19

WHEN WARREN CAME THAT DAY TO THE DOOR OF THE house on California Street Charlotte did not answer.

When Warren telephoned Charlotte hung up.

When Warren stood on the sidewalk outside the house on California Street at two A.M. and threw stones at the windows Charlotte closed the shutters.

When Warren left the note reading “THIS IS THE WORST BEHAVIOR YET” in the mailbox of the house on California Street Charlotte tore the note in half and avoided those rooms which fronted on the street.

When the two FBI men came to tell Charlotte that the boy with the harelip scar had been apprehended on an unrelated charge in Nogales, Arizona, and had hanged himself in his cell Charlotte left the room without speaking. That was on the second day of the sixth week after the release of Marin’s tape.

On the morning of the third day of the sixth week after the release of Marin’s tape Dickie called from Hollister to say that Warren was at the ranch.

“Acting crazy. Irrational. He told Linda that he talked to Leonard in Miami and Leonard said he could stay.”

Charlotte said nothing.

“He yelled at Linda.”

Charlotte said nothing.

“Obscenities.”

Charlotte replaced the receiver and lay down on Marin’s bed.

“You’re aware Mark Schrader killed himself in Mexico,” the reporter said on the telephone.

“Arizona,” Charlotte said. She was still lying on Marin’s bed. The sound of the man’s voice hurt her ear and she held the receiver several inches away.

“About Mark and Marin—”

“Arizona. Not Mexico. He killed himself in Nogales, Arizona.”

“Absolutely. My slip. Would you say that Marin was romantically involved with Mark?”

“Romantically involved,” Charlotte repeated.

“Involved in a romantic way, yes.”

The harelip’s the fresh meat they’ll throw on the trail, they can’t afford him, Marin’s not stupid.

I wouldn’t rely on that.

“You see you’re thinking of Nogales, Sonora,” Charlotte said.

“Absolutely,” the reporter said. “Very good. About Mark and—”

“You don’t have to congratulate me. For knowing the difference between Arizona and Mexico.”

“About Marin and—”

This is the worst behavior yet.

“Fuck Marin,” Charlotte said.

“Because he was married to you,” Leonard said when she called him in Miami. “That’s why I told him he could stay at your fucking ranch. Because you kissed him goodbye at Idlewild and told him you’d be back in a week. Because he was Marin’s father. And because I don’t happen to believe it’s Porter who is dying.”

“Is Marin’s father, Is.”

“You didn’t hear what I said. I said I don’t happen to believe he’s talking about anybody but himself.”

There was a silence.

“I heard what you said,” Charlotte said finally. “Tell me—”

“Tell you what.”

“Tell me—”

“Tell you if you’re not there when I get back I’ll shoot myself?”

Charlotte said nothing.

“I won’t. That’s his game, not mine. I want you. I don’t need you.”

“If you think he’s dying he’s not,” Charlotte said after a while. “If you’re trying to say you think he’s dying you’re wrong.”

Leonard said nothing.

“Something else you were wrong about,” Charlotte said. “You said I’d leave you the same way I left him. I’m not. I’m leaving you. I’m telling you.”

The rain was light and the dark came early and the traffic moved. By the time she arrived at the turn-off to the Hollister ranch she was just ten months short of the Boca Grande airport. El Aeropuerto del Presidente General Luis Strasser-Mendana. My brother-in-law. Deceased.