The Sins of the Fathers

Page 17

 

  "Its not a bad place. Probably very quiet by New York standards. Though thats not necessarily a bad thing. "

  "No, its not. "

  "Ever been here before?"

  "Once, and that was years ago. The local police had picked up someone we wanted, so I came up to take him back to New York with me. I took the train that trip. "

  "How was your flight today?"

  "All right. "

  He was dying to ask me why I had dropped in on him like this, but he had manners. You didnt discuss business at lunch until the coffee was poured, and we wouldnt discuss our business until we were in his office. The Hanniford Drugs warehouse was on the western edge of town, and he had picked me up right in the heart of the downtown area. We managed small talk on the ride out. He pointed out things he thought might interest me, and I put on a show of being mildly interested. Then we were at the warehouse. They worked a five-day week and there were no other cars around, just a couple of idle trucks. He pulled the Lincoln to a stop next to a loading dock and led me up a ramp and inside. We walked down a hallway to his office. He turned on the overhead lights, pointed me to a chair, and seated himself behind his desk.

  "Well," he said.

  I didnt feel tired. It occurred to me that I ought to, no sleep, a lot of booze the night before. But I didnt feel tired. Not eager, either, but not tired.

  I said, "I came to report. I know as much about your daughter as Ill ever know, and its as much as you need to know. I could spend more of my time and your money, but I dont see the point. "

  "It didnt take you very long. "

  His tone was neutral, and I wondered how he meant it. Was he admiring my efficiency or annoyed that his two thousand dollars had only purchased five days of my time?

  I said, "It took long enough. I dont know that it would have taken any less time if you had given me everything in the beginning. Probably not. It would have made things a little easier for me, though. "

  "I dont understand. "

  "I can understand why you didnt. You felt I had all I needed to know. If I had just been looking for facts you might have been right, but I was looking for facts that would make up a picture, and Id have done better knowing everything in front. " He was puzzled, and the heavy dark eyebrows were elevated above the top rims of his glasses. I said, "The reason I didnt let you know I was coming was that I had some things to do in Utica. I caught a dawn flight up here, Mr. Hanniford. I spent about five hours learning things you could have told me five days ago. "

  "What sort of things?"

  "I went to a few places. The Bureau of Vital Statistics in City Hall. The Times-Sentinel offices. The police station. "

  "I didnt hire you to ask questions here in Utica. "

  "You didnt hire me at all, Mr. Hanniford. You married your wife on-well, I dont have to tell you the date. It was a first marriage for both of you. "

  He didnt say anything. He took his glasses off and put them on the desk in front of him.

  "You might have told me Wendy was illegitimate. "

  "Why? She didnt know it herself. "

  "Are you sure of that?"

  "Yes. "

  "Im not. " I drew a breath. "There were two U. S. Marines from the Utica area killed in the Inchon landing. One of them was black, so I ruled him out. The other was named Robert Blohr. He was married. Was he also Wendys father?"

  "Yes. "

  "Im not trying to pick scabs, Mr. Hanniford. I think Wendy knew she was illegitimate. And its possible that it doesnt matter whether she did or not. "

  He stood up and walked to the window. I sat there wondering whether Wendy had known about her father and decided it was ten-to-one that she had. He was the chief character in her personal mythology, and she had spent all her life looking for an incarnation of him. The ambivalence of her feelings about the man seemed to derive from some knowledge over and above what she had been told by Hanniford and her mother.

  He stayed at the window for a time. Then he turned and looked thoughtfully at me. "Perhaps I should have told you," he said finally. "I didnt conceal it on purpose. That is, I gave little thought at the time to Wendys… illegitimacy. Thats been a completely closed chapter for so many years that it never occurred to me to mention it. "

  "I can understand that. "

  "You said you had a report to make," he said. He returned to his chair and sat down. "Go ahead, Scudder. "

  I started all the way back in Indiana. Wendy at college, not interested in boys her own age, interested always in older men. She had had affairs with her professors, most of them probably casual liaisons, one at least other than casual, at least on the mans part. He had wanted to leave his wife. The wife had taken pills, perhaps in a genuine suicide attempt, perhaps as a grandstand play to save her marriage. And perhaps she herself hadnt known which.

  "At any rate, there was a scandal of sorts. The whole campus was aware of it, whether or not it became officially a matter of record. That explains why Wendy dropped out of school a couple of months short of graduation. There was really no way she could stay there. "

  "Of course not. "

  "It also explains why the school wasnt desperately concerned that she had disappeared. Id wondered about that. From what you said, their attitude was fairly casual. Evidently they wanted to let you know she was gone but werent prepared to tell you why she had left, but they knew she had good reasons to leave and werent concerned about her physical well-being. "

  "I see. "

  "She went to New York, as you know. She became involved with older men almost immediately. One of them took her to Miami. I could give you his name, but it doesnt matter. He died a couple of years ago. Its hard to tell now just how big a role he played in Wendys life, but in addition to taking her to Miami he let her use his name when she applied for her apartment. She put his firm down as her employer, and he backed her up when the rental agent called. "

  "Did he pay her rent?"

  "Its possible. Whether he paid all or part of her support at the time is something only he could tell you, and theres no way to ask him. If you want my guess, her involvement with him was not an exclusive one. "

  "There were other men in her life at the same time?"

  "I think so. This particular man was married and lived in the suburbs with his family. I doubt that he could have spent all that much time with her even if either of them wanted it that way. And I have a feeling she was leery of getting too involved with one man. It must have shaken her a great deal when the professors wife took the pills. If he was sufficiently infatuated with her to leave his wife for her, she was probably committed to him herself, or at least thought she was. After that fell apart she was careful not to invest too much of herself in any one man. "

  "So she saw a lot of men. "

  "Yes. "

  "And took money from them. "

  "Yes. "

  "You know that for a fact? Or is it conjecture?"

  "Its fact. " I told him a little about Marcia Maisel and how she had gradually become aware of the manner in which Wendy was supporting herself. I didnt add that Marcia had tried the profession on for size.

  He lowered his head, and a little of the starch went out of his shoulders. "So the newspapers were accurate," he said. "She was a prostitute. "

  "A kind of prostitute. "

  "What does that mean? Its like pregnancy, isnt it? Either you are or you arent. "

  "I think its more like honesty. "

  "Oh?"

  "Some people are more honest than others. "

  "I always thought honesty was unequivocal, too. "

  "Maybe it is. I think there are different levels. "

  "And there are different levels of prostitution?"

  "Id say so. Wendy wasnt walking the streets. She wasnt turning one trick after another, wasnt handing her money over to a pimp. "

  "Isnt that what the Vanderpoel boy was?"

  "No. Ill get to him. " I closed my eyes for a moment. I ope
ned them and said, "Theres no way to know this for certain, but I doubt that Wendy set out to be a prostitute. She probably took money from quite a few men before she could pin that label on herself. "

  "I dont follow you. "

  "Lets say a man took her out to dinner, brought her home, wound up going to bed with her. On his way out the door he might hand her a twenty-dollar bill. Hed say something like, Id like to send you a big bouquet of flowers or buy you a present, but why not take the money and pick out something you like? Maybe she tried not to take the money the first few times this happened. Later on shed learn to expect it. "

  "I see. "

  "It wouldnt be long before she would start getting telephone calls from men she hadnt met. A lot of men like to pass girls phone numbers around. Sometimes its an act of charity. Other times they think they enhance their own image this way. Shes a great kid, shes not exactly a hooker, but slip her a few bucks afterward because she doesnt have a job, you know, and its tough for a girl to make it in the big city. So you wake up one morning and realize that youre a prostitute, at least according to the dictionary definition of the term, but by then youre used to the way youre living and it doesnt seem unnatural to you. As far as I can determine, she never asked for money. She never saw more than one man during an evening. She turned down dates if she didnt like the man involved. She would even plead a fake headache if she met a man for dinner and decided she didnt want to sleep with him. So she earned her money that way, but she wasnt in it for the money. "

  "You mean she enjoyed it. "

  "She certainly found it tolerable. She wasnt kidnapped by white slavers. She could have found a job if she wanted one. She could have come home to Utica, or called up and asked for money. Are you asking if she was a nymphomaniac? I dont know the answer to that, but Id be inclined to doubt it. I think she was compelled. "

  "How?"

  I stood up and moved closer to his desk. It was dark mahogany and looked at least fifty years old. Its top was orderly. There was a blotter in a tooled leather holder, a two-tiered in-and-out box, a spindle, a pair of framed photographs. He watched me pick up both photographs and look at them. One showed a woman about forty, her eyes out of focus, an uncertain smile on her face. I sensed that the expression was not uncharacteristic. The other photo was of Wendy, her hair medium in length, her eyes bright, and her teeth shiny enough to sell toothpaste.

  "When was this taken?"

  "High school graduation. "

  "And this is your wife?"

  "Yes. I dont know when that was taken. Six or seven years ago, I would guess. "

  "I dont see a resemblance. "

  "No. Wendy favored her father. "

  "Blohr. "

  "Yes. I never met him. Im told she resembled him. I couldnt say one way or the other, on the basis of my own knowledge, but Im told she does. Did. "

  I returned Mrs. Hannifords photo to its place on his desk. I looked into Wendys eyes. We had become too intimate these past few days, she and I. I probably knew more about her than she might have wanted me to know.