She nodded again.
”How about Marty?“ I said. ”Don’t you want to clear it with him or discuss it? Or something?“
”No,“ she said. ”You get me the reporter. I’ll give him my statement. Then I’ll tell Marty. I never bother him before a game. It’s one of our rules.“
”Okay,“ I said. ”Where’s the phone?“
It was in the kitchen. A red wall phone with a long cord. I dialed a number at the Globe and talked to a police reporter named Jack Washington that I had gotten to know when I worked for the Suffolk County DA.
”You know the broad who writes that Feminine Eye column? The one that had the Nieman Fellowship to Harvard last year?“
”Yeah, she’d love to hear you call her a broad.“
”She won’t. Can you get her to come to an address I’ll give you? If she’ll come, she’ll get a major news story exclusively. My word, but I can’t tell you more than that.“
”I can ask her,“ Washington said. There was silence and the distant sound of genderless voices. Then a woman’s voice said, ”Hello, this is Carol Curtis.“
I repeated what I’d said to Washington.
”Why me, Mr. Spenser?“
”Because I read your column and you are a class person when you write. This is a story that needs more than who, what, when, and where. It involves a woman and a lot of pain, and more to come, and I don’t want some heavy-handed slug with a press pass in his hatband screwing it up.“
”I’ll come. What’s the address?“
I gave it to her and she hung up. So did I.
When I hung up, Linda Rabb asked, ”Would you like more coffee? The water’s hot.“
”Yes, please.“
She put a spoonful of instant coffee in my cup, added hot water, and stirred.
”Would you care for a piece of cake or some cookies or anything?“
I shook my head. ”No, thanks,“ I said. ”This is fine.“
We went back to the living room and sat down as before. Me on the couch, Linda Rabb on the ottoman. We drank our coffee. It was quiet. There was nothing to say. At two fifteen the door buzzer buzzed. Linda Rabb got up and opened the door The woman at the door said, ”Hello, I’m Carol Curtis.“
”Come in, please. I’m Linda Rabb. Would you like coffee?“
”Yes, thank you.“
Carol Curtis was small with brown hair cut short and a lively, innocent-looking face. There was a scatter of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, and her light blue eyes were shadowed with long thick lashes. She had on a pink dress with tan figures on it that looked expensive.
Linda Rabb said, ”This is Mr. Spenser,“ and went to the kitchen. I shook hands with Carol Curtis. She had a gold wedding band on her left hand.
”You are the one who called,“ she said.
”Yeah.“
”Jack told me a little about you. It sounded good.“ She sat on the couch beside me.
”He makes things up,“ I said.
Linda Rabb came back with coffee and a plate of cookies, which she placed on the coffee table in front of the couch.
Then she sat back down on the ottoman and began to speak, looking directly at Carol Curtis as she did.
”My husband is Marty Rabb,“ she said. ”The Red Sox pitcher. But my real name is not Linda, it’s Donna, Donna Burlington. Before I married Marty, I was a prostitute in New York and a performer in pornographic films when I met him.“
Carol Curtis was saying, ”Wait a minute, wait a minute,“ and rummaging in her purse for pad and pencil. Linda Rabb paused. Carol Curtis got the pad open and wrote rapidly in some kind of shorthand. ”When did you meet your husband, Mrs. Rabb?“
”In New York, in what might be called the course of my profession,“ and off she went. She told it all, in a quiet, uninflected voice the way you might read a story to a child when you’d read it too often. Carol Curtis was a professional.
She did not bat one of her thick-lashed eyes after the opening sentence. She asked very little. She understood her subject and she let Linda Rabb talk.
When it was over, she said, ”And why are you telling me this?“
Linda Rabb said, ”I’ve lived with it too long. I don’t want a secret that will come along and haunt me, later, maybe when my son is older, maybe…“ She let it hang.
Listening, I had the feeling that she had given a real reason.
Not the only reason, but a real one.
”Does your husband know?“
”He knows everything.“
”Where is he now?“
”At the park.“
”Does he know about this… ah… confession?“
”Yes, he does,“ Linda said without hesitation.
”And he approves?“
”Absolutely,“ Linda said.
”Mrs. Rabb,“ Carol Curtis said. And Linda Rabb shook her head.
”That’s all,“ she said. ”I’m sorry. Mr. Spenser represents me and anything else to be said about this he will say.“
Then she sat still with her hands folded in her lap and looked at me and Carol Curtis sitting on the couch.
I said, ”No comment,“ and Carol Curtis smiled.
”I bet you’ll say that often in the future when we talk, won’t you?“
”No comment,“ I said.
”Why is a private detective representing Mrs. Rabb in this? Why not a lawyer or a PR man or perhaps a husband?“
”No comment,“ I said. And Carol Curtis said it silently along with me, nodding her head as she did so. She closed the notebook and stood up.
”Nice talking with you, Spenser,“ she said, and put out her hand. We shook. ”Don’t get up,“ she said. Then she turned to Linda Rabb.
”Mrs. Rabb,“ she said and put out her hand. Linda Rabb took it, and held it for a moment. ”You are a saint, Mrs.
Rabb. Not a sinner. That’s the way I’ll write this story.“
Linda Rabb said, ”Thank you.“
”You are also,“ Carol Curtis said, ”a hell of a woman.“
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WHEN CAROL CURTIS LEFT, I said to Linda Rabb, Shall I stay with you?”
“I would rather be by myself,” she said.
“Okay, but I want to call Harold Erskine and tell him what’s coming. I took some of his money and I don’t want him blindsided by this. I probably better resign his employ too.”
She nodded.
“I’ll call him from my office,” I said. “Would you like me around when you tell Marty?”
“No,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I think this will work, kiddo,” I said. “If you hear from Maynard, I want to know, right off. Okay?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“You know what Carol Curtis said to you?”
She nodded.
“Me too,” I said. “Me too.”
She smiled at me slightly and didn’t move. I let myself out of the apartment and left her sitting on her ottoman.
Looking, as far as I could tell, at nothing at all.
I caught a cab to my office and called Harold Erskine.
I told him what Linda Rabb had said in the papers and that it was likely to be on the street in the morning. I told him I’d found not a trace of evidence to suggest that Marty Rabb gambled or threw games or chewed snuff. He was not happy about Linda Rabb, and he was not happy that I didn’t know more about it. Or wouldn’t tell.
“Goddamnit, Spenser. You are not giving it to me straight. There’s more there than you’re saying. I hire a man I expect cooperation. You are holding out on me.”
I told him I wasn’t holding out, and if he thought so, he could refuse to pay my bill. He said he’d think about that too. And we hung up. On my desk were bills and some letters I should get to. I put them in the middle drawer of my desk and closed the drawer. I’d get to them later. Down the street a construction company was tearing down the buildings along the south side of Stuart Street to make room for a medical school. Since early spring they had been moving in on my building. I could hear the big iron wrecking ball thump into the old brick of the garment lofts and palm-reading parlors that used to be there. By next month I’d have to get a new office. What I should do right now is call a real estate broker and get humping on relocation. When you have to move in a hurry, you get screwed. That’s just what I should do. Be smart, move before I had to. I looked at my watch: 4:45. I got up and went out of my office and headed for home. Once I got this cleared up with the Rabbs, I’d look into a new office.