She sat with her thick ankles crossed,more stunned than impassive. Her broad sexless body made her resemble adilapidated Buddha. She said in a hushed voice:

"Surely you can't suspect my son ofmurder?"

I said something vague and soothing. Theeyes of the man in the portrait followed me out. I was glad the father wasn'talive, in view of what I might have to do to Roy.

chapter27

I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and on myway into town I stopped at a drive-in. While I was waiting for my sandwich, Imade another call to Arnie Walters from an outside booth.

Arnie had made his deal with Judson Foley.It was Helen Haggerty who had wanted the word on Bradshaw's financial status.Foley couldn't or wouldn't swear that she had black. mail in mind. But shortlyafter he sold her the information she came into sudden wealth, by Foley'sstandards.

"How much did she pay Foley?"

"Fifty dollars, he says. Now he feelscheated."

"He always will," I said. "Did she tellFoley what she had on Bradshaw?"

"No. She was very careful not to,apparently. But there's a piece of negative evidence: She didn't mention toFoley that Bradshaw had been married, or was getting a divorce. Which probablymeans that that information was worth money to her."

"It probably does."

"One other fact came out, Lew. TheHaggerty woman knew Bradshaw long before they met in Reno."

"Where and how?"

"Foley says he doesn't know, and Ibelieve him. I offered to pay him for any information that checked out. Itbroke his heart when he couldn't do business with me."

I found Jerry Marks in the law library onthe second floor of the courthouse. Several bound volumes of typescript werepiled on the table in front of him. There was dust on his hands, and a smudgeon the side of his nose.

"Have you turned up anything,Jerry?"

"I've come to one conclusion. Thecase against McGee was weak. It consisted of two things, mainly: prior abuse ofhis wife, and the little girl's testimony, which some judges would have thrownout of court. I've been concentrating on her testimony, because I'm going tohave a chance to question her under pentothal."

"When?"

"Tonight at eight, at the nursing home. Dr.Godwin isn't free till then."

"I want to be there."

"That suits me, if Godwin can be persuaded. Itwas all I could do to get myself invited, and I'm her lawyer."

"I think Godwin is sitting onsomething. There's a job that needs doing between now and eight. It's properlymy job but this is your town and you can do it faster. Find out if RoyBradshaw's alibi for Helen Haggerty's murder is waterproof and dustproof andantimagnetic."

Jerry sat up straight and used hisforefinger to smudge his nose some more. "How should I go about it?"

"Bradshaw addressed an alumni banquetFriday evening. I want to know if he could have slipped out during one of theother speeches, or left in time to kill her. You have a right to any facts thesheriff's men and the pathologist can provide about time of death."

"I'll do my best," he said, pushing hischair back.

"One other thing, Jerry. Is there any word on theballistics tests?"

"The rumor says they're still going on. The rumordoesn't say why. Do you suppose they're trying to fake something?"

"No, I don't. Ballistics experts don't go in forfakery."

I left him gathering up his transcriptsand walked downtown to the Pacific Hotel. My bellhop had contacted Mrs.Deloney's cab-driver, and told me in return for a second five that the twoelderly ladies had checked in at the Surf House. I bought a drip-dry shirt andsome underwear and socks and went back to my motel to shower and change. Ineeded that before I tackled Mrs. Deloney again.

Someone was knocking as I stepped out of the shower,tapping ever so gently as if the door was fragile.

"Who's there?"

"Madge Gerhardi. Let me in."

"As soon as I'm dressed."

It took a little time. I had to pick the pins out ofmy new shirt and my hands were jerking.

"Please let me in," the woman said at thedoor. "I don't want to be seen."

I pulled on my trousers and went to thedoor in my bare feet. She pressed in past me as if there was a storm at herback. Her garish blonde hair was windblown. She took hold of my hands with bothof her clammy ones.

"The police are watching my house. Idon't know if they followed me here or not. I came along the beach."

"Sit down," I said, and placed achair for her. "I'm sure the police aren't after you. They're looking foryour friend BegleyMcGee."

"Don't call him that. It sounds asthough you're making fun of him." It was an avowal of love.

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009