When I arrived at the substation on the edge of River Oaks, Roy Wiseheart was sitting down in a small room with a uniformed police officer. The officer dwarfed the folding chair. His head was the size of a cider jug, his hands as broad as baseball mitts, ridged with knuckles that resembled lead washers. Wiseheart leaned forward and cupped his hand on the officer’s shoulder. “She and her husband are church people. Mr. Pine was at Kasserine Pass and Omaha and the Bulge,” he said. “I’m sure Linda Gail feels like hell about this. Officer, they’re just getting started here in Houston. They’re a little bit insecure. That’s why she was carrying on the way she did. The girl is scared.”
“She’s insecure because she owns a Cadillac?” the policeman said.
“I bet they busted their piggy bank to buy it at a used-car lot. She’s got a chance at a movie career. Do you know what this will do to her? I saw the Globe and Anchor on your arm. I flew with Pappy Boyington. How about it, gunny?”
The policeman stood up. He wore a sky-blue uniform with black flaps on the pockets. The back of his neck was thick and pocked with acne scars. “My wife belongs to the Northside Church of Christ,” he said.
Wiseheart nodded reverentially.
“They could use some he’p,” the policeman said.
“I know exactly where it is. They’re fine people,” Wiseheart replied. “If you’ll give me the name of your pastor, I’d like to give him a ring.”
Ten minutes later, Wiseheart and I and Linda Gail were back on the sidewalk, across the street from an enormous high school whose lawn was shadowed by live oaks. Linda Gail’s face looked glazed, as though she had just walked out of a meat locker into a warm room. Her Cadillac had been towed.
“How did you know Hershel was at Omaha Beach?” I said to Roy.
“You must have told me,” he replied.
If I did, I had no memory of it.
“I guess that winds things up here,” he said, looking up and down the street. He tapped his palms together, his fingers spread, his eyebrows raised. “Can I give you a ride?” he said to Linda Gail.
“That’s very nice of you,” she replied.
“I’m going right by your house,” I said.
“On your way to the Heights?” Wiseheart said.
“I’m supposed to see a friend in River Oaks,” I lied.
“Well, it’s been quite a morning. I hope everything turns out all right for you, Linda Gail. Call me if I can help in any other way.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll be forever in your debt,” she said.
I opened the passenger door of my car for Linda Gail to get inside. She tried to look straight ahead and not let her eyes follow Wiseheart’s Rolls, but there was no mistaking the resentment she felt because I had not let Wiseheart drive her home.
Neither of us spoke. When I pulled into her driveway, I heard her take a breath as though resuming a routine that was unbearable.
“Do you want to say something to me, Linda Gail?” I asked.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Then what did you mean?” she asked.
“Are you and Hershel having problems?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“He loves you.”
She didn’t seem to hear me. She stared wanly at the front of her house. “I know what it looks like now. I couldn’t put my hand on it, probably because I wouldn’t let myself admit it.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I said.
“My house. It looks like the public restroom on West Venice Beach. I was there just last week. Now I’m here.”