by Peter Straub
“I didn’t conceal it. I parked around the corner so my landlady wouldn’t see me getting out of a Mercedes.”
Rowley picked up the scrapbook and dropped it back on the table. “You have the keys?”
I took them out of my pocket and offered them to Mullan, who looked at Stewart Hatch. “Do you want us to call your wife? Frankly, I don’t think there’s any point.”
“Okay,” Hatch said. “Let’s stop farting around and get to the point.” He stood up and came forward, extending his left hand. I held out the car keys. Hatch stepped closer than I had expected and grasped my wrist. He snatched the keys with his right hand, rammed them into a pocket, and bent down to inspect my fingertips.
“Let go of him,” Mullan said. “Now.”
Hatch dropped my wrist and wiped his hands on his white trousers.
“Mr. Dunstan has been fingerprinted,” Captain Mullan said. “And if I see any more initiative out of you, Mr. Hatch, I’ll have Officer Treuhaft escort you out.”
I remembered what Officer Boyd Burns had told a reporter about “Ottumwa Red,” and Rowley saying to a young cop, “Blanks? No ridges?”
The knowledge of who had broken into the Cobden Building and beaten an elderly guard made me feel sick to my stomach. Stewart Hatch pointed at me. “This man is in league with my wife, that’s obvious. Who drove him into town? Who has he been seen with, for God’s sake?”
“You must be desperate,” I said.
“How much are they giving you?” he asked me. “Or are you in it for something besides money?”
“Shut up, the two of you,” Mullan said, and turned to me. “Do you have any interest in Mr. Hatch’s legal affairs?”
“None at all.”
“Your relationships with Assistant D.A. Ashton and Mrs. Hatch are purely social and grew out of accidental encounters?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“From our viewpoint, you understand, that’s a little hard to accept. If you bear no animosity against Mr. Hatch, why did you go out of your way to insult his friend and associate Mr. Milton, on Friday night?”
“Mr. Milton insulted me first. Ask the doorman.”
“And you had nothing to do with the break-in at the Cobden Building early this morning?”
“I’ll tell you what interests me about that,” I said. “I wonder why Mr. Hatch told Lieutenant Rowley to order me out of town and rough me up if it looked like I wasn’t going to obey.”
Hatch’s voice was low and measured. “I don’t give Rowley orders, because Rowley doesn’t take orders from me.”
“The lieutenant is a hard man when it comes to orders.” Mullan sounded more than ever like an Irish bartender. “Did you have words with Mr. Dunstan, Lieutenant?”
Rowley’s dead eyes met mine. “I made sure he knew he was supposed to stick around.”
“Do we need to listen to more of this crap?” Hatch said.
Mullan had been eyeing Rowley in a speculative manner, and Rowley had been pretending not to notice. “Mr. Dunstan, are you willing to accompany us to St. Ann’s? Mr. Sawyer, the security guard who was injured during the break-in, is being held in the ICU. If you refuse, you will be taken to the station, go through the procedures all over again, and then be escorted to the hospital. If you come with us now, Mr. Sawyer will either identify you or put you in the clear.”
“I’ll come,” I said, hoping that the guard had not had anything like a good look at Robert. “But you should know that Mr. Sawyer and I had a short conversation while he was letting himself into the building on Friday evening.”
Rowley and Hatch erupted. They erupted all over again after I explained how I had happened to talk to Earl Sawyer. I had been casing the Cobden Building, I was laying the groundwork for the case that any identification now was mistaken.
“Let’s see what our victim has to say.” Mullan opened the door.
“I’m the victim here,” Hatch said. He marched out like a general at the head of his troops.
65
Treuhaft opened a rear door of the patrol car, and Mullan gestured me in. Stewart Hatch moved up beside him. “You want to get your Mercedes out of this neighborhood, Mr. Hatch,” Mullan told him. Hatch grunted and spun away. Mullan followed me into the backseat. Rowley got in beside Treuhaft, shifted sideways on the front passenger seat, and grinned at me. “What were you supposed to find? Did your friend the lady D.A. give you a list of files?”
“It wasn’t me, Lieutenant,” I said.
“You’re a computer geek, aren’t you?”
“I know how to write programs. Whatever it would take to convict Stewart Hatch is a mystery to me, and he can’t be dumb enough to leave it on a hard disk.”
“I was hoping for peace and quiet,” Mullan said. “Let’s all get together and make a great big effort.”
Rowley pushed the button for the elevator, and a few couples gathered in the familiar corridor. I felt as though I had gone back in time—everything, even the visitors in their shorts and T-shirts, looked exactly the same. The people with us recognized Stewart Hatch. Like a movie star, he was used to being recognized. Following Hatch’s aristocratic example, we sailed through the swinging doors. Nurse Zwick goggled at Hatch and blinked when she saw me, but instead of sending us out to wash our hands, she darted around the desk and led us toward the far side of the unit.
Yellow tape sealed off the compartment where the despised Clyde Prentiss had languished. Beneath the curtain, loops of dried blood covered the floor. I asked what had happened.
“It was terrible,” said Nurse Zwick. “Mr. Dunstan, I’m so sorry about your mother.”
June Cook strode toward us. “You want Mr. Sawyer, I gather? I’d like to ask why.”
“We want him to look at Mr. Dunstan,” Mullan said.
The head nurse gave him a doubtful nod. “Mr. Sawyer’s condition is stable, but he is still seeing double as a result of concussion. I’d strongly advise waiting another twenty-four hours.”
“My doctor says he’s healthy enough to make an identification,” Hatch said. “I imagine you know who I am. And I’m sure you’re acquainted with Dr. Dearborn’s reputation.”
June Cook was as valiant as I remembered her. “I imagine everyone on this floor recognizes you, Mr. Hatch. And I have the greatest respect for Dr. Dearborn, but his evaluation was made on the basis of a telephone conversation.”
“Which led him to conclude that Sawyer is fit enough to make an identification.”
June Cook’s eyes flicked at me, then back at Hatch. “You can spend ten minutes with my patient. But if he makes an identification in his present state, I will have something to say about it in court.”
Hatch smiled.
I asked her what had happened to Clyde Prentiss.
“Mr. Prentiss suffered fatal knife wounds,” she said. “Nobody saw anything. Mr. Hatch’s friends on the police force seem to be as baffled as we are.”
“Imagine, a thing like that in this well-run hospital,” Hatch said.
June Cook went through the curtain. Treuhaft obeyed a silent command from Mullan and stayed outside when she returned to wave us in.
The old man in the bed glared at our invasion through glittering eyes surrounded by an interlocking network of bruises. A cone-shaped structure had been taped over his nose, and his mouth described a downturned U. He glanced back and forth as Mullan and I went up one side of the bed, Hatch and Rowley the other. I wondered how many people he saw.
“Nice of you to drop by, Mr. Hatch.”
Hatch tried to pat his hand.
Sawyer pulled his hand away. “I talked to your doctor a couple hours ago. He wants me to go to Lawndale, but the only place I’m going is home. You know how much it costs to rent space in an ICU?”
“Earl, your costs are taken care of,” Hatch said. “Don’t worry about anything. We’ll work something out.”
“I got no health insurance and no pension plan,” Sawyer said. “You want to talk about working somet
hing out, let’s work it out now, in front of witnesses. How do I know I’ll ever see you again?”
“Earl, this is not the time to discuss business.” Hatch grinned at the two cops. “We’d like you to look at the man in the blue shirt on the other side of the bed and tell us if you recognize him.”
“You used the word ‘business,’ ” Sawyer said. “Considering I got injured on the job, what are we talking about? You agreed to cover the medical expenses. Health insurance would have been a better deal, but I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m grateful.”
“Thank you,” Hatch said. “Can we get down to the present business, Earl?”
“Present business is what I’m talking about. I put in fifteen years with you, and some guy comes along and pounds the bejesus out of me. I’m sixty-five years old. You know what would be right? A lifetime pension at seventy-five percent of my salary.”
“Earl, we can’t—”
“Here’s another option. A one-time settlement of twenty-five thousand dollars. You’d probably come out ahead that way.”
Hatch stared up at the dim ceiling of the ICU. “Well, Earl, I hadn’t really expected to get into a negotiation here.” He sighed. Mullan and Rowley were both eyeing him. “If you think a settlement like that would suit you, you got it. It’s the least I can do to express my gratitude for your years of service.”
Sawyer nodded at him. “I’m glad we’re in agreement, Mr. Hatch. You’ll cover my medical bills, and the check for twenty-five grand will be waiting for me at your front desk by … what day is this? Sunday? By Wednesday morning.”
Hatch raised his arms in defeat. “Earl, I could use you on my team. All right, Wednesday morning.”
“You had me on your team, Mr. Hatch. That’s what you’re paying for. Who am I supposed to identify? Him?”
Hatch moved away from the bedside, shaking his head. Mullan said, “You’ve already had an opportunity to take a look at him, Earl, but I want you to look again and tell us if he resembles the man who assaulted you in the Cobden Building.”
Earl Sawyer squinted at me. “Come closer.”
In their nests of bruises, the old man’s eyes were shiny with malice. “Bend down.”
I leaned toward him.
“Didn’t I talk to you a couple of days ago? When I was letting myself in?”
“Friday evening,” I said.
“You heard Mr. Hatch agree to my deal, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“You got the wrong guy,” Earl said. “You have to remember, I hardly saw the guy. But this isn’t him.”
“Are you seeing double?” Rowley asked.
“So I see two of the wrong guy. I see two of you, but I still know you’re a son of a bitch named Rowley.”
“This is a travesty,” Hatch said. “Earl can’t see straight. He had us come in here to work out a pension deal.”
“He can see well enough to clear Mr. Dunstan,” Mullan said.
“Send the nurse in here, will you? Mr. Hatch, I want you to sign a written agreement.”
Outside the cubicle, June Cook gave me a small, triumphant smile and said, “I heard the patient’s request.” She leaned over the counter for a sheet of paper and drew a pen from the pocket of her green tunic.
While Hatch signed away $25,000, the four of us drifted toward the top of the unit. I looked again at the bloody floor inside Prentiss’s sealed cubicle. It reminded me of something I had heard in the past few days, but could not quite remember. Mullan was looking at the bloodstains, too, and I asked him how soon his men would be done with their work. “In there?” he said. “Rowley, we’re finished with this scene, aren’t we?”
“I’ll send a man over,” Rowley grumbled.
“Clothhead Spelvin,” I said. “I knew this reminded me of something.”
Captain Mullan slowly turned his head to regard me in ill-concealed amazement.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rowley asked.
“An oldie but goodie,” Mullan said, still marveling at me. “That’s very interesting. Would you care to say more?”
“Wasn’t Spelvin knifed to death in a cell? Whoever killed him got past the guards and the other prisoners without being seen.”
“Pretty good trick, wasn’t it?” Mullan said.
“Funny thing, nobody ever sees squat when jungle justice goes down. You close it as a suicide, right?”
“That’s how it was closed,” Mullan said, still looking at me.
Stewart Hatch thrust the curtain aside and stamped out. His face was tight with anger. No one spoke during the wait for the elevator, and the arctic silence continued as we descended, elbow to elbow with strangers, to the ground floor.
Instead of ramming his way through the people before him, Hatch let them depart and nodded at me to get off. I thought he was going to go back to the ICU and rip up the agreement he had signed, but when the elevator had emptied, he moved out into the corridor. For a moment, he pressed his hands to his face and held them there, as if concealing his anger or reining it in.
Hatch lowered his hands. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know the old bastard had it in him.” His face split into a grin, and he chuckled. The chuckles built into outright laughter. I would not have been more surprised if he had started passing out hundred-dollar bills. All of us started laughing. Treuhaft boomed out huge bass cannonballs, and Rowley contributed a toneless noise that sounded like a child’s first assault on a violin.
“Old Earl,” Hatch said through gasps of laughter. “He snookered me. He flat bushwhacked me.” He tilted back his head and roared.
I confess, this performance disarmed me. In spite of everything I knew or thought I knew about Stewart Hatch, at that moment I could not help liking him. His ability to laugh at himself put him in a different category from self-important toads like Grenville Milton.
He wiped his eyes with the back of a hand, still chuckling. “All right. Live and learn. I can take Mr. Dunstan home. You guys have things to do, and it’s on my way.”
When we had all spun through the revolving door, Mullan questioned me with a look, and I said, “Sure, why not?”
Stewart Hatch opened the passenger door of his Mercedes and beckoned me in with a flourish.
66
We drove out of the hospital grounds like a couple of old friends. Hatch was smiling, and his eyes were filled with a comfortable, humorous light. Top down, the car flowed up the street with the weighty ease I remembered. “You liked this little sweetheart, didn’t you?” Hatch asked me. “I keep forgetting how much I enjoy driving it.”
“If you’re going to Ferryman’s Road, I’ll get out there. There’s no reason for you to take me back to my place.”
“Let’s drive around a while. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other. Wouldn’t you agree we should talk?”
“If you think so.” I braced myself.
“Oh, I do, definitely.” He smiled at me again, his eyes dancing. “There’s something I’d like to show you. We can get there in about twenty minutes.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Can you spare the time?”
“As long as you’re not going to march me into a field and show me a gun.”
Five green lights and a nearly empty road had appeared before us. Hatch twinkled at me. “Watch this.” He touched the accelerator, and the car concentrated upon itself for a tenth of a second before rocketing ahead. I watched the speedometer glide past sixty before we sped through the first light. It kept climbing as we blasted toward the second. The breeze whipping past our heads shifted the line of Hatch’s hair about an eighth of an inch backward. He kept the car at a steady eighty miles per hour through the fourth light, and brought it smoothly down to thirty only in time to make it past the fifth and swerve right onto Commercial Avenue. His hair sprang perfectly back into place. “You can get this baby up to a hundred and ten before you actually feel like you’re speeding.”
“N
ow that we’re together like this, Stewart,” I said, “can I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Anything.”
“Between you and me, is Rowley your inside guy at Police Headquarters?”
“Lieutenant Rowley works for the city of Edgerton. The man is a dedicated public servant. His passion for justice may sometimes get the better of him, but that comes with the job.”
“And you didn’t tell him to order me out of town.”
“Of course not.”
“And you realize I had nothing to do with what happened at your building.”
“I’m relieved, as a matter of fact. Now I don’t have to figure out how you broke in. We have the most sophisticated security system you can imagine. Nobody not on the inside could get around the pressure sensors and the electronic beams and disarm the contact points, so it must have been an employee of the security company. We’ll get him, but that still leaves me with the computer damage.” Hatch gave me an inquiring look. “Aren’t you an expert in that area?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.
“Would you like to make ten thousand dollars a week? It looks like about half the files are missing from our hard disks, and I need to recover them. All I’d ask is that you sign a confidentiality agreement. The work might not even take as long as a week. You get me set up and running in a day or two, the money’s the same. Sound interesting?”
“It sounds great,” I said, “but the answer is no.”
“Can I ask why?”
“No offense intended, but I’d rather not be on the Hatch payroll.”
“Too bad. It was a long shot, but too bad.”
We cut through the southern end of the business district, turned west, and drove into a part of town I had never seen before. Uptilting blocks lined with peeling frame houses dropped away toward an overgrown baseball diamond and rotting bleachers. Beyond the next rise, a few women trudged along dusty paths in a trailer park. A bare-chested kid aimed a BB gun at us from beneath a limp Confederate flag.
“You liked this car, didn’t you?” Hatch asked.