"Me? No way. That's a part of the world I've already seen."
"Never get homesick?"
"For what? Candas hasn't been home since I was fourteen."
"What can you tell me about Manolo?"
"Manolo. He still around?"
"Yes."
"Well, I guess he would be. My father was a soft touch, John, a real soft touch. One day he comes home, I'm maybe eight or nine, and he's got this big, scared kid with him. Manolo's family was kind of poor, and his father was a drunk. You don't see much of that in Spain. The people learn to drink sidra and sherry young enough to handle it. But Manolo's father was the exception, and with Manolo not being able to talk or anything, I guess it got him frustrated, so he beat the kid. But el Sefzor Doctor took him in. Taught him sign language and turned him into a helper around the dispensary. Kind of a trained bear, if you ask me. But he was like my father's shadow. Wherever el Senor Doctor Enrique went, Manolo would be there too."
"How did Manolo take your father's death?"
"I wasn't paying much attention. But I'm guessing that my father must have made him understand that it was okay."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I know Manolo. If he thought Maisy had killed my father? Hah, he'd kill her. No question. But then, Manolo's not your man."
"Why?"
"Well, he can't talk, can he? How's he going to make threatening calls?"
"I didn't say the threats came by phone."
"Oh," said Cuervo, shrugging again. "I thought you did."
=18=
I DROVE BACK INTO BOSTON, PUTTING THE CAR IN THE Trash-strewn alley behind my office building and grabbing a beer and burger at Friar Tuck's Pub. After lunch I called my answering service as I sorted through the mail. Four messages, one of which was from Inés Roja, asking me to reach her at the school by two.
My watch said two-fifteen. I tried anyway.
"Maisy Andrus."
"I didn't expect to get you directly."
"Who . . . oh, John." Her voice darkened. "Is something wrong?"
"Not that I know of. Inés left word for me to call."
"You just missed her. I can give you the number at the clinic?"
"Clinic?"
"Yes, she volunteers an afternoon a week, sometimes more."
"I thought Alec said Inés had to leave that?"
"This is a different clinic."
* * *
Recognizing the 269 exchange as South Boston, I did some paperwork first, then drove to it. The small parking area had one slot open, but there were plenty of spaces on the street as well. Just inside the door was a waiting area. An elderly woman had a wire carrying cage in her lap, a Siamese hunched down on its forepaws and looking out warily. Across from the cat lady was a fat man with a matched set of Airedales, straining at their leashes and licking their chops. The Siamese seemed pleased that the woman had remembered the cage.
I walked to the counter. A high school girl in a faded green smock and moussed hair asked if she could help me.
"I'm looking for Inés Roja?"
"She expecting you?"
"She called me."
The teenager sized me up, then nodded and beckoned. I followed her through one door and immediately another. I thought of Louis Doleman's spacelock as my guide opened the second door.
Containing cages stacked from floor to ceiling, the room sounded and smelled like a menagerie. The crying of birds, the mewling of cats, the staccato barks and mournful howls of dogs. But also the chattering of monkeys, raccoons, and a few other mammals I couldn't place even by continent.
The teenager spoke in a command voice over the din. "Inés?"
"Right here, Deb." Roja stood up from behind an examining table of some kind, cradling a gaunt monkey and holding a baby bottle that the monkey eyed eagerly. Roja wore a green smock, too, which was covered with stains old and new. She seemed surprised to see me as she brought the monkey toward us.
"John, I did not want to drag you all the way over here."
"It was on my way. Don't worry about it."
Deb said, "I've got to go back out front. Ines. Let me know if you need anything."
"Right."
The monkey began making "eek" noises. so Roja moved the bottle to its mouth. The creature began sucking, almost shyly.
Roja said, "You got my message, then."
"I did. Another note?"
"No. No, it is probably nothing really. That is why I just wanted you to call me."
I rested my rump against one of the tables. "Well, I'm here. Tell me."
Roja shifted the monkey to the other arm like an awkward bag of groceries. "The professor and Tucker are going on a vacation."
"I thought she had some kind of visitor thing already lined up?"
"She does. In San Diego. This vacation is to Sint Maarten."
"The Caribbean?"
"Yes. Tucker was invited long ago to participate in a masters-of-the-game tournament there."
"And she's going with him?"
"Yes. The tournament is in January, so they will vacation first, then be together while Tucker plays."
"First I've heard of it."
"I believe she decided to go only last night."
"I just talked to her an hour ago. She didn't even mention it."
Shifting the monkey again, Roja held it on her hip, an interspecies Madonna and Child. "You must not be harsh with her, John. Her mind is . . . different. She can concentrate on something and not think to say something else to you."
"What made her decide to join Tuck on this trip?"
"I think the pressure of the notes and all. But I am concerned about her being . . . vulnerable outside the United States."
"So am I. Are you going too?"
"No."
"How about Manolo?"
"He is to stay here as well."
"How's he going to take that?"
"I am . . ." Roja looked down, but not at the monkey. "I am feeling disloyal telling this to you."
"I can't help you much with that, Inés. Is it important for me to know?"
"The professor told me I am to tell Manolo after they are gone that they have left."
"So Manolo sees them get into a cab, and . . ."
"And he thinks they are going out to dinner instead of to the airport."
"What about luggage?"
"They are not to pack much, and I am supposed to occupy Manolo with some task as they leave."
"I don't like this, Inés."
Roja looked back up. "I am sorry to have to tell you, but I thought you should know."
"When do they leave?"
"Tonight. Their plane departs at eight-thirty, and they said they would be taking the taxi about seven."
"I'll be there by six."
Roja smiled. "Thank you."
"How do you get here?"
"How? By the subway."
The Red Line would take her only to within eight blocks or so of the clinic. "Still a long walk. Why do you volunteer'?"
"The animals, they do not know how sick they are. They know only the kindness you show to them." She nuzzled the baby monkey.
"And many will get better."
As opposed to the last clinic Roja had seen.
* * *
Deb let me use the phone at the counter. I called the D.A.'s office, leaving a message for Nancy that I'd still see her that night, just after eight o'clock. I figured by that time, either I'd have persuaded Maisy Andrus not to go with Hebert to the Caribbean or they'd be on their way.
I sat around the reception area, eavesdropping on Deb and the girl who came to relieve her at five. They gossiped about one of the vets, but I had the feeling that they were more interested in his "totally" blue eyes than in his "radical" rabies research. When Inés Roja came out, I insisted on driving her to the Andrus house with me. At first she declined, saying that the professor would realize that she had told me about the trip. I replied that I'd tell the boss I'd forced it out of her. That
brought a feeble smile and a nod. Outside, the wind was shrieking. I opened the passenger door of the Prelude for Roja, and she scooted in, flipping her coat away
from the door that closed a little too quickly from the gale.
Once I got behind the wheel, Inés said, "This is a very nice car."
"It's old, but well maintained?
"Like . . ."
"Like what?"
Roja shook her head as I started the car. "Nothing." She gathered the coat around her neck.
"We'll have heat as soon as the engine warms up a bit."
"I am all right."
To make conversation, I said, "It ever get this cold in Cuba?"
She started to look at me, then turned away. "No. But there are worse things than cold, John."
We drove in silence for half a mile through Broadway traffic, crossing the overpass for the train yards that anticipate South Station.
Roja finally said, "I am sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about."
"In Cuba, my father did not support Castro. He was in prison. When your President Carter dared Castro to free those who would come to the United States, my father was one. He was too weak from the prison, but they said if we did not go then, perhaps there would be no time to go later, no boat to carry us. So we left Cuba, and my father got sick. He could not breathe .... It was only ninety miles to Florida, but the other men would not keep his body on the boat with us. They simply threw him off, like he was . . . not a human being. Into the sea. Then my mother could not . . . Many of the men on the boat were prisoners too, but not political. Criminals, degenerados, do you understand?"
"I think so. You don't have to — "
"My mother tried. She screamed and she tried, but she could not . . . keep them from me."
More silence. No tears, just nothing.
"In the United States everyone tried to help us. My mother had relatives in New York, so we went there. We were poor but we were free. And the professor, she has been everything to me since I began to work for her."
I'd been keeping my right hand on the stick shift in the stop-and-go traffic. Roja placed her left over mine. Cool and dry, a hand that was washed a lot but never grew warm.
I looked at her.
She said, "Please keep the professor safe."
Roja withdrew her hand and buried it in the side pocket of her coat.
* * *
"If I didn't like you so much, John, I'd swear you were suggesting I can't protect my own wife."
Tucker Hebert was smiling at me, but just barely. He wore a long-sleeved Georgia Bulldog jersey and sweat pants, no socks, and had just turned away from the closet.
Maisy Andrus pushed the open duffel bag toward the pillows and sat heavily on the bed. "John, let's resolve this. First, just what is your objection to my accompanying Tuck on this trip?"
I leaned back against a highboy and crossed my arms. "I don't like the idea of you traveling outside the country, even with Tuck as protection."
"But why?"
"Whoever our note writer is, he might know that things are a lot looser in other countries."
Hebert said, "Sint Maarten is a pretty damned sophisticated island, my friend."
"Where an accident happening to a tourist might not be the most desirable subject for publicity or embarrassing investigation."
Andrus said, "Do you really believe that whoever is sending these notes would follow me to a Caribbean island rather than wait for my return?"
"It's possible. If he knows much about police work outside the States, he might know his chances of getting away with it are a little better down there."
Hebert said, "What if he doesn't care about getting away with it?"
Andrus and I both looked at him.
Hebert reddened a little under the perpetual tan. "Lordy, what I mean to say is, this boy's a nut. If he doesn't much care about getting caught, he sure isn't thinking about picking some spot where the cops aren't as sharp as you're used to."
"Given the way he's sent the notes so far, I don't think he wants to get caught."
"John," said Andrus in a soothing tone I hadn't heard from her before. "Isn't it at least as likely that this person doesn't have a passport or the means necessary for a trip like this on short notice? It is the beginning of the high season down there. In order for Tuck and me to vacation before the tournament. we even have to stay over in New York tonight to get a plane out tomorrow."
"You can travel most places on just a birth certificate. Plus, charters fly half full to the Caribbean all the time. He could probably go for a third of the price if he just hangs around a travel agency long enough and is willing to leave on two hours notice. They've already paid for the aircraft, so every seat is a lost margin of profit."
Hebert turned his back to us and began rummaging in the closet, talking into the clothes.
"Okay. Okay, let's say this boy could follow us down if he wants to. Problem is, he doesn't even know we're going. Maisy just decided at the last minute to come with me. At most this boy thinks I'm going, and that'd mean he'd think he could get to her easier back here, alone and all."
"Except for Manolo."
"Manolo. Manolo, Manolo." Hebert turned back around, a scuba fin in his hand that seemed to match the one sticking out of the duffel bag. "Let me tell you something, John. In a street fight Manolo would be a mountain. He'd take a knife or a bullet, ten bullets, for Maisy, and maybe even a few to save my butt, knowing how she feels about me. But he's deaf, John. Stone cold deaf. A school kid could take him from behind. He wants to play loyal retainer, that's fine with me. But down-home protection? Get real, huh?"
* * *
Andrus said, "John, I'm tired. A little frazzled, okay? I've spoken to my dean, and under the circumstances he's agreed to cancel the special session seminar you saw. I think Tuck's right about my being safer on Sint Maarten, though perhaps for a different reason. I don't see my tormentor as a world traveler. I see him as a small, wretched little soul trapped in some way that makes him do this. If I am at any risk, that risk is higher here, where he has already acted, than fifteen hundred or so air miles from Boston. Furthermore, in less than a month I start a visitorship three thousand miles away. I'm not about to sacrifice that, and if I'm not, there is no logical reason I shouldn't enjoy a spur-of-the-moment vacation with my husband beforehand."
I certainly couldn't say I had proof she was wrong. "Tell you what?"
"What?" said Hebert.
"At least let me drive you to the airport."
* * *
Andrus said, "Tuck, are you sure you're all right back there?"
"Fine," said his voice from near my left ear.
We were in the Callahan Tunnel, the only functional way to Logan Airport. There are two parallel tunnels actually. The one leaving the city is called Callahan and one approaching the city is called Sumner. Tourists who know they went through one go crazy when from the other side all they can find is the other.
I said, "It won't be too much longer."
Maisy Andrus conformed to the front bucket, sinking into vacation mode. Hebert was sardined into the optimistic "seating for two" in the back, but hadn't complained once. Their luggage, both soft-sided pieces of it, didn't fill even my trunk.
Andrus said, "What will you do while we're gone?"
"I still have a few more people to see or see again."
"Have you come to any conclusions?"
"I don't have enough information yet."
Andrus nodded, as though that was a good answer for the occasion. She inhaled and exhaled deeply. "I'm feeling better already."
Hebert said, "Wait'll we hit this hotel, Maise. It's got everything you could want. Even a few things you'd never think of."
"When will you be back?"
Hebert said, "Tournament's over January sixteenth. We're booked on a return flight the next day."
"Afternoon or evening arrival here?"
"Evening."
"Call me when you get
back, will you?"
Andrus said, "Certainly."
"How can I reach you down there?"
Hebert said, "Try Jupiter 8-5000."
Andrus giggled. "Inés has all our itinerary and numbers for both the hotel and the tournament people. She can reach us if you need me."
I'd just opened my mouth when Andrus said, "But John, please try not to call. I'd like a real vacation, if possible."
"All right."
Hebert sighed. "Amen."
I dropped them at Pan Am's domestic terminal for the flight to Kennedy. Andrus flagged a skycap as I opened the trunk. Hebert unfolded himself from the backseat and came around to me, people already honking at us and a state trooper windmilling his arm to
keep moving.
"John?"
"Yes?"
"Sorry about riding over you on this, but I think it really is best for Maisy."
"I know."
"She's worn out. More than I've ever seen before from anything. Believe me, this is the best thing for her."
"I hope you're right."
"Besides," he said, yanking the bags out, one in each hand, "we haven't seen a note since Monday. I'll bet all your poking around's scared the sumbitch clear out of the valley."
I watched Hebert reach the skycap, drop off the bags, and hold out his arm for Maisy Andrus to take as they disappeared into the terminal.
=19=
"I KNOW IT'S STILL ONLY DECEMBER, JOHN, BUT YOU'VE GOT TO think ahead. You see, the marathon's like Good Friday: you'll be on the cross from twelve noon to three. Only for you she'll be more like four, four and a half hours. Of steady pounding and chafing. “Think about what to wear. You have to dress warm to go out to Hopkinton, on account of you'll be standing around for hours till the race starts. Maybe layers of old clothes that you can just take off and throw away on the street. If it's raining, get yourself a trash bag, one of those big green ones. Cut a head hole in it so you can use it like a poncho, then tear it off with the clothes when you hear the gun. For the running itself just shoes, socks, jock, shorts, and a T-shirt. lf it's below fifty degrees, wear a long-sleeved cotton turtleneck under the T. Remember, usually you dress warm to keep your heat in against the cold. Over twenty-six miles, you'll be wanting to let the heat out. Hell, your whole innards'll be producing heat like a blast furnace. Vent it out through sweat, and the wind'll wick it off keep you cooler. "Another thing. Before you put the socks on, turn them inside out and slap them a few times against your thigh. Got to get rid of all the sand or dirt particles. Over the miles, one piece of grit can cut through your toes like a hacksaw.
Right To Die - Jeremiah Healy Page 15