She didn’t answer right away. Then, “Well, I haven’t heard from him again. And I don’t think I will. But I’m going to say this again, I’m not afraid of him. In fact it’s all just very sad.”
“What do you mean sad?”
“Just that it’s very sad.” She hesitated. “When he was here he told me some things about himself but I didn’t want to tell you, I knew how you felt. But a lot’s happened to him. He lost his job as a teacher and after that he lost his wife and kids — she took off with them. And to top it all he’s come down with diabetes. He’s a depressed guy and like I say it’s sad.”
He wanted to say just be careful of him but he didn’t. He simply said something like, “I see.”
There was a long pause, then she said, “Look, I hope you don’t mind but I think I’m going to go to bed now. So look, you take care.” “You too, Anna.”
And with that he sensed that this girl he loved and yet knew he had to push away had finally pushed back.
Chapter Thirty-Five
He felt emptied out, as though everything was gone now. There were only two people he could think of, my mother and me, who would be truly distressed by the magnitude of his secret — after all, we’d known him ever since he was a kid — and even we would get over it. His mother would never know; Anna, with him already out of her life, would come to realize something had been wrong with him all along; friends such as Gregg Osterly and people like Elsa Tomlinson would be shocked to their toes but it wouldn’t change their lives one bit. He felt all of this, but nevertheless a phone call he got late the following afternoon almost lifted him from his chair in rage.
“Mr. Benning, this is Steve Manuso.”
“Oh yes, Steve.” The manager of the gym.
“Look, I just want you to know that a friend of yours was just here and went through the place to see if he might join. In fact he asked if he could use the pool as your guest and I told him he could. Anyway he says he’s pretty sure he’s going to join.”
“Who’s that?”
“A fellow named Bruster? I think it was that. Roy Bruster?”
“He was there?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. Did I do wrong?”
“Steve, you should have called me, that’s what you should have done. He used the pool?”
“Look, I tried calling you before I let him go through but I got no answer, and he seemed like such a nice guy I thought, why not. I’m sorry, that’s all I can say, I’m sorry.”
“Is he still there?”
“No, he isn’t. God, I’m sorry. I can’t begin to say.”
“Look, he’s not only no friend of mine, he’s a liar, he’s crazy. He comes there again using my name, you throw him out.”
“Oh I goddamn will. Oh I will.”
Alan’s hand was shaking as he put down the phone. Frantically he was trying to think how that bastard could have known about the club, then realized he must have followed him there too. Oh, that bastard, that bastard! Crawling through his life! Taunting him! And now what next?
Meanwhile, something Patty had said to me stuck in my head.
Just listen to what he has to say.
No delving, no preaching, no moralizing, no advice, just listen to what he has to say. Hear him out, let him simply know you’re there and always will be there for him.
I thought of him as a kid, how when he was five or six he liked coming over to my house and playing, say, Chinese checkers, or just watching TV with me, and then sleeping with me in my bed, even though we had other beds and though he claimed once that I snored. And my showing him how to ride a bike, and taking him to the movies, and once accompanying him and his friend Will Jansen into the nearby woods, which was really terrific of him to share with me. And playing ball on the driveway in back of our houses with other kids, most of them his age, a couple of them mine. And then when I got my driver’s license, taking him out one July 4th to watch fireworks, and on the drive back letting him lean across me and steer.
It was all so long ago, but we still had something of that bond, didn’t we?
So I called him one evening, and once again he answered the phone in a kind of angry way.
“It’s just me, Alan, take it easy, it’s just me.”
“What did I do?” he demanded defensively. “What’s that about taking it easy?”
“Just an expression. How are you?”
“Good, I’m fine.” But he still sounded defensive.
I asked him about his work and he said he was enjoying it, and he asked about mine and I mentioned for the first time to him that I was looking into the life and crimes of Harold Luder.
The silence on his part that followed was so obvious.
I said, “Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” But it was halting. “I dropped something on the floor, had to pick it up.”
And that sounded phony.
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Alan, is everything okay?”
Again silence. Then, “Of course everything’s okay. Why?” He sounded a little angry,
I felt off balance. I knew I wasn’t going to take this any further with him and I think we talked then about the news and a few other things that I forget.
It was a friendly goodbye. I remember saying, “Take it easy.”
But he wasn’t taking it easy when he hung up. Sitting at his desk he thought of me writing about Luder’s crimes, and wondered anxiously what I might have found out. He berated himself for acting belligerent and nervous, and he wondered what I must be thinking. And almost in desperation he grabbed up the phone and called me back.
“Colin. Me. Look, I do have something on my mind. I’m sure you got a hint of it at the zoo. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you this before but I thought it would just disappear. But it hasn’t. You remember that guy talking to Patty at the zoo?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I think he’s the same guy I saved in the subway. Where I was supposedly such a big hero. Anyway, he’s been... well, I don’t know if stalking’s the right word, but it’s good enough. He’s been stalking me.”
And he went on to tell me about the calls and the visit to the gym.
“And to top everything, here’s Anna saying what a good guy he is and what a hard life he’s had. And that got to me.”
“Well, she’s not only a nurse but she seems to be a very kind person, someone who sees good in everyone.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”
“Are you afraid he’s cutting in?”
“God, if she lets him, he can have her.”
“That’s not what I asked. Are you afraid he’s cutting in?”
“I guess it’s part of the whole thing. That in a way he’s out to take over my goddamn life. So why not that?”
“Let me ask you this. When he went to the nursing home, did he give them his name?”
“He gave a name — Bruster, Roy Bruster — but I don’t know where he lives.”
“Then why don’t you call the police? I don’t understand why you haven’t.”
“I was waiting to see if he bugs me again. But I will.”
We both said nothing for a few moments. Then I said, “Hey, how about us getting together for dinner tomorrow? Just us. No serious talk at all. Unless you insist.”
He laughed, which was good to hear. And then said okay.
But the laugh was gone almost the instant he hung up. He kept sitting at his desk. He’d wanted — oh, how he’d wanted — to say come over now, Colin, right now, and then to tell me everything — everything. For me to be the cousin he’d loved being with, sleeping with, facing my back with his little hand on my shoulder. And to say, “Colin, I did it but I didn’t mean it. Help me, help me.”
Tonight, yes, tonight in his thinking. But would he do it tomorrow?
He stood up to do — what? He didn’t want to watch TV. He couldn’t bring himself to read a newspaper, let alone a magazine or book. Maybe jog — go outside
and run and run.
Instead he logged onto the Breeze.
The main headline in today’s paper read:
SUSHEELA KAPASI MURDER SOLVED?
And the story went on to say that Harold Luder had confessed to it.
He sat back as though shot. It was several moments before the thought sank in: Free? And to breathe God’s air freely at last?
Chapter Thirty-Six
I met Alan for dinner the following day at an excellent Italian restaurant not far from his apartment. I got there about ten minutes before he did. He came straight from his office and looked it, in a dark blue suit, blue-striped shirt and Hermès tie. I smiled as we shook hands and I made a joke about me wearing a sweater, and he said he wished he could work like that.
He seemed to be in a great mood.
We ordered a half-carafe of chianti before looking at the menu, though I didn’t realize until later that he didn’t finish his first glass of wine.
Soon after we gave our orders and started talking we found we almost had to yell to be heard above the din in the small restaurant. Everyone seemed to be trying to shout above everyone else. We talked in spurts and with great effort, and after we finished the meal — he made me put away my credit card, insisted on paying — he said, “How about coming up to my place for a while? We can sit and relax a while and talk.”
Outside he said, “This is the last time I go here. I’ve been here before and it was never that bad.”
“Sorry, I can’t hear yet.”
He started to repeat, then laughed and we walked to our cars, to meet at his building.
What I didn’t know was that he wanted to find out if I knew anything more about Harold Luder and his confession. But as it turned out he wouldn’t have a chance to ask.
I met him in the parking lot and we took the elevator to his floor. And there, even before he put his key in the lock to his apartment, the door slid open a little with just his turning the knob.
He shot me a look, then stood there staring into the apartment through the small opening.
I said, quietly, “Could you have forgotten to lock it?”
“No, I’m positive I did.”
“Did you double-lock it?”
“I think. I always do. Almost always do. But that I can’t swear to.”
I knew, of course, what he was thinking: If it wasn’t double-locked, someone might have opened it with a plastic card.
He pushed the door all the way open with his foot. We both stood there apprehensively, staring into the living room; beyond that were a bedroom, a kitchen and bathroom.
Everything about the living room seemed untouched in the silence.
I was about to say, “Do you want to call the police?” when he went in hesitantly. I followed.
“Nothing,” he said quietly, “looks touched.”
We walked slowly through all the rooms. Everything still seemed untouched.
“You must have left it unlocked,” I said.
He nodded. “Anyway I don’t see how anyone could have even gotten into the building.”
The apartment house was a four-story complex made up of four connected buildings, each with its own main entrance. You had to tap in your apartment’s code number for the front door to unlock.
“Except,” he said, “I’ve seen strangers walk in behind groups of tenants or people who are delivering something. All someone really has to do is wait and bluff.”
With that he began opening drawers. But apparently nothing was missing.
We walked back to the living room from the bedroom, stood there looking around. And then all at once he strode over to an easy chair near one of his bookcases and picked up a book from the seat. He held it in his hand, a look of bewilderment on his face.
“This wasn’t there when I left,” he said, looking at me. “I know it.”
“Maybe —”
“No maybes about it.”
He began looking around the room again, almost wildly this time. Then I saw him staring at the computer on his desk, near one of the windows. It was turned off.
“I had that on!”
“Are you —”
“Don’t ask me am I sure! I’m sure! I’m sure! I had a screen saver on. And the chair’s pulled back. I didn’t leave it like that!”
He strode to the computer, sat down and turned it on. The screen opened to the white desktop. He was sitting there staring at it for a long moment, as though trying to decide what to do, then spun as if aware for the first time that I was standing right behind him, looking at what he was doing. He began fumbling with the keyboard, finally turned off the machine.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said.
“What’re you sorry about?”
“I don’t know. I’m just so goddamn upset.”
I looked at him as he kept staring at the dark screen. I said, “Look, did you call the cops on that guy, what’s his name?”
He nodded, barely, almost as if he hadn’t heard.
“Did you hear anything from them?”
“No.” He still looked and sounded distracted.
“Are you going to call them about this?”
He nodded. But it was almost as if he was saying don’t bother me.
“Look,” I said, “what can I do?”
“Nothing. Nothing. You just go. I’ll handle it.”
Patty was reading a book in the living room when I got back to the apartment. She looked up with a smile. “Did you have a nice time?”
“Well, it started off nice.”
I told her about the apparent break-in, and then about the guy at the zoo and the calls Alan had been getting.
“Oh that’s so weird,” she said, wincing. “And it’s the same fellow Alan saved?”
“He’s pretty sure it is.”
“Oh that’s crazy, that’s maddening. He’s called the police, hasn’t he?”
“He says he did but he hasn’t heard anything from them.”
“How about on this? Did he call them?”
“Not while I was there. But he said he would.”
“Why didn’t he do it right away?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask him why?”
“Pat, I don’t know. I told you I don’t know.”
“Why are you annoyed at me?” she asked.
“Pat, I’m not annoyed at you. I’m sorry if it sounded that way. It’s just upsetting. He’s a big boy, though.”
“The whole thing is crazy,” she said.
I walked to my office and sat down at the desk. She came to the doorway and looked at me.
“Look, he’s a big boy,” I said again.
She stood there for a few more moments, then walked away. She was right, of course: It was crazy. Who the hell would break into his apartment and not steal anything, but leave clues — a book on an easy chair, a turned-off computer — clues to say he had been there? And I was also puzzled by something I hadn’t thought to mention to Patty. That was the confusing scene at his computer, where he’d reacted almost in panic that I was looking over his shoulder.
All of that, and the calls he’d been getting, and him not just grabbing up the phone for the police.
I made up my mind not to give it any more thought. He wasn’t, I told myself again, a kid anymore and I wasn’t his big cousin protector. Still, I couldn’t shake it from my mind even when I was in the shower. Particularly in the shower. With the water streaming over me, I began thinking again of him staring at his computer desktop and then trying to shut it down fast when he saw me looking over his shoulder. But I’d already seen that his desktop had just one icon on it in addition to the usual ones for the hard drive and trash: an icon for a site he obviously wanted to be able to get to quickly, that was important to him.
Why only one? And why the panic?
I had read what he’d labeled the icon, which I’d thought I had fixed in my brain at the time, but I was having trouble recalling it now. Part of it I was fairly sure of: bree
ze. But I just couldn’t remember the first part.
I went to my computer and out of curiosity tried some possibilities. Goodbreeze — it had been something like that. Bestbreeze? Gladbreeze? After about fifteen minutes I quit and went to bed.
I fell asleep easily; I generally have no problem with that. But I woke in the dead of night. Patty was sleeping on her side, away from me. I lay on my back, staring into the blackness, wondering what had awak-ened me. I had no dreams that I remembered but I felt a kind of anxiety as if I’d had a nightmare. I kept staring up at the ceiling. And then the word just formed in my mind.
Codbreeze.
I closed my eyes, sure I would remember it, then opened them again, thinking of how many times I would completely forget dreams or ideas that I’d been sure I would recall in the morning. Careful not to disturb Patty I slipped out of bed.
In the glow of my desk lamp, I turned on the computer and typed “Codbreeze” into Google. Just one link appeared, something about breeding Hungarian dogs. That couldn’t be it. At the top of the page, Google showed one of those helpful questions it asks when it thinks you’ve made a mistake —” Did you mean: cod breeze” — and I clicked on the underlined words. This time, a page of links appeared, mostly ads for Cape Cod vacation homes, but also, clustered right at the top of the page, a handful of links for a newspaper, the Cape Cod Breeze.
This was progress, in that it was conceivable that Alan might keep a link for a Cape Cod newspaper on his desktop. But why? Why not the New York Times, say, or the Washington Post, or some other large paper? I clicked through to the Breeze’s Web site and looked at the headline stories to see what the paper had to offer.
The articles offered no obvious clue to what Alan might have found interesting about the paper. They were the usual sort of news and features you’d find in any local paper. By now my head was becoming clouded again with sleep; I was even finding it hard to remember why I’d been so curious about this. But for the hell of it I tried clicking on a few more links to go deeper into the paper’s archives. The pages loaded one by one. Regional News. Sports. Weather. Entertainment. Crime Blotter. And that’s where I got my first glimpse of the story, though I didn’t know what I was looking at yet. The headline said:
Witness to Myself Page 14