Where There's Smoke полностью

“I’m Helene Wylie,” she said. “His wife.” Her eyes were very blue. She squinted at me across the width of the room, giving the impression that she was either near­sighted or in pain. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap. “He isn’t here,” she said. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Would he still be at work?’

“No.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know. Why are you looking for him? Has he done something?”

“Mrs. Wylie, is your husband employed?”

“He was employed. I don’t know what he is now. He left the job in July.”

“What job was that?”

“He worked for a travel agency.”

“Where?”

“Shangri-La Travel,” she said. “On Holman and Sixty-first.”

“But you don’t know where he’s working now.”

“I have no idea.”

“Mrs. Wylie,” I said, “are you and your husband living together?”

“No,” she said. “We were separated in March.”

“Where is he living now?”

“I don’t know. His lawyer doesn’t know, either. He moved out of his old apartment in July, and we haven’t been able to locate him since.”

“What’s the last address you have for him?”

“You won’t find him there.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been there. A Puerto Rican family is living in his old apartment.”

“Why’d you go there?”

“I was worried about him. I hadn’t heard from him, and then I got a call from Leon—the owner of the agency, Leon Eisner—and he told me Arthur hadn’t shown up for work, so I... I went to his apartment. I thought he might be sick. He was living alone, you see, and I thought he might be sick. I went to find out. I love him, you see. I still love him.”

“When was this, Mrs. Wylie? When did you go to his apartment?”

“In July, just after the holiday. The Fourth fell on a Thursday, and Leon called me on Friday to say Arthur hadn’t come back to work. I went right over to the apart­ment.”

“And he was gone?”

“Yes. Diaz. That... that was the name of the family living there.”

“And you don’t know where he is now?”

“No. I wish I did. I’m sure if we could talk this over, we could...” She shrugged, and then suddenly turned her head away and covered her face with her hand. I waited. She stood up, walked to where her handbag was resting on top of the television set, unclasped it, and took out a handkerchief. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Mrs. Wylie, why did you and your husband separate?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Was there another woman involved?”

“No. No, there wasn’t. No.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Yes, I am. I asked him, you see. When he told me he ... he wanted to leave, I... I naturally asked him if there was another woman, and he said, ‘No, Helene, there’s no one else, I simply want out.’” She blew her nose, and then sniffed. Her eyes were still wet. “After twenty years of marriage,” she said, “he simply wanted out.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No.”

“Where does the marriage stand now?”

“I don’t know. Arthur wants a divorce, and my lawyers keep telling me there’s no holding a man who wants to go.” She turned away again, fighting a fresh wave of tears. “Forgive me,” she said. “It’s just... if we had a lit­tle time, I’m sure Arthur and I could... could talk it over and... work it out, you see.” She turned back to me. “I tried to explain that to him on the phone, the last time I spoke to him. Just before he disappeared.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he wanted the divorce. He said he was through negotiating. He said if I didn’t agree to a settle­ment soon, I’d be sorry.”

“Had you been negotiating for a settlement?”

“Yes, through our lawyers. I turned down every offer.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want a divorce. I knew the offers were fair, I know what his earning capacity is. He’s held a lot of different jobs over the years, but his income hasn’t varied that much. So I know he was making fair offers, even generous offers, I suppose. But, you see... if I agreed to a settlement, the next step would be a divorce. And... I don’t want one. I want Arthur back.”

“What kinds of jobs has he held, Mrs. Wylie?”

“Oh, everything, you name it. He’s a very ambitious person, he changed jobs whenever he got bored, or rest­less, or realized he was in a dead end. He has that mar­velous quality of being able to find work anywhere. After the Korean War, when he got out of the Navy, he imme­diately got a job as a bank teller. This was in Seattle, we’re originally from Seattle. Then, after we got married, we began working our way east, and Arthur found jobs in the most unlikely places. We’d land in a tiny little town on the edge of nowhere, and you wouldn’t think there’d be work there for anyone, but the next day Arthur would come home, and he’d landed a job as a short-order cook, or an automobile salesman, or ... well, anything, really. He sold storms and screens, he worked as a hairdresser, he sold real estate... He’s a good provider.”

“And this most recent job was with a travel agency.”