Picking over all these bones through the years, I realized how little we know of each other. We judge each other without having all the information. Many times the quiet life of the soul has little bearing on the noisy life of the body.
But, after an hour of searching, I came to the conclusion that the exterior Richie had been pretty much like the interior one. Girly magazines, several handguns, books on weightlifting and advice on picking up ladies, several photography magazines that did double duty as girly books (the models in the photography magazines infinitely more mysterious and sexual than those in the girly magazines), and six different kinds of aftershave. Apparently the book on picking up ladies swore by aftershave as a tool of seduction.
I found the hidey-hole because I tripped over the register grate in the floor. Its black paint had long ago faded so that the grate was almost gray now. It had collected a furry tissue of dust on it. One thing was out of place. The east end of it was ajar, raised about a quarter inch from the floor. Maybe he’d been in a hurry pushing it down. Or maybe he simply hadn’t noticed.
I got down on my knees and went to work. He hadn’t made it especially difficult to find the envelopes once you figured that maybe the grate hid, in turn, a more artful hiding place.
My hand went left, my hand went right, waggling, wiggling, crawling until it reached what felt like a large manila envelope that was concealed beneath a piece of cardboard that had been spray-painted black and then carefully covered with mice turds and large furry dust devils. You wouldn’t look twice at how it had been concealed. It appeared to be a natural part of the heating system.
The envelope was heavier than it looked, an 8 x 10 standard issue that had been used for mailing before. It bore Richie’s name and the address of this place.
I grabbed a Falstaff from the refrigerator and seated myself in an armchair. The contents of the envelope radiated evil thoughts. I knew I’d found what I was looking for.
Twenty minutes later, having gone through all twenty-one photographs, I realized that he hadn’t been much of a Peeping Tom. He hadn’t needed to be. Who needed sweaty naked flesh when it was much easier to get a couple of simple shots of two adulterous people holding hands as they left a boathouse or two adulterous people walking into a motel room or two adulterous people furtively kissing goodnight as they stood between their respective cars. In divorce court, these would be a bonanza. You didn’t need pornography to make your case. Context alone was enough. Kissing and holding hands was pretty much a carnal act with photos like these.
But these weren’t local folks. Given the various settings, I could see that these had been taken in Chicago. The blackmail franchise had apparently started in Chicago and had been brought to Black River Falls.
I slid the photos back in the envelope and carried my beer can to the kitchen counter. The prig side of me had taken over again. I hated thinking about the misery these photos had wrought.
19
“How did you find out?”
“Guy who writes dirty books found out.”
“You have interesting friends.”
“And useful.”
“Will you be able to believe anything I tell you from now on?”
“It won’t be easy.”
“My first husband.”
“Beg pardon?”
“He had an affair right after we got married. Right after. I found out and tried to leave him. He convinced me to stay for three months and give it a try. But it didn’t work.”
“Because you couldn’t believe him. You were suspicious all the time.”
“You’ve been through it?”
“Both ends of the gun. Cheater and cheatee. Once somebody lies to you it’s hard to believe them again.”
“Maybe next time around I should try being the one who cheats.”
Marie Leeds’s hotel had a taproom full of road-weary salesmen, half of whom stood at one end of the bar and told dirty jokes, the other half of whom sat at the bar and stared at their drinks, as if by trying hard enough maybe they could levitate them.
We were sitting at one of those knee-knocking little cocktail tables that get wobbly pretty fast. A candle encased in a tube of red glass flicked rose-colored light across our faces.
“How about we start with your real name, since you aren’t really his sister.”
“The first name really is Marie.”
“Gosh, I know we’re on the right track now.”
“And my last name is Denham.”
“And you knew David Leeds how?”
She leaned back and picked up her package of Tareytons, got one going, put an explosion of smoke in my direction, and said, “I was his English teacher in high school. He came from a bad home situation. I sort of adopted him. I gave him the small apartment above my garage and that’s where he spent his senior year.”
“His folks didn’t have any objections?”
“His father was dead. His mother was an alcoholic and not easy to get along with. We had our battles, she and I. David made the mistake of telling her he had a crush on me. It didn’t last long, but the damage was done.”
“She thought you were sleeping together?”
“Yes.”
“Were you?”
She smiled. It was slow and sweet, that smile, suggestive of whatever you wanted it to suggest. “I wish I could say yes. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently. David was extremely impulsive. He never got into big trouble, but he certainly got into his share of scrapes. Maybe it would have allowed me to keep tighter control of him.” The smile slowly disappeared. “But, no, I didn’t. My mama didn’t raise me to do things like that.”
“Why did you register at the hotel here as Leeds?”
“Because I was pretending to be his sister.”
“You mentioned scrapes. What kind of scrapes?”
“Girl scrapes mostly.” She smiled. “He wasn’t just handsome. He was Negro and handsome. A lot of white girls were curious about that. But he also got into scrapes out here. Somebody at the hotel told me David caught Hannity cutting the tires of his scooter. I guess Hannity’s a pretty big guy. But David was so mad he plowed right into him.”
“When was this?”
“My understanding is that it was a couple of weeks ago.”
Rob Anderson’s father had hinted that Hannity might be worth checking into. The two young men hadn’t been together during the time of the murders. This had all been self-serving, a dad trying to help his son, but Marie had given me one more reason to look Hannity up again. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t get my own tires slashed. I rented a car this afternoon and drove around. Most of the people were very nice to me. But there’re a few — they always want you to apologize somehow for existing because you’re different than they are. And they think they know you just because of your skin color. And worst of all, they hate you. You can see it in their eyes. You’re something vile to them. I’m not sure I could live in your town.”
“You just said it was a minority of people who were like that.”
“That’s all it takes, Sam. A handful. Being just as hateful as they can be. The Klan doesn’t have all that many members, but they’ve never been stronger because we’re finally standing up for our rights. It doesn’t take many bad guys to cause a lot of pain and consternation. Look at poor Medgar Evers.”