"HE WAS A WHAT?" Sears bellowed, his voice booming through Ricky's office.
"Well, he took a dive off the bridge this morning. He was a leaper. Lady, calm down and let me talk."
"The lady's name is Mrs. Sheehan," Sears said in a more normal voice. "She might respond better if you called her that. Now since Mrs. Sheehan evidently wished to communicate with us and is unable to do so, please tell us what happened to John Jaffrey."
"He took a dive off…"
"Be careful. He fell off the bridge? Which bridge?"
"Hell, the bridge over the river, what do you think?"
"What's his condition?"
"Dead as a doornail. What do you think it would be? Say, who's gonna take care of the arrangements and all that? This lady's in no shape…"
"We will," Ricky said.
"And we might take care of more than that," Sears uttered furiously. "Your manner is disgraceful. Your diction is shameful. You are a ninny, Hardesty."
"Just wait a damned-"
"AND! If you are assuming that Dr. Jaffrey committed suicide, then you are on shaky ground indeed, my friend, and you'd be well advised to keep that assumption to yourself."
"Omar Norris saw the whole thing," Hardesty said. "We need ID before we can get set for the autopsy, so why don't you get over here so we can get off the phone?"
Five seconds after Ricky put down his phone Sears appeared in the doorway, already thrusting his arms into his coat. "It's not true," Sears said, pulling on the coat. "It's some mistake, but let's get over there anyway."
The telephone buzzed again. "Don't answer it," Sears said, but Ricky picked it up. "Yes?"
"There's a young woman in reception who wants to see you and Mr. James," said the receptionist.
"Tell her to come back tomorrow, Mrs. Quast. Dr. Jaffrey died this morning, and Mr. James and I are going to his home to meet Walt Hardesty."
"Why…" Mrs. Quast, who had been on the verge of indiscretion, changed subjects. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Hawthorne. Do you want me to call Mrs. Hawthorne?"
"Yes, and say I'll be in touch as soon as I can." By now, Sears was in a rage of impatience, and when Ricky moved around his desk, his partner was already in the hallway, twirling his hat. Ricky grabbed his coat and hurried to catch up.
Together they went down the paneled hall. "That ponderous, unthinkable oaf," Sears rumbled. "As if you could believe Omar Norris on any subject except bourbon and snowplows."
Ricky stopped short and put his hand on Sears's arm. "We have to think about this, Sears. John might actually have killed himself." It still hadn't sunk into him, and he could see that Sears was determined not to let it sink into him. "He'd never have any reason to go walking on the bridge, and especially not in this weather."
Sears's face suffused with blood. "If you think that, you're a ninny too. I don't care if John was birdwatching, he was doing something." His eyes avoided Ricky's. "I don't know and can't imagine what, but something. Did he seem suicidal to you last night?"
"No, but…"
"Therefore, let's not wrangle. Let's get over to his house." He sped down the hall ahead of Ricky and banged open the reception room door with his shoulders. Ricky Hawthorne, hurrying after, came out into the reception room and was mildly surprised to see him confronting a tall girl with dark hair, an oval face and small, chiseled features.
"Sears, we don't have time now, and I told this young woman to drop in tomorrow."
"She says-" Sears took off his hat. He looked as if he'd been hit on the head with a plank. "Tell him what you told me," he said to the girl.
She said, "Eva Galli was my aunt, and I'm looking for a job."
(Mrs. Quast turned away from the girl, who had merely smiled at her, and blushed as she dialed the Hawthorne number. The girl moved away to examine the Kitaj graphics with which Stella, two or three years ago, had replaced Ricky's old Audubon prints. Incomprehensible and new, was Mrs. Quast's judgment on both the graphics and the girl. No, Stella Hawthorne exhaled when she had heard the hews about Dr. Jaffrey. Oh, poor Milly. Poor everybody, I'm sure, but I'll have to do something about Milly. When she pulls the jack from the switchboard, Mrs. Quast thinks, my goodness it's very bright in here and then thinks, no golly it's dark, dark as sin, the lights must have blazed up and gone out, but the next instant everything is normal, the lamp on her desk looks just as it always does, and she robs her eyes and shakes her gray head-Milly Sheehan had a soft cushy life right along, about time she went out and did a real job of work-and is astonished to hear Mr. James telling that snip of a girl that if she comes back tomorrow they'll talk about giving her some secretarial work. I mean, just what the dickens is going on around here?)
And Ricky, looking at Sears, wondered too-secretarial work? They had a half-time secretary, Mavis Hodge, who did most of their typing: to find enough work for another girl they'd have to start answering their junk mail. But of course it wasn't the need for more hands on deck that made Sears treat the girl the way he did, it was that name, Eva Galli, pronounced in a voice that would taste like port wine if you could drink it… Sears suddenly looked very tired, the sleeplessness and the nightmares and the vision of Fenny Bate and Elmer Scales and his damned sheep and how John's death (he was a leaper) had all gathered to unstring him if only for a moment. Ricky saw his partner's fear and exhaustion and saw that even Sears could come unglued. "Yes, come back tomorrow," he said to the girl, noticed that the oval face and regular features were more than just attractive, and knew that if there was one thing Sears didn't need reminding of at that moment, it was Eva Galli. Mrs. Quast was staring at him, so he told her to deal with all incoming calls during the afternoon, just to be saying something.
"I gather that a good friend of yours has just died," the girl said to Ricky. "I'm sorry to be coming at such an awkward time," and ruefully smiled with what looked like genuine concern. "Please don't let me delay you."
He glanced once more at her foxlike features before turning to Sears and the door-Sears reflectively buttoning up his coat, white faced-and it seemed to him that maybe Sears's instincts were right, maybe this girl's coming was a part of the puzzle, nothing seemed accidental anymore: as if there were some kind of plan and if they could only get all the pieces together they'd see what it was.
"It's probably not even John," Sears said in the car. "Hardesty is such an incompetent that I wouldn't be surprised if he took Omar Norris's word…" His voice died out; both partners knew this was only fancy. "Too cold," Sears said, his lips puckering out childishly. "Too damn cold," Ricky agreed, and finally thought of another thing to say. "At least Milly won't starve." Sears sighed, almost amused. "Good thing too, she'd never get another job with eavesdropping privileges." Then there was silence again as they recognized that they were agreeing that John Jaffrey probably had stepped off the Milburn bridge and drowned in the freezing river.
After they had picked up Hardesty and driven to the tiny jail where the body was being kept until the arrival of the morgue truck, they found that Omar Norris had not been mistaken. The dead man was John-he looked even more wasted than he had in life. His sparse hair adhered to his scalp, his lips drew back over blue gums-his whole being was vacant, as in Ricky Hawthorne's nightmare. "Jesus," Ricky said. Walt Hardesty grinned and said, "That ain't the name we got, Mr. Lawyer."
"Give us the forms, Hardesty," Sears said quietly, and then, being Sears, added, "We'll take his effects too, unless you managed to lose them along with his dentures."