Deadfall (Nameless Detective) by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online Page A

said. “What do you think I am, a witch?”
    “Warlock,” he said.
    “What?”
    “She was never like this before you seduced her,” he said. “She always listened to me, obeyed me. But you enticed her, bewitched her, made her lie down in your bed.”
    “I didn’t even know her when she divorced you!”
    “ ‘How shall I pardon thee for this? Thy children have forsaken me, and sworn by them that are no gods: when I had fed them to the full, they then committed adultery, and assembled themselves by troops in the harlots’ houses. They were as fed horses in the morning: every one neighed after his neighbor’s wife.’ Jeremiah, five: seven and eight.”
    “Look, Dunston—”
    “The Reverend Dunston. I am ordained.”
    “Sure you are. Ordained.”
    “But I do pardon thee, just as God will if you seek Him out. I forgive your sins and I forgive hers. I hold no animosity. I mean only to have her back.”
    “She won’t go back to you.”
    “She will. Yes, she will. God has decreed it.”
    “He told you that too, did He?”
    “Yes. That too.” Dunston turned abruptly and went to the door, opened it. At which point he looked at me again and said, “ ‘Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.’ The Song of Solomon, eight: seven. Those whom God has joined together, no man can put asunder.” And he was gone.
    I stood there. Eberhardt stood there. Neither of us moved or said anything for at least fifteen seconds. Then Eb blew out his breath gustily and said with awe in his voice, “Now I’ve seen it all.”
    “That makes two of us.”
    “I thought he was in some kind of commune. The Hare Krishnas or something.”
    “Yeah. Or something.”
    Eberhardt came over to my desk and picked up Dunston’s card. “Church of the Holy Mission. The Moral Crusade.” He flicked a fingernail against the card and said, “From the Hare Krishnas to Jerry Falwell—that’s some leap.”
    “You’re telling me?”
    “You ever hear of either one, the church or the crusade?”
    “No. You?”
    “No. I can check ’em out, if you want.”
    “I want. Thanks, Eb.”
    He went back to his desk. I picked up the phone and dialed the number of Bates and Carpenter, the ad agency where Kerry worked as a chief copywriter. The switchboard put me through to her secretary, who said that Kerry was in conference, could she call me back in about an hour? I said, “No, she can’t call me back in about an hour. I don’t care what she’s doing, I want to talk to her now . Tell her it’s an emergency.” There was something in my voice that made the secretary decide not to argue; she went away meekly. I waited. A full minute went by. Then there was a clattering noise, followed by another clattering noise, as if the phone had been dropped, and Kerry came on sounding out of breath.
    “What is it?” she said. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
    “That depends on your definition of all right. Your ex-husband just showed up here at the office.”
    “What!”
    “We had a nice chat,” I said. “He called me a fornicator and a witch, or maybe it was a warlock, and accused me of seducing you and then casting a spell on you to keep you from going back to him.”
    Silence for three or four seconds. Then she said, “Oh my God.”
    “But that’s not the best part. No more commune for old Ray; no more shaved heads and robes and chants. He’s back to wearing three-piece suits, he lives in San Jose, and he’s an ordained minister—he says—in something called the Church of the Holy Mission.”
    “Oh my God!”
    “God, right,” I said. “I almost forgot. He talks to God now. Personally.”
    “Talks to …” She made a funny little strangled noise.
    “Yes indeed,” I said. “And God told him divorce is a pernicious invention of man, so as far as he’s concerned the two of you are still married.” I waited a while, and when she stayed silent I said, “He wants me to give you up. He said if I