Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 41, No. 4, October 1977

Carlisle came into Macauley’s office an hour later and found his superior sitting behind the desk, head down, eyes staring blindly at the scarred wooden finish. His big, rough hands were cupped around a small glass half full of amber liquid.

Softly, Carlisle said, “What’s up, Will? You shouldn’t be doing that, you know.”

Bleak eyes rose to meet Carlisle’s. “Get the hell out of here, Ed. I’ve got work to do.”

Macauley felt the first flakes of snow on his face as he walked across the parking lot toward the building where Joanne Everett worked. It was five o’clock and he hoped to catch her before she left for the day.

She came out the door while he was still ten feet away. At the sight of him, she came to a stop and said, “Hello, Lieutenant.”

His tongue felt thick. “Hi. It’s snowing.” He felt like a fool as soon as he said it and wondered if he was destined always to say inane things to her.

She smiled slightly. “I can see that. No tennis today.” Her expression sobered. “What’s the matter, Lieutenant? Did you want to talk to me about something?”

Macauley looked at her before answering. He noticed for the first time that her eyes were a deep rich brown, almost the color of her hair. As he watched, a snowflake landed on her right eyelash.

“Will you have dinner with me?” he heard himself saying.

She looked surprised, but she said, “I think I’d like that. I don’t know your first name, Lieutenant.”

“It’s Will,” he said, smiling at her.

“All right, Will, I’d be happy to have dinner with you.”

My God, Macauley thought, My God!

He asked her if she liked pizza, and she said she did, so they ate pizza in a little Italian restaurant with red-and-white checked tablecloths on the tables. The pizza was made to their order, with a thick crust and plenty of cheese. Macauley wondered how anyone could eat pizza and look as graceful doing it as Joanne did.

“This is wonderful, Will,” she told him. “So much better than what you get in the franchise pizza places. Do you eat here often?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. Most of the time it’s easier just to throw a TV dinner in the oven.”

“You live alone, then?”

“Yeah. I’ve got an apartment not too far from the precinct house.”

“Have you always lived by yourself?”

“For a long time.” Macauley never talked of it, even with people he considered friends, but something about this woman was different. After a pause, he said, “There was a girl once. We weren’t married, and it wasn’t fashionable in those days to just live together. We were young enough not to give a damn, though.”

Her brown eyes locked with his grey ones as she looked up. “A bridge fell down one day,” he continued. “She was one of the people on it. That was nearly thirty years ago.”

She started to say something into the silence that followed, but he broke it himself, saying, “Hey, you’ve still got some pizza left. C’mon, eat up!”

She finished the pizza with a smile.

It was dark when they left the restaurant. Light snow was still falling, big flakes drifting lazily down in the glow of the streetlights, forming an occasional white patch on the sidewalk.

They walked down the street to one of the new shopping malls, built in an effort to restore business to the downtown area. Inside, they walked through a boutique and then a sporting goods store, each enjoying the other’s enthusiasm.

With a cry of joy, Joanne spotted an arcade filled with pinball machines and other coin-operated games. They went inside, seemingly unaware that their presence was two-ply anachronism in this den of t-shirted and sneaker-clad teens and adolescents.

For the first time in his life, Macauley played a game called air hockey, and although the fast-moving puck baffled him and Joanne won the game seven to nothing, he laughed more than he had in a long time. He got more than his own back at pinball, his thick fingers manipulating the flippers with amazing dexterity as he won free game after free game.

When they left the arcade, Joanne’s hand was resting easily and naturally in his.

Macauley knew it was a magic spell, and he placed no faith at all in magic. He was going to enjoy himself while it lasted, though, even as he cursed himself for letting it happen.

They walked back down the street and got into his car parked at the curb in front of the restaurant. He said, “I guess I ought to take you home now. Where do you live?”

She said in a soft voice, “We could go to your apartment if you like, Will. I’d like to see it.”

The magic spell was over just like that. Macauley already hated himself for falling in love with this beautiful woman who, he knew, had committed murder. He was not going to compound his sin by going to bed with her.

He answered, “Let’s just drive around a little.”

She looked puzzled but replied, “Okay, that’s fine with me.”