Yesterday's News

O’Day. Zero.”
    “Too bad.” Liz gestured toward the redevelopment articles. “So, what’d you think?”
    I told her.
    Frowning, she said, “Granted it was all public information, but wouldn’t you have been a little more than rankled at Jane for spreading it so thick?”
    “I guess I just don’t see it. So Dykestra got bailed out by the taxpayers. It all seems aboveboard, and nothing worse happened to him except maybe the pols won’t be so quick to lend a hand next time.”
    “What if her next story went a little deeper than public knowledge?”
    “How do you mean?”
    “What if some of the numbers got a little cooked before Dykestra and Fetch served them up to the pols?”
    “You have any proof of that?”
    “No, but Jane was sure close to Fetch before Coyne and the porno craze overtook her. It wouldn’t surprise me much if she learned some things from Bruce during pillow talk that she could have documented given enough time.”
    “Again, you have any proof?”
    Rendall sighed. “No. I just can’t see the Coyne thing being anybody’s reason to kill her. And if it wasn’t that, or the redevelopment project, I’ve got to believe she really did commit suicide. I just don’t like that any better than murder, I guess.”
    “Maybe I should check Jane’s house again.”
    “For notes and so on?”
    “Yes.”
    “I can save you a trip. I have to go there again tomorrow.”
    “How come?”
    “The funeral. I already picked a dress for the undertaker to... to use. But Jane’s aunt’s coming in from Kansas , and I promised I’d take her through the place.”
    “What time’s the funeral?”
    “Eleven-thirty. At Almeida’s on Exeter Street . You coming?”
    I wanted to say no outright, but instead I said, “Who else are you expecting?”
    “Not many. I’m assuming at least some of my colleagues won’t be too scandalized to attend.”
    “Because of the suicide atmosphere, you mean?”
    “Yes and no. Suicide’s the rationalization they’ll use. The fact they just didn’t like her much is the real reason they’ll stay away.” She drank some more. “Could we maybe talk about something else? I mean, you came here tonight to take my mind off the funeral, remember?”
    “Sorry. Any other topic is fine. You first.”
    Liz mock-toasted by touching her glass to mine. “I like a man who doesn’t drink coffee.”
    “Just never cared for the taste of it.”
    She swirled her liqueur. “ ‘Why drink the grindings of beans when nectar flows so freely?’ ”
    “Another quote?”
    “Yes, but I can attribute this one. Malcolm Peete, our resident lush.”
    “Just because a guy’s a lush doesn’t mean he’s stupid.”
    “And just because he isn’t stupid doesn’t mean he does his job.”
    “When you replace Arbuckle, you going to do something about it?”
    She inhaled the warm liquid. “Mal tell you to ask me that?”
    “No.”
    Rendall poured another shot. “Peete thinks he’s invulnerable. He’s wrong. Arbuckle doesn’t know how to manage the big boys, the executive editor and the publisher. It’d take me all of three months in Arbuckle’s chair before I undermined all that old war-buddy stuff to the point that Peete would have to drive his drunken ass through the snows of another city. Believe it.”
    I did. “At least you could offer him transportation.” She looked at me quizzically. “Why?”
    “He lost his license.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “He did. Implicitly, anyway.”
    “No. No, that’s wrong. I’d have heard about it. Besides, he’s so tight with the cops he squeaks when he goes by one.”
    “Meaning he does drive?”
    “Well, he’s got a car, and I’ve seen it in our lot often enough the last few months. So unless he’s hired a chauffeur, he’s driving himself.”
    “What kind of car?”
    “Old Volkswagen.” Liz looked at me more shrewdly. “Does that make a difference somehow?”
    I finished my drink. “I’ll have to let you know. Mind if I use your phone?”
    She pointed to a turquoise princess model on an end table. “I’ll take these back up and give you some privacy.”
    “Thanks.”
    I dialed the motel and drew Jones on the third ring. “Crestview.”
    “Emil, John Cuddy.”
    “I got your goddam message you been so hot to get.”
    “What’s it say?”
    “Guy sounded like a boozer.”
    “He’s a derelict, Emil.”
    “Well, whatever the hell he is, he’s gonna be waiting for you.”
    “Tonight?”
    “Hell, yes,