The Crossroads (21 page)

“See if you can get hold of Lieutenant Sharry, Myra,” Chip ordered. “I’ll talk to him.”

Fifteen minutes after Chip had given Sergeant Gold the information over the phone about Glenn Lawrenz, Lieutenant Sharry arrived at the office. Chip gave him Sylvia’s note and explained what had happened. Sharry said men were already checking out the address on Lawrenz’ personnel form. He said that through a court order they had been able to open the box Lawrenz had rented. It was empty. They had raised two clear prints off the metal of the box. With only two prints and no other data, identification through central records was impossible, but now they would run the name through and see what came back from Washington. He said they had not yet located Brodey, but it began to look as though he would not be able to add anything when they did find him. The FBI would probably enter the case tomorrow. By now the description of the pair and of the two cars were on the teletype. They would not get far, he said. When he left he took with him a smiling photograph of Sylvia Drovek for duplication. No picture of Lawrenz was available. He explained apologetically that he could not guarantee to keep this latest development off the front pages. In fact, complete coverage in such cases often did a lot of good. People would come forward with information, once they realized it might be significant. He said he knew it was tough on the family, especially on the woman’s husband,
but that’s the way it was. Chip said that if newspaper coverage helped, then by all means go ahead with it. Sharry said that the addition to the case of a female who looked like this and was a runaway wife, would, with the newspapers and wire services, be like throwing steak to the lions.

At ten o’clock Chip drove to the hospital with Leo, Joan, Pete and Nancy. Betty had to stay home with her children. Papa had been moved to his private room. The doctor had checked him and left. The nurse said they could come in one at a time and look at him for a few moments. She said he was beginning to have brief periods of semi-consciousness. She said the doctor was quite pleased.

Chip went in last. It was difficult to see the old man in the faint glow of the hooded light. His face was a patch of swarthiness in contrast to the white dressing that started just above his eyebrows. Chip stood a few feet from the bed and saw a sudden gleam as old eyes were opened.

“Charlie?” The voice was frail and vague.

“I’m right here, Papa.”

“Don’t tear house down, Charlie. Is better move it up on hill, I tink.”

“That’s a good idea, Papa. We’ll do that.”

“Is pooty good …” His voice faded and his eyes closed again.

“Nurse!”

She bent over him, turned and straightened up, smiling. “He’s just resting again,” she whispered. “That’s the first time he’s spoken.” She moved with him to the doorway. “Did what he said make any sense?”

“Yes. But it was about something that happened a long time ago.”

“He’s really doing
very
well.”

Chip walked toward the others who were waiting for him. He grinned at them. Tears were standing in his eyes. “That tough old son of a gun,” he said. “That wonderful old Polack. Let’s go home and have a drink.”

On the way home they listened to the eleven o’clock news on the car radio. After covering international and
national news, the reporter said, “While Anton Drovek, prominent local businessman, hovers between life and death in Walterburg Memorial Hospital with extensive brain injuries received this morning in the daring robbery in the safety deposit vault of the Walterburg Bank and Trust Company, police are searching for Glenn Lawrenz, employed until today at one of the gas stations owned by the Drovek family corporation. It is believed that Lawrenz is accompanied by Sylvia Drovek, beautiful brunette model and wife of Peter Drovek, the youngest of Anton Drovek’s three sons. Sylvia Drovek fled from her home today leaving a note for her husband indicating that she was running away with Lawrenz. The couple is wanted for questioning in regard to the bludgeoning and robbery of Anton Drovek of three hundred thousand dollars in cash. Lawrenz is described as …”

Chip turned the radio off. “A big circus,” he said. “Raw meat for the public. The reporters will be leaning on us tomorrow. Nancy, you stay home from work tomorrow.”

“But, Dad, I can …”

“It’s an order, Nance. Stay with your mother. Keep people from pestering her and upsetting her.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I guess we all ought to lay low,” Joan said.

Pete said hesitantly, “Chipper, if Papa checks out okay in the morning, I mean he’s out of danger and all, maybe I could go off on a little trip.”

After a few seconds of silence Chip said in a perfectly level voice, “If the police don’t want you to stay around, I can’t imagine any of the rest of us caring particularly. I don’t think I care where you go or what you do or when I see you again. You’re dead weight, Pete.”

“That’s pretty rough,” Leo said.

“Why keep on pretending? I don’t see why, even in front of Nancy, I should keep up the Pete Drovek myth. If you’d had the faintest desire to keep Sylvia contented, maybe this thing wouldn’t have happened.”

“I don’t think that’s fair, Chip,” Joan said.

“Maybe it isn’t. I don’t much care. I’ve leaned over backward too long. I’m writing you off, Pete. You’re off
the payroll right now. You can live well enough on your dividends. Get your personal stuff out of the house. I’m going to lease it to John Clear. You can make a career out of being a charming house guest for all your friends.”

Pete laughed, a harsh, choppy sound. “The old kisseroo.”

“Do you mean this?” Joan asked.

“Yes,” Chip said.

“Isn’t this a time when we should be sticking together?” she asked.

“He suggested leaving. I approve it.”

“With police permission,” Pete added.

Suddenly they realized Nancy was crying. Pete put his arm around her and said, “Hey! Hey, girl!”

“Everything is so … h-horrible,” she said brokenly. “Nobody’s happy any more.”

Reporters and photographers were waiting for their arrival. Chip dealt with them, controlling his temper. Pete fled to his house, locked himself in and ignored the door-bell, let the phone ring. After they stopped bothering him, the house seemed particularly empty. He paced around restlessly, picking things up, putting them down, looking out the dark windows. Go over to Columbia and spend some time with Gidge and Rusty. He wondered where Sylvia was, where she lay in darkness with Lawrenz’ tan ropy arms around her. The husband betrayed. He thought of how he could make a real comedy routine out of it, for Gidge and Rusty. They would laugh. It was so wonderfully easy to make people laugh. Old Pete, figure of fun.

He thought of the old man in the hospital bed. Make some jokes out of that, Pete, my boy. Make a few funnies.

He made a drink. He stretched out on the oversized bed. He had the curious feeling that he had lost his identity, that he didn’t know who he was any more. Pete Drovek, party boy. Ho, ho, ho! The lampshade hat circuit. They love my imitation of Marlon Brando buying a new bongo drum. Ha, ha, ha! I know at least four hundred limericks. There was an old lady from Princeton. There was a young girl named McCracken. A foolish
old floop named McGruder. Make a funny about the tears of a pretty niece. Or a murderous gas jockey.

It took him a long, long time to isolate and identify the strange emotion he felt. Once he had identified it, its very strength appalled him.

He felt ashamed.

Brodey lay on the cot in the dark cabin. The only light came from the dial of a small plastic radio. “Lawrenz is described as being six feet tall, weighing one hundred and ninety-five pounds, exceptionally muscular. Dark-brown hair, worn long, pale gray or gray-blue eyes, and a tan complexion.”

Brodey listened to the complete description of Lawrenz and Sylvia and the two vehicles. A mosquito whined in his ear. He lit a cigarette. He had expected the police to come up with the right names, but not quite so fast. Probably the punk had pulled something stupid. He felt slightly uneasy about how quickly they had worked. Then he went over it logically. They couldn’t tie him to it. He hadn’t been seen with Sylvia. The odds against anybody identifying her nondescript car with him driving it were enormous. It was a calculated risk and he had taken it.

No, they’d never find them. Locked away together there in the trunk of the red Ford. Cozy. They would look for a long time. In far places.

He thought about the money. Packed in nice solid bricks. And no risk at all. The punk went and got it and brought it to you. Here you are, buddy. Thanks a lot, pal. He stubbed out his cigarette on the floor, stretched and yawned, turned the music down until it was barely audible, and composed himself for sleep.

TEN

Tuesday, the twenty-fourth, was a sticky day of misty sun and no wind. Papa Drovek had spent a good night.
The immediate family was permitted to see him in the morning, one at a time, for short visits. His memories were jumbled, his time sense distorted. At times he would ask plaintively where Martha was. He wanted to know what had happened to him, why his head hurt so badly, why he felt so weak and sick. They told him he had fallen. This would satisfy him for a time and then he would start asking again.

After Chip got back from the hospital he stopped in the gift shop to see Jeana. They went into the storeroom for a few moments. She looked up at him, her palms against his cheeks. “You look completely beat, darling.”

“It’s such a damned mess.”

“How is he now?”

“Better. It looks as if he’ll make it all right.”

“I’m so glad.”

“At least when they catch them, it won’t be murder.”

“Are they sure Sylvia was in on … that part of it?”

“I talked to Bill Sharry again this morning. He’s in charge of the case. A nice guy. He didn’t get much sleep last night. They found out where Lawrenz was yesterday morning. In a bar near his rooming house. It’s called Nick’s. Lawrenz got a very brief phone call there, a little after ten. The bartender said he was acting jumpy. The call came to a pay booth. After the call, Lawrenz left in a hurry. Apparently he had his props, the glasses and hat and so on in the car. Somebody had to tip him off so he could be in the bank before we got there. And that somebody had to be fairly well acquainted with Papa’s monthly routine, the way he’d cash his check and take his sweet time sticking it away in the box. Sylvia would have known that.”

“Could anybody else have been in on it?”

“Sharry doesn’t think so.”

Jeana had to leave and take care of a customer. She was back in a few moments.

“It’s awful for your brother.”

“You wouldn’t know it was, talking to him. They found Sylvia’s car.”

“Really! Where?”

“At the airport. Locked and empty. They’re still checking out passenger lists of all flights out yesterday. Sharry seems to think they may come up with something. He says it was so carefully planned that it isn’t logical they’d take off in a red Ford convertible. Too conspicuous. They found out Lawrenz has a record. One conviction. He served thirteen months of a two-year term for assault in Louisiana. The prints they found on his safety deposit box matched the prints on file. So that locks it up. Marty Simmons is more shocked than anybody. He thought Lawrenz was just about his best man.”

“I wonder where and how Lawrenz and Sylvia got together.”

“Right at the station at first, I guess. And made a date. Made a lot of dates. And then got this idea.”

“When will I see you, darling?”

“After things quiet down. God, I wish that when they do quiet down, we could go away for a while. You and me.”

She made a face. “I could put a sign in my window. Weekending with the boss man, with my landlord.”

“Some day.”

“Don’t even say it. darling. I don’t want you to jinx us. Now you better run along, don’t you think?”

He went to his office. Pete was standing by his desk, looking out the window. He turned quickly when Chip came in.

“I thought you’d be long gone, as soon as Sharry finished with you.”

“He sure asked a lot of questions. Right now I think he knows Sylvia as well as I ever did. Habits. Likes and dislikes. Taste in clothes and movies and food and perfume.”

“He wanted you to stick around?”

“No, Chip.”

“Papa’s doing fine. You can go.”

“Maybe I don’t want to go.”

Chip sat down. “You look strangely serious, kid. You baffle me. Where’s the comedy routine? Where’s the punch line?”

Pete said, “I don’t want to bare my soul. Maybe there isn’t much to expose. Maybe it wouldn’t mean anything to you anyway. You made that pretty clear last night.”

“As clear as I could make it.”

“It hurt. Not when it happened. Later.”

“Good.”

“Have you got something rough to hand out, in the way of a job?”

“How the hell long would you last?”

“I don’t know, and neither do you, Chip. It’s a case of waiting and finding out.”

Chip made a steeple of his fingers and peered through it at his brother. “You look very earnest. I’m not about to start rejoicing.”

“I know that.”

“Report to Harvey. Maintenance crew. Day labor. A buck and a quarter an hour. He’s no Marty, or even John Clear. He’s a mean, driving, crabbed old son of a bitch and he has absolutely no sense of humor, and it won’t matter a damn to him if you’re a Drovek or an arch-bishop. If you don’t work to suit him, he’ll have the authority to fire you. Feel like changing your mind?”

“Nosir!” Pete said, and saluted.

“Report to him tomorrow morning at eight at his shed back of the Haven. In work clothes. This is all very dramatic, I suppose. I wish I could believe in it.”

“You know, it’s time I found out too, Chipper.”

At a few minutes after eleven on that Tuesday morning, Sharry and Gold walked into the Highway Diner on 71. There were two customers at the counter. A bald man was yelling into a wall phone. A lean man with pale corded arms and a narrow face worked behind the counter.

“Mark Brodey?” Sharry said.

“Yes?”

“Like to talk to you. Police.”