One night, after they had made love, she broke the silence to point out that shed called him Nicholas. What was really interesting was that he hadnt even noticed. It seemed appropriate for her to call him that, in bed as well as out of it, because that seemed to be his name.
That was what it said on his Social Security card and his passport, both of which had turned up in the mail. The same days mail that brought the passport also contained an invitation to apply for a credit card. Hed been preapproved, he was told, and he wondered just what criteria had been used to preapprove him. He had a mailing address and a pulse, and evidently that was all they required of him.
Now, under the slow-moving blades of the ceiling fan, he said, I guess I might not have to sell those stamps after all.
What are you talking about?
She seemed alarmed, and he couldnt imagine why.
I thought you lost them, she said. I thought you said your whole collection was stolen.
It was, but I bought five rare stamps in Des Moines,
before everything went to hell. Theyd be tough to unload, but theyre still the closest thing Ive got to a negotiable asset. The cars worth more and theres a bigger market for it, but you have to have clear title, and I dont.
You bought the stamps in Des Moines?
He got the stamps from his top dresser drawer, managed to find his tongs, and switched on the bedside lamp to show her the five little squares of paper. She asked a few questions how old were they, what were they worth and he wound up telling her all about them, and the circumstances of their purchase.
I would have had plenty of cash for the trip back to New York, he said, if I hadnt shelled out six hundred dollars for these. That left me with less than two hundred. But at the time that looked like more than enough, because Id be charging everything, including my flight home. I had the stamps all paid for when the announcement came over the radio.
You mean you hadnt heard about the assassination?
Nobody had, not when I was talking myself into buying the stamps. The best I can make out, Longford was eating rubber chicken with the Rotarians right around the time I was parking my car in Mr. McCues driveway. I didnt grasp the significance right away, I thought it was coincidence, me being in Des Moines the same time a major political figure was assassinated. I had a completely different job to do, at least I thought I did, and, well whats the matter?
Dont you see?
See what?
You didnt kill the man. Governor Longford. You didnt kill him.
Well, no kidding. It seems to me I told you that a long time ago.
No, you dont get it. You know you didnt do it, and I know you didnt do it, but what you and I know is not enough to stop all those policemen from looking for you.
Right.
But if you were sitting in some stamp shop in where did you say?
Urbandale.
Some stamp shop in Urbandale, Iowa. If you were sitting there at the very moment the governor was shot, and if Mr. McWhatsit was sitting across from you
McCue.
Whatever.
His name used to be McWhatsit, he said, but his girlfriend said she wouldnt marry him unless he changed it.
Shut up, for Gods sake, and let me get this out. This is important. If you were there and he was there, and hell remember because of the announcement on the radio, then doesnt that prove you werent downtown shooting the governor? It doesnt? Why not?
They went on making that announcement all day, he said. McCue will remember the sale, and he might even remember that it happened right around the time he heard about the assassination. But he wont be able to swear exactly when that was, and even if he did a prosecutor could make him look like an idiot on the witness stand.
And a good defense attorney
But she stopped when she saw the way he was shaking his head. No, he said gently. Theres something you dont understand. Lets say I could prove my innocence. Lets say McCue could offer testimony that would absolutely get me off the hook, and while were at it lets say that some other witness, some rock-solid pillar of the community, could come along to corroborate his testimony. It doesnt matter.
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The police would kill you?
Not the police. The cops, the FBI, theyre all the least of it. The police never caught up with Dot, they never even knew she existed, and look what happened to her.
Who then? Oh.
Right.
You told me his name. Al?
Call-Me-Al. Which only means thats not his name, but itll do if we need something to call him. I wonder if he even knew what he was going to use me for when he first began setting me up. Well, thats something else that doesnt matter. Longfords dead and Im the guy everybodys looking for, but if I turn up, Im the fly in Als ointment. If he finds me, Im dead. If the cops find me first, Im still dead.
He would be able to make that happen?
He nodded. Nothing to it. Hes pretty resourceful, thats clear enough. And its not all that difficult to arrange for something to happen to someone in custody.
It doesnt seem