A Borrowed Man
Page 25
She stared.
“He did come in a cab, didn’t he?”
It took her a long time to nod; when she had she said, “How did you know?”
It had been easy and I shrugged. “No one with money would drive from Spice Grove to New Delphi unless he were trying to evade arrest.”
“Like me. I did, and you know that, too.”
“Correct; you did it later. Your brother clearly came in the front door. The police report made that plain. So did the maid ’bot’s account of finding his body. If he’d flown in a private flitter—presumably Cat or Canary—he would have come in through the kitchen door. Why not, when the house in New Delphi was his home? So he had taken a commercial flight. You no longer had a chauffeur. If your brother had driven out to the field and parked there, it seemed unlikely that he would leave his ground car in your driveway and enter through the front door. Garaging his ground car and coming in the side door or the kitchen door would be much more likely. Neither you nor your father had driven out to the field to pick him up, making a cab almost certain.”
“I see.”
“Also there seems to have been a slight delay before he entered the house. That delay gave your father time to get into position. Paying the cab would account for the delay.”
“I’ve lied a lot.” It seemed that Colette was ready to start crying again.
I nodded, and tried to be gentle. “We all do, I suppose.”
“But I wasn’t lying when I said I hadn’t seen it. I shut my eyes.”
“I believe you, Colette.” That is what I said, because it seemed to be the thing to say.
“Are you going to tell somebody?”
“No. Not as long as you keep your promise. You must check me out for at least one day each year.”
“I was going to buy you, Ern. Really, I was.”
“Don’t. I’ll talk if you do. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life worrying about what I eat.”
She buried her face in her hands; after a while I got up and sat down next to her. “You were an instrument of justice.”
She did not look up.
“There are a great many kinds of murders, Colette. Back in my real life, when I wrote mysteries, I studied murder. Studied it seriously, because making up fictional murders was a part of my profession. A lot of people are killed by people they don’t know. A lot more are killed by enemies whom they do know. A few are killed by friends, and now and then murderers kill relatives from whom they expect an inheritance. That’s what you did, and it’s why this whole situation is so dangerous for you. You were an instrument of justice, and I know it; but if you’re tried, the prosecution will never allow it. The prosecutor will say—will insist—that you killed your father to get his money. It’s wrong, but a jury will agree and you’ll spend the rest of your life in reeducation.”
I waited, but she did not speak. Finally I said, “That’s if I talk. But only then.”
She looked up. “He killed Cob, Ern. He really did. I—I saw it. He waited until Cob was past, then he got him by the neck and squeezed. I saw Cob’s face, saw his tongue come out and the color fade, and I shut my eyes. When I opened them again, Cob was dead and Father was gone.”
I nodded. “Your brother was killed by a tall man with strong hands. The police report made that clear. I don’t suppose you know what the rarest of all murders is?”
She shook her head.
“It is the killing of a son by his father. That one almost never happens, which was one reason the police were disinclined to suspect your father. That, and your swearing that your father was away when Cob died. In addition to those two, his wealth and the fact that your brother’s suitcase had been searched. Where was the money?”
“You—you know! You’re frightening, Ern. Terribly frightening, and you look like such a nice man.”
“I am a nice man, but I think. Your brother had told you he was bringing a lot of money. It was the money he’d gotten for the emeralds, of course. Where was it?”
“Hidden in his suitcase. There was a pocket in the lid. It would have been hard to find if it wasn’t so full.”
“Thank you. I had been thinking all along that your father had searched your brother’s baggage for the book; but if that had been it, you would’ve seen him searching it when you opened your eyes. You didn’t, showing that he hadn’t searched your brother’s baggage at all. So it was you, and you had the book already. You must have been looking for the money.”
“You’re r-right, I was. I did. May I tell you why?”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“It was because I was absolutely determined to bring Cob’s murderer to justice. I didn’t know how much money that might take, but I felt sure it would take a lot. As it was”—her shoulders rose and fell—“Father died of a heart attack before I could even begin.”
I said, “A few days ago, it was a brain aneurysm.”
She stared.
“Perhaps he had a bad heart, and the guilt of Cob’s murder made it worse.”
Back in control now, Colette nodded. “I think you’re right. Certainly I hope you are.”
I said, “However, you poisoned him.”
“You—” She froze again, openmouthed.
“Will you tell me what you used? I’m professionally interested.”
“No! No, I won’t! Ern, I didn’t poison him at all.”
“You’re good,” I told her. “You need more practice but you’re good. You have a lot of talent. Shall I tell you how I knew?”
She nodded without speaking.
“When you brought me to this apartment originally, you insisted that I stay out of the kitchen and your bedroom. Your reasons for wanting me to stay out of your bedroom were obvious; just about any other woman might have said the same thing. Your reason for keeping me away from your kitchen puzzled me and seemed out of character. When Arabella and I got here a few hours ago, you told us not to go into your bedroom but made no mention of the kitchen. That was when I knew. You’d had the poison in there, just in case you needed to kill me; but it’s gone now. Did you use it up?”
Colette shook her head. “I washed it down the drain. I—I’d brought it here in case I needed it, and later I was afraid I would really use it again. Not on you, on Dane.”
I nodded. “I won’t ask where you got it. Several of the chemicals I noticed in your father’s laboratory might do, and there may have been others. You seemed to have a horror of that laboratory, by the way, and now I—well, never mind.”
I stood up. “With your brother and your father dead, you were alone in the world. Your father’s fortune is coming to you in dribs and drabs. You won’t get most of it until you’re thirty. You won’t get Cob’s share of it until his murder is solved, which probably means never. You had the book, and you must have hoped it held the secret of your father’s fortune. You couldn’t find a clue in it, but you checked with the library—a natural approach for a teacher—and found that it had a reclone of the author.”
I paused, but Colette did not speak.
“You asked how much I knew, and now you know. If you’d prefer that I didn’t talk about it, you’ll check me out for one day next year, one day the next year, and so on. I’m going to leave a complete account of your father’s death where it will be found when I die—but only when I die. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ern.” Colette nodded. “Yes, I do.” And then, “Are we still friends? I’d like that.”
That one stopped me in my tracks. I said, “I hope so. I’d like that a lot.”
“I won’t ask you to trust me, or to believe everything I say.”
I think I may have said, “Good,” before I got out of there; but perhaps I said it only to myself.
Out on the street, I began what I knew was going to be a long walk. Cabs passed now and then and I was carrying a great deal of money, but I wanted to walk. I was still a kilometer or so from the Spice Grove Public Library when my watch struck midnight. It was July thirty
-first, and I was overdue.
PERSONS MENTIONED IN THE NARRATIVE
Persons are listed by their surnames, if those are given. Thus Dane van Petten will be found under V, and Arabella Lee under L.
Bantz, Chick A gunman employed by Dane van Petten.
Baumgartner, Millie A library resource.
Coldbrook, Colette C. The library patron who checks out the narrator.
Coldbrook, Jr., Conrad “Cob” Colette Coldbrook’s brother.
Coldbrook, Sr., Conrad Colette Coldbrook’s father.
Coldbrook, Joanne Rebecca Carole Colette Coldbrook’s mother.
Electric Bill A ’bot belonging to the Spice Grove Public Library.
Fevre, Georges A knowledgeable traveler who assists Ern A. Smithe.
Lee, Arabella Ern A. Smithe’s former wife, a library resource belonging to the New Delphi Public Library, the Owenbright Public Library, or the library of an unnamed university, depending upon the copy intended.
Levy, Mahala Georges Fevre’s mute paramour.
Peters, Judy Formerly the Coldbrooks’ housekeeper.
Roglich, K. Justin An astrophysicist.
Smithe, Ern A. The narrator, a library resource.
van Petten, Dane An enforcement specialist; Ern Smithe calls him a tax collector.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gene Wolfe is a winner of the World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement and many other awards. In 2007, he was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame. In 2013, he received the SFWA Grand Master award. He lives in Peoria, Illinois. You can sign up for email updates here.
BY GENE WOLFE FROM TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
1. From the Spice Grove Public Library
2. Colette’s Story
3. What We Did
4. Her Father’s House
5. On the Fourth Floor
6. Back on the Shelf
7. “Where’s E. A. Smithe?”
8. On the Route Truck
9. Payne, Fish, and Pain
10. Road Trip
11. A Lonely House in the Rain
12. Behind Locked Doors
13. Rented in Owenbright
14. Maxette, Money, Monsters, and a Moon
15. Some Errands in New Delphi
16. Him Again
17. Escape
18. My Watch Struck Midnight
Persons Mentioned in the Narrative
About the Author
By Gene Wolfe from Tom Doherty Associates
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A BORROWED MAN
Copyright © 2015 by Gene Wolfe
All rights reserved.
Cover art by iStock and Getty Images
Cover design by FORT
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First Edition: October 2015