“Mr. Hurley,” he said, “as you know, I’m an attorney…”
“Right, Sophie Brechtmann’s lawyer.”
“Well… no.”
“You’re not Grandma’s lawyer?” Helen said.
“No.”
“Then who are you?”
“I’m representing a man named Ralph Parrish, who’s been accused of…”
“Parrish!”
The name hissed into the room as if it were coming from the tattooed snake on Hurley’s arm. Instead, it came from Billy’s mouth, an electric-blue whisper that seemed to surprise even him. He looked immediately to Hurley in apology, both of them realizing in the same instant that Billy’s repetition of the name had confirmed his recognition of it.
“Did you know Jonathan Parrish?” Matthew asked at once.
“What do you want here?” Hurley said.
“The State Attorney has made a demand for notice of alibi…”
“We never set foot inside that house!” Billy said.
“Were you anywhere near it on the morning of the murder?” Matthew said.
“Murder?” Billy said.
“What murder?” Hurley said.
“All we done…”
“Shut up, Billy. What murder? Who got murdered?”
“Jonathan Parrish.”
“Oh, shit!” Billy said.
“When?”
“Last month. The thirtieth.”
“Where?”
“His house on Whisper Key.”
“Oh, Jesus, Art! We were watching a house where a man got…”
“I told you to shut up!”
“I knew them damn pictures would get us in trouble!”
“Did he tell you to shut up?” Helen said.
“This man comes here talking about the State Attorney…”
“What pictures?” Matthew said.
“Goodbye, Mr. Hope,” Helen said.
White man gets made, it’s easy for him. He changes his clothes, he puts on a fake mustache or a phony nose, he starts driving a different car, he’s a whole new private investigator. Black man gets made, it’s tough shit. He can change his clothes, his car, his nose, his fingerprints, there’s one thing he can’t change. His color. He’s black. The person he’s tailing turns around and sees this black man, it doesn’t matter if he’s wearing a blond wig and a dress now, he’s still black and he’s the man doing the tailing, he’s the man who’s been made, man, and there ain’t a goddamn thing he can do about it.
Warren Chambers had been made.
The lady was on to him.
Driving into the parking lot of Marina Lou’s, the sky and the bay and the rain as gray as his aging gray Ford, Warren watched Leona Summerville get out of her green Jag and all he could think was I’ve been made.
He had followed her home from her doctor’s appointment at the Bayou Professional Building.
He had waited a discreet two blocks from her house on Peony Drive until she emerged again at four-thirty.
He had followed her here to Marina Lou’s. She had driven as straight as an arrow, no ring-around-the-rosie this time, the lady was on to him for sure, the lady knew he was behind her.
She was handing her keys to the valet now.
She had changed her clothes for cocktail time, pale blue pleated skirt and blouse, pale blue low-heeled pumps. Was her lover waiting inside for her? Little cozy drink overlooking Calusa Bay? Her eyes swept the parking lot. There was a smile on her face. He knew that she knew he was sitting there watching her. How could he possibly tell Matthew Hope that he had blown the surveillance?
Leona Summerville was about to enter the building.
And then, as though some unseen and all-powerful being had summoned into Warren’s presence the very object of his thoughts, Matthew Hope himself pulled up to the front door in his tan Karmann Ghia, and got out of the car.
“Leona!” he called.
She stopped. She turned. She smiled.
Matthew handed the valet his keys. Leona took his arm. Warren watched them as they went inside together.
Huh? he thought.
And suddenly wondered…
But no.
But why not?
Was it possible?
He hoped not.
He hated Byzantine plots.
Helen was weeping.
Hurley hated it when she cried.
He felt like hitting her when she cried, give her something to really cry about. At the same time, he felt like holding her, comforting her. He wondered if he loved her. These mixed feelings about her. Wanting to belt her, tell her to shut the fuck up, wanting to hold her at the same time. Feelings about what she was carrying inside her, too. His baby. Never felt like this in his life. Never. Wondered if it’d be a boy. Sort of hoped it’d be a girl. Boys had it tough in this world. Too many things out there waiting to fuck you up.
“Don’t cry, baby, come on now,” he said, and took her in his arms, and kissed her.
Billy was sitting on the other bed.
Helen kept sniffling and snuffling into a little handkerchief trimmed with lace.
“Please, baby, I hate to see you so forlorn this way,” Hurley said, and kissed her again.
“It’s just I think I may have blown it,” Helen said, and dabbed at her eyes with the lace-trimmed handkerchief. “I may have told him too much. I thought he was Grandma’s lawyer. He passed himself off as Grandma’s lawyer.”
“No, he didn’t,” Billy said. “The man never said he was your grandmother’s lawyer. It was you who jumped to that conclusion.”
“Did the man say he was Sophie’s lawyer?” Hurley asked.
“I guess not, Art. Oh, Art, I’m so damn sorry,” she said, and burst into fresh tears. “I should’ve realized he was here snooping.”
“Now, now,” Hurley said, holding her in his arms, patting her. “Now, now, darling. What kind of questions did he ask?”
“Questions?”
“You said he was here snooping.”
“Well, he kept asking about you. Wanting to know when you were coming back.”
“That’s all? Then how do you figure he was snooping?”
“Well, he asked you…”
“I’m talking about before.”
“Asked if you knew Jonathan Parrish…”
“Before I got here is what I’m talking about. What did he say before I got here?”
“I told you all he said, Art. Well, wait, he asked me if I was Billy’s wife.”
“Did you tell him you weren’t?”
“Well, Billy told him his name, and I told him my name…”
“Terrific, he has everybody’s name.”
“He had yours already, Art,” Billy said, and got up and walked to the television set. “Before he even came here, he had your name.”
“Leave that off,” Hurley said.
“Just ’cause you and me are married,” Billy said, smiling, “don’t mean you can give me orders. Art.”
“I said leave it off,” Hurley said, and turned again to Helen. “What’d you tell him about your grandma?”
“I said I’d gone…”
“Yes?”
“To see her.”
“Did you tell him why you went to see her?”
“I’m sorry. Art. I know I should’ve been more careful. But I really thought he was Grandma’s…”
“Did you mention money, Helen?”
She looked at him. Her eyes were beginning to brim again.
“Did you?”
“I think I… I… may have mentioned something about… about her meeting my price.”
“You also mentioned her writing a check,” Billy said.
“No, I never said…”
“You said you wanted the check made out in your name.”
Hurley scowled.