Curt nod.
“Do you remember me? Alex Delaware? Nine years ago?”
Eyes fluttering, he struggled to enunciate: “Doc… tor.”
“This is a friend of mine, Mr. Milo Sturgis. Mr. Sturgis, Mr. Jacob Dutchy. A good friend of Melissa and her mother.”
“Sit.” Motioning toward a chair. The only other furniture was a walnut drum table of much better vintage than the dresser. Leather top, covered partially by a doily. Tea service atop the doily. Pattern identical to one I’d seen in a small gray sitting room. “Tea?”
“No, thanks.”
“You,” he said to Milo, taking a long time to get it out. “Look like. A police. Man.”
“He is one,” I said. “On leave. But he’s not here in any official capacity.”
“I see.” Dutchy folded his hands on his lap and sat there.
Suddenly, I regretted coming and wore it all over my face. Gentleman that he was, he said, “Don’t wor. Ree. Talk.”
“No need to talk about it,” I said. “Consider this a friendly visit.”
Half-smile on bloodless, razor-slash lips. “Talk. Any. Thing.” Then: “How?”
“Just guesswork,” I said. “The evening before McCloskey was run down, Madeleine sat by Melissa’s bed and used the phone. I saw it, on the floor. She called you here and told you Gina was dead. Asked you to take care of it. Step into your old role.”
“No,” he said. “That’s. Wrong. Not her… nothing.”
“I don’t think so, sir,” said Milo, and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “These are phone records. Made from Melissa’s private line that night, itemized down to the minute. Three within a one-hour period to the Pleasant Rest Hospice.”
“Circum. Stantial,” said Dutchy. “She talks. To me all. The time.”
“We saw the car, sir,” said Milo. “The Cadillac that’s registered to you. Interesting front-end damage. I imagine the police lab would be able to work with that.”
Dutchy looked at him, but not with any anxiety- he seemed to be appraising Milo’s clothes. Milo had dressed fairly well. For him. Dutchy was reserving judgment.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Dutchy,” said Milo. “This is off the record. Even if it wasn’t, you haven’t been notified of your rights, so anything you say can’t be used against you.”
“Madeleine had. Nothing to. Do. With…”
“Even if she did, we don’t care, sir. Just trying to tie up loose ends.”
“She. Didn’t.”
“Fine,” said Milo. “You thought of it all by yourself. You’re a one-man crime wave.”
Dutchy’s smile was astonishingly quick and full. “Billy. The Kid. What. Else d’you. Want. To know?”
“What’d you use to lure McCloskey out?” said Milo. “His son?”
Dutchy’s smile quavered and faded out like a weak radio signal. “Dis. Honest. But. Only way.”
“Did Noel or Melissa call him?”
“No.” Trembling. “No. No, no. Swear.”
“Take it easy. I believe you.”
It took a while for Dutchy’s face to stop shaking.
“So who called McCloskey?” said Milo. “It sure wasn’t you.”
“Friends.”
“What did the friends tell him?”
“Son. In troub. El. Help.” Pause for breath. “Pat. Ernal. Heart. Strings.” Dutchy made an excruciatingly slow tugging motion.
“How’d you know he’d fall for that?”
“Never. Know. Po. Ker.”
“You flushed him out with the son story. Then your friends ran him down.”
“No.” Pointing to his starched shirtfront. “Me.”
“You can still drive?”
“Some. Times.”
“Uh-huh.”
“In. Dee. Five. Hundred.” Genuine glee on the pasty face.
Milo said, “You and Parnelli.”
Reedy laughter.
“I guess it’s stupid to ask why.”
Ponderous headshake. “No. Not. At all.”
Silence.
Dutchy smiled and managed to get a hand on his shirtfront again. “Ask.”
Milo rolled his eyes.
I said, “Why’d you do it, Mr. Dutchy?”
He stood, tottered, waved off our aid. It took a full five minutes for him to get into an upright position. I know, because I was staring at the second hand of my watch. Another five to make it to the walker and lean on it, triumphant.
Triumph that went beyond the physical.
“Reason,” he said. “My job.”
38
“So tiny,” she said. “Will they survive?”
“These
“How’d you manage to hatch them?”
“I didn’t do anything. It just happened.”
“But you must have set it up or something. To make it happen.”
“I provided the water.”
She smiled.
We were at the edge of the pond. The air was still and the waterfall whispered gently. Her bare legs were tucked under her skirt. Her fingers toyed with the Zen grass. “I like it down here. Could we talk here every time?”
“Sure.”
“So peaceful,” she said. Her hands left the grass and began kneading one another.
“How’s she doing?” I said.
“All right. I guess. I keep waiting for something to… I don’t know… break. For her to start screaming or falling apart. She looks almost too good.”
“Does that worry you?”
“In a way. I guess what really worries me is not knowing. What she knows- what she understands about what happened. I mean, she says she passed out and woke up in the hospital, but…”
“But what?”
“Maybe she’s just protecting me. Or herself- pushing it out of her memory. Repressing it.”
“I believe her,” I said. “The whole time I saw her she was unconscious. Totally unaware of her surroundings.”
“Yes,” she said. “Dr. Levine says the same thing… I like him. Levine. Makes you feel he has plenty of time. That what you have to say is important.”
“I’m glad.”
“Thank God she got somebody good.” Turning to me, eyes wet. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
