Toll Call Page 26

  I shook my head.

  “Good. I’d hate like hell to have to prove what a lousy nurse I am by trying to bandage you up. How’s Miss Peggy?” she asked after I’d patted her back and kissed her cheek.

  “In shock, I think. He knocked her around a couple of times. She could have broken something.”

  “I’ll go call a doctor,” Ruthie said.

  “Better call Charley first. Tell him what happened. Tell him I’m getting Peggy out of here, then going home and changing clothes, then I’ll be back to tell him what it was all about.” I took out my notebook. “And ask him if he’s got anything on a gray Ford rental car with this license number.” I tore off the page and gave it to her.

  Ruthie raised a brow. “You sure you know what the score is, Marsh?”

  “I think so. If I’m right I’ll bring some props that will tell the story. For now, let’s get out of here. I don’t think Peggy can walk, so I’ll carry her. You get the key from her purse and we’ll go up and put her to bed. If you can stay with her, I’ll go clean up and be back in half an hour.”

  Ruthie nodded. “I’ll call a sawbones, too.”

  “Good.”

  “Anything else I should do?”

  “Well, it’d be good if no one left the building.”

  Ruthie put her hand on her purse, the place where her gun was stashed. “Who else is in on this?”

  “Tell you later.”

  “Damnit, Marsh Tanner. You—”

  “Later.”

  Ruthie shrugged. “Okay. I’ll call in someone to keep watch on the front door. Hell, maybe little old Caldwell can come over. He’s been wanting to stick his nose in my business ever since we met. And I don’t mean that business, so you can wipe that grin off your face.”

  I laughed until I took another look at Tomkins.

  I went over to where Peggy was lying and placed her arms around my neck and slid my arms beneath her legs and torso and lifted her off the floor. She groaned again. I worried I might be aggravating her injuries, but her eyes were still glassy with shock and I didn’t think it would abate as long as we were in the boiler room. With one last look at Tomkins, I carried her out the door.

  Although I was as careful as I could be, by the time I got Peggy to her apartment she was sticky with Tomkins’ blood and even more in pain. The only thing I could think of was to put her to bed. On the way to the bedroom we passed a mirror. When she saw herself she screamed, then fainted.

  I took her into the bedroom and lowered her to her bed. After covering her with a blanket I backed out of the room and joined Ruthie in the kitchen. “She passed out,” I said. “You better stick close by. If you can’t find someone to guard the door, don’t worry about it. Nothing’s going to happen that’s not remediable.”

  Ruthie frowned. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

  I shook my head. “If she comes to, you might help her clean up, and do whatever else might help bring her out of it. But I don’t have any suggestions how to do it.”

  “Don’t worry, sugar bear. I’ve handled battle fatigue before. Takes some time, maybe, but it usually melts off, sooner or later.”

  “Try to make it sooner, Ruthie. I’m going to need her to confirm my hunch on why Tomkins tried to kill us.”

  “You still keeping it under your hat?”

  I nodded. “I’ll tell you about it when I get back. I’ll even bring along some milk to help you wash it down.”

  “Make it Jack Daniel’s and you’re on.”

  I started toward the door, then stopped. “Ruthie?”

  “Yeah, sugar bear?”

  “In case you’ve got any reluctance to help Peggy get through this, I thought I’d mention that I’m not the one who shoved the screwdriver through Tomkins’ throat. She is.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You think that makes a difference?”

  “To me or you?”

  “Take your pick.”

  “It shouldn’t, should it?” I said.

  Ruthie shook her head. “But we both know it does, don’t we, sugar bear?”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Tomkins’ blood lay on me like a dark stigmata, emblazoned by a higher power, emblematic of my sins, imprinted in my flesh forever. After ten minutes of scrubbing, in the hottest shower I could stand, I finally looked clean, though I didn’t feel clean at all. Five minutes later the only thing that had vanished was the store of warm water. I climbed out of the shower, tossed my bloodied clothes in the trash, put on a new outfit, and drove back toward the Marina.

  The grocery store on Chestnut was a typical mom and pop operation, the kind my parents had run when I was young, the kind that drains and drains and finally empties its owner of everything but exhaustion. I waited in line for a cart behind two young trendies who were conversing with animated artfulness, doubtlessly about the preferred brand of Brie or the proper temperature for broasting garlic. As quickly as I could, I made my way to the dairy case and examined its contents.

  One by one I loaded my cart with the appropriate articles, until I had a complete set. When she saw the accumulation the checkout lady cracked a joke about cats and the woman behind me said something about a cow. My response to both was lame.

  By the time I got to Peggy’s there were three black-and-whites parked out front, surrounding the coroner’s black van. I lifted my grocery bag from the trunk and went inside the building and asked the uniform at the door where I could find Charley Sleet.

  The patrolman was young and arrogant and he lectured me on improperly interfering with a homicide investigation. As he was about to send me on my way I told him I was the one who had called it in. Then he groused about leaving the scene of a crime, the consequences of the destruction of evidence, and the necessity of hot pursuit. I told him the person who had pulled the trigger was still in the building, and suggested it might be something Charley Sleet would want to know. He summoned a full load of truculence and directed me to the garage.

  I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go inside the boiler room to find him when I saw Charley lumbering across the greasy concrete toward me. When he saw me he waved. I waited for him to join me, and we entered the elevator together. “Where to?” I asked.

  “Wherever you’re going.”

  “Peggy’s.”

  “Fine by me.”

  I pressed the button. The elevator made sounds that made me look for a certification of inspection.

  “You know what went down in there, I hear,” Charley said as the box began its irregular ascent.

  “Yep.”

  “You do the shooting?”

  “Nope.”

  “The screwdriver?”

  “Nope.”

  “What the hell. You buy a box seat, or what?”

  “That’s about it,” I admitted.

  Charley eyed my bag. “What’s that?”

  “Evidence.”

  “You serious?”

  “Partially.”

  “Going to let me see it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have to set the stage.”

  “Playing Nero Wolfe, are we?”

  “Might as well give it a try. He was a hell of a lot more successful than I am at this business.”

  We spent the rest of the trip discussing why so many of San Francisco’s leading citizens were turning out to be crooks.

  I knocked on Peggy’s door. A moment later Ruthie answered. When she saw Charley she grinned. “Hey, big guy. Where you been keeping yourself?”

  “Here and there,” Charley said.

  “I know that place on Eddy Street you hang out. Person could expire just from the fumes.”

  “I go for the atmosphere, Ruthie, not the food.”

  “Atmosphere my ass. Last time I was there three drug deals went down before the waitress took my order, and that didn’t count what was happening in the john. You want a decent meal you should come up and see me sometime,” R
uthie invited, mimicking Mae West.

  “I will if you tell that boyfriend of yours it’s strictly platonic. I hear he’s kind of a hothead.”

  “So you know about me and little old Caldwell, huh?”

  “Some.”

  “Is there anything happening in this burg you don’t know, Charley?”

  “Well, I don’t know who’s going to play cornerback for the Niners next year,” Charley said, and gave me a look.

  “And I don’t know who gives a shit,” Ruthie answered. “And I’ll tell you one more thing. These days Caldwell only gets hot when I take off my jeans.”

  “Hell, Ruthie,” Charley drawled, “you let enough people watch that, we could do away with nuclear power.”

  Ruthie laughed and slugged him on the arm.

  “One other thing I don’t know is what happened down in that boiler room,” Charley went on, his words suddenly thick and serious. “Someone around here care to enlighten me?”

  Ruthie looked at me to see if she should tell him. “How’s Peggy?” I asked her.

  “Better. Woke up about five minutes back, came out and said hello, then went in to take a hot bath. Water stopped running a couple of minutes ago, so she should be ready any time. You bring dinner or something, Marsh?” she added, eyeing the paper bag.

  “Just the drinks.”

  “Damn. You know I like my hootch, but you got enough bourbon there to drown me and Charley both.”

  “Not bourbon. Milk.”

  Ruthie and Charley exchanged wordless disclaimers of abstinence. When they started to ask questions I shook my head and guided them inside the apartment.

  I told the others to wait in the living room, then took my props into the kitchen. It took me a while to set them up the way I wanted them, and when I was done I could hear enough snatches of conversation to indicate that Peggy had finished bathing and had joined Ruthie and Charley. I walked to the door and listened for a moment, to see how she sounded. I thought she sounded good enough for what I had in mind.

  When I walked into the living room I went to Peggy’s side. She was wearing her white silk robe. Her feet were bare and her hair was wet and she was pale enough to play Camille, but her jaw was firm and her eyes were clear and animate. “How you doing?” I asked.

  She gave me a weak but plucky smile. “Okay. Sorry I checked out on you.”

  “That’s okay. I wouldn’t have minded checking out for a while myself. You feel like talking about it for a bit? Charley needs to know what happened down there.”

  Peggy nodded. “I know what happened, but I don’t know why. That man was a despicable creature, but I can’t for the life of me think of what I did to make him want to kill me.”

  “He was just an agent, Peggy.”

  “Whose agent?”

  At that point Charley Sleet edged closer to us. “You ready to reveal all, Nero?”

  “I guess so. If everyone else is.”

  Three heads nodded their concurrence. I motioned for them to sit down, all except for Peggy. But before I could get into it, Charley asked a question. “Is the dead guy the one who’s been hassling Peggy on the phone?”

  Peggy looked at me quickly, her eyes wide with surprise, but I couldn’t tell if she was pleased or perturbed that I’d told Charley about the spider.

  I shook my head. “The dead guy’s name is Judson Tomkins. And he doesn’t have anything to do with that at all. The phone business is a separate thing.”

  Peggy had been anxious, but my answer seemed to calm her down. Then Charley revived it one more time. “Is it still going on? The phone stuff?”

  I shook my head again. “It’s taken care of.”

  “By you?”

  “By Peggy, mostly. She found out who it was and convinced him to lay off.”

  Charley looked at Peggy and gave her his Papa Bear grin. “You want to press charges?”

  She shook her head. “No harm, no foul; isn’t that what you guys say all the time?” Her laugh was only slightly forced, which was a healthy sign.

  Charley nodded. “Well, if he needs any more convincing, you know where I am. I’m about the best convincer in town, or so they tell me.”

  Peggy smiled and thanked him. Then all eyes turned back to me. I took a breath and clasped my hands and ran my theory through my mind, just to test it one last time. When it still seemed right, I plunged ahead.

  “This whole thing started when Peggy went to the grocery store on Tuesday night.”

  Peggy’s look was skeptical and disbelieving. “But nothing happened at the grocery store. Tomkins wasn’t even there.”

  “I know that.”

  “But—”

  “I told you, Tomkins was just an agent. A hired gun, working for someone else. But before I give you a better idea of what happened next, I think we should take a break. Have a little hot chocolate, maybe. Peggy, why don’t you go out to the kitchen and fix us some?”

  Peggy looked at me as though I’d grown an extra ear. “Fix some yourself,” she snapped.

  Ruthie watched us both, then said, “I’ll do it, Marsh. Only I’m making mine bourbon and branch.”

  I shook my head. “Let Peggy handle it.”

  Peggy started to bark at me again, but held back. With a quizzical wrinkle across her forehead, she marched to the kitchen without another word. A few seconds later she peeked around the corner and glared at me. “What’s this all about?”

  “Look them over,” I said. “See if you see anything familiar.”

  “Look what over?”

  “The evidence.”

  Peggy hesitated, then disappeared again. Ruthie looked at Charley and Charley looked at me. They both had questions, and Charley spoke first. “Can we at least go over the mechanics of what happened downstairs?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Okay. You didn’t shoot him or stab him, or so you say. So who pulled the trigger?”

  “Ruthie.”

  He looked at her. “That right?”

  Ruthie nodded.

  “Where’s the weapon?”

  Ruthie patted her purse. “Got John Henry right here.”

  “Remind me to take it for ballistics when I leave. How about the screwdriver? Who used his neck like a two-by-four?”

  “Peggy,” I said.

  “Now this is turning into Agatha Christie, for Christ’s sake. How’d you all get down there in the first place?”

  “Tomkins was waiting for Peggy and me when we got here,” I said.

  “You mean waiting to kill you?”

  “I think so.”

  “You and Peggy. Where was Ruthie?”

  “Out in her car, staking out the building.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d asked her to keep an eye on Tomkins for a while.”

  “Why?” Charley said again.

  “Because I thought he might have something to do with Peggy’s telephone problem. He didn’t seem to fit, really, but he was too good a possibility to let roam around loose.”

  “So you and Peggy got here. Where from?”

  “The office.”

  “And you went inside, and …”

  “Tomkins looked out the window and saw us coming and met us in the elevator. He pulled a gun and herded us to the boiler room and got ready to kill us. But first he decided to have some fun and games with Peggy.”

  “You mean sex?”

  “Yep.”

  “He get the job done?”

  “Nope.”

  “Any thanks to you?”

  “Nope.”

  Charley nodded. “There was a bunch of tape wadded up down there. Who’d he use that on?”

  “Me,” I admitted.

  “Way to go, Nero. So he had you taped up like a sprained ankle, and was getting set to assault Miss Nettleton. Then what happened?”

  “When he was wrapping me up, Peggy grabbed a screwdriver off the wall. Then when I got him to come after me with a little diversion, she stuck him in the neck.”

&nb
sp; “Bled a little, didn’t he?”

  “Old Faithful,” I said.

  “Then what?”

  “He decided to take me with him.”

  “You mean kill you.”

  I nodded. “If it was the last thing he ever did. Which it would have been,” I added.

  “And then?”

  “About two seconds before he pulled the trigger, Ruthie saved the day. Or at least my portion of it.”

  “She shot him.”

  “Right between the lungs.”

  Charley looked at Ruthie. “What was he doing when you fired?”

  “Pointing a gun at sugar bear, over there. Telling Marsh he was going take him with him on the elevator, or some crap like that.”

  “Any doubt in your mind he was ready to shoot?”

  “About as much doubt as I have that fucking’s a lot more fun than fishing.”

  “So—”

  Charley’s question was interrupted by Peggy’s return from the kitchen. This time she carried something with her, and she placed it on the coffee table in front of all of us. After we looked at it for a minute, mine was the only face that didn’t wear a frown.

  It was rectangular and waxed and held a half gallon of milk. On the side that was turned toward me, the word MISSING was printed in dark, bold letters. Beneath the word were two pictures, both of children—one boy, one girl. Beneath the girl’s picture was the relevant data: Missing since 3/3/83; From Albuquerque, NM; Date of Birth 3/3/80; White Female; Eyes Blue; Height 36″; Weight 29 lbs; Hair Brown. Below the data was the phone number to call if you’d seen her: 1-800-843-5678. It was the number for the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children.

  Peggy’s eyes and mine met above the carton. “It’s Lily,” she said.

  I nodded. “I thought so, but I only saw her once so I wanted to be sure.”

  “It says she’s missing. It says she’s been missing for over three years. And it says her name is Linda Wilson.”

  I looked at Charley. “That’s what this is all about, folks. The girl whose picture is on that milk carton.”

  Charley thought a moment. “Where is she now?”

  “Upstairs, I think. If not, she should be easy to find. I don’t think anyone knows we’re onto the situation yet.”