'I'm Matthew Scudder,' I said, 'and you must be Jason Griffin.
Your Uncle Tom said he'd try to reach you, and that you'd come if you had the time free.'
He grinned. 'He told me I'd better have the time free. 'Meet his plane and drive him out to Lakewood, and anywhere else he wants to go.' Is that where you want to go first? This man's house in Lakewood?'
I said it was, and we went to his car, a Japanese import a couple of years old. It sparkled, and I guessed that he'd taken it through a car wash on his way to the airport.
On the way, I asked him what he knew about the case. 'Nothing,'
he said.
'Tom didn't tell you anything?'
'My uncle's a need-to-know kind of guy,' he said. 'He gave me a name and an address and told me to go take the guy's picture without being obvious about it. I told him I might have to buy a telephoto lens.'
'I'll reimburse you.'
He grinned. ' 'Borrow one,' he said. So that's what I did. I parked across the street from Mr.
Havemeyer's house and waited for him to come home. When he did get home he drove straight into the garage. It's an attached garage, which is unusual in that neighborhood. They're mostly older homes there, but his is newer than the others and it's got a carport-type garage.
So he went on in without giving me a look at him, let alone a chance to zoom in and take his picture.'
'What did you do, wait for him to come out again?'
'No, because he'd probably leave the same way, right? Uncle Tom hadn't told me how to cope with this sort of situation. As a matter of fact the only advice he gave me—well, can you guess what it was?'
'Bring a milk bottle.'
'He said a wide-mouthed jar. Same difference. I asked him what I was supposed to do with it, and he said after I sat there for a couple of hours the answer would come to me. At which point I figured out what the jar was for. You'll never guess what he told me next.'
'What's that?'
' 'When the jar fills up, empty it in the gutter.' I said, like, pour it out in the gutter? No one'll see you, he said, and it'll wash away. I told him thanks for the wise counsel, but I probably would have figured out how to empty the jar on my own. He said after all the rookies he's trained over the years he's learned to leave nothing to chance.'
'He's a wise man,' I said. 'But I'm on your side. I have a feeling you'd have worked out the part about emptying the jar all by yourself.'
'Maybe, but on the other hand I have to admit I never would have thought to bring the jar in the first place. You don't ever see them peeing in bottles in the movies.'
I agreed that you didn't. 'How'd you get the pictures?'
'There was this kid shooting baskets all by himself a few doors down the street. I told him I'd give him five bucks if he could ring the doorbell and get the man inside to come outside of his house. He went and rang it and ran off, and Mr. Havemeyer opened the door a crack and then shut it again. I snapped a picture but it wasn't one of the ones I sent you because you couldn't see anything. Anyway, I told the kid that wasn't good enough, but if he did it again and got the guy to come out I'd pay him the five and another five on top of it.'
'And it worked.'
'He made it work. He went into his own house and got a paper bag about so big and filled it with crumpled newspaper. Then he put it on the stoop and set it on fire, and then he rang the bell again and pounded on the door and ran like a thief. Mr. Havemeyer opened the door a crack again, and then he rushed outside and started stomping and kicking at the burning bag.' He grinned. 'It took me a minute to get focused because I was laughing too hard to hold the camera steady. It was pretty funny.'
'I can imagine.'
'It's an old Halloween trick, actually.'
'As I recall,' I said, 'there's a surprise in the bag.'
'Well, yeah. Dog crap, so when you stomp out the fire you're stepping in it. The kid skipped that part.'
'Just as well.'
'The pictures don't show what he's doing,' he said, 'because with the lens I was right in tight on his face.
But I have to laugh when I look at them, because his expression brings it all back.'
'I thought he looked sort of beleaguered.'
'Well,' he said, 'that's why.'
* * *
Cleveland's airport is south and west of the city. Lakewood is situated on the lake, appropriately enough, and a little ways to the west of Cleveland, so we could get there without running into city traffic.
Jason drove and kept up his end of the conversation, and I found myself comparing him with TJ. Jason was probably a year or two older, and looked on the surface to have had an easier time of it, blessed as he was with a white face and a middie-class upbringing. He'd had a good deal more in the way of formal education, although you could argue that TJ's street sense was as valuable, with a tuition every bit as pricey. By the time we got to Lakewood I'd decided that the two of them weren't as different as they seemed. They were both decent kids.
