Wild thyme and violets a.., p.29
Wild Thyme and Violets and Other Unpublished Works, page 29
Marsh was beside himself with fury, the near-orgastic release of tension. He smashed at the white man’s shin, then with judicious even-handedness, turned back to the negro, crushed an out-flung elbow. Then back to the white man, whose face was a piteous bloody mess. Marsh raised the rod; the white man brought up his forearm; Marsh struck and the white man fainted.
Marsh paused, a trifle appalled. Where was the slender dark youth? Nowhere in sight. The girl’s gaze was riveted upon a spot above him. He dodged, turned. Above him stood the slender form, prying at the pile of blocks with a board. They already were toppling. Marsh stumbled, pressed to the wall, put his hands over his head … An enormous thunderous blow, a series of blows, weight and suffocation. Three-quarters stunned, he heard voices. They came as if out of a chasm. The girl spoke: “I can’t see him. Is he dead?”
The boy said, “I don’t know. Let’s get out of here.”
“Dick? And Lundy?”
“We’ve got to get them to the car before the cops arrive.”
The girl’s voice quivered. “I can’t touch them.”
“You’ve got to.” The boy’s voice receded into the chasm. “You’ve got to …”
SYNOPSIS
Chapter V
In the hospital Police-Sergeant Glen Wilson questions Marsh, who recounts everything he knows. Wilson is non-committal. Skeptical? Uninterested? So Marsh suspects.
On his second visit Wilson states that BK Binkins has denied all knowledge of the affair, that no one answering the description of the two thugs have been admitted to any local hospital. If they were injured to the extent Marsh has described — and Wilson is politely dubious — they may have been treated by some private doctor.
Weeks pass. Marsh’s hip has been re-fractured. Marsh, nevertheless, is anxious to leave hospital. Doctor is sardonic. “You’ve been nursing that hip a year. Now with a new fracture you’re suddenly anxious to be out helling around.”
“I can make it, if I take it easy,” says Marsh earnestly.
“Still be two or three weeks yet. And even then — well, we’ll see.”
Marsh is eventually released. He takes cab to his apartment, limps into living room. Packages on sofa, on floor by door. He opens them — new clothes.
Marsh sits in quiet room thinking. Across hall Mr. and Mrs. William Stillwater have recently moved. Marsh transfers his belongings into Stillwater’s apartment, leaves their card in name-plate, removes his own, advertises “Apartment for Rent”. Then he gives all his old clothes to Salvation Army.
He buys a new black Buick Special, paying cash. Then he dresses in brown slacks, a jacket boldly patterned in black, white and gray squares, brown brogues, a tan shirt, narrow brown and black striped tie. He looks at himself in the mirror, hardly recognizing himself. He is thinner, his cheeks hollow, his jaw pronounced, his mouth a straight pale line. His hair is longer, he combs it straight back, giving his face a different expression.
He drives out to High Oaks Estates. The tract is sold out: no sign of BK Binkins. In a phone directory Marsh locates the address of the Binkins house in Piedmont: 59 Mowbray Court.
Marsh drives to Piedmont, finds Mowbray Court, parks. He walks into driveway, surveys house. He goes back, sits in car. After a while he gets out again, walks along street, turns corner, finds spot where power and telephone lines lead in toward house, through a copse of cedars, fir, redwoods.
He returns to his car, drives to an electronics supply house in downtown Oakland. He makes a number of purchases and returns to Binkins’ house … The time is three o’clock, the streets are quiet. Marsh swings over stone fence, climbs tree, splits telephone wire, scrapes insulation from one of the wires, splices in a shunt, which leads through a detector coil. He ties this to a branch, leads wires to the ground. He connects a small amplifier, one component of a citizen’s band transceiver. He climbs tree once more, and using pronged alligator clips, taps the power line. He runs power to his apparatus, switches it on, wraps the whole thing with sheet of vinyl plastic, tucks it out of sight under a laurel bush. Returning to his car, he switches on the other transceiver, waits. About an hour passes. He hears clicking, buzzing sounds, then a voice: “Hello?”
“Alma, this is Eleanor.”
“Eleanor dear, how are you?”
“Perking along, as usual. I called to say what a wonderful time we had at your little soirée.”
“Yes, I thought everything went well.” The conversation rambles on. Marsh listens fascinated. His tap works perfectly. The beauty of the situation, it can’t be traced to him. It’s a crime, he knows: a felony? Or only a misdemeanor? He doesn’t really care.
Marsh drives home. Sound grows fainter, almost dies by time he reaches apartment. He arranges an antenna, and reception improves.
All evening he sits listening to telephone conversations in and out of the Binkins’ house. BK telephones home that he’ll be late for dinner. Eleanor asks if he and Craig got together. BK says complacently, “If I wanted to commit financial suicide, I’d do what Craig wants me to.”
Eleanor sharply reminds him that she’s got almost fifty thousand tied up in the project. BK, still bland, remarks that he counseled her against it. “High Oaks was a better bet. It looked bad during that rain, but it paid off. In spite of Craig and his shopping center!”
Eleanor airy, “Any project requires patience. That terrible business with Craig’s car cost us a great deal of money.”
BK laughs. “That’s what options are for. If you let them lapse, then try to buy, you can’t expect a bargain. You’re just asking for a bath.”
A call. Nancy to a girl friend. Chatter, gossip.
A call from Mrs. Grover Brisbane to Eleanor. They chat about Alma’s party of the previous evening: “Nancy looked absolutely scrumptious. Such a lovely gown. Is that fabric real? Or should I ask?”
“Yes, it’s real. We found it in Rome; in fact it’s a Mancini. Somewhere he’s laid his hands on a set of priceless old tapestries. I suppose in a way it’s a shame to cut them up for clothes, but they do make the most ravishing gowns.”
“Oh I agree! Why have beautiful things if they can’t be used and enjoyed?”
“Yes. We’re having a party for Barbara in a week or two —”
“Barbara? Which Barbara would that be?”
“Barbara Tyburn, my little niece, just graduated from Radcliffe, with all the ambition and drive in the world. She’s visiting again this year. Really such a dear. They made everything so pleasant for Bernard when he was back East this winter. So I thought a lawn party would be nice.”
“Oh yes! On your wonderful lawn!”
A young man invites Nancy to a party. “What about Amy? I’ve a friend —”
“Amy’s too young for affairs of this sort,” says Nancy decisively.
“Come now. Don’t be hoity toity. You took Amy to Craig’s party. She got squiffed.”
“I know. I’ve regretted it, and so has Amy. She hasn’t even drunk wine since, or hardly gone anywhere.”
“A pity. She’s a cute kid. Why protect and shelter her?”
“Protect her? What a joke. She does whatever she feels like.”
Next day Marsh buys a transistorized tape recorder, various relays, sets up a system so that the tape recorder starts whenever someone speaks on the telephone.
Wednesday
A call by Amy to a friend Christina, suggesting a movie.
Christina can’t make it. “I’ve got a tennis date. Why don’t you come too? We can always scare up somebody else.”
Amy demurs. “I’m just getting over a cold, or the flu. Something or other. I don’t feel much like tennis … I’ll ask Cynthia.”
“Cynthia’s in Mexico.”
“Lucky girl. When did she go?”
“Last week. With her father and mother. They’re staying at some enormous hacienda that her grandfather owns; he’s something to do with the railroads. Anyway this house is five hundred years old and covers about an acre, with a court in the center. Cynthia says it’s absolutely glorious. Naturally it’s all fixed up — fountains and tile bathrooms, rugs, an aviary …”
“Sounds wonderful. I’d love to travel — all by myself, or with just one friend.”
“I would too. In Europe girls travel all over and no one thinks anything of it. They stay at Youth Hostels and old inns — sometimes it’s pretty ratty, of course.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“So long as it’s not in Italy. The men simply won’t leave you alone. Weren’t you in Rome?”
“Last year we flew over, for six weeks. We visited Rome and Venice and Taormina. Nobody paid me very much attention, I’m sorry to say.”
“Who’s that girl Maile’s going with? I saw them on Highland Avenue yesterday. She’s so weird!”
“Felice? Yes, she’s strange. They’re out in the carriage house now.”
“Oh?”
“They’re building a boat. She’s helping him. That’s what he says they’re doing. I hope — I hope …” Her voice dwindled.
“You hope what?”
“Oh nothing … I’ve got to hang up. Mother’s just come home.”
Eleanor makes a call. A woman answers. “McGill Investigations.”
“May I speak to Mr. McGill?”
“Who’s calling, please?”
“My name means nothing to Mr. McGill. I’d like to consult him in regard to a possible investigation.”
“Very well, ma’am.”
“McGill speaking.”
“Mr. McGill, I’d like you to perform an investigation for me.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Who’s calling, please?”
“My name won’t mean a thing to you. I can’t talk to you over the phone and I don’t want to come to your office.”
“Shall I call on you?”
“I’d prefer to meet you — say, the lobby of the Claremont. Can you make it today?”
“I’m free during the next two hours.”
“In an hour then; the lobby of the Claremont.”
“That should do.”
“I’ll be wearing a light gray suit, white shoes, and accessories.”
“It would be a help to know your name.”
“Mrs. Eleanor Binkins.”
“Very well, Mrs. Binkins. I’ll find you. In one hour.”
A call to Maile, in a hoarse drawling voice.
“Hey Maile.”
“Yeah. How’s it going?”
“Not so good.”
“Sorry.”
“I got to get some more gold. I need it.”
“Don’t come to me. I told you who to see.”
“I can’t get near the guy.”
“How so?”
“Oh — just the general brush-off.”
“Too bad. But I can’t do you a bit of good.”
“I think we should make out a little better, Dick and me both. We both think so.”
“Talk to the guy.”
“He says he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.”
“Natch. That’s destiny. With a capital R. For ‘Reaming’.”
“Maybe so. I still don’t like it.”
“Charge it up to experience.”
“Ha ha! That kind of experience you can keep.”
“I got to get back to work.”
“‘Work’? You work?”
“I’m working.”
“At what?”
“See you, Lundy.”
From BK to Nancy.
“Hello my dear. Is your mother there?”
“No. I just came in myself. I don’t know where mother is. Nobody’s home. Unless Maile is out in the carriage house. With his — ugh — girl friend. Honestly, BK, I wish you’d talk to that boy. He has the worst taste — in everything! Clothes, manners, friends — and that girl!”
“She’s an odd one, no denying that.”
“She’s from a far planet! She’s strange!”
“Well, we can’t all be alike.”
“I know that. I don’t want Maile to conform, exactly; I just want him to be normal. To get a hair cut and play football and drink beer, and — well, act like the other kids. He’s a misfit.”
“Yes, perhaps he is — but we’re all misfits of one sort or another. None of the family is anything but a real rugged individualist.”
“I know that, and I believe in it. Heavens, you should know I believe in individualism! But that doesn’t mean going really far out!”
“I’ll have a word with Maile. One of these days. The boat seems to be occupying his time. It’s certainly costing enough money … Where did your mother go? Is she with Craig?”
“I haven’t the slightest. I don’t think so. Isn’t Craig in Portland? Running down the elusive Cazzaro? Or is it Reno?”
Laugh. “Reno. I hope for your mother’s sake — and Craig’s sake — they find him. There’s a lot of money tied up.”
“Just where is this shopping center? Do you know?”
“No, and I don’t want to know. South county somewhere, so I gather. There’s lots of new developments down that way — new industries, subdivisions. If they can corral Cazzaro it may turn out to be a good bet. Craig apparently has an intuition regarding these things.”
“He only has to be wrong this once.”
“I don’t want anything to do with the project for just that reason. I won’t gamble, except on a sure thing. Craig’s a gambler, and, I fear, so is your mother.”
“She’s been worried about something. Maybe it’s the shopping center.”
“I can’t think what else it could be!”
“Well, I’m worried too. I’ve got to entertain Barbara and take her around, and she’s so pretty I’ll feel an utter frump.”
“Now, now, honey. You’re something to look at yourself.”
“Not really, BK. I know it, and I don’t worry about it. Well — she’ll only be here a month or so. You know, BK? I never feel comfortable with her. She’s so single-minded.”
“Barbara?” BK sounds surprised. “I’ve always found her — well, pleasant.”
“You’re a man, BK.”
“I admit to that. Well, I’ll be home in an hour or two. I’ve got a few calls to make. Are you going out?”
“To a committee meeting, for the Clambake. Time’s getting short.”
Two other calls, both for Eleanor, from social acquaintances, regarding social affairs.
A call from BK to a man BK addressed only as Doc, making arrangements for Sunday golf.
A call to Amy from a boy wanting to escort her to a swimming party in Orinda. After considerable hesitation, Amy accepts.
A call for Maile from a young man who gives his name as Yoke. Amy answers and says that Maile isn’t home, and has no idea what time he’ll be back. Yoke says, “Who’s this talking? Is this Maile’s cute sister?”, and Amy hangs up.
Thursday
Maile telephones Abe Schuster, inquiring price of fiberglass and resin.
A man calls Eleanor. (Marsh leans forward suddenly. The voice is familiar — but he can’t be sure. He’s heard so many telephone voices, and it’s now been two months.)
Man:
Well, I’m back. (Heavy, disgruntled.)
Eleanor:
And?
Man:
Wild goose chase. No one ever heard of him. I practically went house to house.
Eleanor:
That’s discouraging. Have you called Peralta?
Man:
He’s still not there and they still don’t know when to expect him. No word at all.
Eleanor: (thoughtfully)
I suppose there’s not much we can do, except continue the search.
Man:
If I knew where to look. For all I know he’s made a trip back to Portugal.
Eleanor:
Portugal? “Cazzaro”? That sounds more Italian, somehow.
Man:
Portugal, Italy — what’s the difference?
Eleanor:
I wish I could think of something constructive. Should we hire a detective, do you think?
Man:
Detective, no! They’ll blackmail you as soon as look at you.
Eleanor: (surprised, thoughtful)
“Blackmail”? I thought they were licensed, or bonded, or something of that sort.
Man:
Still no security. Some of these guys are pretty shady — real fly-by-nights. It’s a dirty game.
Eleanor: (slowly, thoughtfully)
Well, well, well.
Man:
Anyway I don’t see what a detective could do that I haven’t done.
Eleanor:
I guess we’ve just got to wait.
Man:
“Wait”? With a hundred and fifty thousand dollars tied up? On one measly little plot of land. What if Cazzaro dies! Or disappears? What do we do with forty acres of cow pasture, that we’ve paid through the nose for?
Eleanor:
It won’t come to that, Craig. So why get excited?
Marsh smiles. His name is “Craig”.
Craig:
I’m not excited. I’m just — well, disturbed.
Eleanor:
What do you think we should do now?
Craig:
I don’t know. I’m going to forget the whole thing for a day or two. If I can. What’s Boko up to?
Eleanor: (voice becomes dry)
The usual. He’s charging around inspecting properties. He wants to build another tract.
Craig:
High Oaks turned out pretty well for him.
Eleanor:
I suppose it’s really rather common, this kind of money. (Eleanor gives a self-conscious girlish little laugh.) Sometimes I say to myself, “Eleanor, what are you thinking of, grubbing for money like this? Vulgar!”
Craig:
It’s still money.
Eleanor:
Yes. It’s still money. Vulgar dreadful delightful money.
Craig:
And how I need it. My car still isn’t running right. I’d turn it in if I could afford to. Maybe I will anyway. (Voice becomes peevish.) I think I’ll do just that, today. There’s no reason why I have to drive around in a wreck.
