Tony and Susan by Austin Wright Page A

paralyzed him. He didn’t know what to say. The policeman waited.
    ‘No. Yes. No.’
    ‘Which?’
    Wait, then yield.
    ‘Go ahead and notify her.’
    ‘You’re sure?’ ‘Yes.’
    In the afternoon he fell asleep on the motel bed in his clothes. Later a man from the police office took him to the morgue to identify the bodies again. Bodies. They were in a cold room with white tiles on the walls. Each on a separate table. The man pulled back a sheet to disclose the head. They were either wax busts, gray and green, or his dear ones, Laura depicted in an ironic angry smile and Helen in a pout that could have been playful but was not. No doubt about it.
    They took him back to the station, where he had a talk with Bobby Andes. ‘News,’ he said. ‘Report from Topping, someone else harassed on the Interstate last night just like you.’
    ‘Same guys, probably.’
    ‘Got a license plate.’ Tony Hastings looked at him. ‘Unfortunately, it’s stolen from a car that had been junked.’ Suddenly Tony Hastings realized that Bobby Andes wanted to catch the three guys. For him that would be the logical next step.
    He apologized. ‘If you don’t mind, we’d like your fingerprints too,’ he said.
    ‘Mine?’
    ‘No offense. We found some prints on the trunk of your car, which was sticking out of the water.’
    He was pleased with that. He asked Tony to go over his story again. The highway harassing, the stopping and the flat tire, the separation of the family, the drive into the woods, the walk out, the whole thing. Bobby Andes was sympathetic, he kept shaking his head, and his sympathy grew angry as they talked. ‘The rotten bastards,’ he said. ‘The filthy sons of bitches.’
    He threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair. ‘Your whole goddamn family. Can you imagine such a thing?’
    Tony Hastings didn’t have to imagine it. He was grateful for Bobby Andes’s sympathy, though it surprised him, and he didn’t know what to make of the anger.
    ‘Beasts,’ Bobby Andes said.
    He said, ‘I had a wife and kid, she divorced me. That makes no difference.’ He took his hands and made a neck-twisting motion. His face was mottled. ‘We’ll get em,’ he said. ‘Count on me.’ His hands went snap!
    I appreciate your interest, Tony thought, but what good will it do?
    Bobby Andes became businesslike. ‘I’d like you to stay till tomorrow afternoon,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a warrant to check out the trailer, and we’re going over your car for evidence. We might need you.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘We’ll put out a call for witnesses on TV. Might fetch your old deaf man in the pickup.’
    ‘What could he do?
    ‘Witness. Who knows what he seen, if he’s not too scared. You all right for tonight?’
    ‘I think so.’
    ‘You got a place to eat?’
    ‘Motel, probably.’
    ‘You like Italian food? Try Julio’s.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Oh yes. Hawk wants to know what arrangements you want. Disposal. Funeral. You know.’
    You know. Tony Hastings did not know. Funeral.
    ‘Do I have to manage that?’
    ‘Take your time, no rush.’
    ‘I don’t know any funeral people.’
    ‘You could have it done here, then ship them out. I can recommend you somebody.’
    Ship them out.
    He took a taxi to Julio’s and ate an Italian dinner alone, preceded by a drink. The drink reminded him of loneliness, and the dinner was good, which made it worse. He bought magazines to get through the evening and went back to the motel.
    He got a call from Paula, his sister. She was upset. ‘Oh Tony. How awful.’ When he heard her say how awful, some old habit wanted to say, ‘It’s not that bad.’ Catching himself, he said nothing. She invited him to come at once and stay at the Cape. He said he had to take care of the arrangements first. The arrangements. She said she would come for the funeral. Then he must come back to the Cape with her. Funeral. He was grateful. She asked how he intended to get home. He said he would drive, as soon as