“I did. I loved her.”
He lifted his red-laced hands in front of his eyes and began to scream. He rolled sideways with his face to the wall, screaming. He died that night.
Harlan was dead already. He should never have come there.
The Suicide
Published as “The Beat-Up Sister” in Manhunt, October 1953.
I picked her up on the Daylight. Or maybe she picked me up. With some of the nicest girls, you never know.
She seemed to be very nice, and very young. She had a flippant nose and wide blue eyes, the kind that men like to call innocent. Her hair bubbled like boiling gold around her small blue hat. When she turned from the window to hear my deathless comments on the landscape and the weather, she wafted spring odors towards me.
She laughed in the right places, a little hectically. But in between, when the conversation lagged, I could see a certain somberness in her eyes, a pinched look around her mouth like the effects of an early frost. When I asked her to join me in the buffet car for a drink, she said:
“Oh, no. Thank you. I couldn’t possibly.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not quite twenty-one, for one thing. You wouldn’t want to contribute to the delinquency of a minor?”
“It sounds like a pleasant enterprise.”
She veiled her eyes and turned away. The green hills plunged backward past the train window like giant dolphins against the flat blue background of the sea. The afternoon sun was bright on her hair. I hoped I hadn’t offended her.
I hadn’t. After a while she leaned towards me and touched my arm with hesitant fingertips.
“Since you’re so kind, I’ll tell you what I would like.” She wrinkled her nose in an anxious way. “A sandwich? Would it cost so very much more than a drink?”
“A sandwich it is.”
On the way to the diner, she caught the eye of every man on the train who wasn’t asleep. Even some of the sleeping ones stirred, as if her passing had induced a dream. I censored my personal dream. She was too young for me, too innocent. I told myself that my interest was strictly paternal.
She asked me to order her a turkey sandwich, all white meat, and drummed on the tablecloth until it arrived. It disappeared in no time. She was ravenous.
“Have another,” I said.
She gave me a look which wasn’t exactly calculating, just questioning. “Do you really think I should?”
“Why not? You’re pretty hungry.”
“Yes, I am. But–” She blushed. “I hate to ask a stranger – you know?”
“No personal obligation. I like to see hungry people eat.”
“You’re awfully generous. And I am awfully hungry. Are you sure you can afford it?”
“Money is no object. I just collected a thousand-dollar fee in San Francisco. If you can use a full-course dinner, say so.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t accept that. But I will confess that I could eat another sandwich.”
I signaled to the waiter. The second sandwich went the way of the first while I drank coffee. She ate the olives and slices of pickle, too.
“Feeling better now? You were looking a little peaked.”
“Much better, thank you. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I hadn’t eaten all day. And I’ve been on short rations for a week.”
I looked her over deliberately. Her dark blue suit was new, and expensively cut. Her bag was fine calfskin. Tiny diamonds winked in the white-gold case of her wristwatch.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “I could have pawned something. Only I couldn’t bear to. I spent my last cent on my ticket – I waited till the very last minute, when I had just enough to pay my fare.”
“What were you waiting for?”
“To hear from Ethel. But we won’t go into that.” Her eyes shuttered themselves, and her pretty mouth became less pretty. “It’s my worry.”
“All right.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, or ungrateful. I thought I could hold out until I got to Los Angeles. I would have, too, if you hadn’t broken me down with kindness.”
“Forget about my kindness. I hope there’s a job waiting for you in Los Angeles. Or maybe a husband?”
“No.” The idea of a husband, or possibly a job, appealed to her sense of humor. She giggled like a schoolgirl. “You have one more guess.”
“Okay. You flunked out of school, and couldn’t face the family.”
“You’re half right. But I’m still enrolled at Berkeley, and I have no intention of flunking out. I’m doing very well in my courses.”
“What are you taking?”
“Psychology and sociology, mostly. I plan to be a psychiatric social worker.”
“You don’t look the type.”
“I am, though.” The signs of early frost showed on her face again. I couldn’t keep up with her moods. She was suddenly very serious. “I’m interested in helping people in trouble. I’ve seen a great deal of trouble. And so many people need help in the modern world.”
“You can say that again.”
Her clear gaze came up to my face. “You’re interested in people, too, aren’t you? Are you a doctor, or a lawyer?”
“What gave you that idea?”
“You mentioned a fee you earned, a thousand-dollar fee. It sounded as if you were a professional man.”
“I don’t know if you’d call my job a profession. I’m a private detective. My name is Archer.”
Her reaction was disconcerting. She gripped the edge of the table with her hands, and pushed herself away from it. She said in a whisper as thin and sharp as a razor:
“Did Edward hire you? To spy on me?”
“Of course. Naturally. It’s why I mentioned the fact that I’m a detective. I’m very cunning. And who in hell is Edward?”
“Edward Illman.” She was breathing fast. “Are you sure he didn’t employ you to pick me – to contact me? Cross your heart?”
The colored waiter edged towards our table, drawn by the urgent note in her voice. “Anything the matter, lady?”
“No. It’s all right, thank you. The sandwiches were fine.”
She managed to give him a strained smile, and he went away with a backward look.
“I’ll make a clean breast of everything,” I said. “Edward employed me to feed you drugged sandwiches. The kitchen staff is in my pay, and you’ll soon begin to feel the effects of the drug. After that comes the abduction by helicopter.”
“Please. You mustn’t joke about such things. I wouldn’t put it past him, after what he did to Ethel.”
“Ethel?”
“My sister, my older sister. Ethel’s a darling. But Edward doesn’t think so. He hates her – he hates us both. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s responsible for all this.”
“All what?” I said. “We seem to be getting nowhere. Obviously you’re in some sort of a bind. You want to tell me about it, I want to hear about it. Now take a deep breath and start over, from the beginning. Bear in mind that I don’t know these people from Adam. I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m sorry, my name is Clare Larrabee.” Dutifully, she inhaled. “I’ve been talking like a silly fool, haven’t I? It’s because I’m so anxious about Ethel. I haven’t heard from her for several weeks. I have no idea where she is or what’s happened to her. Last week, when my allowance didn’t come, I began to get really worried. I phoned her house in West Hollywood and got no answer. Since then I’ve been phoning at least once a day, with never an answer. So finally I swallowed my pride and got in touch with Edward. He said he hasn’t seen her since she went to Nevada. Not that I believe him, necessarily. He’d just as soon lie as tell the truth. He perjured himself right and left when they arranged the settlement.”