Trophies And Dead Things

ruined life. That struck me as an odd assessment, seeing how much the man's worth. I asked Perry what he meant, but all he said was that he felt sorry for Grant, because he could see a lot of himself in him.'

'And that was all he told you?'

'I didn't pursue it; the session was about to resume. And frankly, until now I'd forgotten about it.'

I thanked Carver and jotted a few notes on a scratch pad after I hung up. In no way could I imagine how Hilderly could have considered Grant's life 'ruined.' Nor could I understand how he could have seen himself in a semi-ethical attorney whose hobby was making things out of dead animal parts. Of course, I hadn't known Hilderly and the way his mind worked; even those who had been part of his life hadn't mastered that.

After a few minutes I got up and wandered downstairs to Hank's office. I stopped in the door and asked, 'By any chance did a call from D.A. Taylor's wife get routed to you instead of me?'

He shook his head. 'I need to talk with her when she does call, though, so be sure to pass her along to me.'

'If she calls. That damn Harley probably didn't give her the message. That means I'll have to drive all the way out there again.'

'You sound out of sorts. What's wrong?'

I shrugged. 'Afternoon malaise, I guess. You know what I just found out? Hilderly and Grant were old friends.' I related what Gene Carver had told me.

'So Grant lied,' Hank said. 'He must want to cover up the association very badly to toss away a quarter of a million dollars.'

'Yes-and I intend to ask him why when I take that document for his signature tonight.' I paused, glancing at a stack of magazines that threatened to spill off the corner of one of Hank's filing cabinets. 'One more question, and then I'll let you get back to work. That magazine that sent Hilderly to Vietnam-what was its name?'

He frowned. 'New… something. Something relatively conservative, for a Movement publication. New… dammit, I hate it when something's right on the tip of my tongue like this!' He shut his eyes, concentrating fiercely. When he opened them, he said, 'Ahah! New Liberty.'

'And it was based here in the city?'

'Think so.'

'Thanks.' I hurried back to my office.

The man on the reference line at the public library had never heard of New Liberty; he put me on hold for a few minutes while he looked up information on the magazine. It had enjoyed a long life, as alternative publications go: from 1965 to 1970. While its circulation was never large, at one point it had reached ten thousand. The name of the editor in chief up to 1969 was Luke Widdows. After that there had been a succession of individuals, none of whom had lasted more than a month or two.

'Do you have any idea what Widdows is doing now?' I asked.

'I think I've seen his by-line someplace. He may be a free-lance journalist.'

I hung up and called my friend J.D. Smith at the Chronicle. J.D. also said Widdows's name was familiar, and promised to check around and get back to me. I had an appointment to give a deposition in behalf of one of Larry's clients at a downtown law firm at three, so I tidied my desk and left the office. The deposition, as was typical, took far longer than it was supposed to, and by the time I got back to All Souls it was close to five. Ted sat at his desk, the calico kitten-Alice-draped around his shoulders.

'What's that doing there?' I asked.

He started to shrug, but caught himself in time; one really good shrug and the wisp of varicolored fur would have gone flying. 'It's the only way I can get her to behave and stop tearing the place apart. For some reason she likes it there.'

'Where's the other one?'

He pointed under the desk. I bent down and saw Ralph curled up on his feet. 'It's tough being a working father,' I said.

He glared at me and went back to the brief he was proofing.

There was a message from J.D. in my box, giving a Berkeley address and phone number for Luke Widdows, as well as a note from Hank saying he'd talked with Mia Taylor and settled matters about the inheritance. I frowned, annoyed to have missed her call; I would have liked to question Mrs. Taylor about her husband's past. Now I'd probably have to revisit West Marin after all.

Again Jess Goodhue hadn't called with the investigator's name. I dialed KSTS-TV, was told the anchorwoman was unavailable. The results of my final call were a bit more positive: Luke Widdows would be glad to talk with me about Hilderly, but was on his way out. Could I come to his place at nine the next morning? I agreed and took down directions.

Now what to do? I thought irritably. I had four empty hours before my appointment with Tom Grant. I didn't particularly want to go home, nor was I enthusiastic about catching up on my paperwork. Finally I went downstairs and lured Rae away from filling out her expense report, and we headed down the hill to the Remedy Lounge on Mission Street.

The Remedy has long been an All Souls hangout. Hank discovered it, I think, only hours after signing the lease on the Victorian, and over the years we've celebrated our triumphs and commiserated over our failures there. Unalterably dark and sleazy, with a frequently broken jukebox and shabby appurtenances, it would seem a good place to stay out of, but its ambiance belies mere surface appearances. At times within its four grimy walls I have the sensation that its tolerant-but not intrusively friendly- clientele and I are sailing a stormy sea on a ship, snug and protected from the raging elements. Of course, the ship is a tired old scow and the rocky shoals lie straight ahead, but the temporary sense of security is soothing nonetheless.

Rae and I took one of the rear booths, and within a minute Brian, the bartender, brought her a beer and me a glass of white wine. That was one of the advantages of taking my assistant along: so far as I know, hers is the only table Brian has ever brought a drink to in some thirty years of tending bar. Perhaps she reminds him of some long- lost sweetheart back in Ireland; perhaps he admires her because she naively assumed from the start that such treatment was merely her due as a paying customer. Whatever the reason, Rae rates with Brian-far higher than those of us who have been patronizing the Remedy for years.

She wanted to rerun the liquor-store saga-the realization that she'd have to testify in court having lent it further drama-but I cut her short and updated her on the Hilderly case. We kicked the facts around for two hours and three drinks plus beer nuts, but came to very few conclusions.

Rae asked, 'Are you going to confront Grant about his friendship with Hilderly tonight?'

'It's the only way I'll pry the whole story out of him.'

'According to you, the guy is weird. What if he gets violent?'

'I can handle him. But I doubt he will. He's not the type and, besides, he's got a position to protect. He's not about to harm me when there are people who know I'm with him. I plan to call All Souls when I get to his house and make sure he hears me tell whoever answers exactly where I am.'

Rae considered that, then nodded thoughtfully. I could see she was placing the technique in her mental file for future use.

I said, 'I meant to ask you-have you heard whether the bullet the police found at Hank and Anne-Marie's matched the ones that killed the sniping victims?'

'Yeah. Willie called Greg Marcus this afternoon. It matched.'

I'd expected as much, but I supposed on some level I'd been hoping to hear the bullet didn't match. It would have simplified my investigation if the sniping had turned out to be a copycat shooting perpetrated by, say, someone who had had a diamond ring repossessed by Willie. Rae was watching me as if she expected some insightful comment, but I had none to offer.

When I didn't speak, she said, 'What about Hank? Does he still think he's not in any danger?'

'That's what he says. But I'm not convinced of that-and I don't think he really is, either. How's Willie doing?'

'He's housebound and claustrophobic. They've stationed a cop outside, but he's afraid to leave after dark.' She looked at her watch. 'Come to think of it, I promised to be there right about now.'

After she left I finished my wine in solitude and went home. The only message on my answering machine was from Jim, asking plaintively if we couldn't get together and talk things over. No, I decided, we couldn't. I then tried