“Yes. We talked.”
I tried to keep my expression as even as possible, but Burgess was able to read my mind.
“No,” he said. “He and I did not have a relationship. It was always professional. But I did counsel him, just as many teachers find themselves counseling troubled students. Sometimes young people need to talk to an adult they’re not related to. Lots of high school girls who find themselves pregnant have told a teacher before they’ve told their parents.”
“Sure,” I said. “I remember telling my teachers stuff I never told my folks.”
The way Burgess was looking at me suggested he did not think I was being sincere. “I know what you’re thinking.” He shook his head tiredly. “You already know about me, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Why I left teaching. Most people, they know. It’s an open secret.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.” And I wasn’t asking. All I’d come for was some insight into Brett’s skills as a writer. This other stuff was of no concern to me. I wasn’t a cop. I wasn’t Barry Duckworth. Whatever had happened in Walter Burgess’s past was none of my business.
Burgess laughed softly to himself. “Well, aren’t I crafty. The one person left in Promise Falls who doesn’t know my business, and I have to open my yap.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “Keep your secret.”
Burgess waved his hand at me. “Doesn’t really matter now anyway. It’s been five years.” He cleared his throat. “I met a young man at Whistle’s.” A downtown bar, known to appeal to a gay clientele. “It wasn’t anything important. Just a connection. But we met a few times, were seen together, people talked. He’d just graduated from Spring Park.” The same high school Derek went to. “So I’d been seen in the company of someone fresh out of high school. Didn’t matter that it wasn’t my school. That I’d never been this young man’s teacher. But just the same, it drew the attention of the morality police. My behavior was deemed unprofessional, inappropriate. I could let them fire me, fight it, or I could take them up on their offer of early retirement. I was only a couple of years away from being eligible anyway. So I took it. I got out. And I never could have gotten through it without Trey’s support.” He paused. “He’s not always that grumpy.”
I just nodded.
“But I never, ever, took advantage of Brett,” Walter Burgess insisted. “And that’s the God’s honest truth.”
“I want to thank you for your time,” I said. I got up from the table and turned in the direction of the front door.
Once we were both outside, Burgess glanced at my truck and asked, “What do you charge?”
“Huh?”
“Your lawn service, how much to do a house like this, once a week?”
I gave him a price.
He nodded, considering it. “My knee gives me a lot of trouble, and I hate nagging Trey to do it. Be a lot more peaceful around here, I just hired someone to do it, you know?”
“Sure,” I said. “I can add you to the list if you like.”
He thought about it once more, nodded. “Deal. Trey’ll say we don’t have money for it in the budget, but he says that about everything. He’s cheap, but more than cheap, he’s lazy, so he’ll go for it.”
I shook his hand, and as I headed for the truck, Burgess said, “Brett’s book. Would it be possible to get a copy of it? I’d very much like to read it.”
I turned and asked him, “You ever read A Missing Part?” He blinked, and nodded. “If you’ve read that, you’ve basically read Brett’s book.”
Burgess appeared thoughtful. “What, similar themes?”
“You could say that.”
Burgess nodded. “I can see where Brett might have been interested in the kind of material that Chase explored in that book. The thing I could never figure out was why Chase wrote it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, it’s not the kind of book I think a heterosexual man would be able to write,” Burgess said. “Unless Conrad Chase is possessed of insights I’d never have thought him capable of.”
“You know him?”
“I’ve met him socially a few times over the years. He’s not gay.”
“No,” I said. “That’s true.”
Ellen was proof of that.
FIFTEEN
AS I WAS DRIVING HOME, my cell, now on, rang.
“Did His Worship find you?” Ellen asked.
“He did.”
“I tried your cell but—”
“I forgot to turn it on when I left.”
Ellen said, “Randy said he just had to talk to you and I couldn’t bring myself to lie and say I didn’t know where you were.”
“It’s okay.”
“What did he want?”
“He’s going to run for Congress.”
“Get out,” Ellen said. “On what platform? That there’s not enough corruption in politics, and he can change that?”
I needed the laugh. “I like that. You should suggest it. ‘Vote Finley: Keep Government Slimy.’ Not a bad bumper sticker.”
“What did he want from you?”
“My silence, basically.”
“And what do you get in return?”
“I don’t have to vote for him.”
“Well, that’s something,” Ellen said.
“He offered me a job,” I said. “Not my old one, not as a driver. He’s got Lance for that. But other stuff, with the campaign, I guess.”
“And you said?”
“I said no.”
“Did he mention anything about salary?”
“Ellen, there’s not enough money in the world.”
“I know. I was only asking. Every day you came home after driving him around, you were just so fed up.”
“No kidding.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell Ellen how I’d left Lance, doubled over, the wind knocked out of him.
“Listen,” Ellen said. “I’ve been thinking about what we were talking about, before you went out, about Donna coming to the house with the package from the courier. How he mistook the Langleys’ house for ours, because of the mailbox. Unless you know our house is down the lane here, it’s pretty easy for people to assume the Langleys’ house is our place.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Ellen said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know that I’m thinking anything, at least about that. But this whole computer thing is bothering me. The fact that it wasn’t there, that it had the book Conrad wrote on it. The fact that the computer was given to Derek, not Adam. I saw Agnes, asked her whether she’d told anybody that she’d given that computer to Derek.”
“What did Agnes say?”
“She said she hadn’t.”
Then I thought, what about Derek? What about Adam? Had either of them told any of their friends? Had Derek told Penny? And had Penny passed that information on to anyone? Had any of them gone online and blabbed to all their friends at once about the discovery?
“Listen, Jim, where are you going with this?” Ellen asked. “I mean, if there were anything to any of this, that this missing computer has something to do with what happened to the Langleys, what are you suggesting? Because some book that bears a strong resemblance to Conrad’s is on it, the Langleys were all killed? Can’t you see where that sort of thinking is going to lead someone?”
I’d already connected those dots.
“Jim?” Ellen said. “You there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“No, I’m here. I was just driving, that’s all.”
“You heard what I said? What that would mean?”
“I’m not sure what it would mean,” I lied, waiting to see whether Ellen was thinking along the same lines I was.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Jim. You know what it would mean. That somehow Conrad’s connected to what happened to the Langleys.”
“I guess that’s one way of
looking at it,” I said.
“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Ellen said. “No matter what you might think of him, he’s not capable of being involved with that.”
I said, “There has to be some reason why someone killed the Langleys.”
“It’s not the one you’re hinting at. This is over the top, Jim.”
“I’m not hinting at anything,” I said, my skin prickling under my collar. “But it was kind of interesting, talking to Agnes, about her son. And then I talked to his high school English teacher.”
“You called his high school teacher?”
“I went by and saw him. Walter Burgess.”
“Christ, you get around,” Ellen said. “You’re a regular Sam Spade.”
I didn’t detect any admiration beneath the sarcasm. “The kid was some kind of boy wonder. A genius. And that wasn’t just his mother talking. It was his teacher, too. He was a brilliant writer. Mature beyond his years, as they say.”
“I see.”
“So I think, even if it may not mean anything, I have to let Barry know that computer may be missing, and that one of the things on it was that book, which appears to have been written long before Conrad’s book came out.”
There was silence at the other end of the line.
“Ellen?” I said.
“I’m here. Here’s what I think, whether you like it or not. Conrad’s entitled to know about this, to offer some theory as to how this might have happened, before we talk to Barry. Telling Barry about this could do tremendous damage to Conrad’s reputation. Spark all sorts of rumors and innuendo.”
“I’m not trying to spark rumor or innuendo.”
“Bullshit,” Ellen snapped. “You’ve never let it go. You think there’s a chance now, after all these years, to get back at Conrad.”
“That’s not true,” I said, and almost even believed it.
“You’re suggesting he ripped off this boy’s novel.”
“I just think Barry should know everything there is to know, that’s all.”
“You have no idea what else the police may have already uncovered. They may already have a suspect, for all you know. Look at the kind of work Albert did. Representing all sorts of lowlifes. Lots of people could have had a grudge against him. He pissed off a lot of people when he got criminals off. Maybe somebody Albert didn’t get off was holding a grudge. Or somebody mad about someone Albert did get off.”
I thought about everything Ellen had said. There was a lot of truth in it. I had no idea what else the police investigation was turning up. Barry wasn’t exactly updating me.
“Okay,” I conceded. “Everything you say is true. And it may well be that Barry won’t give two shits about this information. But I think he should have it just the same.”
“It’s just that,” Ellen said, her voice softening, “whatever Conrad might have been years ago, all he is now is my boss. I have a good job. A job that means a lot to me.”
“I know.”
“On top of that, Conrad’s Thackeray’s literary darling. The whole festival’s built around him.”
“I know that, too.”
“It’d be bad enough for my job if his reputation were unfairly smeared. Imagine how bad it’d be if we’re the ones doing the smearing.”
“I hear you.”
“We need my job,” Ellen said. “It pays the bills.”
So there it was.
“And mine doesn’t,” I said.
“I never said that,” Ellen said quickly. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“Sure,” I said.
“For fuck’s sake,” Ellen said, “I take it back. I was an asshole. I’m sorry.”
I said nothing.
“Listen, all I’m saying is, let’s know what we’re dealing with before we talk to Barry. Let’s talk to Conrad first.”
“What would you have me do?” I asked, ending my silence. “Stroll into his big office and say, ‘Hey, did you plagiarize from one of your students years ago?’”
“The thing is, this is why I called you in the first place. He’s here. With Illeana. They stopped by. You know that thing he does, walking into houses without knocking? He just about gave me a heart attack.”
“You hadn’t locked the door? After what happened?”
“I thought you’d locked the door when you left. Anyway, I’m in the kitchen, he walks in, and I guess I screamed.”
Conrad had always thought he was too important to knock.
“They’re out back now, on the deck.”
“I’m pulling into the drive now,” I said.
AS I DROVE DOWN OUR LANE, past the Langley house and the cop car still posted there, I noticed a couple of people proceeding, very slowly and with their heads down, across the backyard of the Langley house, heading toward the wooded area that separated their house from ours. Forensic cops, I figured.
I drove my pickup past our back deck and parked out front of the shed next to Conrad’s Audi TT, one of the new redesigned ones. Conrad and Illeana were sitting on the deck, bottles of beer on the arms of their chairs. Ellen’s Mazda sedan was nowhere to be seen, which must have meant Derek was out. Too bad, because I had some new questions for him.
Conrad was on his feet and walking over to the truck as I got out, arm and hand extended, his other hand wrapped around the brown bottle. I didn’t have much choice but to take it. He had a grip that was stronger than it needed to be, like he was out to prove something. He was already a big guy—250 pounds I was betting—and a good six feet tall. Full of swagger and confidence. I wondered if, where I was concerned, he laid on the ol’ buddy routine a bit too hard. He knew he had wronged me in the past, and seemed desperate, even after all these years, to be able to show that we could be friends.
I wasn’t interested.
“Jim,” he said, smiling.
“Excuse the mess,” I said, holding up the grimy hand he’d already gripped, then gesturing to myself and my work clothes. “I had to go out this morning and finish up a yard or two.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, then, tipping his head in the direction of the Langley place, said, “Can you believe it?”
I just shook my head, walking back to the house, Conrad keeping pace with me.
“And to be right next door,” Conrad said, lightly patting me a couple of times between the shoulder blades, demonstrating that you can fuck a guy’s wife and still be pals. “I can’t imagine what that must be like. And you didn’t hear anything?”
We’d already been through this on the phone. “No,” I said.
Conrad said, “I’d known Albert for years, you know. He was more than just my lawyer. He was a good friend. Known him since high school. He and Donna, they’d been to the house a number of times. Albert was on a couple of college committees over the years. Got involved in his community, a terrific guy, at least for someone who managed to get a lot of scumbags off over the years. But hey, that’s the job description.”
We’d reached the deck. Conrad’s wife, Illeana, in a white blouse and white shorts, blond hair cascading down to her shoulders, smiled as I mounted the steps, but didn’t get up. She extended a hand and I shook it lightly.
“Illeana,” I said.
“Hello, Jim,” she said. “Conrad felt we should come over.” As if she were apologizing, justifying their presence. “This is a tragedy for all of us.”
In the years since she’d moved here from Hollywood, Illeana had gotten the small-town-college-president’s-wife thing down pretty well. Expensive but tasteful clothes, heels that were high but not towering and no longer made of clear plastic, a blouse unbuttoned far enough to draw your eye in, but not enough to give you any real kind of a show. But under all that upstate New York respectability, there was still something of the tart about her. Like she was chewing invisible gum, making high-frequency snapping noises detectable only by the true hound dogs of my gender.
Ellen handed me an Amstel and I sat down. Ellen was drinkin
g her new drink of choice, white wine, her glass poured almost to the top. Conrad dropped back into his seat next to Illeana and said, “We just wanted to be sure you folks were okay. You’re part of the Thackeray family, and when something like this happens—not that anything like this has happened before—we need to be sure you’re managing okay.” He looked at Ellen. “We figured that was why you called?”
“Called?” I said.
Conrad said, “I noticed your number was on my cell this morning. Illeana and I were out driving around in the new Audi. You see that? Pretty sharp, huh? Illeana’s getting used to the stick. We must have missed the call.”
Ellen, glancing at me and then to Conrad, said, “That was me. I was actually going to suggest you drop by, and then what do you know, you did.”
I gave Ellen a look. So she’d tried to give Conrad a heads-up on her own. She’d probably tried his home first, and when she couldn’t get him there, tried his cell.
“Next time,” Conrad said, grinning, “leave a message and I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.” Sounding like a voice-mail recording.
“Well,” I said, “it looks as though it all worked out, you coming by anyway. Here we all are.”
“So, Barry Duckworth,” Conrad said, “he’s heading the investigation, is he?”
I nodded.
“Good man,” Conrad said, “although you have to wonder whether he’ll be in over his head. I can’t imagine he has the background to deal with something like this.”
“I’m sure he’ll give it his best,” I said, taking a big swig from the Amstel bottle. “I think Barry worked for a while in Albany.”
“Well, it’s still not New York or L.A., is it?” Conrad observed. “Albany,” he said dismissively. “When’s the last time anything big happened in Albany? And I’m not just talking about politics. Anything, really.”
I said nothing.
I wasn’t very good at this small-talk thing, at least not with Conrad. Several times a year, Thackeray social engagements where I was obliged to accompany Ellen brought me into contact with Conrad and Illeana. Given that he was Ellen’s boss, bumping into him and the occasional conversation over the phone were impossible to avoid. Conrad had always struck me as someone who wanted to be liked and admired by everyone, and would go to great lengths to achieve that goal, even so far as to pretend the two of us did not have a history.
Too Close to Home Page 14