I told him about Constance Rattigan and her role playing.

“She was her own all-star cast, huh? Jesus. Louder and funnier, as they say.”

We went back out to stand on the wind-blown porch to look at the footprints that were beginning to blow away.

“Could be suicide,” said Crumley.

“Constance wouldn’t do that.”

“Christ, you’re so godawful sure about people. Why don’t you grow up? Just because you like someone doesn’t mean they can’t take the big jump without you.”

“There was someone on the shore, waiting for her.”

“Proof.”

We followed Constance’s single line of prints down to the surf.

“He was standing over there.” I pointed. “Two nights. I saw him.”

“Swell. Ankle deep in water. So no prints for the killer. What else you want to show me, son?”

“Someone called me an hour ago, woke me up, told me to come along the beach. That someone knew her house was empty or soon going to be.”

“Phone call, huh? Swell again. Now you’re ankle deep in water and no prints. That the whole story?”

My cheeks must have reddened. He saw that I had been telling a half-truth. I didn’t want to admit I hadn’t answered the phone the last time, but ran down the beach on a terrible hunch.

“At least you got integrity, scribe.” Crumley looked at the white waves combing in, then at the footprints, then at the house, white, cold, and empty in the middle of the night. “You know what integrity means? Based on the word integers. Numbers. Integrity means to add up. Has nothing to do with virtue. Hitler had integrity. Zero plus zero plus zero makes zero, no score. Phone calls and footprints underwater and blind hunches and dopey faith. These late-night shootings are beginning to tell on me. That about do it?”

“No, damn it. I’ve got a real, live suspect. Constance recognized him. I did, too, went to see him. Find out where he was tonight, you got the killer! You—”

I lost control of my voice. I had to take my glasses off and wipe the tiny wet salt-marks off so I could see.

Crumley patted my cheek and said, “Hey, don’t. How do you know this guy, whoever he is, didn’t take her in the water and—”

“Drown her!”

“Swim with her, talk nice, and they swam north one hundred yards and walked back to his place. For all you know, she’ll be dragging home at dawn with a funny smile on her face.”

“No,” I said.

“What, am I spoiling the mysterious romance of all this for you?”

“No.”

But he could tell I was uncertain.

He touched my elbow. “What else haven’t you said?”

“Constance mentioned she had some real estate not far from here, down the coast.”

“You sure she didn’t just go there tonight? If what you say’s true, what if she got spooked, pulled up stakes?”

“Her limousine’s still here.”

“People walk, you know. You do it all the time. Lady could walk a mile south, spooked, in an inch of water, and us no wiser.”

I looked south to see if I could see a beautiful lady, escaped along the strand.

Tags: Ray Bradbury Crumley Mysteries Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net