Robert B Parker - Spenser 26 - Hush Money

by Hush Money(lit)

  "Guys," she said, "how apt." I think she was being ironic. "Apt is my middle name," I said. She nodded, still serious. "Traditional courses are offered;' she said. A tall handsome man with a thick moustache walked into the office. He had on a brown Harris tweed jacket with a black silk pocket square, a black turtleneck, polished engineer's boots, and pressed jeans. "Hi, Li!," he said, "sorry I'm late." He put out his hand to me. ,,You must be the detective," he said. "Bass Maitland."

  He had a big round voice. "Spenser," 1 said. We shook hands. Maitland threw one leg over the far corner of Lillian's desk and folded his arms, ready to listea, alert for any improprieties. I restrained myself. Whenever I got involved in anything related to a university, I was reminded of how seriously everyone took everything, particularly themselves, and I had to keep a firm grip on my impulse to make fun. "I'm here at Lillian's request;' he said. "My role here is strictly to observe." "Open-shuttered and passive," I said. He smiled. "How do you feel," I said to Lillian Temple, "about the allegation that Robinson Nevins was responsible for the suicide of Prentice Lamont?" "What?" "Do you think Nevins had an affair with Lamont? Do you think that the end of the affair caused Lamont's suicide?" "I... my God... how would I... ?" "Wasn't it discussed in the tenure meeting?"

  "Yes... but... I can't talk about the tenure meeting." "Of 'course;' I said, "but such an allegation would certainly have weighed in your decision. How did you vote.9'' "I can't tell you that." She looked shocked. "You could tell me how you feel about the allegation." She looked at Maitland. Nothing there. She looked back atme. "Well," she said. I waited. "I feel... ;' she said, "that... each person has a right to his or her sexuality." "Un huh." "But that with such a right there is a commensurate responsibility to be a caring partner in the relationship." She stopped, pleased with her statement'. "You think Nevins was a caring partner?" "Not," she spoke very firmly, "if he left that boy to die." "And you think he did," I said. "I suspect that he did." "Why?" "I have my reasons." "What are they?" She shook her head. "Oh," I said, "those reasons:' "There's no call for sarcasm," she said. "The hell there isn't," I said. "I think that's probably enough, Mr. Spenser;' Maitland said. "It's not enough," I said. "But it's all I can stand." I stood. Maitland still sat half on the desk, looking bemused and neutral. Lillian Temple sat straight in her swivel chair, both feet flat together on the floor, her hands folded in her lap, looking implacable. I got to my feet.

  "I'm son5 1 ¢an' help you more," she said. "But I do not

  my responsibilities lightly:'

  "You don't take anyGing lightly," I said.

  As I wailce past Ge Aean-American Center on my way to Ge parking lot, I Gought Gat while I had been iereely bullshitted in Ge English department, no one had u'ied to ld¢lc my head off. Wlfi¢l was progress.

  house with green shutters on a cul-de-sac off Commonwealth Avenue in Newton. I went to see him in the late afternoon on a Thursday when he said he'd be home from work a little early. We sat in front of a small clean firelace in a small den off his small dining room and talked about his former wife.

  "She always had that flair," he said. "It made her seem

  maybe more special than she really was."

  "You miss her?" I said.

  "Yes. I do. But not as much as I first did. And of course

  I'm really angry with her."

  "Because she left."

  "Because she took up with another man, and left me for him, and for crissake she wasn't even smart enough to find a good one."

  "What would have constituted a good one?

  "One that loved her back. The minute she was free of me he dumped her."

  "You'd have felt better about things if she'd married him?"

  "And been happy? Yes. This way she wasted our marriage, for nothing, if you see what I mean."

  "I do," I said. He was a well-set-up man, middle sized with sandy hair and square hands that looked as if he might have worked for a living. On the mantel over the fireplace was a picture of a young girl. It had the strong coloration of one of those annual school pictures that kids take, but the frame was expensive. "Your daughter?" I said. "Yes. Jennifer. She's eleven." "How's she handling all this," I said. "She doesn't understand, but she's got a good temperament. She sees her mother usually every week. Divorce is hardly a stigma in her circles, half her friends have divorced parents." "She's all right? "Yes," Roth said, "I think so." "Where is she now?" I said. "She has soccer practice until six," Roth said. "I have to pick her up then." "You dating anyone?" I said. "I don't mean to be discourteous, but you said you were investigating something about my ex-wife and a stalker." "Stalking is usually about control or revenge or both. I'm trying to get a sense of whether you are controlling or vengeful." "My God, you think I might be stalking her?" "It's a place to start," I said. Roth was quiet for a time. Then he nodded. "Yes, of course, who would be the logical suspect?" he said. "Did you say you were dating?" "I'm seeing someone," Roth said. "She's fun. We sleep together. I doubt that we'll walk into the sunset." "Do you think your ex-wife would invent a stalker?'; "Well," he said, "she's pretty crazy these days. So much

  so that I'm careful about letting Jennifer spend time there. KC and I had a pretty good fight about it, and I can't simply keep her away from r mother. But I always stay home

  when she's there so she can call me if she needs to."

  "So you think she mightT" I said.

  "No, I don't really. I think she might go out with her boyfriend, now former boyfriend, and leave Jennifer alone. Or I think she might bring her with her when she and the boyfriend went someplace that was inappropriate for an eleven-year-old girl. She might be crazy that way, sort of like in junior high school where there was a girl who was boy crazy. But for all her drama and affect, she is a pretty shrewd woman in many ways, and I think she loves her daughter, and I don't think she'd invent a stalker, even to blame me."

  "Why would she want to blame you?"

  "Because she feels guilty about leaving me, and she feels like a fool for being in love with a guy who dumps her, and she can't stand either feeling, so she needs to make it my fault somehow:'

  "You seeing a shrink?" I said.

  "Oh, yeah," Roth said. "This is much too hard to do alone:'

  "You know the boyfriend?" "We've never met." "Know his name?"

  "Just his first name, Louis:' "How do you feel about him?" "I'd like to kill him:'

  "Of course you would;' I said. "But I won't." "No," I said.

  "You sound like you understand that:'

  "Yes," I said. He looked at his watch. "I've got to pick up my daughter," he said. "I don't want to discuss this in front of her. Would you like to schedule another time to talk?" "Not for the moment," I said. "If I need to, I'll call you." "I am happy to help with this. I don't want Jennifer's mother to be stalked." "Do you still love her?" I said. "Yes," he said. "But less than I used to and in time I won't." "Good," I said.

  Prenfce Lamont's parents. It was always the worst thing I did, talking o the parents of a dead person. It almost didn't matter how old the deceased had been, it was the parents that were the hardest. I'd had to do it a couple years algo for the parents of a girl alleged to have been raped and killed by a black man. The mother had called me a nigger lover and ordered me to leave. It often was the mother that was most frenzied. In the case of the Lamonts, it was worse because they were divorced, and I'd have to do it twice. I started with the mother. "Yes," she said, "Prentice was gay." "Do you know if Robinson Nevins was his lover?" I said. "Well;' Mrs. Lamont said. "You get right to it, don't you?" "There aren't any easy questions here, ma'am, and they don't get easier if I sneak up on them." "No," she said. "They don't." She was a smallish dark-haired lively woman, not bad- looking, but sort of worn at the corners, as if life had been wobbly. We sat in the yellow kitchen of her apartment on the first floor of a three-decker off Highland Ave in Somerville.

  "So what do you know?" I said. "About Prentice and Robinson Nevins." She shrugged. The initial horror of her son's deat
h had faded with the six months that had passed. The sadness was deeper and probably permanent. But she was able to talk calmly. "I think Prentice knew we weren't too comfortable about him being gay. He didn't talk much about it in front of us." "'Us' being you and his father?" "Yes." "You're divorced." "Yes. Five years ago." And she still talked about us. Things didn't go away from Mrs. Lamont. "Did he know Robinson Nvins?" "I don't know." "Would he have dated a black man?" "I shouldn't think so, but I wouldn't have thought he'd be gay either." "Do you think he killed himself?." I said. "Everyone says he did." "Do you believe them?" I pushed too hard. Her eyes began to fill.. "How can I believe he killed himself?." she said. "And how can I believe someone killed him? Prentice..." "Awful stuff, isn't it," I said. She nodded. She couldn't speak. The tears were running down her face now. I'll find out, Mrs. Lamont, it's all I can offer you. I'll find out and then you'll know." Still she couldn't speak. Again she nodded her head. "Would you like me to leave?" I said. She nodded.

  /--vt$v/x,. 63

  "Are you going to be all right'?."

  She nodded. There were more questions. But you had to be a tougher guy than I was to ask them now. As far as I knew, there wasn't anyone tougher than I was, so I patted her shoulder uselessly and got up from her kitchen table and left.

  I met him and his more recent wife for a drink at an athletic club in the financial district. Lamont and his wife were both in workout gear. She carded two small racquets. He was bald, medium sized, muscular, and deeply tanned? She was blonde, medium sized, muscular, and deeply tanned. She was also about the age that his son must have been when he did his Brody. Her name was Laura. We sat by a window looking down at the indoor tennis courts where several games of mixed doubles were progressing badly.

  "Whew," Lamont said after we'd shaken hands. "She's starting to push me."

  "Oh, not very hard," Laura said. "Racquetball?" I said. "Yeah. You play?" "No," I said.

  "Ought to, it's a great workout."

  "Sure," I said. "Do you know Robinson Nevins?" Lamont's eyes narrowed.

  "That's the jigahoo was supposed to be involved with my ex-wife's kid."

  "Not your kid?

  66 'er'. Pnrker Lamont shook his head. "He made his choice," Lamont said. Laura put her hand on top of his on the table. "You mean he was gay," I said. "No need to clean it up with a cute word," Lamont said. "He was a homosexual." "And his choice was you or homosexuality?" "I'm an old-fashioned guy," Lamont said. "In my book it's a shameful and corrupt thing for men to have sex with each other. Makes my damned skin crawl." "I can see that," I said. "So you wouldn't know if he did in fact have a sexual relationship with Robinson Nevins." "No." "You ever meet Nevins?" "No." "How long have you been divorced from Prentice's mother?" I said. "Six years." "When's the last time you saw Prentice." "When I left the house." "More than six years?" "Yes, closer to seven. The divorce took about ten months. Obviously, I wasn't living there while it processed." "So you hadn't seen your son for what, six, six and a half years before he died?" "For me," Lamont said, "he died a long time ago." "Was he an issue in the divorce?" "Well, if she'd brought him up right, maybe he'd be alive now." "Maybe," I said. "You have any thoughts on his suicide, any reason to doubt it, any reason to think it might not have been Nevins who triggered it?"

  67

  "As I say, Mr. Spenser, for me Prentice died a long time ago."

  "I wonder if he'd have lasted longer if he had a father." "Mr. Spenser!" Laura said.

  "That's a cheap shot, pal. You got kids?"

  "Not exactly," I said.

  "Then you don't know shit."

  "Probably don't," I said.

  I looked at Laura. "I hope he's a better father to you, ma'am," I said.

  I didn't want to scramble his teeth. I wasn't even mad. I was sad. It was all sad. Families breaking up, people dying,

  mothers grieving.

  For what?

  I stood and walked away.

  For fucking what?

  five people about Prentice Lamont, and twenty-nine of them had been a routine waste of time. Professors Abdullah and Temple bad alleged that Lamont had been having a love affair with Robinson Nevins. Though not to me. I wondered why they were so reluctant to speak to me. Academics, being academics, attached great importance to abstraction, and there may have been reasons that had to do with listening long to the music of the spheres, reasons a mind as deeply pedestrian as mine would not be able to understand. I had already talked with his parents. Not very informative and not very pleasant either. Next on the list were Robert Walters and William Ainsworth, who were listed as close friends. They has been associated with Lamont in his pamphleteering career.

  The pamphlet was published out of Lamont's apartment and despite his demise it was still appearing. His successors had agreed to meet me there. When I arrived the door was open.

  One of the two men said, "Are you Spenser?"

  I said, "Yes."

  He said, "Come in. We're Walt and Willie. I'm Walt."

  I shook hands.

  "You can sit on the bed, if you want," Walt said.

  "I'd just as soon stand," I said. "That way I can stroll around while we talk, and look for clues."

  It was a bed sitting room with a kitchenette and bath. The floor was covered with linoleum. The walls were plasterboard painted white. There were travel posters Scotch taped on the wall; the tape had pulled loose, and the posters curled off the wail like wilting leaves. The bed was covered with a pale blue chenille spread. There was a pine kitchen table in the middle of the room with a kitchen chair in front and a big important-looking computer on it. There was a color monitor on top of the hard drive and a laser printer under the table along with a tangle of lash-up. A recent issue of the publication was piled on the table beside the computer screen. Several open cans of diet Coke were scattered around the room. None of them looked recent.

  '°This the latest newsletter?" I said.

  "Yes."

  "Mind if I look at it?"

  "No," Wait said, "go ahead."

  He was a tall trim man with a smallish head. He looked like he exercised. He had even features and short brown hair brushed back and a clipped moustache. Willie was much smaller, and wiggly. His blond hair was worn longish and moussed back over his ears. There was a sort of heightened intensity to his appearance, and I realized he was wearing

  makeup. I picked up one of the newsletters. "OUTrageous?" I said.

  "I made up the name," Willie said. He sounded like Lauren Bacall. "Nice," I said.

  The newsletter was one of those things that, pre-computer,

  would have been mimeographed. It was a compendium of gay humor including a number of lesbian jokes, poetry, gay community news, badly executed 'cartoons, all of which were sexual, many of which I didn't get. There was a section on the back page headed "OUT OUT" in which famous homosexuals through history were listed and where, as I read through it, it appeared that covert gay people were reveaied. "You out people," I said. "You better believe it," Walt said. "Do that when Prentice was alive?" "Absolutely;' Wait said. "Prentice started it, we're continuing the newsletter just the way he left it, kind of a memoriai to him." "Are there back issues?" "Sure," Walt said. "All the way to the beginning." "Which was?" "Three, three and half now, years ago. When we all started grad school." "You been in grad school three and a half years?" "Un huh,'' Willie said. "Lots of people go six, eight, nine years," Wait said. "No hurry." "Could I see the back files?" "Certainly," Walt said. "They're in the cellar. You can get them before you go." "Good," I said. I was walking around the room. I stopped at the window and looked at it, tapping my thigh with the rolled-up newsletter. "He went out here," I said. "Yes," Walt said. "You see any clues?" Willie said. "Not yet," I said.