“I just got out of jail,” he said.
“Jail?”
He nodded grimly and collapsed into the armchair by the door. “You got anything to drink?”
I got him a water glass and poured it half-full of whiskey. His hands were shaking so badly that it was all he could do to get a good solid slug of bourbon down.
“What the hell happened, Jack?” I demanded.
“You know that .45 I bought from Sloane?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Sandy stuck the damn thing in her mouth and blew her brains all over the ceiling of my bathroom.”
“Oh, Jesus!”
“The cops held me on suspicion of murder for three days in the Tacoma jail until they finally decided that she did it herself. They had the inquest this morning.”
“Christ, man, why didn’t you get in touch with me?”
“I thought you knew. It’s been in all the newspapers and on the radio and TV.”
“We’ve been pretty busy, and I just haven’t paid any attention to the news for a while. God, Jack, I’m sorry as hell. I should have been there.”
“Nothin’ you coulda done.” He shrugged. “They were just playin’ games is all. Who the hell ever murders anybody by stickin’ a gun in their mouth?”
“When did it happen?”
“Monday night. I’d been out — just kinda pokin’ up and down the Avenue, you know. Anyhow, when I got back, there she was all sprawled out over the toilet stool with blood and hair and all that other gunk splattered all over the ceiling. Christ, Dan, I can still see it.” He covered his eyes with one trembling hand.
“Finish your drink,” I said, holding out the bottle to refill his glass.
He nodded and drank off the whiskey, shuddering as it went down. I filled his glass again.
“Look at that,” he said, holding out his hands. They were trembling violently. “I can’t stop shakin’. I been shakin’ ever since I found her. My hands shake all the time.”
“Come on, Jack, settle down,” I said. He was in tough shape. I should have warned him about it. God damn it, I should have warned him!
“Christ, Dan, I can’t. My nerves are all shot. I feel like somebody just kicked all my guts out.”
“Was she acting funny or anything before it happened? I mean, did she give you any kind of warning at all?”
“Hell no,” he said. “She always was kinda strange — you know, kinda quiet — but she wasn’t any different at all. Christ, the last thing she said when I left was, ‘See you when you get back.’ God, Dan, that sure as hell don’t sound like somebody who’s gonna kill theirself, does it?”
“No way,” I said.
“We was gettin’ along just fine. Hell, no beefs, no trouble, nothin’. And then she just ups and kills herself.”
“Did she leave a note or anything?”
“Nothin’. I think that’s why the cops put the arm on me. She even cleaned the place all up before she did it.”
“They got it all straightened out at the inquest, didn’t they? I mean, they didn’t leave the case open or anything?”
“No. It’s all settled. They had a lotta medical experts in and all. Angle of the bullet and all that shit. I was there because I found the body and called the cops. I got to hear the whole thing. Couple guys she’d gone with before I met her got called
in, and they both said she’d talked about it when they knew her. Anyway, they finally ruled it ‘death by suicide,’ and the cops had to let me go. The bastards sure as hell didn’t want to, I’ll tell you that. Once those motherfuckers get their hands on you, they hate like hell to have to turn you loose.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“God,” he said, “I couldn’t even go back inside my trailer.”
“What’d they do, padlock it all up?”
“No, nothin’ like that. I just couldn’t make myself do it. I went on out there, but I just couldn’t go inside. Ain’t that a helluva note?”
“You want to bunk in here for a few days?” It wouldn’t set too well with the Little Flower, but this was an emergency.
“No, Dan, thanks anyway, but I gotta get outa the area for a while. I’m goin’ down to Portland. Maybe stay with the Old Lady or something.”
“You’re welcome to stay here,” I said.
“It’s too close, man. I gotta get away. I was just wonderin’ if you could maybe come back down with me and get some of my clothes and stuff out of the trailer for me. I can’t make myself go back in there. I just can’t do it.” He sat hunched over, holding both hands around his glass.
“Sure, Jack,” I said, “I’ll leave a note for my roommate.”
“How is she?” he asked.
“She’s fine,” I said. I scribbled a quick note to her and we took off. I followed his Plymouth on down to Tacoma and on out toward Madrona. It was cloudy and calm that day, and the trailer court seemed kind of shadowy, tucked back in under a bunch of big old pine trees.
I got out and went over to where he’d parked his car. “What do you need, Jack?” I asked him.
“Grab my clothes and some shoes and stuff,” he said, not looking at the trailer. “Oh, get my transistor radio, too, huh? It’s in the bedroom.”
“Sure, Jack.”
“Don’t go in the bathroom, man. It’s awful.”
“I’ll have to,” I said. “You’ll need your razor and all.”
“Oh,” he said.
“It’ll be OK,” I told him. I went on into the trailer. It took me about twenty minutes to pack up all his clothes. I didn’t go into the bathroom until I’d got everything else squared away.
Actually, it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Most of the mess was in a dried pool between the toilet and the tub. I gathered up Jack’s stuff and took it on out to the living room. I tucked it all in various places in his suitcases and then hauled them on out to his car. On my last trip I carried out his radio and his shotgun.
“No, man,” he said, his face turning a kind of pasty color, “leave that fuckin’ gun here!”
“You can’t leave it here,” I told him. “Somebody might swipe it.”
“You keep it then. I can’t stand to look at the goddamn thing. I told you, Danny, my nerves are all shot.”
I took the gun over and put it in my car,
“Did you lock up?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “I’ll slip the latch when I leave. I’ll clean up that mess in there.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
I shrugged. “Somebody has to.”
“Thanks, Danny,” he said in a shaking voice. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to go in there again.”
“You probably ought to sell it,” I told him.
He nodded. “Hey,” he said suddenly, “I think there’s some beer in the refrig. Why don’t we sit out here and have a couple? I need something.”
“Sure, Jack.” I went on back in and carted out the six-pack.
“I’ll make arrangements with Clem to pick up the trailer,” he said as I got into the front seat with him. He started the car.
“Where we going?” I asked him.
“Just down the road a ways. I can’t stand to look at that damn trailer is all.”
“OK.”
We drove on out to the highway and then pulled off into a little roadside park.
“God, man,” he said, opening a can of beer, “I’m just completely wiped out. It was all I could do to keep from tossin’ my cookies when you hauled out my shotgun.”
“It’ll probably take you a while to get over this,” I told him, popping open a can for myself.
“I don’t know if I ever will,” he said. “Danny, my hands shake all the time. I’m afraid, and I don’t know what the hell it is I’m afraid of — maybe everything. Shit, I’m afraid of guns, the trailer, bathrooms, blood — Christ, anything at all, and I just come all apart.”
“You’ll be all right, Jack. It’s just going to take you some time, that’s all.”
He sat at the wheel, staring moodily out at the murky day. “I don’t know if you remember or not, but I had an argument with the Old Man once when I was a kid. I said that when a guy grew up, he wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.”
“I remember,” I said.
“He tried to tell me I was all wet, but I wouldn’t listen to him. I know what he meant now.”
We sat drinking beer and not saying much.
“You fixed OK for money?” I asked him.
“Christ, I don’t know. I don’t think Old Clem’ll spring loose with my check until Saturday. I hadn’t thought about that.”