I’d say.”
“He fooled around a lot?”
“Cal? Hell, yeah. He’d fuck a snake if you hold it for him. I mean, you know, he’s a single guy, and ordinarily, there’s nothing wrong with playing the field, per se, but Cal did have a liking for ladies who were already taken. He told me once...”
There was a faint knock at the door. Pez said “Yeah?” and the door opened. Billy came in carrying two coffees. He handed one to Pez, and offered me the other. It seems Billy didn’t have much of a memory. Either that or the concept of someone not wanting coffee was just too much for him to cope with. I took the coffee with a smile, and placed it on the table, next to my notepad.
“You were saying?” I continued, after Billy had left the room.
“Huh?”
“You were just about to say what Cal once told you.”
“Was I?” He thought for a couple of seconds, and took a large swallow of his coffee. “No, sorry, it’s gone.”
“Is there anyone who works here, who might have been mad at Cal?”
“Here? No, he gets on with everyone.”
“Nobody that you know of that might have had good reason to dislike him at all?”
“No. Like I said, he was very popular.”
He wasn’t getting it. Third time lucky.
“Let me put it like this. To your knowledge, did Cal ever sleep with the wife or girlfriend of anyone who works at the factory?” Well, third time less subtle, anyway.
“Oh, no. Cal would never do that to a friend. No, he liked women, but he was honorable.” He gulped down the rest of his coffee. He must drink thirty of those a day, I thought.
“It looks like Calvin was killed on or before Sunday. Would anyone here have usually seen him at the weekend?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask them.”
“When he didn’t show up for work on Monday morning, what did you do? Weren’t you concerned?”
“Not really, I got someone else to cover for him.”
“Wouldn’t you normally expect a phone call from someone who was taking the day off?”
He looked directly into my eyes, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Cal used to drink a little, Jake. He’s been better recently, but he’s not clean. I had a similar problem a while back. Still do, I guess. So I know what it’s like. Difference is, Cal never really admitted he had a problem. I’ve been clean for six years now. Don’t drink, don’t smoke. By the way,” he said, gesturing at my coffee, “If you’re not gonna drink that, do you mind if I have it?” I pushed it across the table to him. A man’s got to be allowed to have vices.
“So, when he didn’t come in on Monday, you assumed he was drunk somewhere?”
“Yeah. I figured he’d come back when he dried out. It’s happened before, and he always made up the time he lost. He was responsible like that.”
Over the next three hours, I talked to more than twenty of the people who had worked with Calvin Walsh. Pez’s loose definitions of ‘honorable’ and ‘responsible’ seemed to be backed up by the general consensus about ‘Cal’. Beyond that, I learned that he was a good manager, because: he knew the machines; he’d done the job himself for so long; and because he didn’t take any shit from Pez when production was down for any reason.
I learned that he usually went out for a drink after work, especially on a Friday, but he divided his patronage between several bars in the area. Sometimes he drank with ‘the boys’, sometimes not. It appeared that on Friday the 12th, he had gone off on his own. Most of the workers couldn’t think of anyone specific that he had pissed off, but everyone agreed that it was probably over a woman. Nobody had heard of Grant Foster.
Three of the guys mentioned an incident that occurred about two months before Walsh disappeared. Each had a slightly different version of events, but the core was the same. It seemed that one day, when everyone was leaving the factory, a large black town car with blacked out windows was waiting by the
“He fooled around a lot?”
“Cal? Hell, yeah. He’d fuck a snake if you hold it for him. I mean, you know, he’s a single guy, and ordinarily, there’s nothing wrong with playing the field, per se, but Cal did have a liking for ladies who were already taken. He told me once...”
There was a faint knock at the door. Pez said “Yeah?” and the door opened. Billy came in carrying two coffees. He handed one to Pez, and offered me the other. It seems Billy didn’t have much of a memory. Either that or the concept of someone not wanting coffee was just too much for him to cope with. I took the coffee with a smile, and placed it on the table, next to my notepad.
“You were saying?” I continued, after Billy had left the room.
“Huh?”
“You were just about to say what Cal once told you.”
“Was I?” He thought for a couple of seconds, and took a large swallow of his coffee. “No, sorry, it’s gone.”
“Is there anyone who works here, who might have been mad at Cal?”
“Here? No, he gets on with everyone.”
“Nobody that you know of that might have had good reason to dislike him at all?”
“No. Like I said, he was very popular.”
He wasn’t getting it. Third time lucky.
“Let me put it like this. To your knowledge, did Cal ever sleep with the wife or girlfriend of anyone who works at the factory?” Well, third time less subtle, anyway.
“Oh, no. Cal would never do that to a friend. No, he liked women, but he was honorable.” He gulped down the rest of his coffee. He must drink thirty of those a day, I thought.
“It looks like Calvin was killed on or before Sunday. Would anyone here have usually seen him at the weekend?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask them.”
“When he didn’t show up for work on Monday morning, what did you do? Weren’t you concerned?”
“Not really, I got someone else to cover for him.”
“Wouldn’t you normally expect a phone call from someone who was taking the day off?”
He looked directly into my eyes, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Cal used to drink a little, Jake. He’s been better recently, but he’s not clean. I had a similar problem a while back. Still do, I guess. So I know what it’s like. Difference is, Cal never really admitted he had a problem. I’ve been clean for six years now. Don’t drink, don’t smoke. By the way,” he said, gesturing at my coffee, “If you’re not gonna drink that, do you mind if I have it?” I pushed it across the table to him. A man’s got to be allowed to have vices.
“So, when he didn’t come in on Monday, you assumed he was drunk somewhere?”
“Yeah. I figured he’d come back when he dried out. It’s happened before, and he always made up the time he lost. He was responsible like that.”
Over the next three hours, I talked to more than twenty of the people who had worked with Calvin Walsh. Pez’s loose definitions of ‘honorable’ and ‘responsible’ seemed to be backed up by the general consensus about ‘Cal’. Beyond that, I learned that he was a good manager, because: he knew the machines; he’d done the job himself for so long; and because he didn’t take any shit from Pez when production was down for any reason.
I learned that he usually went out for a drink after work, especially on a Friday, but he divided his patronage between several bars in the area. Sometimes he drank with ‘the boys’, sometimes not. It appeared that on Friday the 12th, he had gone off on his own. Most of the workers couldn’t think of anyone specific that he had pissed off, but everyone agreed that it was probably over a woman. Nobody had heard of Grant Foster.
Three of the guys mentioned an incident that occurred about two months before Walsh disappeared. Each had a slightly different version of events, but the core was the same. It seemed that one day, when everyone was leaving the factory, a large black town car with blacked out windows was waiting by the
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