Read Online The Instant Enemy by Ross MacDonald - Free Book Online
Authors: Ross MacDonald
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Mrs. Smith? He never hurt a woman before.”
“I’m not saying he did this. You know him better than anybody does, Mr. Spanner. Please give me a few minutes.”
“But we were just sitting down to supper. I don’t know why you people can’t leave us alone. Davy hasn’t lived with us for years. We never did adopt him, we’re not legally responsible.”
I cut him short: “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
The sun was setting as I left the hotel. It looked like a wildfire threatening the western edge of the city. Night comes quickly in Los Angeles. The fire was burnt out when I reached the Spanner house, and evening hung like thin smoke in the air.
It was a prewar stucco bungalow squeezed into a row of other houses like it. I knocked on the front door, and Edward Spanner opened it reluctantly. He was a tall thin man with along face and emotional eyes. He had a lot of black hair, not only on his head but on his arms and on the backs of his hands. He was wearing a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and gave off an old-fashioned impression, almost an odor, of soured good will.
“Come in, Mr. Archer. Welcome to our abode.” He sounded like a man who had taught himself to speak correctly by reading books.
He took me through the living room, with its threadbare furnishings and its mottoes on the walls, into the kitchen where his wife was sitting at the table. She wore a plain housedress which emphasized the angularity of her body. There were marks of suffering on her face, relieved by a soft mouth and responsive eyes.
The Spanners resembled each other, and seemed very much aware of each other, unusually so for middle-aged people. Mrs. Spanner seemed rather afraid of her husband, or afraid for him.
“This is Mr. Archer, Martha. He wants to talk about Davy.”
She hung her head. Her husband said by way of explanation: “Since you called me, my wife has made a little confession. Davy was here this afternoon while I was working. Apparently she wasn’t going to tell me.” He was speaking more to her than to me. “For all I know he comes here every day behind my back.”
He’d gone too far, and she caught him off balance. “That isn’t so, and you know it. And I was
so
going to tell you. I simply didn’t want it to spoil your dinner.” She turned to me, evading the direct confrontation with Spanner. “My husband has an ulcer. This business has been hard on both of us.”
As if to illustrate her words, Spanner sat down at the head of the table and let his arms hang loose. A half-eaten plate of brown stew lay in front of him, glazing. I sat facing his wife across the table.
“When was Davy here?”
“A couple of hours ago,” she said.
“Was anybody with him?”
“He had his girl friend with him. His fiancée. She’s a
pretty
girl.” The woman seemed surprised.
“What kind of a mood were they in?”
“They both seemed quite excited. They’re planning to get married, you know.”
Edward Spanner uttered a dry snortlike laugh.
“Did Davy tell you that?” I asked his wife.
“They both did.” She smiled a little dreamily. “I realize they’re young. But I was glad to see he picked a nice girl. I gave them a ten-dollar bill for a wedding present.”
Spanner cried out in pain: “You gave him ten dollars? I cut ten heads of hair to clear ten dollars.”
“I saved up the money. It wasn’t your money.”
Spanner shook his doleful head. “No wonder he went bad. From the first day he came into our household you spoiled him rotten.”
“I didn’t. I gave him affection. He needed some, after those years in the orphanage.”
She leaned over and touched her husband’s shoulder, almost as if he and Davy were the same to her.
He rebounded into deeper despair: “We should have left him in the orphanage.”
“You don’t mean that, Edward. The three of us had ten good years.”
“Did we? Hardly a day went by that I didn’t have to use the razor strap on him. If I never heard of
“I’m not saying he did this. You know him better than anybody does, Mr. Spanner. Please give me a few minutes.”
“But we were just sitting down to supper. I don’t know why you people can’t leave us alone. Davy hasn’t lived with us for years. We never did adopt him, we’re not legally responsible.”
I cut him short: “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
The sun was setting as I left the hotel. It looked like a wildfire threatening the western edge of the city. Night comes quickly in Los Angeles. The fire was burnt out when I reached the Spanner house, and evening hung like thin smoke in the air.
It was a prewar stucco bungalow squeezed into a row of other houses like it. I knocked on the front door, and Edward Spanner opened it reluctantly. He was a tall thin man with along face and emotional eyes. He had a lot of black hair, not only on his head but on his arms and on the backs of his hands. He was wearing a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and gave off an old-fashioned impression, almost an odor, of soured good will.
“Come in, Mr. Archer. Welcome to our abode.” He sounded like a man who had taught himself to speak correctly by reading books.
He took me through the living room, with its threadbare furnishings and its mottoes on the walls, into the kitchen where his wife was sitting at the table. She wore a plain housedress which emphasized the angularity of her body. There were marks of suffering on her face, relieved by a soft mouth and responsive eyes.
The Spanners resembled each other, and seemed very much aware of each other, unusually so for middle-aged people. Mrs. Spanner seemed rather afraid of her husband, or afraid for him.
“This is Mr. Archer, Martha. He wants to talk about Davy.”
She hung her head. Her husband said by way of explanation: “Since you called me, my wife has made a little confession. Davy was here this afternoon while I was working. Apparently she wasn’t going to tell me.” He was speaking more to her than to me. “For all I know he comes here every day behind my back.”
He’d gone too far, and she caught him off balance. “That isn’t so, and you know it. And I was
so
going to tell you. I simply didn’t want it to spoil your dinner.” She turned to me, evading the direct confrontation with Spanner. “My husband has an ulcer. This business has been hard on both of us.”
As if to illustrate her words, Spanner sat down at the head of the table and let his arms hang loose. A half-eaten plate of brown stew lay in front of him, glazing. I sat facing his wife across the table.
“When was Davy here?”
“A couple of hours ago,” she said.
“Was anybody with him?”
“He had his girl friend with him. His fiancée. She’s a
pretty
girl.” The woman seemed surprised.
“What kind of a mood were they in?”
“They both seemed quite excited. They’re planning to get married, you know.”
Edward Spanner uttered a dry snortlike laugh.
“Did Davy tell you that?” I asked his wife.
“They both did.” She smiled a little dreamily. “I realize they’re young. But I was glad to see he picked a nice girl. I gave them a ten-dollar bill for a wedding present.”
Spanner cried out in pain: “You gave him ten dollars? I cut ten heads of hair to clear ten dollars.”
“I saved up the money. It wasn’t your money.”
Spanner shook his doleful head. “No wonder he went bad. From the first day he came into our household you spoiled him rotten.”
“I didn’t. I gave him affection. He needed some, after those years in the orphanage.”
She leaned over and touched her husband’s shoulder, almost as if he and Davy were the same to her.
He rebounded into deeper despair: “We should have left him in the orphanage.”
“You don’t mean that, Edward. The three of us had ten good years.”
“Did we? Hardly a day went by that I didn’t have to use the razor strap on him. If I never heard of
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