The clothes closet was behind the door next to the lavatory, but my clothes were not in it and I knew I was going nowhere in my hospital nightie with its little bow holding it together.
I removed the sheets from both beds and fashioned one into an East Indian dhoti, a kind of bulky loincloth, in the manner Timmy had once shown me. Whoever said nothing much tangible had ever come out of the Peace Corps was mistaken. Another sheet I wrapped around my waist skirt-fashion, and a third around my torso with a long flap hanging over my shoulder. I ripped the sewn-up end off a pillow case and made a crude skull cap to cover my bandages.
Snatching a long-stemmed plastic rose from the vase on the windowsill, I shuffled out into the corridor and down to the nurses' station.
"Hare Krishna," I said happily, and offered the rose.
"You people are not supposed to be up here! You're supposed to stay downstairs in the lobby, and you know it!"
I was ushered swiftly to the elevator.
Timmy, ever-dutiful peon to the tattered gentry in the legislature, was not in the apartment and evidently had gone to work. It was Monday morning.
I put on American clothes, had a quart of grapefruit juice and two bowls of Wheat Chex, and phoned Dot Fisher.
"Get your money back?"
"Oh, Don, yes, yes, I did! I'm so relieved, I can't begin to tell you. I have an appointment with Mr. Trefusis at three o'clock, and I'm going over there to Millpond and just dump the whole gosh-darn bag of money right on his desk. And, let me tell you, I've never looked forward to anything this much in all my days!"
"Mind if I tag along?"
"But you're in the hospital, aren't you? Fenton said you injured your ear fighting with those dreadful men."
"It wasn't serious," I said. "I let a doctor use my head as a darning egg for an hour last night, but now I'm practically good as new. I'll pick you up at two-thirty."
"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, that would be lovely. But I've got to run now, Don. Fenton's out 101 back holding a press conference."
"Sorry I'm missing it, but I'll catch it on the news tonight. I'm sure he's saying something quotable."
"Oh, he is, he is."
I reached Bowman at his office.
"Whozzis?" he snarled. The man hadn't had his weekend golf fix, or sleep.
"Strachey here. Those two lovelies locked up?"
"One's in jail, the other one's over there where you are, under guard. You just couldn't wait last night, could you?"
"You were up in the sky. The criminals were down on the ground where I was. But I knew you were with me in spirit, Ned. As is so often the case."
"That son of a bitch should've chewed your mouth off. What a service to the community that would've been. You okay?"
"I'll dance again. Look, what did the Andruses tell you. They spill it all?"
"Nothing but bullshit. Duane said they'd just come out to the kennel and found McWhirter there and were about to phone the department when you guys walked in and shot their dog. And Glen won't say a goddamn thing. They've got lawyers now, and before the day's done they'll all be in bed together making up the same stories. But we've got our case. It's tight. Duane's handwriting on the ransom notes, his voice on the tapes, and McWhirter's testimony will do it."
"Did they mention who put them up to it?"
"Whaddaya mean? Why do you ask that?"
I described the telephone conversation I'd overheard at the kennel window. I did not include my own speculation about who the third party was, nor the evidence that had led me to arrive at this thought.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me this before?"
"I was unconscious. As you will recall, just as you dropped out of the sky last night, I swooned.
At the sight of your descent from heaven, I guess."
"The way I heard it, you fainted when you found your ear in your pants cuff."
"Yeah, that might have been the way it happened. I forget. Did you recover all the money?"
"No. Just a hundred and a half. Tell me again about this phone conversation you heard. I want to write it down."
I recited it again.
"The third guy's got the rest of the money," I said. "That's why the Andruses are keeping mum.
You've got to convince them that with kidnapping and manslaughter, even involuntary, they're going to be off the streets for a long, long time. And there's no point in their waiting to get out to collect the rest of the money. Tell them with the inflation rate what it is, by the time they're free the fifty grand will be worth about a dollar thirty-five."
"Thanks for telling me my business."
"No trouble. What else did you find out at the kennel?"
"A lot of crap, and I mean crap. Dope too. In the room up front where Duane lived we found an ounce of coke."
"Any papers, letters, addresses, phone numbers?"
"An address book with some names and numbers the department is already familiar with. The narcotic squad has been building a case against certain persons, and Andrus's list will come in handy. The boys over there are grateful to me."
"Right, Ned. You did such a bang-up job on this case. Incidentally, I ran across information that 102
Duane Andrus was peddling his ass, and had some kind of sugar daddy who must have kept him in nose candy. Did you find any evidence to support that?"
"Andrus's room did look like some kind of fag brothel. Little bottles of that chemical you people stuff up your nose, dirty movies, and picture books full of male beaver. No offense, Strachey, but I have to tell you, it made me want to puke."
"For men, you don't say 'beaver,' Ned. If it's male you call it 'wombat.'"
"Oh."
"What else was out there?"
"Nothing incriminating or otherwise of interest. There were five bottles of Vaseline Intensive Care lotion. What the hell's that for?"
"Lotta dry skin, Ned. It's for people who work in air-conditioned places, like Albany Med."
"How long you gonna be laid up over there, anyway? Not more than six months, I hope."
"Don't know. I'm just taking it a day at a time. I'll watch the soaps, feel up the orderlies, follow doctors' orders."
"One true fact out of three. That's not bad for you, Strachey."
I gave him some improbable advice, then hung up. I was looking up an address in the phone book when the phone beside me rang.
"Yah-loo."
"Is this the… Donald Strachey residence?" She pronounced it "Strakey."
"Mista Strakey inna hospital. This-a his mamma."
"Uh… this is Annabelle Clooney at Albany Medical Center. I'm sure there's no need to be concerned, but we're having trouble locating Mr. Strakey. He has been admitted as a surgical patient here, yes, but he's… he's not in his room."
"Oh, that boy! I'm gonna take a strap to him! When you find 'im, you call me and I'm comin' over there and box his ears! One of 'em, anyway. The other one's still sore. You tell 'im that!"
I hung up. I looked up the address I wanted in Colonie, then took two aspirins. Timmy had brought my car back and left it in its space. Waves of heat rose off it. I could have fried an egg on the hood but wasn't hungry. I opened all the windows, placed the floor mat on the hot plastic seat, lowered myself onto it, and drove out into the midday traffic.
I picked up the Smith amp; Wesson at my office, as well as the lightweight jacket that covered it, then headed on out Central.
The owner of Murchison's Building Supply Company in Colonie was disinclined to answer my questions, but when I offered him the choice of talking to me or to Ned Bowman, he picked me.
Bowman would have to be calling on him anyway, but I didn't mention that.
Then I drove back to Moon Road. end user
25
"Hi, Jerry. Your boss says you're feeling under the weather today. Left the office early."
"Oh, hello! It's you! My boss said that?"
"Mind if I come in? I'd like to talk."
"Well… Sandra took Heather swimmi
ng."
"No sweat. We won't need a chaperone for this. Joey over at Freezer Fresh?"
"No, not till four. He's down mowing Mrs. Fisher's lawn. She called. That was really white of her. Very Christian. Considering."
He made no move to open the door. We spoke through the screen. The sweat ran down his pale face and splashed onto his drip-dry white dress shirt.
"Why don't you come out and we'll sit under a tree and talk?"
"What about? I'm not feeling well, actually. I was just thinking of… going to the doctor. Maybe another time, when I'm feeling up to it, okay?"
"Mr. Murchison says you turned over fifty thousand dollars to him this morning."
"Wh-what?"
"The fifty that was actually due last week. The second payment, including sixteen percent interest, that's restitution for the hundred and forty-one thousand you embezzled from Murchison over three years, and which he caught you at in June."
His mouth worked at speaking words. He fought to keep from collapsing, and managed it, barely.
I opened the door and he backed away.
"I don't- I want- I need a drink of water," he stammered.
I followed him into the kitchen and watched him gulp down some tap water from a plastic cup with a picture of two Smurfs on it. He rinsed out the cup and placed it on the drying rack. His mind was working and working.
He turned toward me with a twitchy grin. "I really can't understand why Mr. Murchison told you that story. That was just something between he and I. Jeez. Why would he do that?"
"Where did you get the fifty?" I said.
He kept on grinning, his head moving back and forth, back and forth, trying desperately to look incredulous. "Mr. Murchison said-he told me-he'd keep that between us. I was making good. I made a mistake, but he forgave me, and I was making good."
"If he forgave you, why did he sick Dale Overdorf on you?"
"Who? Dale who?"
"The goon who roughed you up in June."
"Oh. Oh, jeez. He told you about that? You'd think he'd be ashamed." The panic in him was rising and he kept swallowing, but it wouldn't go back down.
"Murchison didn't strike me as being either ashamed or forgiving," I said. "I think he had his reasons for stringing you along and not calling in the cops, and leaning on you at the same time.
But you didn't answer my question. Where did you get the fifty that you paid Murchison this morning?"
"I borrowed it," he said weakly, not much conviction left in his voice. Then his face reddened and he slammed his fist at the air. "Anyway, I don't have to tell you anything! This is a private matter between Mr. Murchison and I. Who do you think you are coming in here and delving into my private affairs! Mr. Murchison said he was going to treat the whole thing like a loan, so as far as anybody else is concerned, it's none of your darn business! You come in here and start questioning my integrity and… and you don't have any right! I want you to… to leave my house right this minute!"
I said, "What did you do with the money you embezzled? There's no evidence of it around here.
No steak for supper at the Deem house, just hot dogs. Where did it all go?"
The anger drained out of him in an instant, as if someone had opened an artery. He stood by the sink white-faced and trembling now, dumb with shock, watching me, trying to prepare himself for the moment he'd been terrified of all his adult life. I despised the moment too. But I saw no point in putting it off, so I said the words.
"You spent a hundred and forty-one thousand dollars feeding Duane Andrus's coke habit. That's a lot of money for low-grade sex."
He gawked at me in hot panic for a long couple of seconds. And then he broke. Deem slid to the floor, quaking and weeping, his heaving back banging against the sink cabinet, his face in his hands. Between great racking sobs, Jerry Deem shook his head and keened, "I'm not a homo! I'm 104 not a homo!"
I seated myself on a kitchen chair and gazed out the window at the immobilized T-bird. Not looking at Deem, I said, "The kidnapping wasn't your idea, was it?"
"No, no, I wouldn't have done that."
"But Andrus told you about it as soon as he'd done it. And you didn't turn him in. If you had, you might have saved Peter Greco from drowning in a sea of cat fur."
He sobbed and nodded and shook his head.
"Andrus wanted you as an involuntary accomplice to gain a further hold on you, because he thought that Dot Fisher would sell out to Millpond to raise the ransom money and make everybody on Moon Road rich. When Dot threw a crimp into that plan by raising the hundred grand through other means, Andrus decided to kidnap
McWhirter too-none of us knew yet that Greco was dead-and put additional pressure on Dot to sell. That way, Andrus would end up with the ransom money and whatever he could extort from you after the sale of your property went through.
"One reason you went along with it was-besides your fear of Andrus's exposing your relationship with him-the other reason was, you wanted part of the ransom money to pay off Murchison, who was pressing hard for his August installment and threatened to send Dale Overdorf around again to break your collarbone. Two busted collarbones in one summer would have been hard to explain to your family and friends."
He sobbed and nodded, nodded and sobbed. I looked down at him. My head hurt. I felt sick.
"Why, Jerry? I understand the two-life syndrome. Like a lot of people, I once lived that way myself. I understand the terror that drives men to it. But why Duane Andrus? Why some violent punk like him? There are two billion men on the face of the earth. Why Andrus?"
He peered up at me now, still shaking, his face awash with sweat and tears. After a long, tense moment, he said angrily, "Because he was evil. I am an abomination unto the Lord! Duane Andrus is what I deserved."
We sat gazing at each other. If Fenton McWhirter had been there he would have attempted to explain a few things to Deem. But I had neither the stomach for it nor any hope that it would make a difference to anyone living.
Breathing more easily now, Deem said, "I think- I guess I better have a Valium. I need to calm down."
I nodded.
He managed to stand and wobble into the living room, then staggered left into the rear part of the house.
After a moment, I stood and walked quickly in the direction Deem had gone. The bedrooms were empty. A door in the short hallway was shut. I knocked. He didn't answer. I tried the knob. Locked.
In an instant, I made a decision I sometimes later regretted. I lifted a leg and sent my shoe crashing hard against the flimsy plywood door. It exploded inward, knocking Deem against the sink, the battery of pills flying out of his mouth and pinging against the mirror like buckshot. He flailed about, grabbing for the pills, but I had him by the collar and dragged him into the living room backwards.
Then to the kitchen, where I bent him over the table and held him there with one hand while I dialed the phone with the other. I glanced at my watch while I dialed. Five after two. There was just enough time. I had another appointment to keep.
26
As I drove Dot Fisher up Moon Road, we passed two Albany police cruisers and Bowman's blue Dodge parked in front of the Deem house. She asked if I knew what was going on there, and I told her. She was silent for a long time. Then she said, "I'll drop in on Sandra later. She'll probably be needing some help."
We met Dot's attorney in the refrigerated lobby of the Millpond building and rode up together to Crane Trefusis's office. Marlene Compton ushered us into Trefusis's aerie of cool brown sunlight at exactly three o'clock. Dot was wearing electric blue slacks that clashed with the buffs and rusts. Trefusis removed his shades and greeted us with the bemused serenity of a man who knew that, overall, he would get what he wanted.
"Nice of you to drive all the way over here," he said. "I would have been more than happy, of course, to send one of our people out to Moon Road to pick it up."
Dot opened a Price Chopper paper bag and dumped the dollars on Trefusis's desk. "I wanted to present th
is to you myself," she said. "Please count it."
Trefusis laughed lightly. "No need for that. I know an honest woman when I meet one."
The lawyer produced a document canceling Millpond's option on Dot's property. Dot and Trefusis signed copies of it. Then Trefusis handed over a receipt for the hundred thousand.
"Nice doing business with you, Mrs. Fisher," he said. "Even under these sad and unproductive circumstances."
Dot mumbled something, started to leave the office, then turned and looked back at Trefusis. "I feel sorry for your mother, if she's living," she said. "You're going to make a lot of money, Mr.
Trefusis. But otherwise you're not going to amount to much."
The lawyer looked embarrassed and followed Dot out the door. I yelled after them, "I'll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes."
When the door closed, Trefusis said, "Funny old gal. I guess their minds go after a while."
I said, "The reward money. Ten grand. It's mine."
He stuck the stem of his shades in the corner of his mouth and studied me. He said, "That was for bringing Peter Greco back alive. You failed."
He was right. I didn't argue. My impulse was to break his nose, but my head hurt. I now owed Whitney Tarkington a hundred and ten thousand dollars. Fifty thousand had been recovered from Duane Andrus, and Trefusis's fee for catching the graffiti vandal would cover another ten. I still had to come up with an additional fifty thousand dollars by the next afternoon. Timmy was good for five, and my bank would, at 15 percent interest, make up the rest. Quite a weekend.
Trefusis was blathering on about how tragic the whole affair had been, but how Dot at least was going to be able to keep her beloved farm, and Trefusis had his eye on some acreage being offered for sale at the Christian Brothers retreat area, and in the end everything was going to work out all right for everyone concerned.
"Except for Peter Greco," I said. "And Fenton McWhirter, who's alone now."
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