Seaweed Under Water by Stanley Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

about is that accountant guy?”
    â€œYes, he is.”
    â€œSo. Owens ended up in hospital. What happened to the perp?”
    â€œI don’t know; he was long gone. Some bodybuilder type, we heard. Nobody knew him of course. I can still picture Janey, flopped inside Pinky’s when we left.”
    â€œWas she involved in the scrap?”
    â€œI can’t imagine how. When I saw her, she was too drunk to even stand up.”
    â€œDid she egg that bodybuilder type on?”
    â€œNot according to the barman. It was a free-for-all and Owens just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
    â€œHow well do you know Jane?”
    Denise shook her head. “Not particularly well, she’s more of an acquaintance than a friend. We’ve known each other long enough to speak on a first-name basis if we meet.”
    â€œYou called her Poor Janey.”
    â€œYe-es. It’s true, she’s sliding downhill again.”
    â€œAgain?”
    â€œYeah, well, you know, give a dog a bad name,” Denise said, moving uneasily. “She used to swing a little. One of those girls who asks guys to leave money under the pillow when they leave in the morning. That ended a while ago, I believe. Except that now she’s drinking too much. If things go on the way they seem headed, she’ll end up drooling on sidewalks.”
    Denise then went on to tell me of the many tragic cases she’d seen on the streets lately. Demented forlorn people, battered into despairing apathy, or obsessed with the junk piled up in their rusty shopping carts.
    â€œYeah, it’s terrible,” I agreed absently. “And by the way, did you know that Jane has a mentally handicapped daughter?”
    â€œNo. I didn’t.” As she said this, Denise got up from her seat and walked about the room. She said grumpily, “And by the way. We don’t say mentally handicapped these days. We say challenged .”
    â€œHer name is Terry. She’s about 20, lives in a care home on Crowe Street. Pretty girl.”
    â€œ Girl ?” Denise retorted, with a rising inflexion.
    â€œSorry, woman .”
    â€œPretty, you said?”
    â€œI think so.”
    Denise gazed at her fingernails; her expression softened. “I suppose Janey was pretty too, once.”
    â€œI’m trying to get a picture of her, but it’s like looking at a kaleidoscope. Every time I think I’ve got a picture of the real Jane Colby, I meet somebody who shakes the kaleidoscope, and the pattern changes. She plays the piano. She’s a mother. Sometimes she’s a caring mother, and sometimes she’s not. She’s a drunk.”
    I was about to add possible murderer to the list. Denise interrupted me by saying,“The drunk bit is new. Janey’s a good-time girl, at least since I’ve known her, but her drinking used to be moderate. The worst of it is, she’s turning into an unhappy drunk.”
    â€œI’m not sure what that means. Do you mean she’s an unhappy woman who drinks? Or a woman made unhappy by drink?”
    â€œHell if I know, Silas. Too deep for me.”
    â€œJack Owens and Jane Colby were an item. She lived in Owens’ house for a while.”
    Denise seemed astonished. She hitched her heavy belt up and put her cap on.
    Then I guessed out loud that the bodybuilder might be Jane’s new boyfriend, and that she’d sicced him on Owens, her old boyfriend. When Denise said she doubted that, I told her about Jane being accused of murdering her first husband. That left Denise shaking her head in wonderment. I asked her to wait while I tried to reach Henry Ferman again. He still wasn’t answering his phone. I decided to pay him a visit.
    Denise and I left the office together. I locked up after closing the curtains. Across Pandora Street, a kid with studs in his nose and a Mohawk haircut with foot-long spikes started ogling Denise. Grinning and winking, he