Ross Macdonald - The Drowning Pool

Ross Macdonalds real name was Kenneth Millar. Born near San Francisco in 1915 and raised in Vancouver, British Columbia, Millar returned to the U.S. as a young man and published his first novel in 1944. He served as the president of the Mystery Writers of America and was awarded their Grand Master Award, as well as the Mystery Writers of Great Britains Silver Dagger Award. He died in 1983.

The Dark Tunnel
Trouble Follows Me
Blue City
The Three Roads
The Moving Target
The Drowning Pool
The Way Some People Die
The Ivory Grin
Meet Me at the Morgue
Find a Victim
The Name is Archer
The Barbarous Coast
The Doomsters
The Galton Case
The Ferguson Affair
The Wycherly Woman
The Zebra-Striped Hearse
The Chill
Black Money
The Far Side of the Dollar
The Instant Enemy
The Goodbye Look
The Underground Man
Sleeping Beauty
The Blue Hammer

FIRST VINTAGE CRIME/BLACK LIZARD EDITION, MAY 1996

Copyright 1950 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Copyright renewed 1978 by John Ross Macdonald

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in hardcover by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., New York, in 1950.

eISBN: 978-0-307-75962-7

Random House Web address: http://www.randomhouse.com

v3.1

to Tony

If you didnt look at her face she was less than thirty, quick-bodied and slim as a girl. Her clothing drew attention to the fact: a tailored sharkskin suit and high heels that tensed her nylon-shadowed calves. But there was a pull of worry around her eyes and drawing at her mouth. The eyes were deep blue, with a sort of double vision. They saw you clearly, took you in completely, and at the same time looked beyond you. They had years to look back on, and more things to see in the years than a girls eyes had. About thirty-five, I thought, and still in the running.

She stood in the doorway without speaking long enough for me to think those things. Her teeth were nibbling the inside of her upper lip, and both of her hands were clutching her black suede bag at the level of her waist. I let the silence stretch out. She had knocked and I had opened the door. Undecided or not, she couldnt expect me to lift her over the threshold. She was a big girl now, and she had come for a reason. Her stance was awkward with urgency.

Mr. Archer? she said at last.

Yes. Will you come in.

Thank you. Forgive me for hanging back. It must make you feel like a dentist.

Everybody hates detectives and dentists. We hate them back.

Not really? Actually, Ive never been to a dentist. She smiled as if to illustrate the point, and gave me her hand in a free gesture. It was hard and brown. Or a detective.

I placed her in the soft chair by the window. She didnt mind the light. Her hair was its natural brown, without a fleck of gray that I could see. Her face was clear and brown. I wondered if she was clear and brown all over.

What tooth is bothering you, Mrs.?

Excuse me. My name is Maude Slocum. I always forget my manners when Im upset.

She was much too apologetic for a woman with that figure, in those clothes. Look, I said. I am rhinoceros-skinned and iron-hearted. Ive been doing divorce work in L.A. for ten years. If you can tell me anything I havent heard, Ill donate a weeks winnings at Santa Anita to any worthy charity.

And can you whip your weight in wildcats, Mr. Archer?

Wildcats terrify me, but people are worse.

I know what you mean. The fine white teeth were tugging again at the warm mouth. I used to think, when I was younger, that people were willing to live and let liveyou know? Now Im not so sure.

You didnt come here this morning, though, to discuss morals in the abstract. Did you have a specific example in mind?

She answered after a pause: Yes. I had a shock yesterday. She looked close into my face, and then beyond. Her eyes were as deep as the sea beyond Catalina. Someone is trying to destroy me.

Kill you, you mean?

Destroy the things I care about. My husband, my family, my home. The rhythm of her voice faltered and ceased. Its dreadfully hard to tell you, the thing is so underhanded.

Here we go again, I said to myself. True confession morning, featuring Archer the unfrocked priest. I should have gone to City College and been a dentist and gone in for something easy and painless like pulling teeth. If you really need my help, youll have to tell me what with. Did someone send you here?

You were recommended. I know aman who does police work. He said you were honest, and discreet.

Unusual thing for a cop to say about me. Would you care to mention his name?

No, I wouldnt. The very suggestion seemed to alarm her. Her fingers tightened on the black suede bag. He doesnt know about this.

Neither do I. I dont expect I ever will. I let a smile go with it, and offered her a cigarette. She puffed on it without relish, but it seemed to relax her a little.

Damn it. She coughed once over the smoke. Here Ive been up all night, trying to make up my mind, and I still havent made it up. No one knows, you see. Its hard to bring myself to tell anyone else. One acquires the habit of silence, after sixteen years.

Sixteen years? I thought it happened yesterday.

She colored. Oh, it did. I was simply thinking of how long Id been married. This has a good deal to do with my marriage.

So I gather. Im good at guessing-games.

Im sorry. I dont mean to offend you or insult you. Her contriteness was unexpected in a woman of her class. It didnt go with hundred-dollar suits. It isnt that I think youll spread it around, or try to blackmail me

Is somebody else trying to blackmail you?

The question startled her so that she jumped. She re-crossed her legs and leaned forward in the chair. I dont know. I havent any idea.

Then were even. I took an envelope out of the top drawer of my desk, opened it, and began to read the mimeographed enclosure. It informed me that the chances were one in three that Id enter a hospital within the year, that I couldnt afford to be unprotected by health insurance, and that he who hesitates is lost. He who hesitates is lost, I said aloud.

Youre making fun of me, Mr. Archer. But just what is the arrangement? If you take the case, youll naturally be governed by my interests. But if you dont, and Ive told you about this thing, can I trust you to forget it?

I let my irritation show in my voice, and this time I didnt smile, or even grimace. Lets both forget it. Youre wasting my time, Mrs. Slocum.

I know I am. There was self-disgust in her tone, more than there should have been. This thing has been a physical blow to me, a blow from behind. Then she spoke with sudden decision, and opened her bag with taut white fingers: I suppose I must let you see it. I cant just go home now and sit and wait for another one.

I looked at the letter she handed me. It was short and to the point, without heading or signature:

Dear Mr. Slocum: