A Ticket to the Boneyard Read online

Page 4

 

  "We both knew her. "

  I studied the clipping again. The wifes name was Cornelia, and her age was given as thirty-seven. The children were Andrew, six; Kevin, four; and Delcey, two. Cornelia Sturdevant, I thought, and no bells rang. I looked at her, puzzled.

  "Connie," she said.

  "Connie?"

  "Connie Cooperman. You remember her. "

  "Connie Cooperman," I said, and then I remembered a bouncy blond cheerleader of a girl. "Jesus," I said. "How in the hell did she wind up in- where was this, anyway? Canton, Massillon, Walnut Hills. Where are all these places?"

  " Ohio. Northern Ohio, not far from Akron. "

  "How did she get there?"

  "By marrying Philip Sturdevant. She met him, I dont know, seven or eight years ago. "

  "How? Was he a john?

  "No, nothing like that. She was on vacation, she was up at Stowe on a ski weekend. He was there, he was divorced and unattached, and he fell for her. I dont know that he was rich but he was comfortably well-off, he owned furniture stores and made a good living from them. And he was crazy about Connie and he wanted to marry her and have babies with her. "

  "And thats what they did. "

  "Thats what they did. She thought he was wonderful and she was ready to get out of the life and out of New York. She was sweet and cute and guys liked her, but she was hardly what youd call a born whore. "

  "Is that what you are?"

  "No, Im not. I was a lot like Connie actually, we were both a couple of NJGs who drifted into it. I turned out to be good at it, thats all. "

  "Whats an NJG?"

  "A neurotic Jewish girl. Its not just that I turned out to be good at it. I turned out to be capable of living the life without getting eaten up by it. It grinds down an awful lot of girls, it erodes what little self-esteem they started out with. But it hasnt hurt me that way. "

  "No. "

  "At least thats what I think most of the time. " She gave me a brave smile. "Except on the occasional bad night, and everybody has a few of those. "

  "Sure. "

  "It may have been good for Connie early on. She was fat and unpopular in high school, and it did her good to find out that men wanted her and found her attractive. But then it stopped being good for her, and then she got lucky and met Philip Sturdevant, and he fell for her and she was crazy about him, and they went to Ohio to make babies. "

  "And then he found out about her past and went nuts and killed her. "

  "No. "

  "No?"

  She shook her head. "He knew all along. She told him from the jump. It was very brave of her, and it turned out to be the absolute right thing to do, because it didnt bother him and otherwise there would have been that secret between them. He was a pretty worldly guy, as it turned out. He was fifteen or twenty years older than Connie, and hed been married twice, and while hed lived all his life in Massillon hed traveled a lot. He didnt mind that shed spent a few years in the life. If anything I think he got a kick out of it, especially since he was taking her away from all that. "

  "And they lived happily ever after. "

  She ignored that. "I had a couple of letters from her over the years," she said. "Only a couple, because I never get around to answering letters, and when you dont write back people stop writing to you. Most of the time I would get a card from her at Christmas. You know those cards people have made up with pictures of their children? I got a few of those from her. Beautiful children, but you would expect that. He was a good-looking man, you can see that from the newspaper photo, and you remember how pretty Connie was. "

  "Yes. "

  "I wish I had the last card she sent. Im not the kind of person who keeps things. By the tenth of January all my Christmas cards are out with the garbage. So I dont have one to show you, and I wont be getting a new one next month because-"

  She wept silently, her shoulders drawn in and shaking, her hands clasped. After a moment or two she caught hold of herself, drew in a deep breath, let it out.

  I said, "I wonder what made him do it. "

  "He didnt do it. He wasnt the type. "

  "People surprise you. "

  "He didnt do it. "

  I looked at her.

  "I dont know a soul in Canton or Massillon," she said. "The only person I ever knew there was Connie, and the only person who could have known she knew me was Philip Sturdevant, and theyre both dead. "

  "So?"

  "So who sent me the clipping?"

  "Anybody could have sent it. "

  "Oh?"

  "She could have mentioned you to a friend or neighbor there. Then, after the murder and suicide, the friend goes through Connies things, finds her address book, and wants to let her out-of-town friends know what happened. "

  "So this friend clips the story out of the paper and sends it all by itself? Without a word of explanation?"

  "There was no note in the envelope?"

  "Nothing. "

  "Maybe she wrote a note and forgot to put it in the envelope. People do that sort of thing all the time. "

  "And she forgot to put her return address on the envelope?"

  "You have the envelope?"

  "In the other room. Its a plain white envelope with my name and address hand-printed. "

  "Can I see it?"

  She nodded. I sat in my chair and looked at the picture that was supposed to be worth fifty thousand dollars. Once Id come very close to emptying a gun into it. I hadnt thought about that incident in a long time. It looked as though Id be thinking of it a lot now.

  The envelope was as shed described it, five-and-dime stuff, cheap and untraceable. Her name and address had been block-printed in ballpoint. No return address in the upper-left corner or on the back flap.

  " New York postmark," I said.

  "I know. "

  "So if it was a friend of hers-"

  "The friend carried the clipping all the way to New York and put it in the mail. "

  I stood up and walked over to the window. I looked through it without seeing anything, then turned to face her. "The alternative," I said, "is that someone else killed her. And her kids. And her husband. "

  "Yes. "

  "And faked it to look like murder and suicide. Faked a call to the cops while he was at it. And then waited until the story was printed in the local paper, and clipped it, and brought it back to New York and put it in the mail. "

  "Yes. "

  "I guess were thinking of the same person. "

  "He swore hed kill Connie," she said. "And me. And you. "

  "He did, didnt he. "

  " You and all your women, Scudder. Thats what he said to you. "

  "A lot of bad guys say a lot of things over the years. You cant take all that crap seriously. " I went over and picked up the envelope again, as if I could read its psychic vibrations. If it held any, they were too subtle for me.

  I said, "Why now, for Gods sake? Whats it been, twelve years?"

  "Just about. "

  "You really think its him, dont you?"

  "I know it is. "

  "Motley. "

  "Yes. "

  "James Leo Motley," I said. "Jesus. "

  James Leo Motley. Id first heard the name in that same apartment, but not in the black-and-white living room. Id called Elaine one afternoon, dropped by shortly thereafter. She fixed bourbon for me and a diet cola for herself, and a few minutes later we were in her bedroom. Afterward I touched the tip of one finger to a discolored area alongside her rib cage and asked her what happened.

  "I almost called you," she said. "I had a visitor yesterday afternoon. "

  "Oh?"

  "Someone new. Hed called, said he was a friend of Connies. Thats Connie Cooperman. You met her, remember?"

  "Sure. "

  "He said she gave him my number. So we talked, and he sounded all right, and he came over. I didnt like him. "

  "What was wrong with him?"

  "I dont know exactly. Th
ere was something weird about him. Something about his eyes. "

  "His eyes?"

  "The way he looks at you. What is it Supermans got? X-ray vision? I felt as though he could look at me and see clear through to the bone. "

  I ran a hand over her. "Youd miss a lot of nice skin that way," I said.

  "And there was something very cold about it. Reptilian, like a lizard watching flies. Or like a snake. Coiled, ready to strike without warning. "

  "Whats he look like?"

  "That may have been part of it. Hes kind of strange-looking. A very long narrow face. Mouse-colored hair, and a lousy haircut, one of those soup-bowl jobs. It made him look like a monk. Very pale skin. Unhealthy, or at least thats how it looked. "

  "Sounds charming. "

  "His body was strange, too. He was completely hard. "

  "Isnt that something you strive for in your line of work?"

  "Not his cock, his whole body. Like every muscle was tense all the time, like he never relaxed. Hes thin, but hes very muscular. What you call wiry. "

  "What happened?"

  "We went to bed. I wanted to get him into bed because I wanted to get him out of here as soon as possible. Also, I figured once I got him off hed be calmer and I wouldnt be as nervous. I already knew I wasnt going to see him again. In fact I would have asked him to leave without taking him to bed, but I was afraid of what he might do. He didnt exactly do anything, but he was an unpleasant trick. "

  "Was he rough?"

  "Not exactly. It was the way he touched me. You can tell a lot from the way a man touches you. He touched me like he hated me. I mean, who needs that shit, you know?"

  "Howd you get the bruise?"

  "That was after. He got dressed, he wasnt interested in taking a shower and I didnt suggest it because I wanted him O-U-T. And he gave me this look, and he said wed probably be seeing a lot of each other from now on. Thats what you think, I thought, but I didnt say anything. He was on his way out, and he hadnt given me any money, or left anything on the dresser. "

  "You didnt get money in front?"

  "No, I never do. I dont discuss it ahead of time, not unless the man brings it up, and most of the time they dont. A lot of men like to pretend to themselves that the sex is free and the money they give me is a present, and thats fine. Anyway, he was ready to walk out without giving me anything, and I came this close to letting him go. "

  "But you didnt. "

  "No, because I was angry, and if I was going to have to trick a shitheel like that I was at least going to get paid for it. So I gave him a smile and said, You know, youre forgetting something.

  "He said, What am I forgetting? Im a working girl, I said. He said he knew that, that he could tell a whore when he saw one. "

  "Nice. "

  "I didnt react to it, but I did say I got paid for what I did. Something like that, I forgot how I put it. And he gave me this very cold look, and he said, I dont pay.

  "And then I was stupid. I could have let it go, but I thought maybe it was just an ego thing, a matter of terms, and I said I didnt expect him to pay, but maybe hed like to give me a present. "