Snowball in Hell - lanyon Josh - Страница 23
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«That would do it,» Nathan said carefully. «You never-?»
«I did. In the service. That's when I realized there were guys just like me. Regular guys, not queers.»
Nathan said softly, «They're queers. We're all queers. You think it makes a difference-«
«I do, yeah.»
Staring at Spain's earnest expression, Nathan felt an unaccountable desire to cry. And that was funny because if you didn't cry when the Nazis shot you, really what was there left to cry about? Unless it was because they hadn't managed to kill you.
He said, «It doesn't make any difference. If you give into it-give into what you're feeling-you're just as vulnerable as someone like me.»
Spain's fingers tightened around Nathan's. «That's not what I meant. I don't mean you.»
«You do. Even if you don't know you do.» But he squeezed Spain back, taking the simple comfort offered by holding hands. He had never held hands with anyone, man or woman.
Spain said, «The Arlen kid was blackmailing you?»
Unexpectedly, Nathan smiled. «I'd have had to pay him in blue stamp rations. No, it happened pretty much the way I told you, except when we left the club that night Arlen said that if I didn't pay up he was going to my paper. He'd been hinting around for a bit, and I'd been dodging it, but when he left the club he gave me an ultimatum. I punched him. Knocked him down. Then I walked away. The next time I saw him was at the tar pits.»
«How did the kid know about you?»
Nathan didn't look away. «I'm not always as careful as I should be. Since I came home-it's hard. There's not as much to distract me.» Spain's face gave nothing away, but Nathan knew how he must see it. Facing disgrace and jail-or maybe a nut house-it wasn't hard to believe that Nathan might kill to protect himself. Not hard at all, considering how warped and desperate he must be to do the things that Arlen had seen him do.
He waited for Spain to pull away, withdraw, but he didn't. He kept holding Nathan's hand as he asked, «So the Arlen kid tried to shake you down before?»
«I ran into him a couple of times, but he never hinted he knew anything until a week or so before the Las Palmas Club.» Because he hadn't known anything until the night Nathan ran into him at the Biltmore. After that-but he wasn't going to tell Spain that. Wasn't prepared to admit that much.
«How do you figure Pearl Jarvis fits in?» Spain asked.
«I think she knows who killed Phil-unless she killed him herself.»
«You have anything to base that on?»
Nathan hesitated. «She's running scared. She's either afraid of being arrested or she thinks she's next on the killer's list.»
«And why would she be next? Do you think they were having an affair?»
«I think so. But that wouldn't mark her for murder. Unless the killer is Claire Arlen, in which case I think she'd have started with Pearl. No, I think Pearl was Arlen's business partner. I think she used her connections at the club to find out stuff about people that Arlen could then use to blackmail them.»
Spain nodded, as though this confirmed his own thoughts. «I think you're right about the blackmail angle. I know of at least three people in this case who had secrets that some might consider worth committing murder over.»
«Carl Winters and the faked antiquities,» Doyle said. «Nora Noonan and the Denver murder trial.»
Spain's surprise was evident, and Nathan shrugged. «Most secrets aren't as secret as people think.»
His own included, he admitted with painful honestly.
«One interesting thing, though. I followed Pearl from Sid Szabo's place. Admittedly, I'm no expert, but I think if he's willing to shield her from the cops during a murder investigation, he must care about her. I can't tell about her. I never paid a lot of attention to either of them.»
«She could have more than one beau.»
«Yeah.» Nathan shifted against the pillows. «Look, Lieutenant, I know how it looks for me, but I didn't kill him.»
Spain's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. «You think we'd be sitting here talking if I thought you did?» He looked down at Nathan's hand in his own, looked up, and said, «My name is Mathew.»
Mathew pulled rank and persuaded the sour-faced manageress to send up a late supper on a tray. The doctor hotel guest came by while they waited, and he examined Nathan again, pronouncing himself satisfied with his progress and recommending another day in bed, which Nathan brushed off firmly.
The cheerful maid from the night of Nathan's arrival brought a couple of extra blankets and a heavy purple bathrobe that had, she informed them, belonged to the late Mr. Hubbard.
«From Mr. Hubbard's cupboard?» Nathan asked, and she giggled, peeking briefly at him sitting up bare-chested in the bed. She set the blankets on the rocker, and Mathew took the robe, handing it to Nathan.
Nathan eyed the blankets and said nothing, but when the door closed behind the maid, Mathew said, «Don't worry.
Nobody's going to think anything about this. I'm supposed to keep an eye on you according to the doctor.»
«I'm not worried.» He wasn't, but he thought Matt had an unrealistic idea about the way people's minds worked-which was funny for a cop.
Nathan stood up, feeling a little dizzy, and shrugged into the robe. Mr. Hubbard had been a bit shorter and a lot wider. The robe felt soft and smelled new, and perhaps this explained the tight, pinched face of the hotel manageress.
He walked carefully to the window, resting his hands on the sash, staring down at the moonlit landscape. The frost on the ground shimmered with the eerie glow of the salt flats south of the Dorsale mountain range.
They were playing Christmas carols on a phonograph downstairs, the music faint through the wooden floorboards. «I'll Be Home for Christmas.» And he was. Sort of.
«He said you appeared to be suffering from a state of severe nervous tension.» There was a smile in Mathew's voice. «He saw you racing around outside the hotel on Thursday night. I think that's what decided him.»
Nathan chuckled. «Did he happen to see me get clobbered?»
«He missed that installment of your adventures.» Mathew's arms slipped around Nathan's torso, warm through the robe. He held him tentatively, and Nathan knew that he could move away, and Mathew would immediately release him, and everything would end here. But it wasn't in him-not even for Mathew's sake. Instead, he reached up and pulled down the window shade, turning in Mathew's arms.
Mathew was a couple of inches taller; Nathan had to look up into his eyes, and Mathew was smiling-mostly with his eyes.
«The lamp will silhouette us,» Nathan warned gently.
He saw Mathew's eyes flicker with recognition.
«Let's eat,» he said casually, and he let go of Nathan, but then he rested an unexpectedly possessive hand on the small of his back as they moved over to the little table by the wall.
They ate and talked, mostly about the war-their experiences were so different it was almost as though they'd been in two separate wars-and then, inevitably they returned to the subject of Phil Arlen's murder.
Mathew told him that Nathan was Jonesy's candidate for Public Enemy Number One, and although Nathan laughed, secretly it filled him with dread. His life couldn't take much close examination, and he knew only too well the attention that would come his way if he became a prime suspect in the Arlen case.
«Who's your favorite candidate?» he asked Mathew.
«I haven't completely ruled out the possibility that Arlen was kidnapped.»
«Anything's possible.» Nathan was being polite, and he could tell from Mathew's grin that Mathew knew it.
«If it wasn't a kidnapping, I think Robert Arlen has a pretty strong motive. From everything I've heard, he's worked his tail off for the old man's approval, and spent almost his entire life taking the back seat to Philip-who, by all accounts, isn't fit to black his boots.»
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