It was the TV that made him turn around. The early evening newscast had come on, and the newscaster had mentioned the name Crandall Cox.
“Police have made no official statement yet about last night’s motel shooting,” the man was saying. “But just before air time this reporter learned from an authoritative source that a woman is being sought for questioning, the wife of a prominent local real-estate developer—”
In two strides Tully was at the set, wrenching the dial. The picture and voice faded swiftly.
“So that’s it,” a voice said behind him.
Tully whirled. It was Sandra Jean with a fresh glass.
“What’s it?”
“That’s why you’re acting so funny. It’s Ruth they’re looking for, isn’t it?”
3
The girl sounded perfectly cool. If she was disturbed, it was more a matter of annoyance than worry. Tully gaped at her.
She went over to the bar and proceeded to fix another drink for herself. “It would have to happen now,” she complained.
“Now?” Tully repeated blankly.
“I mean, it’s darned inconsiderate of Ruth, getting herself involved in a mess just when I was settling my hooks for keeps in lover-boy. It’s certainly not going to help me with old lady Cabbott. She’ll snatch at this scandal the way a seal goes after a fish.”
“I see,” Tully said. He felt like grabbing her by the neck and the seat of the panties and heaving her through the picture window. “And that’s all you can think about?”
Sandra Jean sat down again in the same sprawled position and sipped her drink. “Oh, come off it, Davey. It’s obviously some kind of ridiculous mistake, and anyway Ruth’s always been able to take care of herself. Meanwhile, I have to make out with Mercedes Cabbott. She’ll look for any excuse to keep Andy and me apart. My sister being hunted by the police is made to order for that old barracuda.”
“I guess this just isn’t my day,” Tully said. He rubbed his forehead with one hand, leaning on the TV set with the other. “What kind of self-centered little slut are you, Sandra?”
Something very hard came into her eyes. But her voice was quite level as she said, “I don’t like that, Davey. Don’t call me that again.”
“All right, all right,” Tully muttered. “I can’t seem to grasp any of this, Sandra. Did Ruth know a Crandall Cox?”
“Ask Ruth that,” the girl said.
“Then she did!”
“I didn’t say that. Look, Davey.” Sandra Jean took a long swallow and then set her glass down. “You think I’m being awfully callous, don’t you?”
“I think you’re being damned unconcerned about a sister who’s knocked herself out for you!”
“I’m not unconcerned,” the girl said calmly. “It’s just that I’m not worried. I know Ruth a lot better than you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Ruth’s always managed just fine. She’s done pretty well for herself so far, hasn’t she? She’s never lost her head in her life. She’s far too smart to kill anybody, especially a crumb like this Cranny Cox.”
Tully straightened up, staring at her. “Crumb? How do you know he was a crumb?”
“He must have been. Who else but crumbs get themselves shot in cheap motels?”
“You’re lying,” Tully said. “You do know what this is all about, Sandra. You gave yourself away!”
“I did?” she said. She picked up the glass again.
“Cranny. You called him Cranny.”
“So what?”
“How do you know he was called Cranny Cox?”
“The announcer called him that.”
“The announcer called him Crandall Cox!”
For the merest instant Sandra Jean seemed perturbed. Then she shrugged and sipped her Scotch. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? A man named Crandall would be called Cranny, wouldn’t he?”
“Who was he, Sandra? What was his connection with Ruth?”
The girl rose. “Really, Davey. Playing detective! You weren’t cut out for the role. Good night.”
“Not yet!” Tully caught her by the wrist and spun her around. “By God, you know something about this, and you’re not leaving here until you tell me!”
“Isn’t this where I say, ‘Please, you’re hurting me’?” she said. “For the second time tonight, I might add. Under other circumstances I’d enjoy it. Now I’m bored. Let go of me.”
He glared down at her in a dumb rage. She had a special talent for making him feel foolish. He let go and turned abruptly away.
“You’re a darling,” his wife’s sister said sweetly. “Ruth’s lucky to have you. About this Cox business, it’s Ruth’s show. She’s innocent, of course, and I’m perfectly sure she’ll clear the whole thing up. Try not to worry about it.”
“Will you please get out of here!”
“I’m off to the races right now,” Sandra Jean said. “Where the devil did I throw my purse? Oh, here it is.” He heard her going to the door. “You see, Mercedes Cabbott and that stuffed Adonis she picked for a third husband might decide to pack my beloved off on a long trip, and I’ve got to get in a few licks of my own or lose Andy for good. How mercenary can a girl get! Night, Davey.”
He did not reply, and after a moment he heard the door open and close.
Tully went to the bar and poured himself a long jolt of Scotch. He gulped it and poured himself another. Then he sat down and tried to think again.
Sandra Jean had seemed so positive that Ruth would come through this — whatever it was — in one piece. Of course the girl knew all about it. She must have good reasons for respecting Ruth’s confidence.
That was the trouble, Tully thought. Those reasons.
He was completely confused. The implications from some of the things Sandra Jean had said... If Julian Smith were to phone him this moment to announce that Ruth was in the clear for Cox’s murder, could he honestly say that things would be just as they used to be between them?
He swallowed some more of the Scotch.
What had Cox really been to Ruth? He couldn’t have been unknown to her — not when his nickname fell so naturally from her younger sister’s lips.
Who was Cox?
For that matter, who was Ruth?
The question invaded and possessed his mind...
Tully was pouring his third Scotch when the phone in the den rang.
It was Oliver Hurst.
“Ollie,” Tully said. He felt a deep gratitude.
“What’s up, Dave?” the lawyer’s rich voice said. “I just got in and Norma says you sounded upset. Anything wrong?”
“Ollie, can you come right over?”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“I don’t know, Dave. We’ve got this dinner engagement, and Norma’s all over my back as it is for getting home late.”
“Ollie, this won’t wait. It’s a serious personal matter. Believe me, I wouldn’t press it or risk upsetting Norma further if it weren’t. I’ve got to talk to you right away.”
Hurst was silent. Then Tully heard him say something, and Norma’s voice shrilling in the background. “Dave.”
“Yes, Ollie.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Thanks!”
Twenty minutes later Tully saw the lights of Hurst’s car swing into the driveway. He hurried to the door.
The lawyer’s flesh belied the promise of his voice. He was thick-set and moon-faced, and his head was a freckled, almost hairless, egg. But he had fine, light, clear eyes of a deceptive transparency which sometimes made Tully uncomfortable; they were almost the only remains of the lawyer’s youth — it was hard to believe, seeing what he had become, that Ollie had been voted the handsomest man in his class in the college yearbook. His hands were never still — pulling an ear, fingering his chin, rubbing his nose, scratching his skull, pinching the skin of his neck.