‘Just tell me,’ he said, quietly. ‘Or listen, and let me tell you. I think I’ve guessed most of it. With a triangle the story is usually the same.’
‘Only the sexes are changed, to destroy the innocent?’ she choked.
‘Isn’t that a little melodramatic?’
‘It was melodramatic, that’s the whole point. It was awful. I was seventeen, Richard was nineteen, we didn’t know a damn thing about sexual aberrations and our sense of perspective was non-existent.’
‘I thought Adamson kept his hands off his students.’
‘He did. But I guess with Richard he couldn’t stop himself. Richard was his student assistant that year because Aiken was indexing his big mythology collection. One night they worked late, Aiken took Richard out to dinner and then back to his place. He got Richard drunk and – bingo. Old story, right?’ She looked away towards the window, where the wind was prying at the catch. ‘Do you remember how naïve we were, then? Out here in the great American heart-land, where gay still meant light-hearted, where . . .’ Her voice broke. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help him. I didn’t know anything. When he told me, I threw up. Can you imagine how that made him feel?’ Her voice slid out of control.
‘Take it easy,’ Stryker murmured.
She took a deep breath. ‘Richard didn’t know what to do, either. He quit as Aiken’s assistant, of course, and Aiken didn’t say anything.’
‘Richard could have had him fired.’
‘He didn’t realise that. Remember, Aiken was faculty and we were only kids. All Richard knew was that he’d let it happen, that he hadn’t tried to stop it. That he’d even . . . enjoyed it. So he decided there and then that he was a homosexual.’
‘A little drastic.’
She looked up at him, then, almost in supplication. ‘I could hardly bear to have him touch me after he told me, but we tried to make love, and – he couldn’t. He was impotent. So he said that proved it.’
‘Crap.’
‘Oh, sure – I know that, now. I was seventeen and I’d never gone with anyone before Richard. I didn’t know what to do to make him feel like a man again . . . I didn’t know all the tricks to make him want me. I felt ugly and stupid and made of cardboard.’
‘So that’s why he left Richard fifty thousand and you ten. He’d hurt you both. I thought it might be that.’
‘He left us money?’ She was astounded.
‘Yes. I didn’t know if it was guilt past or guilt present, though. Past? They weren’t . . .’
‘Oh, no. It was only that once. I was always amazed that Richard came back here knowing he’d meet Aiken again. He hated him.’
‘Wayland came back here because Stark was the only man who’d hire him with “Alcoholic” on his army records. He was given a psychiatric discharge because he persistently got drunk and started fights in the “gay” bars in Saigon. The Army shrinks said he was avenging some early incident. When I read that the rest seemed obvious. What I can’t figure is what happened Friday night to bring things to a head.’
‘Nothing came to a head, Friday night or any other night,’ Kate said, firmly. Stryker gave her a pitying look.
‘He admitted going back down there, he admitted seeing him lying there and laughing over him,’ he said.
Her eyes widened. ‘How did you know that?’
‘That couple in the next booth were Officers Casey and Grabowski. They hate each other, so it wasn’t much of an effort for them to listen to your conversation.’
‘They were there to spy on us?’
Stryker sighed, heavily. ‘Kate, you might trust Richard Wayland to the moon and back, but I’m a cop. I don’t trust anyone – especially not a drunk who might have attacked you before. They were there to protect you, in case anything happened. Like Wayland trying for your other eye.’
It was no satisfaction to him to see her go pale. Obviously that possibility had never really occurred to her. It did, now. ‘I . . . see.’ Her fingers touched the cut on her cheekbone. ‘But he asked me about this. He asked me what happened to me. He didn’t know.’
‘Uh-huh. What did he go back down to the Department for on Friday – this mysterious manuscript?’
‘It wasn’t there on Friday.’
He was momentarily taken aback. ‘Right on, so it wasn’t. Then . . . oh, hell. Of course. The insulin. That was it. But if he had a few drinks on the way, and then found him lying there . . .’
‘Oh, no . . .’ Kate whimpered.
‘Kate – when he got drunk in Nam he beat up homosexuals. If he was drunk last Friday night and came across the homosexual he hated most lying helpless at his feet . . .’ He stopped. ‘He could plead temporary insanity, I suppose, with a good shrink and a good lawyer. It could have happened just that way, Kate. Pinchman saw a shape, heard the laugh . . .’
She made a choking noise, held up her hand in defence.
‘You’re not sure any more, are you?’ Stryker asked. She shook her head and wouldn’t meet his eyes. A tear fell on to her knee and she hit it with a fist, again and again.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cigar case. ‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘I thought you weren’t supposed to smoke?’
He looked disgusted. ‘Now don’t you start.’ He lit the cigar, made a face, got up and went in search of the kitchen and the garbage pail. While he was out there, Kate heard him swear.
‘What’s wrong?’ she called.
‘There’s a cat in your china cupboard. I thought he was china until he meowed. Scared the hell out of me.’
‘That’s just Hodge. He won’t hurt you.’
Stryker came back. ‘Hodge was Samuel Johnson’s cat.’
‘So he tells me.’
‘That’s the biggest goddamned cat I ever saw. What does he weigh?’
‘Twenty-one pounds. Without his shoes.’
‘Hell of a cat.’ He sat down again. ‘That why you can’t afford any furniture?’
‘You’re sitting on why I can’t afford any furniture.’ Kate tried to focus on being helpful. She hesitated, then spoke slowly. ‘Your spies . . . did they tell you that I asked Richard about the manuscript?’
‘Yeah, they told me.’
‘And what he said? That it was his fault? I don’t think he meant exactly that, you know. I think . . .’
‘Kate . . . stop it. Stop trying so hard to make sense of what a drunk says. All through this I’ve had things said that don’t hang together – for a Department of English you sure are a lousy bunch at communicating.’
‘But haven’t you read the manuscript?’ Kate asked.
‘The manuscript was taken when you and Stark were attacked. Didn’t you know that?’
‘No. Is that what . . .’ She paused. ‘Is that what the killer was looking for when he ransacked Aiken’s office? I thought you said that was a fake, all that pretence at robbery?’
‘I’m beginning to think I was wrong.’ He grinned at her. ‘I hope you took note of that – not many people have heard me say such a thing, you know.’
‘If you want to know what was in the manuscript, why don’t you ask the typist?’ Kate demanded.
‘Because I can’t find her. The neighbours say she’s gone to stay with her parents while her husband’s in the hospital, but they don’t know the parents’ name. Pinsky’s touring the hospitals looking for the husband.’ He stood up. ‘You’re sure it was cavalry, not calvary?’
‘Calvary?’
‘Stark said “Calvary” – I’m sure he did.’
‘A lot of people mix the two up without thinking.’
‘The Chairman of an English Department?’
‘Sure. It’s not mental, it’s physical. Calvary’s easier to say, the mouth goes to it first.’
‘But doesn’t Wayland teach something t
o do with the Bible?’
‘Yes. But we all do, from time to time. I mean, nobody’s really proven that Cain slew Abel, you know. Or that . . .’
‘Stop that.’
‘Stop what?’
‘Going off in another direction. You all do that, it’s one of the things that drives me crazy about this damned case.’ He stopped pacing and looked at her. ‘One of the things.’
‘What about the lilacs?’
‘That’s another thing,’ he agreed, still looking at her. ‘I think you should go to bed. You took terrible.’
‘Is that a proposition?’
‘No. If it was, I would have said we should go to bed because you look wonderful. Get the difference?’ His eyes were on her, but not seeing her. ‘Did he have an agent?’
‘Who?’
‘Adamson, Adamson. Did he have an agent?’
‘Probably. Dan would know.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Or his lawyer might know. Or his publisher.’
He nodded. ‘Right. I’ll check. Go to bed.’
‘As soon as you’ve gone.’
‘What’s the matter? Afraid I’m going to steal the silver?’
She looked at him, puzzled. ‘Why are you here?’
‘It’s cold out.’
‘You’re not leaving, are you?’
‘Nope. This carpet will do me.’
‘But why?’
‘I want to discuss Johnson with your cat.’ He was collecting cushions into a heap. ‘GO TO BED.’
She got up and started out, then turned back. ‘Is it because you think Richard might come back?’
‘Not exactly. It’s because I don’t know what he’ll do. Any more than I know what you’ll do, next. Besides, by the time I drive across town to my place it will be time to get up again. Have you no heart, woman? No soul, no finer . . .’
‘Good night,’ she said, and went down the hall. She was too tired to argue with a madman.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The book was empty.
He’d put off looking, savouring the moment, for noth-ing. The Security Guard cursed and returned it to its place on the shelf among the others. Two days, now, and no second payment. He’d give it another day, but if the money wasn’t there by tomorrow night, he’d put the screws on.
He grinned.
Maybe his victim had sat here, today or yesterday, watching that book, watching to see who came, who took it down. Nobody ever touched that row in the normal way – it was dusty as hell.
Pretty boring subject, he guessed.
But ideal for his purposes.
The first payment had gone like a dream. The mark had put the money in during the day, and he’d picked it up during the night. No contact – no danger. But the first payment had been peanuts – just a test run. What he was waiting for now was the big one.
His grin turned to a scowl.
All right, he thought.
I’ll wait.
But I won’t wait for ever.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Two thousand miles to the north, above the flat sweep of Canada’s arctic plain, a broad cold front was moving steadily southwards. Marching behind it in the darkness, high and wide, were the huge anvil heads of cumulo-nimbus clouds, pregnant with ice particles. As the front moved away from the bleak tundra and into the marginally warmer forested regions of Saskatchewan and Northern Ontario, the ice particles within the clouds began to gather themselves, merging and combining into intricate hexagonal crystals, infinitely variable, delicate, lighter than air.
As the cold front crossed the Great Lakes, even the manic energy of the high-atmosphere winds would no longer support the snowflakes which the ice-crystals had become. The storm began to drop its burden.
At just after seven o’clock on Saturday morning, the first few outrider flakes began to touch down on the suburban lawns of Grantham, already coated with old snow. The darkness of the night merged imperceptibly into the darkness of a dawn that never really broke, for the clouds blotted it from the sky. The temperature dropped from just above freezing to just above zero Fahrenheit, and the windspeed dropped it further for any creature moving against it. Birds disappeared under eaves, dogs and cats fled homeward or huddled where they could. The wind screamed in triumph – at last it was master of this place.
And Stryker woke up on the golden carpet knowing who had killed Aiken Adamson.
The storm warnings had gone out on radio and television, but there was plenty of traffic on the streets, particularly in the vicinity of neighbourhood supermarkets. Stryker grimaced as he drove by the one nearest Kate’s place. ‘Let’s hurry down and stock up before the hoarders get there,’ he said, quoting one of his father’s favourite sayings.
He swerved suddenly to avoid a woman who stepped blindly off the kerb, her vision obscured by the huge brown paper bags she was carrying. She never missed a step, but he nearly winged a bakery truck that had been spinning its wheels and suddenly leapt free of the slush into his path.
Other warnings had gone out, too.
He’d spoken in a whisper into Kate’s telephone, not wanting to wake her, not wanting to have to explain. Not yet. First, the station.
The hospital also seemed to be stocking up and battening down. There were more nurses around, and more of the blue-coated maintenance staff than were normally evident on a Saturday morning. Already men in white slickers were clearing areas of snow in front of the ambulance bays and putting down a thick layer of salt. Sawhorses lined the driveway preventing stray cars finding their way into the emergency approach. Later on victims of the storm would start to come in: the broken legs, the heart attacks, the old people suffering from hypothermia, the bruises and worse from fights and arguments that the isolation of the storm would bring about.
Stryker found Tos outside Stark’s room. ‘Have you got the men placed?’
‘Two on this floor and two on Pinchman’s, in maintenance uniforms; four roving in intern’s whites, and four women officers nursing. Still snowing?’
‘Still snowing. Worse yet to come.’
‘Listen – what about Neilson and Pinsky? Where the hell are they?’
‘I sent Pinsky home. One of his kids is sick.’
‘Did he find the typist?’
‘He found her, sitting by her husband’s bedside at the St Mary Ignatius Hospice. They’ve just found out he has terminal cancer with maybe a couple of weeks to live. She’s in a pretty bad way, too.’
‘Oh, hell. That’s terrible.’
Stryker nodded. He’d spent a frantic hour at the station putting it all together. ‘Pinsky says she didn’t make much sense, but she was pretty clear about one thing. Her husband’s illness is a “judgement” on her for typing Adamson’s manuscript. She told Pinsky it brought the devil into the house. She intends to become a nun after her husband dies, to atone for her “sin”.’
‘My God, what was in this damned manuscript, anyway?’
‘So-called “proof’ that Christ didn’t die on the Cross after all but ran off with Mary Magdalen and set up housekeeping somewhere in France. There’s some kind of sect based there who claim direct descent.’
‘That’s crazy,’ Tos said, shocked to his Catholic core.
‘Maybe. I don’t know. But Adamson’s agent said he’d done a real “hot job” on it. She said it would be bigger than the “Bermuda Triangle”, and where the hell was it? All she had was an outline and the first two chapters, which he’d sent her months ago, and the publisher was screaming for the rest. After reading Adamson’s diary, I can imagine what kind of “hot job” he did. Can’t you?’
‘And this is why he was bumped off?’
‘I think so. But I haven’t any proof, yet.’
‘Where’s Neilson?’
‘Running an errand for me.’ He glanced at the d
oor. ‘How’s Stark this morning?’
‘A lot better. You want to talk to him?’
‘I certainly do. And then Pinchman.’
The snow had ceased to be intermittent and had begun to fall steadily and thickly. Driven by the wind it stuck to walls and trees as well as the ground, moving like a river through the streets where it frothed around the corners, met itself, and spun upwards into whirlpools.
All the hospital lights were on, and across the courtyard Stryker could see a nurse and an intern in one of the linen rooms, talking earnestly. He turned back to Pinchman.
‘I hope I’m not tiring you, sir.’
‘Oh, no. Please. Stay as long as you like. I don’t suppose I’ll be having many visitors once they find out who I really am,’ Pinchman said, sadly.
‘I don’t think they’ll mind your being Jake Laredo, you know,’ Stryker smiled. ‘According to Kate, writing Westerns and detective novels is becoming almost respectable.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant taking my brother’s place. I’m not academically qualified. Dan will have to . . .’
‘Dan Stark has known about your deception for some time,’ Stryker told the old man. ‘He tells me he had great admiration for your brother as an academic – but as a teacher he left much to be desired. You, on the other hand, he considers to be a born teacher. And, that, he says, is what a university is for.’
‘Did Aiken tell him?’
‘No.’ He returned to his vigil at the window. The nurse and the intern had given up counting sheets or whatever they had been doing, and were locked in an embrace. He watched them idly for a moment, then turned back to Pinchman. ‘Stark had played handball with your brother as an undergraduate. Edward had a birthmark on one arm – you didn’t. He put the rest together – he was an Intelligence Officer during the War. He knew a lot of things about the people he hired – in many cases, far more than Adamson knew. The difference between them was that Stark used his knowledge for good, to build up people instead of tearing them down. To help them overcome their weaknesses by trusting them and encouraging them. He’s a remarkable man in many ways – but he took risks. Terrible risks. I think he realises that, now.’
Monkey Puzzle Page 23
