got into his car, the sergeant’s own private car. “Dammit, Beau! Roll down your window, will you? Your shoes stink like hell!”
“You’d stink too if you’d been rolling around in elephant shit,” I told him.
He dropped me in front of Belltown Terrace. It seemed like days had passed, maybe whole weeks, since Big Al Lindstrom had picked me up there that morning.
My idea was to slink into the building, sneak upstairs, and dive into my shower. Unfortunately, the elevator stopped on the eighteenth floor and the door opened. The first person I saw was Peters, sitting in a wheelchair.
“You girls shouldn’t push both buttons at the same time,” he was scolding. Just then he looked up and recognized me. “Hey, Beau, you missed the party. It was great, but now we’ve got to get back to the hospital before they send out a search party.”
Laughing and joking, everybody piled into the elevator-Amy, pushing the wheelchair, Trade, and Heather.
“Guess what, Unca Beau,” Heather lisped, tugging at my shirt sleeve. “Trade and I are going to get another mommie, and she’s it.” Heather pointed at Amy, who smiled and nodded in return.
“And we get to be in the wedding,” Trade added excitedly. “Amy says we can both have long dresses. Won’t that be neat?”
“It’ll be neat, all right,” I said wearily.
The elevator door closed and we continued going up, all of us.
“How come you stink so bad?” Heather demanded wrinkling her nose.
“It’s a long story,” I said.
They all got off at my floor. Amy showed me her ring, and I gave the bride-to-be a careful peck on the cheek, making sure that neither my clothes nor shoes made physical contact.
“How was dinner?” I asked as I stepped away.
“Terrific,” Amy said.
“Yeah,” Peters added. “Tom even sent over a complimentary bottle of wine. Columbia White Zinfadel.”
“Tom? Who’s Tom?”
“Tom Girvan, the owner. I thought you said you knew him.”
“The person I know is Darlene.”
“She’s his wife,” Peters said. “We met her too. She’s a real kick, isn’t she? And did you know they’re moving down to the waterfront? Better location, I guess.” He turned back to his daughters. “Well, we’d better be going. The kids were just riding down to the lobby with us. Mrs. Edwards will be worried. Go ahead and press the button, Heather.”
In a moment they were gone and I was alone in the elevator lobby. “His wife.“
I said to myself, repeating aloud the words Peters had spoken. “Tom Girvan’s wife. I’m a son of a bitch.”
Once in my apartment, I didn’t bother to turn on any lights. Instead, I went straight to the deck, stripped off my smelly clothes, and left them outside in a heap. Then I went into the bathroom for a long hot shower followed by a longer, hotter Jacuzzi.
So Darlene, the purveyor of pork chop sandwiches, was actually a married lady.
Funny, she never mentioned that. On the other hand, to be fair, I had to admit that I had never asked.
It was probably just as well they were moving to the waterfront. It would help keep me out of trouble.
