The Trouble With Eden - Lawrence Block [133]
“It was that fucking rain.”
“The rain. Let me get this right, your name is Tina Leopold, now if you could spell that—”
“No, Tanya, but that’s a stage—”
“Clyde, for heaven’s sake stop doing your Joe Friday number, won’t you?”
“Look here, Warren—”
“Oh, look here yourself, for the love of God. The girl’s in no condition to talk and you’re barely in condition to listen. You’ll get her statement in the morning. You act as though you’ve never seen a suicide in your life.”
“Maybe it’s supposed to look like a suicide.”
“When all the time it’s an elaborate locked-room murder. And you’re Dr. Gideon Fell himself.”
“All the same, I’d be happier with a note.”
“He wasn’t a writer, Clyde.”
“Huh?”
“Writers leave notes. Then they wash sleeping pills down with booze, but not until they’ve done half a, dozen drafts of the note. Doctors shoot themselves. They have dozens of neat painless methods at their disposal and, invariably blow their brains out with revolvers. Painters take off all their clothes and hang themselves.”
“How do you know all this, Warren?”
“I’ve made a study of it. Self-destruction fascinated—I can’t imagine why anyone would hurry it, though, instead of carefully stretching it out over a lifetime.”
“How do actors do it?”
“In front of an audience. They call an ex-lover in the middle of the night and announce they’ve already taken pills, and after they hang up they actually take the pills. Or they excuse themselves, go to another room, and use a knife or a gun. It depends how they perceive their roles. Donatelli never used words in his life, Clyde. Not even in conversation. Anyway, there’s his note.”
He pointed to an easel, where an abstract canvas was quartered by a black X.
“That’s, a note? I get the point, but maybe that was his idea of how he wanted the picture to look.”
“I’ll pretend you didn’t even say that, Clyde. Why don’t you take some pictures and make some chalk marks on the floor? Miss Leopold will talk to you in the morning. And that will be on doctor’s orders as soon as I get the good doctor’s eye. George? Could you give your attention to one of the survivors for a moment? Miss Leopold is in something of a state, and I think you’ll agree with me that she doesn’t want to talk to any municipal employees right now. How would you like to supply a dreamy little sedative and we’ll tuck this poor child into bed. And not that bed, perish the thought. Could she stay with you, Linda?”
In her own room, Linda helped Tanya off with her clothes, got her into bed, and drew the covers over her. The doctor injected her with morphine. She kept talking, not even wincing at the needle’s jab, until her words abruptly trailed off and her eyes closed. George Perlmutter raised one of her eyelids, let it drop back in place. He turned to Linda and asked her if she wanted something to help her sleep. She said she didn’t. He offered a tranquilizer and she shook her head. He told her she was in light shock and a tranquilizer would help her to relax, but when she refused again he did not insist. Tanya, he said, would sleep for a minimum of eight hours.
After he had left, Warren cleared the hallway. “Now I know you’re all motivated solely by the desire to help,” he announced, “but some might mistake your interest for morbid curiosity. Please go home. Now.”
And they went. As the hallway emptied Warren moved to take Linda’s aim. He asked her where she would sleep. She blinked until he repeated the question.
“Oh,” she said. “Here, I guess.”
“You’re welcome to stay at my house. I can assure you it’s safe. Or I can get you a room at the Logan.”
“I want to be here when Tanya wakes up.”
“I was thinking that I would sit up with her myself.”
“No, I’ll stay. I don’t mind.”
He studied her thoughtfully. “That’s probably the best idea, if you’re sure you don’t mind. But you do need a tranquilizer, you know. George would have handed you a Miltown or Valium or some other mysterious chemical. My prescription would be along organic lines.”
“What do you mean?”
“Alcohol. Come to Sully’s with me.”
“I don’t—”
“She’ll be out for the