The Groaning Board

Bill?”
    “Some people are just plain bad,
Leslie. They hurt people, they kill people, but they might not necessarily be
evil. Then there are people who are truly evil but might not actually kill.
Does that make sense to you?”
    “You’re saying that bad people are
not necessarily evil. That evil finds its own level.”
    “Let’s walk the pooch and get some
dinner,” he said, changing the subject.
    “Okay. Go sit down but don’t get too
comfortable. I feel my appetite coming back. But first I want to scrub the last
few hours off my face.”
    “You have some messages on your
answering machine,” he said, coming down the hall after her. He watched as she
took off her makeup and washed her face. “You’ve got beautiful skin.” He took
the towel from her hands and patted her face dry.
    “Go away,” she said, “or we’ll never
get dinner.”
    From the living room, he called, “Do
you want to hear your messages?”
    “S ure.”
    “First message: Carlos.” As she
replaced her makeup, she heard the rhythms of Carlos’ voice but not what he
said. “He wants to know if you’re okay and whether the big bad wolf hurt you.”
    “He didn’t say that.”
    “No, but it’s what he meant. Next
message: Silvestri.” Uh-oh, she thought.
    “Wants you to call him and not go off
half-cocked. He says he’ll work with you. What the hell does that mean?” She
touched her lips lightly with a pink glaze, then started down the hall.
Silvestri was still talking. “It means investigat-'ng Micklynn’s death.” She
heard the tape go “beep” as she came down the hallway toward the living room.
    “Why are you still doing that?” Bill
asked after a moment’s hesitation.
    “Because—”
    The voice on the tape was grotesque,
distorted. It surged from her answering machine like a poisonous cloud: “It’s
me again , cunt. I know you re up there on the twelfth floor thinking
about how I’m going to do you. It’s getting closer now... any day... any day.“

Chapter Fifty-Seven

     
     
     
    Bill Veeder put ice into two glasses,
poured a couple of fingers
of his single-malt into each, then ordered burgers and fries from ‘21’ around
the corner. Just your everyday hundred-dollar burger and fries. Wetzon began to
laugh; she laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks and the hiccoughs came.
After all, it was only an obscene phone call. An obscene phone call that a
murdered woman had also received.
    “That goddam dirtbag,” she sputtered
between hiccoughs.
    “You’ll feel better if you eat
something,” he said, setting out the burgers.
    “They look like burgers,” she said.
    “What did you expect?”
    “Caviar, truffles, considering the
cost.”
    “I want to know about Sheila Gelber’s
murder,” Bill said.
    And about how you got involved.”
    She began to talk, picking at her
food. She talked until she was exhausted. He never interrupted her. When she
looked down at her plate, there was no food left. Had she eaten all of it or
had he? His eyes watched her intently.
     
    ♦ ♦ ♦
     
    She awakened, gasping for air. The
room was dark. She was alone. She didn’t remember getting undressed and going
to bed. Rolling over, she saw the clock said 4:00. God, two nights in a row
with almost no sleep. It began to come back to her, in chunks, fitfully. Don’t
get emotional, she told herself.
    She switched on the light. Her
suitcase was on a bench at the foot of the bed. She got up and pulled an
oversized tee shirt from the bag. He’d helped her pack though she hardly
remembered for the blind rage the phone message had incited.
    Bill was sitting in front of the big
window in his living room, Izz on his lap. He was staring into the night. He
didn’t hear her come in, but Izz did, stirring to let him know Wetzon was
there.
    “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Wetzon
said.
    He held out his hand and she snuggled
in next to him, and so they sat, all three of them, till the sky was streaked
with pastels and the sun began to rise.
    “Feels different in daylight,” she
said. Feels good, she thought, just like this.
    “Always does.” He gave her a weary
smile.
    “Thanks for last night. I
overreacted, I think. It’s been a long time since...”
    “Since?”
    “Since I went to pieces like that.”
    “You can’t always be in control,
Leslie. Sometimes you have to let go.”
    “I’ll get myself back to my place
later today.”
    “I don’t think so. I want you here
with me. Security is better here and