'Is this Roland Stover?'
'Yes, and who is this?' He sounded tense and mean, fitting the consensus description I had.
'Hi, Roland, I'm Don Strachey, an investigator doing some work that might be of assistance to Dr. Vernon Crockwell. Dr. Crockwell didn't give me your name, but it was provided by another member of the psychotherapy group you were in. Could we get together some time soon so that I could ask you a couple of questions about the group? Dr. Crockwell might be having some legal problems, and there's a chance you could shed some light on the situation.'
'What kind of legal problems?' Stover growled. 'What do you mean by that?'
'Well, if we could sit down over a cup of coffee-'
'And who has the right to give you my name? That is a breach of medical confidentiality, and I demand to know this minute who gave you my name!'
'Larry Bierly did. He thought if I talked to you, Roland, I might come away with some insights into Dr. Crockwell's therapy group and who his friends and enemies in it are.'
'I can tell you right now,' Stover snapped, 'that I am Vernon Crockwell's friend and Larry Bierly is his number-one enemy. Anyway, I heard on TV that somebody shot Larry, so how did you get my name from him?'
'He gave it to me before he was shot.'
'Is he dead?'
'No. It looks as though he'll recover.'
'Too bad. Sorry to hear it. Did you know Larry was an unrepentant sexual deviant?'
'I'm aware that he did not successfully complete Vernon Crockwell's course of therapy. But you did, I understand.'
'Yes, I did. Dr. Crockwell along with the Holy Scriptures saved me from a life of moral corruption.'
'I'd like to hear about that, and whatever additional information you'd be willing to share about Dr. Crockwell's mission. Could we meet somewhere?'
A pause. 'Did you say you're a private investigator?'
'Yes, I am.'
'Who is employing you?'
'I'm sorry, but I can't divulge that. My client must remain anonymous for now. I can tell you, however, that in this matter and many others I have a strong interest in moral truth.' I was looking across the room at Timmy, whose eyes came up from his book.
'Well, what exactly are you investigating?' Stover said. 'Devi-ancy?'
'That might play a part in it. Incidentally, there's another member of the Crockwell therapy group I haven't been able to get hold of. Are you in touch with Dean Moody, by chance?'
'Yes, I'm in touch with Dean.'
'Perhaps we could all get together and I could pick your brains-I mean yours and Dean's-about deviancy. For this investigative study I'm doing.' Timmy placed his book in his lap and watched me.
'Well, then, what about tomorrow after work?' Stover said. 'I'm a sales associate at Wal-Mart on Route 4, and I get home around five-thirty.' He gave me his Albany address.
'I'd be pleased to drop by then,' I said. 'I hope Dean can make it too.'
'I'll have to check with him,' Stover said, and hung up.
Timmy said, 'Wasn't that a little misleading?'
'Yep.'
'Which one were you talking to?'
I said it was Roland Stover, and I described Stover and Dean Moody and their feverish homophobia and their apparent status as a twosome of some sort.
'Do you think maybe they killed Paul Haig?'
'No, probably not.'
'Or shot Larry Bierly?'
'Maybe, but I doubt it. It's possible they did one or the other, or both crimes, assuming Paul Haig's death was even a crime, which hasn't been established. But so far I'd have to say I doubt either Stover or Moody was involved in either event. They both sound hateful and deranged enough to hurt people badly, maybe even physically. But so far there's no real connection I've heard about between either of them and Paul and Larry, except for two things: in the group they had hissy fits over Paul's and Larry's gay-and-proud departure, and of course there's their glee over the death and misfortune of the two brazen sodomites. But they don't act guilty of actual murder or assault. They're completely open and unashamed about their hatreds, and they're probably no more than a couple of obnoxious gasbags. People like that can be psychopathic killers-I know, it wouldn't be unprecedented-and I'm going to stay alert and open to the possibility. But what I'm really after now is a clearer picture of Crockwell, Paul Haig, Phyllis Haig, and Larry Bierly and some weird dynamic among them that none of them has been forthcoming about. I think that's where the key lies to Paul Haig's death-whether it was murder or suicide-and maybe to Larry Bierly's getting shot. And it seems this Steven St. James-Mr. You-Don't-Want-to-Know-fits in somewhere too. Though as to where, beats me.'
'So tomorrow you're meeting this Stover thug posing as an investigator on deviancy?'
'Something like that.'
'I could come along and vouch for your interest in the subject.'
'Right, and my expertise.'
'If he asked about your scholarship, I could say, 'His life is his treatise.' '
'You don't really want to come along, do you? This is all in jest.'
'No,' he said, 'I don't want to get anywhere near Stover or Moody. They may not be as interesting and mysterious and murky in their motives as Crockwell and Bierly and the Haigs and this other guy, but they do sound truly dangerous.'
'Maybe you're right. I'm not sure what to think. Bierly is conscious now. I'll talk to him tomorrow. That might help.'
'Maybe he'll shed some light.'
'Yes,' I said, 'if shedding light is anything he really wants to come out of all this. Nailing Crockwell at any cost seems to be his main aim. Nobody really seems to want to shed light, and I've got to find out why.' end user
14
Saturday morning at ten, before heading over to Albany Med, I phoned Phyllis Haig.
'Well,' she said, 'you're goddamned hard to get ahold of. I've been trying to reach you for days. I'd've had better luck trying to get a rise out of Dick Tracy than getting one out of you. So, Don, what's your pleasure? Are you gonna rob me blind and go to work for me and put that little fairy Larry Bierly behind bars where he belongs, or am I going to have to go out and find a real man for the job? Say, I see somebody shot Bierly and put him in the hospital. Too bad. I'd much rather see justice take its course. It wasn't you that shot him, was it? Jay Tarbell never said you were a hit man, which wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Though you call a lawyer these days and you never know what kind of stunt they're going to pull, just so they can charge you top dollar for it.'
I didn't think she'd started drinking yet-my guess was she observed the proprieties of her class by holding off until 12:05- but otherwise she was in vintage form.
I said, 'No, Phyllis, I didn't shoot Larry Bierly. Did you?' 'No, I didn't, Don. I didn't drive out to Millpond at midnight the other night brandishing my forty-four and plug Bierly in the gut. At least, not as far as I can recall, I didn't. So if I didn't do it, and you didn't do it, what was it, a mugging?'
'It doesn't appear to have been. Nothing was taken.' 'The little homo probably staged the whole thing. Everybody knows what a conniver he is.'
I said, 'Why would he do that, Phyllis?'
'Well, how the hell should I know? You're the one who's supposed to be… Now look. I've done everything but
