Part 17 (1/2)
”I heard that. Do you know where her ex-husband is?”
”No. I had very few words with her at any time. Do you suspect him?”
”I have no reason to. But when a woman is killed you normally look for a man who had a motive to kill her. The local police have other ideas.”
”You don't agree with them?”
”I'm keeping my mind open, doctor.”
”I see. They tell me one of our students is under suspicion.”
”So I hear. Do you know the girl?”
”No. She was registered for none of our departmental courses, fortunately.”
”Why 'fortunately'?”
”She is psychoneurotic, they tell me.” His myopic eyes looked as vulnerable as open oysters under the thick lenses of his gla.s.ses. ”If the administration employed proper screening procedures we would not have students of that sort on the campus, endangering our lives. But we are very backward here in some respects.” He tapped the crystal of his watch again. ”You've had your five minutes.”
”One more question, doctor. Have you been in toqch with Helen Haggerty's family?”
”Yes, I phoned her mother early this morning. Dean Bradshaw asked me to perform that duty, though properly I should think it was his duty. The mother, Mrs. Hoffman, is flying out here and I have to meet her at the Los Angeles airport.”
”At six-thirty?”
He nodded dismally. ”There seems to be no one else available. Both of our deans are out of town--”
”Dean Sutherland, too?”
”Dean Sutherland, too. They've gone off and left the whole business on my shoulders.” His gla.s.ses blurred with self-pity, and he took them off to wipe them. ”It's foggy, and I can't see to drive properly. My eyesight is so poor that without my gla.s.ses I can't tell the difference between you and the Good Lord himself.”
”There isn't much difference.”
He put on his gla.s.ses, saw that this was a joke, and emitted a short barking laugh.
”What plane is Mrs. Hoffman coming in on, doctor?”
”United, from Chicago. I promised to meet her at the United baggage counter.”
”Let me.”
”Are you serious?”
”It will give me a chance to talk to her. Where do you want me to bring her?”
”I reserved her a room at the Pacific Hotel. I could meet you there, at eight, say.”
”Fine.”
He got up and came around the desk and shook my hand vigorously. As I was leaving the building, a small, old man in a black hat and a greenish black cloak came sidling out of the fog. He had a dyed-looking black mustache, hectic black eyes, a wine flush on his hollow cheeks.
”Dr. de Falla?”
He nodded. I held the door for him. He swept off his hat and bowed.
”_Merci beaucoup_.”
His rubber-soled shoes made no more sound than a spider. I had another one of my little nightmare moments. This one was Doctor Death.
chapter 16.
It was a slow drive up the coast but the fog lifted before I reached the airport, leaving a thickish twilight in the air. I parked my car at the United building. It was exactly six-twenty-five, according to the ticket the girl in the parking lot handed me. I crossed the road to the bright enormous building and found the baggage carrousel, besieged by travelers.
A woman who looked like a dried-up older Helen was standing on the edge of the crowd beside her suitcase. She had on a black dress under a black coat with a ratty fur collar, black hat, and black gloves.
Only her garish red hair was out of keeping with the occasion. Her eyes were swollen, and she seemed dazed, as if a part of her mind was still back in Illinois.
”Mrs. Hoffman?”
”Yes. I'm Mrs. Earl Hoffman.”
”My name is Archer. Your daughter's department head, Dr. Geisman, asked me to pick you up.”
”That was nice of him,” she said with a poor vague smile. ”And nice of you.”
I picked up her suitcase, which was small and light. ”Would you like something to eat, or drink? There's a pretty good restaurant here.”
”Oh no thanks. I had dinner on the plane. Swiss steak. It was a very interesting ffight. I never flew in a jet before. But I wasn't the least bit frightened.”
She didn't know what she was. She stared around at the bright lights and the people. The muscles of her face were tensing up as if she might be getting ready to cry some more. I got hold of her thin upper arm and hustled her out of there and across the road to my car. We circled the parking lot and got onto the freeway.
”They didn't have this when I was here before. I'm glad you decided to meet me. I'd get lost,” she said in a lost voice.
”How long is it since you were here before?”
”Nearly twenty years. It was when Hoffman was in the Navy, he was a warrant officer in the Sh.o.r.e Patrol. They a.s.signed him to San Diego and Helen had already run--left home, and I thought I might as well get the benefit of the travel. We lived in San Diego for over a year, and it was very nice.” I could hear her breathing as if she was struggling up to the rim of the present. She said carefully: ”Pacific Point is quite near San Diego, isn't it?”
”About fifty miles.”
”Is that right?” After another pause, she said: ”Are you with the college?”
”I happen to be a detective.”
”Isn't that interesting? My husband is a detective. He's been on the Bridgeton force for thirty-four years. He's due to retire next year. We've talked about retiring in California but this will probably turn him against it. He pretends not to care, but he cares. I think he cares just as much as I do.” Her voice floated along above the highway noises like a disembodied spirit talking to itself.
”It's too bad he couldn't fly out with you today.”