Toll Call Read online

  “Where?”

  “Her apartment.”

  “Who … What happened?”

  “Nothing that I can prove had anything to do with this.”

  “Was Derrick there?”

  “In body but not in spirit.”

  “You mean he was stoned.”

  “Getting there.”

  “Goddamn that boy. What did Allison say about him?”

  “She said he was a part-time actor and a full-time jerk.”

  “That’s being charitable, believe me.”

  Peggy shivered and I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her to me once again, to thaw both my body and my dismay at having consented to the events of the past hour.

  I decided to keep Peggy focused on anything but the park. “Have you seen Derrick around your apartment in the past few weeks? Other than the time he put the dun on you to back his theater project?”

  “You know about that.”

  “Allison told me.”

  “Do you think I was wrong to refuse him the money, Marsh? I mean, I didn’t do it because I wanted it for myself. It’s in trust, for Allison. Payable five years from now, but only if she’s shed Derrick by then. If not, I’ll keep postponing the distribution till Allison comes to her senses.”

  “Sometimes they never come to their senses.”

  Peggy breathed deeply. “But I have to believe she’ll straighten out sooner or later, don’t I? Or I have to stop being her mother. What other choice is there?”

  “How much money are we talking about, anyway?”

  “In trust? About forty thousand. It’s all Allison’s. And that’s the way it should be. But I will not have that boy picking her bones bare. I just won’t.”

  “That trust arrangement gives Derrick a motive to want you out of the way, you realize. To keep you from adding amendments that keep the money out of reach.”

  “But no one knows about it.”

  “Not even Allison?”

  “Well, I …”

  “Let me guess. You got mad at her one night, and told her how much it was worth to her if she dumped Derrick out on his lantern jaw, on the assumption that her avarice would overcome her lust.”

  Peggy sighed. “Something like that.”

  “And kids being kids, that made Allison all the more determined to keep Derrick around, jerk or no.”

  Peggy’s sigh blended with the music of the trees. “Parenting is hell, Marsh. When they’re little we raise them to have certain values, and then we’re shocked when they grow up and actually exhibit them.” Peggy chuckled a brief twitch. “I’m trying to think of the last time I did something right, and you know what? I can’t. Not one single thing. I harped and harped at Allison to be independent and strong and honest, attributes my ex-husband and I both lacked with a vengeance at that age. And now she’s using those very traits against me and has been since the day she left home. There’s not many things in my life I’d want another chance at, but mothering is one of them.” Peggy looked skyward, and was mocked by the playful stars. “Ah, hell. What am I doing here, Marsh? What the hell am I doing here?”

  Peggy’s question drifted out of reach, leaving me without an answer. “Well, you put on a real nice show tonight, Gypsy Rose,” I joked, because I decided we had to face it or be its victim, because humor was the only device I could think of that would ease the task.

  “Please. Don’t even think about it.”

  “Seriously. It was brave and it was effective and if I hadn’t fallen on my butt like a Keystone Kop I’d have caught the bastard. I’m sorry I’m such a klutz.”

  “I should never have come.”

  In retrospect I agreed with her, but it wasn’t what she needed to hear. “Maybe you’ve given him what he’s been after all along,” I said instead. “Maybe now that he’s had a good look at you he’ll move on to someone else.”

  Peggy looked at me from beneath her woolen cowl. “You don’t really believe that, do you? What he’s going to be is furious at me for trying to trap him.”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “That’s why you’re coming home with me.”

  Peggy started to stand up but I held on to her. “Oh, no I’m not,” she protested as I forced her back to the bench.

  “Oh, yes you are. You are if I have to tie you up and kidnap you.”

  She started to object once more, then fell silent. We listened to the wind and smelled the trees and watched the lights of the city watch us, a million bright eyes, all of them turned our way, wondering what entertaining enterprise we’d concoct next. “I have to go by my place and get some things,” Peggy said finally.

  “That’s not a good idea. He could be waiting for you.”

  “I can’t help it. I need my things. If you don’t let me get them I’m not going.”

  “Okay. But in and out. Quick like a bunny. And I go in with you.”

  She looked to her left, toward the bay and the Golden Gate, the route out of the city, the escape. “What about my car?” she asked absently, her thoughts elsewhere.

  “We’ll leave it. I’ll bring you back out here tomorrow. I’ll even pay the ticket.”

  “But—”

  “We do it my way or we spend the night right here,” I interrupted. “From the way you’re trembling I’d guess you’re not prepared for a night in the park.”

  “Okay,” Peggy surrendered. “I’m too tired to argue.”

  I stood up and reached out my hand and helped her to her feet, which were still bare. We walked out of the park arm-in-arm, Peggy clutching her shoes and purse like a basket of goodies for Grandma, me on the lookout for the Big Bad Wolf.

  The night was still clear, the stars still bright—a match for the man-made sparkle below them. The sky seemed lower than usual, as though the solar system had contracted for a better look at Peggy’s lithe performance.

  My car was still in someone’s drive, but ticketless. We got in and I drove toward Peggy’s apartment. The road was all downhill, on one of the steepest streets in town.

  I parked in the yellow zone in front of Peggy’s building. We went inside without exchanging another word, lost in each other’s thoughts and bleak conclusions.

  As we were mounting the stairs I heard a noise from down below, the garage area it seemed. I looked down the stairwell but couldn’t see anything. The noises continued—a clatter, a bang, then the scrape of shoes on concrete. “Mr. Mendosa?” I called out.

  The noises stopped. “Hello?” I called again.

  “Who is it?”

  The accented words floated to me out of the dark depths, spooky echoes off the plaster walls.

  “It’s Tanner,” I said, as loudly as I dared. “I’m here with Ms. Nettleton. I talked to you a couple of days ago and I’d like to talk to you again for a minute.”

  “It is four thirty. I was only preparing the cans for the garbage men. I am not yet dressed.”

  “I’ll see Ms. Nettleton to her apartment, then come down to your room. If it’s okay. It’ll only take a minute.”

  “Since it’s Ms. Nettleton, I will wait.”

  I thanked him and turned to Peggy. “I’ll check your place out, then you get your things together while I talk to Mendosa, then I’ll come get you and we’ll go to my place and catch a few hours’ sleep. How long will you be?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Fine.”

  We climbed the final flight of stars, pulled open the fire door, and entered the dark hallway. I motioned for Peggy to stop, then listened for indications that we weren’t alone. All I heard was the buzz of my inner ear and the whisper of Peggy’s careful breaths behind my back.

  I walked toward her door and motioned for her to follow. When I got there I checked the lock for signs of tampering, then pressed my ear to the door and listened. Nothing. Not even Marilyn.

  I backed away from the door and held out my hand. Peggy fumbled in her purse, then dropped the key in my palm. I inserted the key in the lock, then motioned for Peggy to move to
the side, out of a theoretical field of fire. I moved to the side as well, and pushed the door open. The hinge squeaked, the door scraped across the carpet and banged against the wall. I waited. No one shot at us, no one scrambled toward the windows in the back.

  I told Peggy to stay where she was and went inside. The smell of fresh flowers was a vivid presence. I took in a lungful of their spice, and then another, then flipped on the light and looked around. There were no signs of disturbance. Marilyn hurried over and rubbed against my leg. I looked through the remaining rooms in the apartment, found nothing more alarming than evidence that Peggy had tried on several costumes earlier in the evening, before selecting the one most likely to seduce the spider.

  I went back to the hallway and beckoned her inside. “I guess it’s okay,” I said. “Get your stuff together as fast as you can. I’ll be back in five minutes. You can go to work from my place, or I’ll bring you back here.”

  “My car.”

  “Right. I’ll take you to your car. Tomorrow. Not now.”

  Peggy wandered back toward the bedroom, looking idly around the apartment, her expression bemused, as though it was the first time she’d been in the place. I went through the door, made sure it had locked behind me, then trotted down the stairs, entered the garage, and crossed its empty darkness to Mendosa’s room.

  The door opened immediately after my knock. He was dressed in his work clothes but he had traces of shaving cream beneath his ears. His hair was mussed and there was a cup of coffee in his hand, but his eyes told me he was more awake than I was.

  “Why are you here at this hour, Mr. Tanner? Has there been more trouble in the building?”

  I shook my head. “I wanted to ask you if you’d ever seen a certain man hanging around the area in the past few days.”

  “What man?”

  I described the red-faced man and the clothes he wore and the car he drove. Mendosa grew grave with recollection. “I believe I have seen this person,” he concluded finally.

  “Where?”

  “In his car. In front of the building.”

  “Parked?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “Watching. Only watching, until he saw me watching him.”

  “Then what did he do?”

  “He drove away. Quickly.”

  “When was this?”

  “Perhaps a week ago. Perhaps a few days longer.”

  “Did you see him again after that time?”

  “Once. Driving past. When he noticed me in the doorway he drove faster.”

  “Did he ever say anything to you about Ms. Nettleton?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever see any of the tenants talking to him?”

  “No. I thought he was one of Miss Smith’s visitors, to tell you the truth. Perhaps one who wanted her to leave her life of sin.”

  “Did you talk to Miss Smith about it?”

  He shook his head. “She knows what I think about her life, so she avoids me. It is the way we both wish it, though I would be happy to introduce her to my priest if she was willing to call on God.”

  Mendosa spoke with such fervor it seemed impossible for a whore or anyone to refuse his offer of salvation. I asked if he’d seen any strangers loitering nearby other than the man in the Ford.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Why are you up so early, Mr. Mendosa? Did anything unusual occur in the building in the past hour? Noises, loud conversation, anything?”

  “I am awake because this is my normal time to begin the day. The garbage is today, plus I wish the building to be warm when the tenants arise. But I did hear something. Not long ago someone ran up the stairs. They ran fast, with heavy steps.”

  “When?”

  “Thirty minutes ago, perhaps.”

  “Any idea who it was?” I asked.

  He hesitated. “I should not guess. My son, he tells me what happens when a witness makes a guess. It is, how do you say it, objectionable.”

  “We’re not in court, Mr. Mendosa. I won’t quote you, or even object.”

  “Mr. Tomkins makes a disturbance like that sometimes,” Mendosa blurted finally. “When he is drunk and angry.”

  “Did you see Tomkins go out last night?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see him at all yesterday?”

  “No.”

  Mendosa looked at his watch and then looked behind him, back into his apartment where unspoken duties awaited. I thanked him for his time, then remembered a duty of my own. “Ms. Nettleton says to tell you she’s sorry about the mess she made on your floor,” I said.

  Mendosa frowned. “There was no mess on the floor; only on the stairs.”

  “Well, she’s sorry about that, too.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  I decided to take a peek down the hallway on each floor. The first two corridors were empty, but for the buzz of imagined snores. I walked to Tomkins’ door, listened for a moment, knocked softly, waited, knocked louder, but heard no response. I envisioned him in a masturbatory frenzy, surrounded by his admiring, airbrushed girlfriends. I got rid of the image as quickly as I could.

  The third floor, Peggy’s, looked empty as well. After making sure of that I tapped on Peggy’s door. When she asked who it was I told her, then said I’d be back down in two minutes. She said fine. I went to the stairs again, and this time climbed toward four.

  Halfway to the intermediate landing the fire door above me opened, banging against the wall with the sound of a gunshot. Footsteps began to descend, in an ominous cadence. I retreated to the darkness of the doorway on level three and waited to see who else was abroad at that eerie hour.

  He rounded the landing rolling in a robust swagger, a broad smile on his face and a lusty glitter in his eyes. One hand shoved his shirttail below his belt, the other fumbled for the talon to his unzipped fly. When I stepped into his path I startled him out of his vulgar reverie.

  “What the …?” His eyes bulged, red seeping into white, tiny bloody bandages. His hands dropped away from his clothing and made a pair of doughy fists. He squinted in the gray light, and finally focused. “Christ. You again.”

  Although his sneer was real and slanderous, there was a casualness to it that indicated that I was less threatening than whomever it was he had expected to encounter.

  With elaborate nonchalance he unwrapped his fists, uncinched his belt, retucked his shirt, and buckled up again, a boastful grin underlining his flushed features like a wormy slit across an apple. “Come back to take another look at my pictures?” he asked when his fly was finally fixed. “I got some new ones since you stopped by the last time. Young ones. Hairless.”

  For the second time that night I courted a homicidal impulse. “What were you doing up there?” I gestured toward the door he’d just emerged from.

  “What do you think?” Tomkins rolled his eyes and let his tongue hang stupidly from his mouth. His left hand cupped his genitals and he made a suggestive gyration of his hips.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Hey. Look around and try to guess who cares.”

  Tomkins bent over and brushed what looked like sand off his trousers. Much as I tried to dismiss it, when he straightened he had the soft, smug look of the satiety he was claiming to have just achieved.

  “Who were you with?” I demanded.

  Tomkins’ smile rolled toward a semicircle. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

  “Come on, Tomkins. Where the hell have you been?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Curiosity played hell with the cat, pal.” His laugh was as foul as the rest of him.

  I glanced down at the floor, at the pile of silica that had fallen there. “Where were you earlier this evening?” I demanded.

  Tomkins hesitated as he was about to edge past me. “I told you before where you can stick your questions, Tanner. You need a reminder?”

  With a final g
rinning insult he powered by me and started down the stairs. The only way I could have stopped him was with a right cross or a two-leg takedown, and at that point I didn’t have a right to do either, given the rather strict and specific requirements for a valid citizens’ arrest.

  As I watched him lumber toward the second floor I thought about Tomkins’ past, and about his earthy allegation. If he had truly enjoyed a sexual encounter on the fourth floor earlier in the evening, one of the two possible partners was Peggy Nettleton’s best friend. I tried to imagine a reason for Karen Whittle to let Judson Tomkins have sex with her. I couldn’t even come close.

  On my way to the top floor I spent another twenty seconds trying to put together a circumstance that would explain that union. I was deep into unlikely exchanges and desires before I decided I was being paranoid, that the obvious explanation for Tomkins’ dalliance was a certain Miss Smith, the same Miss Smith everyone in the building assumed to be a whore.

  I tapped on number 44, waited, and tapped again. After a creak of bedsprings, footsteps approached the door. “Who is it?” a wary voice demanded.

  “My name’s Tanner. If you’re name’s Smith I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “No.”

  “Then who are you? A cop?”

  “Private investigator.”

  “What do you want?”

  “If you’d let me in I could tell you in about two minutes and I wouldn’t disturb anyone else on the floor.”

  “I don’t let people in my apartment at this hour,” she said firmly. “No matter what they call themselves.”

  Her voice was rich and cultured, not at all the brazen scratch I’d expected. I began to doubt Miss Smith was the harlot Tomkins declared her to be. “It’s about a man in the building,” I said.

  She hesitated, and I expected to hear her retreat into her apartment, but she finally spoke. “What man?”

  “Judson Tomkins. He lives down on two.”

  Her laugh was brief and hard. “I know him, sad to say. So is that it? Is that what you want to know?”

  “I was wondering if you just had a more, ah, intimate relationship with him.”

  She paused again. “Look, mister. I’ve had a lot of grief in my life and I don’t need any more. I know Tomkins well enough to know he could be in any kind of trouble in the world, trouble I don’t even want to think of, which means the only smart thing for me to do is stay out of it. Which is what I’m going to do.”