Toll Call Read online

  I shook my head. “I was up here last night. You wouldn’t let me in. I …”

  She pursed her lips and nodded. “I’m short two hours’ sleep because of you. At my age I need all the rest I can get. Of course at my age I can rest anytime I want to, more’s the pity.” Her smile was friendly despite her mild complaint. “What’s your name?”

  I told her.

  “And you say you’re a private eye?”

  I admitted it.

  “You don’t happen to know a cop named Charley Sleet, do you?”

  I smiled. “Sure. Charley and I go way back.”

  She nodded. “I thought I’d heard your name before. Charley says good things about you.”

  “I say good things about Charley.”

  “I do too,” Miss Smith said softly. “I do too.”

  I raised a brow. “You know Charley pretty well?”

  “Yes.”

  “A long time?”

  “Since his wife died.”

  “I, ah …”

  For the first time she flashed a frown. “You think he should spend the rest of his life in mourning, I suppose.”

  “No, not at all.”

  Her lips hardened. “He loved her. Hell, he still loves her. He doesn’t love her any less because he stops by to see me from time to time. Or used to,” she added with definite disappointment.

  I tried to repair the damage. “Next time I see him I’ll tell him we talked. I’ll give him your best.”

  She shook her head quickly. “No. He knows where to find me and he knows how I feel about him. I don’t want to get in his way if he doesn’t want me there.”

  Memory filled the doorway for a moment, remnants of both our lives, memory that had in common a friend and a world that frequently inflicted pain on those the least deserving of it.

  After she disposed of whatever portion of the past that had visited her, Miss Smith looked at me. “What do you want?”

  “I need to know about Judson Tomkins. The guy down on two. He came up to see you last night.”

  She raised a brow that was plucked so thin a needle would have hidden it. “What makes you think so?”

  “He told me he did.”

  She pursed her lips. “You know Tomkins personally, Mr. Tanner?”

  “I’ve talked to him a couple of times, which is as personal as I want to get.”

  “Then you know he’s reprehensible.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know he’s even more twisted than most people when it comes to the game that’s played between the legs.”

  I nodded.

  “So when he tells you he was here with me you know enough to know that’s not necessarily the truth.”

  “Are you telling me it’s not?”

  Her face became a schoolmarm’s. “I told you last night that I was smart enough to stay out of it. I haven’t grown stupid overnight.”

  “So you won’t talk about Tomkins?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “Would you talk to Charley about him?”

  “I’d talk to Charley any time of the day or night. But not about Tomkins. What me and Charley had didn’t have anything to do with business. His or mine.”

  I tried a different tack. “Do you know Peggy Nettleton? Lives down on three?”

  “Know her to say hello to.”

  “She works for me.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Secretary.”

  “Is she good?”

  “She’s great.”

  “Well, that’s nice. I like her. She’s one of the few people in this place who can bring themselves to acknowledge my existence. So treat her good, boss man. Treat her real good. You want some tips on how, come by and see me.” Her smile was a tad lascivious, and gave me a hint of how it had been used for profit not too long ago, and why of all the women in the city Charley had picked this one to comfort and sustain him.

  Miss Smith put her hands on her hips and looked up and down the hall. “So is that it?” she asked when she didn’t see anyone. “If so, you’d better go.”

  I guessed she had a friend due any minute, but there were a few more things to ask. “How about Karen Whittle? Lives across the hall down there.”

  “What about her?”

  “You know her very well?”

  “No.”

  “Not even to speak to?”

  “I speak; she doesn’t. She’s a very cautious lady.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “She’s afraid her ex is going to run off with her kid, is what I heard. I don’t know if it’s true.”

  “You see any strangers hanging around the building in the last few days, Miss Smith?”

  She smiled. “You mean other than the strangers who live here?”

  I nodded.

  “No one more outrageous than usual. Why? Are you working for the Whittle woman?”

  I shook my head. “Some guy’s been hounding Peggy. Mostly by phone. But he lay in wait for her in the stairway one night. Pushed her down. Scared her. I’m trying to put a stop to it.”

  She shook her head. “That’s the trouble with the world these days. You never know where the trouble’s coming from. There’s crazies behind every tree.”

  “You’re an expert on the subject,” I said. “Why do some guys talk dirty on the phone? Why would they do that rather than visit someone like … visit a prostitute, for instance, if they couldn’t find a woman on their own?”

  Miss Smith frowned. “Because they’re scared of women. Or hate them. Or both. Because it’s more demeaning, at least in their minds, to hassle someone impersonally, to make them obey you even though they can’t see you. Plus they can let their imaginations run wild, they can believe the woman’s Marilyn Monroe even if she’s just Plain Jane. Plus it’s safer, psychologically. They don’t have the risk that the woman will fight back. It’s safer physically, too. You’d be surprised how many women beat up on their men these days. One friend of mine, his wife has broken his nose five times.”

  I asked my next question while Miss Smith was still remembering the battered husband. “You have any idea how a woman could scare a guy like that off? What she could do to keep him from harassing her anymore?”

  She chewed a nail and thought about it. “That’s a tough one. Because something that might make him stop the calls might make him mad enough to do some real harm, if you know what I mean. If he was upset enough he might want to shut her up for good. If it was me, I’d try to trap him.”

  “We did that. It didn’t work.”

  “Well, try it again.”

  “Maybe. Thanks for your help, in any event.”

  “That’s okay. Any friend of Charley’s is a friend of mine. And I’ve changed my mind. If you do see Charley, tell him I said hello. Tell him I sent a kiss.”

  She blew a sample my way. I told her I’d deliver the message. She closed the door and I went across the hall.

  As before, a youthful voice answered my knock, but this time she didn’t let me in, not even after I reminded her who I was. “Is your mother here?” I asked after Lily had denied me entrance.

  “No.”

  “When will she be back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could you let me in?” I asked again. “Just to talk for a minute?”

  “What about?”

  “Your father.”

  “I don’t have a father.”

  “I mean the one you used to have.”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, I was wondering if you had any pictures of him.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m pretty sure. I’ve never even seen a picture of him, I don’t think. I’ve never seen anything of his. Mom threw all that stuff out.”

  “Do you remember what he looked like, Lily?”

  “Not really.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “He was tall, I think.”

 
Everyone’s tall to a child. “What else?”

  “He was real handsome. That’s what I think, anyway. Mom says he wasn’t.”

  “What else?”

  “He was mean to us. And he wants to steal me away and take me someplace where I’ll never see Mommy again.”

  The blurted prospect made me shudder, as did the conditioning that produced it. I wondered if there was a substantial likelihood of such a fate, or whether it was just another form of warfare in the bitter aftermath of a long-lost love.

  “Have you seen your father recently, Lily?”

  “No.”

  “I mean in the last month or so.”

  “I haven’t seen him since I was a baby.”

  “Has your mom seen him?”

  “I don’t think so. But maybe. She’s afraid he’s in San Francisco someplace, I know that. That’s why I can’t go anywhere. That’s why I don’t have any friends.”

  “Peggy’s your friend, Lily.”

  “I know. I mean friends who play with dolls and stuff.”

  “I’ll bet Peggy would play dolls with you if you asked her. Why don’t you give it a try?”

  She hesitated. “Mom doesn’t like me to play make-believe. The last time I played dress-up with Peggy she bawled me out.”

  “Maybe next time she won’t.”

  “Mom says when little girls play make-believe then they forget to be careful sometimes. She says the most important thing to be in life is careful.”

  In the face of that cold caution there seemed nothing better to do than say good-bye. I started to leave but the voice called me back after a single step. “You know where Mom went?” she said.

  “Where?”

  “She went to school. She said after Christmas maybe I can go to a real school.”

  “That’s great, Lily.”

  “Do you think I’ll make some friends at school, Mr. Tanner?”

  “I know you will.”

  “Do you think they’ll like to play with dolls? To play Mom and Dad and stuff?”

  “I’m sure they will.”

  “Christmas isn’t too far away, is it?”

  “Two months.”

  “This is going to be the best one ever.”

  After leaving Lily I retreated to Peggy’s apartment and knocked on her door. She didn’t answer. I wondered if she was at the office, or with Karen Whittle, or with the spider on another stolen date. I returned to the stairs and went down to the second floor.

  After three knocks on Tomkins’ door I took a credit card out of my pocket, shoved it between the door and jamb, and ran it up the seam until the latch slipped back and the door flipped open. After peeking inside to make certain he wasn’t sleeping, I slipped into the room and shut the door.

  The place was pretty much as I’d seen it last, the bed back down out of the wall, as tangled and dingy as before. If anything, the number of sultry women on the walls had multiplied, as though exhibitionism was infectious. I poked around the corners of the room, until I spied a pile of dirty laundry. I kicked at the clothing until I uncovered the pair of trousers Tomkins had been wearing the night before.

  I bent down and patted the pockets. Nothing but a stained and crusty handkerchief. I moved to the cuffs. When I turned them inside out a tablespoon of a coarse mixture of dirt and sand spilled forth, leaving a gritty splash across the floor. I pawed through the other garments as well, but found nothing else that would indicate Tomkins was the man I had chased from the park nine hours earlier.

  The only other source of information was the desk beneath the window. The drawers were filled with files of one kind or another, correspondence mostly, fan letter responses from movie stars and country singers, all of them female, all of them buxom, all of their letters stilted and impersonal, run off on a machine and signed the same way. A few publicity photos were stuck in the files as well, but presumably since the subjects were fully clothed they didn’t merit a slot on the wall.

  I was ready to leave when I noticed a manila envelope on the far corner of the desk, on top of a stack of back issues of Hustler. The envelope was unmarked. It looked like the one that had been lying on the floor when Tomkins and I had come in the apartment the day before, only it was no longer sealed, its flap torn open in a jagged rip of urgency.

  I picked it up. There was something inside, and they felt like photographs. I reached inside and pulled them out.

  There were three of them, Polaroids, color snapshots of Lily Whittle, taken in her mother’s apartment in the bright light of day. She was lying on the floor on top of a gaily patterned quilt, bathed in the morning sun. She was lying on her back. Her eyes were closed, her hair was splayed across the blanket, her legs were lax in a peaceful arc of sleep, and she was naked. I put the envelope and pictures in my pocket and left the apartment and the building.

  By the time I got to the Buick I was sifting through so many improbabilities I decided it was time to work on something else. I started the car, but as I was about to pull away from the curb I noticed Ruthie Spring’s Camaro parked at the end of the block. I shut down the engine and got out of my car and strolled that way.

  Ruthie was sitting in the driver’s seat, sipping coffee from a thermos. When I tapped on the window she looked at me and grinned. After she unlocked the passenger door I slid inside.

  She offered me coffee and I took a sip, then returned the cup. “Slow day so far,” she said, simultaneously eyeing me and the door to the building.

  “Tracking Tomkins?”

  Ruthie nodded.

  “He been out yet?”

  She nodded again. “Baker’s Beach.”

  “Why there?”

  “For the view, I guess. He strolled around, checked out the beach and the picnic area, kicked some driftwood and pocketed a few shells, or maybe they were just used rubbers, then came back here. He’s in the garage, working on his car. I’ve had more exciting times in my closet.”

  I gave thanks for surviving a close call. “He meet anyone at the beach?”

  “Nope.”

  “You sure? A woman, maybe?” I mentioned Karen Whittle.

  “He didn’t talk to a soul, Marsh. I had him in sight the whole time.”

  “Did he make you?”

  She elbowed me in the ribs. “Hell, Marsh. I learned the ropes from Harry. The same way you did, don’t forget.”

  “Sorry, Ruthie. I’m grasping at straws in this thing. I think I’m going to get away from it for the rest of the day. Maybe something will come to mind if I leave some space for it.”

  Ruthie nodded. “Got a call from Miss Peggy early this morning,” she went on casually.

  “And?”

  “She wants me to call her at the office at five thirty, sharp. If no one answers she wants me to call again every five minutes. If no one answers by six she wants me to come down there and see what’s going on.”

  “She say what she’s up to?”

  “Nope.”

  “You going to do it?”

  “Sure. Unless you know a reason not to.”

  I shook my head. “I’m supposed to be there at five myself. Looks like Peggy’s taken charge of her own case, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure does,” Ruthie agreed. “Been better off if she’d done it all along.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I drove to Sausalito, for lunch at Angelino’s. After lunch I played a game of chess in the No Name Bar with a man I’d never seen before. We didn’t exchange a word during the entire match, which ended in a draw in terms of both skill and reticence. By the time I headed back toward the city I was a counterweight to the unbroken cable of commuters that lapped across the Golden Gate.

  When I got to the office it was ten minutes to five and Peggy was waiting for me. She gave me a brief smile but continued with her task, which was posting debits and credits to the ledger.

  I went into my private office and reviewed the calendar for the following week. I had done a good job of cleaning the slate. The expanse of time included
nothing to divert me from Peggy and our problem.

  I glanced at my watch. Five till five. Time was apparently going to remain perversely plodding. In a nervous buzz, I went back to the outer office, to question Peggy on what she had in mind. As I hovered over her desk she looked up, smiled enigmatically, then looked back at the ledger. I hovered a minute more. If Peggy sensed my mood she didn’t care to improve it. I went back to my desk.

  Ten minutes later I had decided to force the issue, but as I was about to invade her domain again Peggy came into my office and sat down on the couch. “Have you got some time to talk?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can we do it out there?” She gestured toward the waiting room.

  “If you want. It’s more comfortable in here, though, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “But I have to wait for something to happen and it’s easier to do it there.”

  My question lapsed unspoken. “Whatever.”

  I followed Peggy to the outer office. She sat at her desk and I sat on the couch opposite her. She wore a new brown suit, at least it was new to me. With its herringbone help she looked more confident and more aloof than the day before. After a minute she put away the ledger and looked toward the door to the hallway as though she was expecting someone to come through it.

  I followed her glance. Nothing happened, as far as I could tell. After staring at the glass panel in the door for several seconds, she looked at me. “We’re a mess, aren’t we, Marsh?”

  “I guess that describes the situation.”

  “I hope when this is over we can get back to the way we were.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I think we’ll only get better if you put it out of your mind,” she went on. “We have to pretend neither of us saw or heard anything that happened in the past four days. If you can do that over the next hour or so, we may be back to normal again. Do you think you can?”