Chapter 18

He was still worrying the next day. The police work was over, the prowler dead, the story front-paged His own boss, the chief of detectives and the D.A. had all congratulated him and Trask. Even Helen was delighted. She had made them her class-A chicken paprika dinner, complete with sweet and sour red cabbage and Hungarian chocolate cheesecake. Bishop still worried.

"There are too many loose ends," he grumbled as they had lunch at Cantor's. "Too damned many."

"I just don't get you, Mike. It's all over. Forget it, will you?" Trask shook his head.

"Damn it, Trask, I want to be sure we didn't kill an innocent man. And I'm not sure. What the hell's wrong with you? You think it's all so simple. She says it's the killer, so we wrap up our guns, put on our hats and blow. As simple as that. Baloney. I want to be absolutely certain we killed the right man. I don't want to have this goddamned thing waking me up in the middle of the night for the next month. I'm a cop, damn it, not a murderer. Did we kill a rapist or just some poor bastard we caught shacked up with her? I know what she said. I just find it hard to believe, that's all."

Trask nodded slowly. "All right, let's have what's bothering you. It doesn't worry me, but if it's doing all that to you, let's have it. Is it just because Swaller used the back door? So what? He might have been taking extra precautions against the police. The fact that he was carrying a gun means one thing to me. He was worried about being caught. As for the back door being unlocked? All right. She forgot, that's all."

"She forgot?" Bishop said incredulously. "When you had just instructed her not to forget? And what the hell was she doing dressed like that, waiting for him like a call girl? The prowler's supposedly on the loose out to kill her, so she strips down to black lace panties to welcome him. Why?"

"How the hell do I know?" the red-faced Irishman retorted. "Who knows why women do anything? It was her house. She could have worn pink lederhosen if she wanted to, or long Johns."

Bishop shook his head. "I just don't like it, Irish. Not the way he came in, not the way she was dressed. Not the way he looked at her after we nailed him. And a few other things, too."

The front doorbell woke Penny from her late morning nap. She frowned. It was probably some damned reporter again. To ask the same damned fool questions and ask for pictures. She put on a robe and walked tiredly to the door. When she opened it, she was surprised.

It was Sy Brendt with a bouquet of pink roses in one hand and an overnight case in the other. The bald actor smiled sheepishly and handed her the flowers.

"I heard what happened," he said, "and I thought you might like these."

She controlled a slight repulsion and forced a smile. "Thank you, Sy. They're pretty. Where are you bound for?" she asked just to have a moment's polite small talk with him and be finished. She did not want him to come in.

"I've been offered a part in some TV Westerns," he said shyly. "They shoot them way out in the San Fernando Valley and I'll have to stay a few days. I'm on my way out there now actually but I wanted to see how you were. Can I come in a minute?"

"I'm awfully tired, Sy, really."

"Sure. I'll only stay a minute. I'm late now. It's just that I have a book of Rodin's sculptures I wanted to give you. A friend brought it from Paris. You like Rodin, don't you?"

"I love him," she said. "But why me?"

"Well, I heard you and Swaller discussing it once at the school-and I thought you'd be interested."

She wavered. "Well, come in a minute. But just a minute. I really must rest. It's been a horrible day."

He nodded shyly. "I've been meaning to bring the book for days but I thought you might think I was the prowler."

She stared at him and laughed. "You? Oh, God, no. I'd never have mistaken you for him. Not in a million years."

He reddened as he registered the shade of contempt and amusement in her voice. For a moment he hesitated and looked as if he would turn away in embarrassment. Finally, his Adam's apple quivering, he stepped into her front room. As he passed her, Penny caught a whiff of a strange, unpleasant odor. The same odor she remembered from the school. A rank animal-like smell.

She frowned as he sat down. She would have to control her repugnance for a few moments.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked.

When he nodded, she went back to her bedroom. She wanted to kick herself for having asked him in. Just sitting near him upset her. She'd have one quick drink with him and then complain she had a headache. In the bedroom, she removed her robe and put on a light summer dress.

Brendt had always aroused a repulsion in her and she never quite knew why. Perhaps it was the hungry looks he always gave her in the art class. His eyes seemed to devour her. They were always fixed on some part of her body that was a trifle overexposed. He had a way of looking that made her feel everything she wore was too tight-that she was half-naked.

When she brought the drinks in, he had laid the book out on the coffee table. He drank his whiskey quickly with a smack of the lips.

"Would you like another?" she asked reluctantly.

"I'll get it," he said affably. "You look at the book. It's terrific."

It was. It had nearly all of Rodin's masterpieces: The Kiss, The Lovers, The Thinker.

She was so absorbed in the beautiful reproductions she paid no attention to the sounds from the rear of the house.

When he came back, he held a tray with two drinks, the bottles and some cheese and crackers. She was surprised.

"I don't want another drink, thank you," she said, trying to hide her annoyance.

"I hate to drink alone," he said pleasantly.

"Come on. You like the pictures? Aren't they lovely?"

She nodded uneasily as she sat beside him on the couch. She could smell onions on his breath and she recoiled inwardly. The sport shirt and slacks he wore looked unpressed and dirty. Her repulsion increased. She sipped her drink for a moment and said as politely as she could:

"Please excuse me, Sy. I'm really very tired. And the doctor's ordered me to get a lot of rest. So if you'll forgive me, I think I'll go back to bed."

"But it's early," he laughed. "And you haven't looked at all the pictures." He turned to a reproduction of a naked man and a naked woman in a passionate embrace. "I love this one. The girl looks a lot like you, I think. Don't you think so?"

She colored a little. "No, I don't think so."

He laughed. "Sure you do. Without your clothes on, of course."

She reacted with an inner start to his words. The woman in Rodin's sculpture had breasts shaped like hers and the shoulders and legs were similar.

She rose firmly and said, "I'd better go now. Thank you for stopping by."

Without moving, still leafing through the book, he said absently, "Go ahead. I'll just look through these for a while. I've only seen them once myself."

Something about the tone of his voice made her uneasy.

"I thought you were in a hurry," she said, trying to control her irritation.

"Not too big a hurry. I can get there later," he replied, smiling.

"Well, I don't mean to sound inhospitable, Sy. I appreciate the flowers and the book but-"

"You haven't even finished your drink," Brendt protested.

"I don't want anymore," she said quickly. She felt a growing sense of helplessness in coping with him. "My husband will be home soon and I'd rather not have him find you here. He's-well, he's a jealous type."

Brendt grinned, showing his teeth, and took a hearty swig of his drink. "He won't be here for several hours."

She started. "How do you know?"

He shrugged. "What difference does that make? Sit down and finish your drink." His tone had become just a little sharper.

Alarmed, she said as calmly as she could, "All right, I'll finish my drink, but then I want you to go."

She sat down on the couch as far from him as she could. In her growing state of nervousness, Brendt's disagreeable smell made her feel especially queasy. She decided that he had probably had several drinks earlier and was being stubborn. She had seen him tight in the art school a few times. It made him hard and resentful.

"Look at that one," he said, pointing to another lovers' embrace. "Did you know that Rodin always waited until he finished his statues before he made love to his model? He claimed he couldn't do a good job if he had sexual intercourse with a woman before he did her figure. I couldn't wait that long. Especially if she looked like you. And I think you're twice as good as her. Your breasts are much lovelier."

Suddenly her control snapped. She rose and said, "Please go, Sy."

He poured himself another drink and smiled. "Why is it that a woman always gets mortified if you tell her her body is lovely? You wouldn't speak that way to Tom Swaller," he said acidly. "Or rather you would not have. Must remember your handsome boyfriend with the glorious head of hair is dead."

She paled as she jumped up. "What do you mean my boyfriend? He was nothing of the kind," she said furiously. Her white face trembled with anger but he seemed not to notice. He munched nonchalantly on a morsel of cheese and then licked his fingers.

"Wasn't Swaller your boyfriend?" he asked smiling. He swallowed some more cheese. "Very good. What is it, aged Wisconsin cheddar?"

"Who's been spreading that crazy story?" she asked angrily.

"Afraid your husband might be upset?" he said smacking his lips. "He doesn't know Tom's been coming here several afternoons a week to make love to his wife, does he?"

"That's a filthy lie," she retorted. "A filthy disgusting he."

"Is it?" he asked, his dark eyes fixing her own. "You really expect me to believe that Tom Swaller was the prowler?" he said jeeringly.

"Yes!"

"I happen to know he wasn't."

Her face went white. "How do you know?"

He smiled and munched another piece of cheese before replying.

"I know because I know who the prowler is."

"You know who the prowler is?" Penny asked astonished.

"I've known all along."

"Who is it?" she asked in a tiny voice.

He finished his drink and stood up.

"I'll tell you in a minute. Do you mind if I put my costume on now? I'll have no time to change later."

She scowled. "All right," she said reluctantly, "but hurry."

He moved to the corner of the room where his overnight case lay and began to rummage through it. With his back to her, he removed a pair of shoes, a pair of spectacles and a dark toupee. She could see him look into a small mirror as he did something to his face. Carefully he fixed the hairpiece on his bald head and then put on the glasses. Finally he removed the shoes he wore and stepped into another pair.

Slowly he turned to face her. The heavy dark spectacles framed his face in a new way. The toupee made him younger looking and the shoes inches taller. He walked closer to her and said in a strange, yet agonizingly familiar voice:

"I'm from the county assessor's office, ma'am. Would you mind answering a few questions?" She was staring at the prowler.