12. Roberts

Chapter twelve

Roberts

Whenever Walter Stanley called him, Roberts got a bad feeling in his stomach that was starting to feel ominously like an ulcer.

When he showed up in person without warning, it was even worse.

There Roberts was, minding his own business, pretending to fill out reports at his desk while he did the crossword puzzle, and suddenly Walter Stanley was standing next to him, looking over the crossword with those disconcertingly expressionless eyes.

Roberts started so hard that his hand nearly knocked his coffee cup over. He was desperately trying to regain control of it when Stanley put his finger along Question 6, Down, one of the many that Roberts had skipped over.

"Jabberwocky," Stanley said.

"Jabbawhat?" Roberts wrinkled his forehead.

"‘He left it dead, and with its head/He went galumphing back," Stanley said slowly, as if Roberts were too stupid to understand. "It's the Jabberwocky from Carroll's Alice in Wonderland."

Roberts looked back down at the crossword puzzle which he had, admittedly, done very badly at. Annoying, sure, but that edge of frustration was part of what pushed him to continue. Now that Stanley was here, showing off how much he knew about children's books, the fun of it turned to ash in his mouth.

Pursing his lips together, he flipped the book shut and put his elbow on it. "What do you want?"

"We're going to talk to Linus Colter," Stanley said.

"You and I?" That ulcer feeling in his stomach intensified.

"Yes." Stanley stared at him.

"In an official capacity?" Roberts swallowed hard.

"Yes," Stanley said.

"I've already talked to him." God, Stanley looming over him was so discomfiting and also demeaning. Roberts got to his feet so they were almost eye to eye, though Stanley was taller than he was. "And more than once. I've had him in here for questioning for hours. We've talked to everyone in their household. No one knows anything. He even has an alibi."

"What's the alibi?" Stanley stood there with his blank face, arms at his sides.

"He was with a…" Roberts shuffled through the papers on his desk until he came up with his notepad. He licked his finger and quickly flicked through the pages. "He was with a Miss Amy Shelton. "

"Late night social call, was it?" Stanley said, a slight twist of disgust touching his face. "And you've spoken to her."

"Yes, I have." Roberts flipped a few more pages. "She says he showed up around midnight, drunk and angry. He and his wife had had a fight, but he said that he left her at home and came to her place to ‘blow off some steam.'"

"I'll say," said Stanley. His lip twitched into a ghost of a sneer. "She told you they had a fight. Then Evelyn disappeared. That's enough for me."

"Enough for what?" Roberts looked around and then leaned forward with his hands on the desk, lowering his voice. "I can't help you commit murder while acting in an official capacity, Stanley."

"I'm not asking you to," said Stanley. "But we're going to pay him a visit. Help him reevaluate his testimony."

Roberts hated being strong armed into anything, but unfortunately he'd tied his own noose with Stanley and there was little sense in resisting him. He gritted his teeth. "Okay. Goddammit. When?"

"Now," said Stanley.

"Now?" Roberts echoed incredulously.

"He'll be coming back from his lunch any time now." Stanley turned to go and looked at Roberts impatiently. Obviously he was expected to drop everything at Stanley's whim. Why wouldn't he be? He was Stanley's lackey, wasn't he?

"Right now?" Roberts stood back and folded his arms. "I– I'm– "

"Busy?" Stanley threw a scornful look at the crossword puzzle book tucked inside of the brown leather ledger that Roberts had pushed aside.

Heat started to creep into Roberts' face. "No."

"Good." Stanley turned away again and made for the door. Cursing, Roberts snatched up his jacket and his hat and followed after him.

"Your car," Stanley said when they got outside the station. He fitted a Fatima cigarette between his lips and lit it with an elaborate flint wheel lighter that probably cost more than Roberts made in a month.

Grumbling, Roberts walked around the corner to where his car was parked and pulled it back around to where Stanley was standing in the front of the building.

Stanley climbed into the Ford and snapped his door shut. "The Mayo building."

"How do you know he's coming back from lunch?" Roberts pulled the car out onto the road, heading toward 5th Street.

"I rang his secretary and made an appointment," said Stanley. The smell of Stanley's Turkish cigarette was making Roberts' already finicky stomach begin to twist.

"You don't think he's going to make an objection to seeing you on his appointment ledger?" Roberts braked for a couple of kids who darted out into the street and ground his teeth together to keep himself from shouting at them.

"Watch where you're going," Stanley drawled. "Kids running around. "

Roberts kept his reply to himself.

"I didn't make an appointment for Walter Stanley," Stanley went on. "I made an appointment for Police Lieutenant Roberts."

"Great." Roberts tightened his hands on the wheel. Silence fell between them while they made the short trip over to the Mayo building. He found parking half of a block away and then killed the gently ticking engine.

Stanley wasted no time climbing from the car. He put the cigarette out on the bottom of his lace up boot and then tossed the butt aside. He led the way to the building without looking behind him at Roberts. Arrogant enough to assume that Roberts would follow him. Also certain enough of himself that Roberts posed no threat to him. The very idea of it made him grind his teeth together as he followed, and he wished he could plunge a dagger into his back.

When they stepped into Linus's place of business, Roberts took his hat off and began to compulsively smooth his hair back. Stanley kept his hat on as they walked up to the reception desk, drawing a look of rebuke from the secretary, but he paid her no mind. He talked to her in a low voice while Roberts hung back and wished he could disappear into the ground.

He was a police lieutenant, goddammit. And here he was being bullied by criminal scum that wasn't fit to be stuck to the bottom of his shoes.

And yet, and yet, and yet, Stanley had friends in higher places than he did. The man could walk into the police precinct like he was strolling onto the golf course, for Christ's sake.

God, he needed a drink.

The secretary led them down a corridor to Linus's office at the end of the hallway, where tall, elegant windows looked out over the green country around them. Linus rose from his desk and started to open his mouth. The too-bright smile melted off of his face. Color immediately rushed into his cheeks and though it came and went quickly, Roberts didn't miss the look of fury that came over his face at the sight of his wife's paramour.

"Tea, if you would, Margaret," he said to the girl who stepped behind them to close the door.

Stanley turned and walked over to the door, catching it by the handle as Margaret tried to close it. He held a folded bill between his two fingers that the girl took with some hesitation.

"Forget the tea. Don't open this door." Then Stanley hustled her out the door and snapped it shut behind her.

He turned to look at Roberts, who was watching him with a mild, mesmerized horror. Then his gaze traveled over Roberts' shoulder and assumed an expression that sent a distinctly unpleasant prickle over Roberts' skin. Though it was subtle, it was enough to make Roberts want to take a step back. Instead, he turned and looked at Linus, whose expression was a perfect reflection of how Roberts was feeling.

"R-Roberts," Linus said, obviously trying to collect himself. He made a show of shuffling the papers on his desk and cleared his throat. "How can I be of service to the Tulsa Police Department?"

"We– Well, I–" Roberts started to say, but Stanley crossed the room before he could even get a full sentence out of his mouth.

Linus tensed and stumbled back a little, as if he wasn't sure if it was within his dignity to run. He started to babble something, but Stanley caught him by the tie and then by the back of his head. He used his grip on both to propel Linus's face toward his desk. A shout of surprised protest was cut off by a sickening smack.

"Fuck!" Linus said, letting out a wail that would have embarrassed most people. He fell back onto his ass, crumpled like a miserable piece of paper. Blood poured from his nose, and covered the side of his hand, where he'd put it up from his face to try to stem the flow. "What in God's name–"

Stanley took him by the tie again, wrenching him to his feet and then bent him over his desk. With a practiced grace, he slipped his hand into his coat and drew out his revolver and placed the barrel directly against Linus's temple.

"Christ!" Roberts said.

"Look, I don't want any trouble!" Linus ceased his struggle and put both of his hands up next to his head, spreading his shaking fingers so that his hands were flat on the desk.

"Then quit borrowing it," Stanley said, softly. "Where's Evelyn? "

"I told Roberts already, I don't know," Linus said. Voice cracking with frustration and the beginnings of panic. "Don't you think I'd want to know where my wife is?"

"I think you do know where your wife is," Stanley said, bending forward. Voice still low. Pistol hand steady. "And I think you're going to tell me exactly where that is."

"I don't, I really–"

The distinct sound of a hammer being drawn back made Roberts' pulse jump. Linus actually sobbed.

"I really don't know! Roberts, are you really– Do something!" Linus's voice kept crawling upward again until it cracked. "I don't know where she is!"

"If I find out that you do, you're going to be very, very sorry," Stanley said. He dropped his voice to a whisper. Roberts had to lean forward to hear him. "And I promise you, they will not find a single piece of you. You wouldn't be the first person I've had to make disappear." Slowly, he put the hammer on his revolver forward again. The small click drew a sigh of relief from Linus. Roberts wasn't so prepared to allow that danger had passed. Tension in his body wound tighter and tighter as he watched Stanley's face. His cold eyes never left Linus's face.

Suddenly, his hand darted forward and grabbed the letter opener that was standing very neatly in its vertical sheath on the desktop next to the fountain pen. In one smooth motion, he unsheathed it and drove it straight down through Linus's hand, pinning it to the beautifully polished mahogany desk .

The sound Linus made could have curdled milk. He shrieked again and started to thrash, but Stanley kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him onto the ground in front of his desk while he wailed and clawed at the letter opener.

"Maybe this will refresh your memory," Stanley said softly.

"You fucking–" Linus screeched, then he bit the words off. Stanley walked around the front of the desk, so he could watch him. His hand glided into his pocket and drew out his cigarettes and his lighter. With nimble fingers, he selected a cigarette and lit it between his lips. Roberts walked slowly around Stanley so he could see his face while he watched Linus trying to pull the letter opener from his hand and keening like a wounded rabbit.

Unsurprisingly, but still unsettlingly, there was absolutely nothing in Stanley's expression.

"I'll be paying you a visit again soon," Stanley said. "To check in about how that memory is working. And if you even think about leaving town, well… there's no place far enough for you to run, Colter."

Slowly, Stanley turned away. He glanced up briefly at Roberts and then walked to the door.

"She isn't even your wife," Linus bellowed behind them, voice chaotic with pain and fury.

"Not yet," Stanley said. Then, he opened the door and went out into the hall.

"Stanley!" Linus shouted after him. "I'm going to fucking ruin you! "

"Funny," Stanley said, turning to look back over his shoulder without a trace of humor. "I said the same thing to your wife." He touched the brim of his hat and turned away. He did not look back even as Linus hurled obscenities after him.

Roberts hesitated. Then he went to the desk and reached for the letter opener.

"Get away from me," Linus snarled. His face was white and totally wet with sweat.

"I'm just going to–" Roberts said.

"GET OUT!" Linus picked up the heavy paperweight on his desk and aimed it at Roberts' head.

He didn't need to be told twice. Roberts ducked and sped out into the corridor. Stanley was already at the other end of it, strolling along like he'd just left a social call. Several people were standing outside the doors of their offices, looking on in concern. Margaret had her back pressed to the wall of the corridor, watching them in terror as they left.

"Margaret!" Linus screamed from his office.

She didn't need to be told twice, either. She took off like a mouse, scuttling down the corridor toward the sound of her boss's voice.

"Shut the fucking–" The snap of the door cut off the sound of his voice, but Roberts could still hear the muffled sound of yelling. Sighing, he sped up to reach Stanley, who was stepping onto the elevator.

"To the lobby, please," Stanley said to the elevator operator. He wasn't remotely out of breath or in any way flustered. Just the idea that he could so readily and sincerely threaten murder and then maim a man's hand and not bat an eye sent a vicious chill through Roberts. He knew that Stanley was a ruthless man, but seeing it up close like this for the first time was a different story.

They rode all the way to the first floor in silence. But as soon as they alighted the elevator and the door closed behind them, Roberts turned to Stanley. "Jesus Christ, you're going to get me fired. Did you really need me there for that fucking horror show?"

"Yes," said Stanley. "I did. I need him to understand that there is nothing that he can do to me. I have all of the power. He does not. You're going to follow up with Mr. Colter in a few days and see if our little visit didn't jog anything."

They walked back out into the brutal heat, causing more sweat to break out on Roberts' forehead. He plunged his hand into his pocket for his handkerchief and began to blot at his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but could think of nothing that would do him any good. So he closed his lips and shook his head.

"I'll be in touch," said Stanley. And then he abruptly turned and walked away.

Roberts was left gaping after him as he strode with cool, liquid grace down the street like the heat didn't touch him at all.

Insufferable fucking prick.