The Vampire Files - Art In The Blood Part 23

She laughed and attacked her eggs while they were still hot, but she sobered again after a few bites. "One more question?"

"As many as you like."

"Was it this way for you with Gaylen, I mean when she..." she faltered. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked."

Something in my manner must have stiffened up and she'd noticed right away.

"No, it's okay. I still have some scar tissue left, is all, it just isn't where you can see it."

"And with Gaylen?" she prompted, her brow puckered.

I closed my hand gently over hers and told the utter truth. "What you and I did together was make love. What she did to me was a kind of rape. There are a hundred h.e.l.ls of difference between the two."

Escott was still up when I got back home, which I half expected, as he often kept late hours himself. What I did not expect was the presence of a visitor as evidenced by a car standing in my usual spot in front of his house. I recognized it, parked farther down the block, and walked back, wondering if I should just barge in on them or not. Barb Steler had left him with quite a favorable impression of herself; if she in turn found him even a little attractive, my unexpected arrival might not be too welcome. My own ecstatic experience with Bobbi had left me mellow and wis.h.i.+ng the same joy upon others, but on the other hand I wanted to know why Barb had come calling.

Curiosity won out and I used my key this time to go inside. If Escott found her irresistible, he was enough of a gentleman to take her upstairs rather than risk a fall from his narrow sofa. In that case I was prepared to become diplomatically deaf and leave the house for an hour or so.

But they were talking about the European situation in his front room and the thought crossed my mind that at times Escott could be an idiot.

"... Spain is merely the testing ground in a larger game. It's certainly no secret now about Hitler supplying Franco with pilots as well as planes."

"And from this you believe that he has larger ambitions?" she asked, her voice all soft and throaty.

"Larger than any man in history has dared to imagine."

"Today Germany, tomorrow the world'.'" I could almost see her depreciatory smile. "It is an awfully large world.""Filled with many who would only too cheerfully give up their right to think if they believed it would buy them a little peace and prosperity. It's what he's counting on."

"But think of the good that he's done-"

"Like hiding all the anti-Semitic propaganda for the duration of the Olympic games? Such extreme att.i.tudes directed at a specific population have absolutely no place in an enlightened twentieth-century state, and yet this is the spoken policy of that state's leader. It is hardly a position appropriate for a reasonable and responsible society to take, and yet he has many followers on both sides of the Atlantic."

"Surely you don't intimate that I-"

"Ah, but you equate my general views as a personal attack on yourself and you needn't. Playing the devil's advocate has its appeal and makes for a better debate. I rather enjoy a good debate."

"And politics are a favorite subject?"

"Not in particular, but one may extrapolate from the larger overview politics provide and distill it down to simple motivations. Hitler's outstanding hatred for Jews most certainly has its root in some personal experience. The man is in sad and desperate need of some sort of mental counseling. He certainly has no business running a country."

"One might say the same for many other world leaders, mightn't one? But then who would be left in charge to run things?"

"The civil service, of course. They may be as slow to change as a bone into a fossil, but are generally more stable than fanatical, slogan-spouting dictators."

She laughed, low and musically, and I made some noise shutting the door. Escott called out from the front room.

"Jack? Come in and join us, my dear fellow, we've been having a most interesting talk on world affairs."

I stuck my hat on the coat tree and sauntered in. Escott was at his ease in his leather chair and Barbara was comfortably ensconced on the couch. Cigarette smoke swirled in the air above the bra.s.s lamp by the window and each of them had had at least one mixed drink. For a man of Escort's quiet personal habits, this was practically a New Year's blowout on Times Square.

Barbara patted an empty spot on the couch, smiling fondly at me. "Yes, do come in and help us solve everything."

"Well, uhh..."

Escott gave me a very slight high sign, indicating he wanted more company. Not only could he be an idiot, but he wanted a chaperon, too. To each his own, I thought, and dragged my mind away from carnality and myself into the room. I sat on the other end of the couch from Barbara and smiled easily at her. She returned it just as easily and still managed to inject it with a potent shot of her own special electricity.

Some people are like that, and her more than most. I wondered why she buried herself working for a cheap tabloid instead of a larger paper.

"You're looking tired, Jack," she observed. "Are you all right?"

"I've been busy."

Escott was very interested, but said nothing because of Barbara's presence.

"Is this a social call?" I asked her.

"I like to think of all my visits as social calls, but not everyone is of the same mind on that."

"Miss Steler came by with some news concerning Dimmy Wallace," Escott prompted.

"What news?"

She s.h.i.+fted forward a little and lost some of her affectations. "He's still being held on other charges, but the police have dropped him as a suspect for Sandra Robley's murder."

I wasn't too surprised at that and said so.

"Then you don't think he did it anyway?"

"No, not really. Why did they drop the charges and what about Roller?"

"Both of them have an alibi for the time."

"What kind of alibi?"

"Wallace's car broke down on the other side of the city and a Father Philip Glover of St. Mary's and two other priests stopped to play good Samaritan. They gave him a lift to a garage and back again, then stayed with him to make sure his car was in working order. He's covered for the whole time of Sandra's murder and then some.

Koller stayed behind, but went across the street to wait in a bar. There are several witnesses to confirm that."

"It's too good to be true. Are you sure about these priests?"

"Father Glover is a well-known figure and has served the parish for the last twenty years or so."

"What about the bar?""It's one of those little neighborhood taverns where everyone knows everyone else.

That's why they noticed Koller; he didn't seem to fit in."

"What were they doing on the other side of town?"

"Minding their own business, they claim. Perhaps they were on a collection trip, but all that really matters is that their alibi is solid and now Alex is back as suspect number one."

"But he nearly got killed himself because he thought Wallace and Koller did it."

"Which doesn't matter to the police. All they know is that he was closely involved with Sandra and can't account for his time that night."

"And that he's under a cloud from another woman's death."

Her look lanced through me with the same kind of force and intent as Wallace's gunshot. Escott had been quiet before, now he turned to stone waiting to see what happened. She drew a deep breath as though to call me a few names, but changed her mind and let it out very slowly.

"I hope you will believe that I am trying to help him now. Or perhaps you're testing me again?" There was enough ice in her voice to start a new glacier, a suitable contrast to the fire in her eyes.

"We all need to be aware of what he's up against, that's why I mentioned it. I know you're trying to help, or you wouldn't be here."

The fires banked, at least for the moment, but she was anything but happy at being reminded of her past smear campaign.

"Are the cops planning to arrest him?" I asked.

"I think so, but word is they're waiting until they've finished talking with all of the Robleys' friends and business contacts. Unless they turn up something from that end..." She shrugged.

"He will want a decent lawyer," said Escott.

She turned on him. "And do you think he's guilty?"

He was looking at me. I shook my head. "No, but he is in deep enough trouble to require one all the same. Perhaps you know of someone who might be useful."

"I do, but what else can be done?"

"Little enough at the moment. We and the police require more information than is presently available."

"I suppose a signed confession from the murderer would be nice." She'd put an acid bite to her tone."It would be decidedly convenient. Who knows what the future may hold?"

Barbara did not share his optimism one bit. "Nothing more than a jail cell for the rest of Alex's life unless we do something for him." The sarcasm had no effect on Escort, which annoyed her. She got her gloves from her purse and started pulling them on. "Well, gentlemen, it is getting late. Jack, would you see me out to my car?

The street might not be very safe at this time of night."

I remembered the derringer she carried and figured she wanted talk, not protection, but walked her out anyway.

"How do you put up with him?" she asked, turning and leaning back against the closed door of her car.

"It's mutual respect. Besides, he has to put up with me as well."

"That must be amusing."

"We're doing what we can about this, Barbara."

She smiled, just a little, and touched my cheek with one finger. "I know, and I'm being terribly ungrateful, especially after the way your friend charged in there to save Alex."

Last night's editing of her memory was still holding, so not everything was going down the drain. "Yeah, he's good at that kind of thing."

"What else has he done?"

"In general or about this case?"

"Both. I'm thinking of writing a feature article on him. 'The Lonely Life of a Detective' or something like that."

"First off, he calls himself a private agent, not a detective, and second, you need to talk to him about what he does."

"You think he might object to his name appearing in my paper?" My hesitation in answering did not insult her. "Don't worry, I have no illusions concerning the kind of rag I work for."

"Why work for them, then?"

"Why not?"

"Because you're too good for them."

"I'm glad you think so. The truth is that I like what I do and will continue to do it until something I like better comes along."

"Is there anything you like better?"Her smile broadened and she traced a finger down the side of my face. "I think you know the answer to that, darling Jack. The problem with my little pleasures is that I don't want to earn my living by them, then they would cease to be so pleasurable."

I didn't know what to say to that and she thoroughly enjoyed my discomfiture.

"You are such a sweet man. Would you like to come by later for a drink?"

If she only knew what that invitation really meant to me. "Not tonight-"

"Yes, you do still look tired. What have you been doing?"

"Visiting friends." I started to laugh. "It can be draining."

She picked up on the humor, even if she didn't get the joke. "Another time, then"-she pecked my cheek, got into the car, and slid over to the driver's side- "when you're fully rested." It wasn't what she said, but the way she said it. As she drove off, I stood in the cloud of her exhaust and gulped a few times.

Maybe Escott wasn't such an idiot, after all; it probably had to do with his instinct for self-preservation. I quickly retreated into the house, locking the door for good measure.

He was still in his chair, only now he'd drawn his legs up so his knees b.u.mped his sharp chin, and he'd lit a pipe. He broke off staring into s.p.a.ce when I returned and flopped wearily on the sofa.

"A tiring night?" he inquired.

"More than you'll ever know."

"I have observed that when you employ your special talents it often leaves you in a depleted state. May I conclude that you had occasion to use them this evening?"

"Oh, yes."

"Miss Steler prevented you from speaking out, I'm sure, but if you are not too fatigued I should like to hear an account of what happened."

I gave him his earful on my hospital visit, but left out Bobbi and the new phase in our relations.h.i.+p, though he was unabashedly fascinated by my condition and anything to do with it. Hearing about our exchange of blood would no doubt interest him on a certain cold, academic level, but at this point the current state of my emotional life wasn't relevant to the Robley case, nor was it really his business.

By the time I'd wound down, he'd finished his first pipe and was busy reloading another. The air was getting too thick for talk so I got up, opened the front windows, and flushed out my clogged lungs.

"Do you plan to do anything about him?" he asked, successfully lighting up on the first try. Alex Adrian?"