Show of Evil

'Harve St Claire, Doctor. A real pleasure.'

Vail sat on the sofa and St Claire eased himself into one of the rockers and leaned back with a sigh.

'This place is delightful,' Vail said. 'Reminds me of a funky New England prep school. I can understand why you love it here.'

'Fred calls it the campus,' she said. 'I lived out here for a while.'

'He told us.'

'I live in town now. Go shopping, go to the movies,' she said with a rueful smile. I'm not agoraphobic any more.'

'I'm sorry you were ill. I didn't know.'

'Thanks. It was a strange experience, being one of them instead of one of us. Gave me a different perspective on life,' she said, ending any further discussion of her hard times. She took an ashtray from a drawer and put it on the coffee table. 'You may smoke in here,' she said. She seemed so calm, Vail wondered if she was on some kind of tranquillizer.

'Whatever happened to Tommy Goodman?' she asked. 'Is he still with you?'

'Tommy met a wine princess from Napa Valley, got married, and is now the vice president of her old man's wine company. He drives a Rolls and has a three-year-old son who looks like a ferret.'

She laughed, a pleasant, loose kind of laugh, throwing her head back and closing her eyes.

'Tommy a mogul, hard to believe. And you?'

'I'm the district attorney.'

'You're kidding.'

'Afraid not. Harve, here, is one of my top investigators. He helped track down Pancho Villa.'

'I ain't quite that old, ma'am.' St Claire chuckled.

'Naomi?'

'Still running the ship.'

'I know about the Judge, he was a friend of my aunt's. How sad. He was such a gentleman. Always had that fresh carnation in his lapel.'

'I miss him a lot,' Vail said. 'It's not as much fun any more.'

'What?'

For a moment, Vail seemed stumped by the question, then he said, 'Everything, I guess.'

She got up and walked across the room to a small refrigerator in the corner. 'How about a Coke or some fruit juice?'

'Sure, I'll take a Coke.'

'Same, ma'am,' St Claire said.

'Okay in the bottle?'

'Only way to drink 'em,' St Claire said with a smile.

She opened three bottles, carefully cleaned the tops of them with a paper towel, wrapped the bottles with linen napkins, and brought them back. She sat down and lit a cigarette.

'This involves Aaron Stampler, doesn't it? Your coming here?'

'Yes.'

'Are they letting him out?'

'How'd you guess?'

'Well, it's been ten years…'

'What's that mean?'

'They could have effected a cure in that time.'

'There's no way to cure Stampler.'

'You thought so ten years ago.'

'I wanted to know that if he was cured, he would be freed, not sent to Rock Island to finish his sentence. But I never figured it would happen.'

'What's the diagnosis?'