Killing Mr. Griffin

  “Yes,” David said.

  “What was your name—Ruggles? Yes, of course, Brian mentioned you only yesterday. Your papers blew away on your way to class. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” David said again, startled. “He told you about that?”

  “Brian talks a lot about his students. Everything that happens in connection with his teaching is important to him. And, you—” She turned to Mark, frowning slightly in concentration. “Mark Kinney. That name rings a bell too, though I haven’t heard it recently. There was something last year—oh, I remember. You’re the boy who copied a term paper from the university.”

  “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Griffin.” Mark dropped his eyes. “I was going through sort of a problem time in my life last year, and I made some mistakes I’ve been sorry for. I was lucky to have somebody like your husband there to help me get straightened out.”

  “There was a girl who got the paper for you. She was a university student, wasn’t she?”

  “I guess she must have been,” Mark said.

  “Her name—”

  “I don’t remember. I hardly knew her. Like I said, that was a kind of freaked-out time for me. I’ve put it behind me.”

  “I’m glad.” Placing her hands on the arms of the chair, Cathy Griffin hoisted herself laboriously to her feet. “I’ll think about it awhile. I’ll remember the girl’s name.”

  Susan’s parents rose too. Mrs. McConnell regarded the younger woman with concern.

  “I’m sorry Susan couldn’t have been of more help to you, Mrs. Griffin. I know how upset and worried you must be. If we can help you in any way—”

  “Thank you.” Cathy Griffin’s eyes were not on her, but on Susan. “I think Susan can be of more help, if she wants to be. Perhaps she will recall something later and want to contact me.”

  “If she does, I’m sure she’ll call you at once,” Mr. McConnell said. “Won’t you, Sue?”

  “Of course,” Susan said.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Davy’s been up to something,” Irma Ruggles said.

  Her daughter-in-law paused, her arms piled high with bedsheets, her face reflecting a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

  “What is it with you and David these days, Mother Ruggles? The two of you are at each other over everything. Yesterday morning at breakfast you were practically accusing him of trying to poison you.”

  “No, I mean it. Davy’s been up to something he doesn’t want us to know about.”

  “Like what?”

  Irma paused for effect and then spoke slowly with each word carefully enunciated.

  “Davy’s been seeing his daddy.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then David’s mother said quietly, “You know that’s impossible. David’s father has been gone fourteen years.”

  “That doesn’t mean he can’t come back again.”

  “If he were going to do that, it would have been a long time ago.”

  “He picked his time to go and he can pick his time to come back. There’s no rule that says when.” The gray-haired woman began to rock slowly back and forth in her chair. “I’ve always known he’d be back someday. I’ve always known that before I died I’d see my boy again.”

  “What is it that makes you think he’s back in town?” her daughter-in-law asked her.

  “Well, to start with, there’s the way Davy’s acting. He’s gone all the time, off someplace, seeing somebody.”

  “David’s been out more than usual, yes, but he tells us where he goes. Last weekend he went on a picnic in the mountains. For the past couple of nights he’s been seeing that girl he likes, that Susan.”

  “What about yesterday afternoon when he never came home from school at all? You got home from work, and he still wasn’t here.”

  “That was thoughtless of him, and I talked to him about it. He was out riding around with the Kinney boy and some friends of his and lost track of time. It’s irritating, Mother, but boys are like that, and David is seventeen, after all.”

  “Then the day before—the day he made the Jell-O—”

  “You’re not back on that again!” The amusement was gone. The exasperation had won. She came into the room and set the pile of sheets down on the stripped mattress of the bed.

  “You and David had that all out yesterday morning. He was here with you all Thursday afternoon. It’s not his fault that you fell asleep and don’t remember.”

  “He wasn’t here. He went out.”

  “What makes you keep saying that?”

  “He didn’t watch the game show. He told me the girl with the curly hair won again, remember? He said she won a mixer.”

  “Of course, I remember.”

  “Well, she didn’t win. Not a mixer, not anything. I tuned in on the show yesterday, and if that girl had won she’d have been back again trying for more prizes. She lost, and there was a black girl in purple pants instead.”

  “Mother, honestly!”

  “He wasn’t here. He didn’t see it,” the old woman insisted. “He was out somewhere that afternoon, and I know where. He was with his daddy. His daddy’s right here in town, and he’s got hold of Davy, and he’s seeing him.”

  “Look, Mother,” the younger Mrs. Ruggles said patiently, “Big David went away because he didn’t want the responsibility of a family. He wanted to be a free spirit, floating where he would, without a wife and a child and a sick mother dragging him down. We’re all still here, the three of us. Why would he suddenly decide to come back now?”

  “Men change.”

  “Some of them, maybe. But if he has changed—suddenly, after this long a time—then why would he be hiding out, contacting David on the sly? Why wouldn’t he come over here and knock on the door and walk right in?”

  “You don’t want him back,” Irma Ruggles challenged. “You don’t want to believe he’s here, because you don’t want him. You never wanted him.”

  “That’s not true. You know that when David left us, I felt like the whole world had caved in. For years I waited and hoped. Every time the phone rang my heart would drop into my stomach, I was so sure it would be his voice on the other end. Every time I came home from work and the mail was lying on the floor under the slot in the door, I held my breath when I bent down to pick it up, thinking maybe—maybe—there will be something from David.”

  “That was the way you were supposed to act. You always act the way you’re supposed to.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying some women aren’t made to be wives,” Irma Ruggles said. “They’ve got to run the whole show themselves. I know you felt bad there in the beginning, after my boy run off, and I felt real sorry for you, but you came around fast. ‘Poor, brave girl, look how wonderful she is,’ everybody said, and you liked that. You liked being wonderful.”

  “I’m sorry,” her daughter-in-law said in a low, tight voice, “but I’m not going to listen to any more of this. You’re not well, Mother Ruggles. You’re not thinking straight. You’re an old lady—”

  “Being old doesn’t mean you can’t see things clear. I see things fine. I see more than you do, all wrapped up like you are in being busy. I see Davy acting funny, and I know—I know.”

  “I’ve got to go out for a while,” the younger woman said, leaning to pick up the sheets once more. “You know Saturday’s the only day I have to get to the Laundromat.”

  “Where’s Davy?”

  “He went over to one of his friends’ house for a while, but he promised he’d be back by five. If he’s home before I am, tell him to put some potatoes in to bake. We’ll eat early tonight.”

  “You don’t believe it, what I’ve been telling you?”

  “No, Mother Ruggles.”

  “Well, I’ve got proof,” the old woman said. “Real proof.” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her robe, groped for a moment, and then smiled with satisfaction as her fingers closed upon a small, hard object.

  “I’ve got proof,” she said. ??
?I got it out of Davy’s room this morning. Davy’s been seeing his daddy, and I’ve got proof!”

  But there was no longer anyone to listen. In the room beyond, the front door of the house opened and closed.

  Detective Baca held the plastic pill bottle carefully with his handkerchief and turned it so that he could examine the label.

  “Now, where exactly did you say you found this?”

  “Up in the mountains at a place I like to go sometimes,” the girl told him. “My fiancé and I went up there to have a picnic.”

  “It was lying by the edge of the stream,” the young man said. “I wouldn’t even have noticed it, but Lana said, ‘How funny. Somebody’s been up here.’ She picked it up and read the name and said she knows the guy the label was made out to.”

  “You know Brian Griffin personally?” Jim Baca asked thegirl.

  “Well, not exactly. I’ve never actually met him, but a friend of mine took a class from him last year and had some—problems. I was—sort of—involved in the situation, and I remembered the name. Then last night it was on TV about his being missing, and it was in the paper this morning.”

  “It’s a comparatively new prescription,” the detective remarked. “It’s dated last month. And the label looks pretty clean for having been lying outside. Why were you so surprised to find it where you did?”

  “It’s not a public picnic area,” the girl said. “It’s way back from the road, and the only way you can get there is to go down a little path that’s hidden by some bushes. I just didn’t think anybody knew about the place.”

  “How did you know about it?”

  “I came onto it about a year ago. I was with a guy—a boy I used to date—and we were hiking, and we came through the woods and all of a sudden, there was this waterfall. It was really pretty, and we went back a few times after that.” She glanced over at the boy beside her. “Today—well, I wanted to show it to Chris.”

  “Lana and I go to school in Portales,” the boy volunteered. “We’re here over spring break, staying with her parents. They’re nice people and all; it’s just that it can get sort of difficult—you know?—not ever being alone together. So, Lana said she knew this private place, and—well—we just thought we’d go there.”

  “I guess, maybe, it was silly, bringing this down to the police station,” the girl said, half apologetically. “Chris thought it was. I mean, it’s just a little bottle. It doesn’t even have anything in it.”

  “It wasn’t silly at all,” Jim Baca told her. “It may or may not turn out to be important, but it certainly wasn’t ‘silly.’ Now, what about the rest of the area? Was there anything else lying around up there? Sandwich wrappers, beer cans, anything like that? Something to indicate that people had been there partying?”

  “No,” the girl said. “But there was another strange thing. There’s this big patch of ground with the earth turned up, like people were digging for something.”

  * * *

  “Well, it’s about time you got here,” Mark said shortly. “Where’s Jeff ?”

  “He’ll be late,” Betsy said, sliding into the booth across from him. “He had practice.”

  “Practice! He doesn’t think this is important enough to cut practice for?”

  “You told us all to keep on doing the things we usually do,” David reminded him. “You said if we didn’t it would start people wondering.”

  “Betsy, here, has already started them wondering, if what you told me last night is right.” Mark’s face was dark with fury.

  “What do you mean?” Susan asked in a whisper. “What’s Betsy done?”

  “She got herself a speeding ticket.”

  “What’s so awful about that?” Betsy asked blankly. “Lots of people get tickets.”

  “You never even told us!”

  Betsy glanced wide-eyed from Mark’s face, to David’s, and back again.

  “I didn’t think it was important.”

  “Not important!” Mark said hoarsely. “It explodes the whole alibi! How could you be home hanging out with Jeff and me, when you’re out getting a speeding ticket a block away from the school?”

  “Hey—cool it,” David said in a low voice. “Maria’s coming for our order.”

  “Hi there, gang!” The pert, dark-eyed waitress greeted them pleasantly. “How are our most regular customers this afternoon? What can I get you?”

  “What do you want, Sue?” David asked her.

  “Nothing. I’m not hungry.”

  “Cokes for everybody,” Mark said.

  “Large or small?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Small’s fine.” He pressed his lips together tightly until the girl had moved away from the table, and then leaned forward, letting his breath out in a soft hiss. “Okay, Bets, now give us the story. How much does this cop know about you?”

  “Nothing,” Betsy said nervously. “Honestly, Mark, it was just such a little thing I never even thought about it afterward. I was driving over to the school, and I was afraid I’d be late, and I guess I gave it a little more gas than I should have.”

  “I didn’t ask you how it happened, I asked what the guy knows about you. How much did you talk to him?”

  “Hardly at all. Just about the ticket.”

  “You tried to talk him out of it?”

  “Well, sure. I mean, after all, my father is a County Commissioner.”

  “And you told him that? ‘My daddy’s Harold Cline—he’s on the County Commission—you don’t dare ticket me’? You actually sat there, feeding him that sort of information?”

  Betsy’s face was her answer.

  “Christ, no wonder he remembered you,” Mark said savagely. “You rubbed that name right into his mind with a piece of sandpaper. So the next day he sees you and Dave in the airport parking lot, and he comes right out with it. ‘Here’s Miss Cline again.’”

  “He didn’t say that,” Betsy said. “He said, ‘Good afternoon,’ or something like that. It wasn’t any big deal.”

  “But he saw you, and he knew you. He saw you get out of Griffin’s car, Dave says. In fact, he got a good long look at the car. He followed you right into the parking lot. Right?”

  “That’s right,” David said, “but I don’t think he really noticed much. If he’d recognized the car as one on the wanted list, he’d have reacted right then. He’d have asked us for the registration or something.”

  “He may not have recognized it right off,” Mark said, “but you can be damned sure he’s got it wedged into some corner of his brain, just the way he wedged in Betsy’s name. All it’ll take now is for one of his superiors to read out the description during briefing, and out it’ll come. ‘Hey,’ he’ll say, ‘I’ve seen a car like that. It’s down at the airport.’”

  “What can we do?” Susan asked. “Go down and move it?”

  “We’ll have to. There’s no time now to sit around and wait for some dude to rip it off. But where can we stow it? Christ, Betsy, I’d like to strangle you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Betsy said contritely. “I didn’t mean to make problems.”

  “So you didn’t mean to; a lot of good that does us! Well, put your mind to it and see what you can come up with. We’ve got to find a safe place to stow that car, and we’ve got to do itnow.”

  “We could paint it and maybe sell it,” Susan said.

  “Without the title? You must be nuts.”

  “What about dumping it out on an Indian reservation?” David suggested. “You know, they’re private land. The police can’t go poking around on them without special permission from their governors. A car could sit there for a long time without being reported.”

  “Which reservation? The closest is Sandia Pueblo, and that’s too small. They know every car that comes in and out. Zuni’s bigger, but who wants to drive a hot car a couple of hundred miles on interstate highways to reach it?”

  “I have an idea,” Betsy said. “Let’s take it out on the mesa and scrap it. I mean, just tear it apart,
knock it into pieces, and scatter them.”

  “With what, a sledgehammer? Should we cut it up into half-inch hunks with a metal saw? How many years do you think that would take us, if we ever did get it done?”

  “Well, you suggest something,” David said. “You’re the big idea guy.”

  “I did think of something—the airport. It would have been perfect too, if Betsy hadn’t screwed things up for us. Okay, we’re stuck now. The best I can come up with is that we stick it in the Garretts’ garage.”

  “In their garage!” Betsy exclaimed. “Why, that’s not hiding it! Jeff ’s parents will see it right away.”

  “So they see it. Jeff can tell them he’s working on the engine for a friend.”

  “For how long?” David asked skeptically. “For a couple of days? A week?”

  “For as long as it’s got to be before we figure out something else. The main thing is, we’ve got to get that car out of the airport lot and under cover fast. When that cop goes back to the lot to look at it, it’s got to be gone.”

  “Jeff ’s parents have a two-car garage,” Betsy said. “Jeff can park his own car in the driveway. It wouldn’t be the first time; he did some work on Greg Dart’s car just last month.”

  “And while he’s got it he can spray it with paint,” Mark said. “And we can do something about digging up a different license plate. Yeah, this is the best answer. If we get the car looking different we can travel with it. Then maybe we can follow up on Dave’s idea and take it out to Zuni.”

  “How do you know Jeff will agree to this?” Susan asked. “Having it right there in his own garage and everything?”

  “He’s got to agree. He doesn’t have a choice.”

  “What if his parents recognize it from the description in the paper?”

  “They won’t,” Mark said. “There are lots of green Chevies in the world. Besides, they’ve got no reason to be suspicious ofanything Jeff does. He messes around with cars all the time.”

  “Here comes Maria with the drinks,” David said. “Oh—and there’s Jeff.” He raised his hand to catch the attention of the boy who had just come in. Their eyes caught, and Jeff started across the room toward the table.