Case File - a Collection of Nameless Detective Stories by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online

Sherwood, it'll restore some of his faith in humanity. Or at least in the minions of the law."
    "After fifteen years on the Row? Fat chance."
    "Well, you never know."
    Eberhardt lifted his glass toward me in a kind of mock salute "So long, social worker," he said.
    "So long, cop."
    I went out into the cold, damp night.

ONE OF THOSE CASES
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    I t was one of those cases you take on when you're on your uppers. You want to turn it down — it's an old story, a sordid one, a sad one — but you know you can't afford to. So you look into tear-filmed eyes, and you sigh, and you say yes.
    Her name was Judith Paige. She was in her late twenties, attractive in a quiet, shy sort of way. She had pale blond hair, china-blue eyes, and the kind of translucent white skin that seems brittle and makes you think of opaque and finely blown glass. Until the previous year, she had lived in a small town in Idaho and had come to San Francisco "to search for some meaning in life." Which probably meant that she had come looking for a husband.
    And she'd found one, a salesman named Walter Paige. They had been married six weeks now, and it was something less than the idyllic union she had expected. It wasn't that Paige abused her in any way, or was a drinker or a gambler; it was just that, in the past month, he'd taken to leaving her alone in the evenings. He told her it was business — he worked for a real estate firm out near the Cow Palace — and when she pressed him for details he grew short-tempered. He was working on a couple of large prospects, he said, that would set them up for the future. She figured he was working on another woman.
    Like I said; an old, sordid, sad story. And one of those cases. She wanted me to follow him for a few days, either to confirm or deny her suspicions. That was all. You don't need to prove adultery, or much of anything else, to obtain a divorce in the state of California these days, so I would not be required to — testify in any civil proceedings. It was just that she had to know, one way or the other — the tears starting then — and if she were right, she wanted to dissolve the marriage and go back to Idaho. She had a little money saved and could pay my standard rates; and she was sure I was honest and capable, which meant that she hoped I wouldn't take advantage of her in any way.
    I sat there behind my desk feeling old and tired and cynical. It was a nice day outside, and I had the window open a little; the breeze off the Bay was cool and fresh, but the air I was pulling into my lungs tasted sour somehow. I lit a cigarette. And then took one of the contract forms out of the bottom drawer and slid it over for her to examine.
    When she had, without much interest, I drew it back and filled it out and had her sign it. Then I said, "All right, Mrs. Paige. What time does your husband come home from work?"
    "Usually about six o'clock."
    "Does he use public transportation or drive?"
    "He drives."
    "What kind of car?"
    "A dark-blue VW."
    "License number?"
    "It has one of those personalized plates. WALLY P."
    "Uh-huh. What time does he leave again when he goes out?"
    "Right after supper," Mrs. Paige said. "Seven-thirty or so."
    "He comes back at what time?"
    "Around midnight."
    "How often does this happen?"
    "Four or five times a week, lately."
    "Any particular nights?"
    "No, not really."
    "Saturdays and Sundays?"
    "Saturdays, sometimes. Not Sundays, though. He . . . he always spends that day with me."
    Never on Sunday, I thought sourly. I said, "Which real estate company does he work for?"
    "I'm sorry," she said, "I don't know. Walter is very closemouthed about his job."
    "He's never told you where he works?"
    "Well, he did once, but I can't remember it. Is it important?"
    "Probably not." I put down the pencil I had been using to take notes. "I think I have everything I need for now, Mrs. Paige. I'll be on the job tonight if your husband goes out."
    "You won't let him know you're following