'Hope I'm not interrupting,' he said, ducking his head and removing his hat.
'Not at all, Mr. Hudson.' She noticed Pendergast didn't introduce her. 'You have the list of pharmaceutical companies I asked for?'
'Yes, sir. And I visited each one--'
'Thank you.' Pendergast took the list. 'Please wait in the east parlor, where I will take your report in good time.' He nodded to Maurice. 'Make sure Mr. Hudson is comfortable with a nonalcoholic beverage.' The old servant led the man back out into the hallway.
'What in the world did you do to make him so...' Hayward searched for the right word. 'Meek?'
'A variant of the Stockholm syndrome. First you threaten his life, then with great magnanimity you spare him. The poor fellow made the mistake of hiding in my garage with a loaded gun, in a rather ill-considered blackmail attempt.'
Hayward shuddered, remembering afresh why she found Pendergast's methods so distasteful.
'Anyway, he's working for us now. And the first assignment I gave him was to compile a list of all the pharmaceutical companies within fifty miles of the Doane house--reasoning fifty miles to be the outside limit of how far an escaped parrot would fly. All that remains is to compare it to your list of the companies Blackletter consulted for.' Pendergast held up the two sheets of paper, glancing back and forth between them. His face suddenly hardened. He lowered the sheets and his eyes met hers.
'We have a match,' he said. 'Longitude Pharmaceuticals.'
51
THE HOUSE, OF CHEERFUL YELLOW STUCCO with white trim, stood in a gentrified neighborhood at the fringes of Spanish Town in Baton Rouge, with a tiny front garden overflowing with tulips. Laura Hayward followed Pendergast up the brick walk to the front door. She eyed the large sign that read NO SOLICITING. That did not seem like a good omen, and she was miffed that Pendergast had turned down her suggestion they call ahead to set up an appointment.
A small man with wispy hair opened the door, peering at them through round glasses. 'May I help you?'
'Is Mary Ann Roblet at home?' Pendergast asked in his most mellifluous southern accent, irritating Hayward further. She reminded herself again that she was doing this not for him, but for Vinnie.
The man hesitated. 'Whom may I say is calling?'
'Aloysius Pendergast and Laura Hayward.'
Another hesitation. 'Are you, ah, religious folk?'
'No, sir,' said Pendergast. 'Nor are we selling anything.' He waited, with a pleasant smile on his face.
The man, after a moment of further hesitation, called over his shoulder. 'Mary Ann? Two people to see you.' He waited at the door, not inviting them in.
A moment later a vivacious woman bustled to the door, plump, ample-breasted, her silver hair coiffed, makeup tastefully applied. 'Yes?'
Pendergast introduced themselves once again while at the same time removing the FBI shield from his suit, opening it in front of her with a smooth motion, and then closing it and restoring it somewhere inside the black material. Hayward noticed with a start that tucked inside the shield was the snapshot she had retrieved in Blackletter's house.
A blush crept up on Mary Ann Roblet's face.
'May we speak with you in private, Mrs. Roblet?'
She was flustered, unable to reply, her blush growing deeper.
The man, evidently her husband, hovered suspiciously in the background. 'What is it?' he asked. 'Who are these people?'
'They're FBI.'
'FBI?
Pendergast spoke up. 'Mr. Roblet, it's purely routine, nothing to be concerned about. But it is confidential. We need to speak with your wife for a few minutes, that's all. Now, Mrs. Roblet, may we come in?'
She backed away from the door, her face now entirely red.
'Is there a place inside where we can talk in private?' asked Pendergast. 'If you don't mind.'
Mrs. Roblet recovered her voice. 'We can go into the den.'
They followed Mrs. Roblet into a small television room, with two overstuffed chairs and a sofa, white wall-to- wall carpeting, and a huge plasma television at one end. Pendergast firmly shut the door as Mr. Roblet hung about in the hall, frowning. Mrs. Roblet seated herself primly on the sofa, adjusting the hem of her dress. Instead of taking one of the chairs, Pendergast sat down beside her on the sofa.
'My apologies for disturbing you,' said Pendergast in a low, pleasant voice. 'We hope to take up only a few minutes of your time.'
After a silence, Mrs. Roblet said, 'I assume you're looking into the... death of Morris Blackletter.'
'That's correct. How did you know?'
'I read about it in the papers.' Her carefully constructed face already looked like it was beginning to fall apart.
