'I'm sorry, Vernon, but I can't tell you that,' I said, and he peered at me stonily. 'But what I can tell you, Vernon, is that I've spoken with two people independently who knew Paul quite well and doubt that he committed suicide. He seemed to have been anxious over some work problems a little earlier, but he'd been on an antidepressant for several weeks before his death and by at least two accounts was feeling relatively chipper. The coroner's verdict appears to have been the result of a too cursory, perhaps even slipshod, investigation.'
'I see, I see.' He screwed up his face and shifted uneasily.
'And since Paul was a client of yours, Vernon, it seemed to make sense for me to cover all the bases and get your input on his emotional makeup, if you wouldn't mind helping me out on this. Paul was your client as recently as eight months ago, I'm told. I realize that patient-therapist confidentiality is sacrosanct in your profession, Vernon. I respect that. It's important in mine too. But since Paul is deceased, would it be possible for you to contribute to my investigation of his death by revealing to me the nature of the mental problems that first brought Paul to you as a client?'
It occurred to me as I said this that it wasn't just morbid curiosity that had brought me to Crockwell, or any real hope that he might immediately shed light on Paul Haig's death; what I most wanted was to poke at Crockwell with a stick and see if he'd try to snap off my leg with his powerful jaws. He didn't, but he bristled a little, and said, 'If you're an investigator worth your salt, Donald, I'm sure you know perfectly well why Paul Haig was my patient. I work with the sexually dysfunctional.'
'You mean gay people.'
'Yes.'
'And Paul had come to be de-queered.'
'Made whole, brought into sync with nature, yes. Please don't bait me, Donald. It was no trouble for me to find out that in addition to being a private investigator you are a well-known gay libber around Albany. If you would like my opinion on Paul's emotional state as it might relate to his death, I will give it to you. But I'm not going to waste my time and yours debating aspects of the human personality you obviously know nothing about.' He sat looking smug, though not quite 100 percent certain I wouldn't lunge at him. He kept one hand out of sight at all times below the desk-though if he had an alarm button down there, or a firearm, or a little squeeze toy that might suddenly go 'Fuh-wee-too, fuh-wee-too,' I had no way of knowing.
I said, 'It is Paul Haig's death I'd like your views on, Vernon, but I want you to realize that I am quite willing to be convinced that I am a freak of nature. I always try to keep an open mind about that. Do you have scientific studies showing that your theories are correct and the results of your therapy beneficial?'
Still keeping his hand out of sight, Crockwell said, 'Yes, innumerable studies have been completed, Donald. And the human testimony is voluminous and incontrovertible. Tens of thousands of formerly sexually damaged men and women who have found wholeness and fulfillment through therapies such as mine have even organized socially and politically. They call themselves the ex-gay movement. I'm sure a man of the world like yourself, Donald, must have heard of it.'
'Yes, I've heard about 'ex-gays,' Vernon. I've also read about the ex-ex-gay movement, made up of people who claim therapy such as yours is a pathetic snare and a delusion. They say ex-gays are people who live out their lives and try to behave in a way that denies their deepest and truest natures, and that people who remain in the ex-gay movement are either vegetables or liars.'
Crockwell had undoubtedly heard all this before and appeared unfazed by it, though still cautious enough to keep his trigger finger poised. He said, 'I have no need, Donald, to debate this matter further with you. You claim to have an open mind, but it's obvious that you do not. I would like to point out to you, however, that nature does not produce homosexuals. Why would it? Nature produces heterosexual males and females capable of mating and with an impulse to do so. In the sexual maturation process, something goes awry in some people. But this unnatural sexuality can be corrected. Are you old enough, Donald, to remember the song 'A-doin' a-what comes naturally'?'
I looked at him, not sure I was hearing what I was hearing. I said, 'I've heard it. It's from Annie Get Your Gun.'
He said nothing more, just looked at me as if he had delivered the clincher in his argument and it would be foolhardy of me to attempt any reply. I said, 'Vernon, I've heard of psychologists going to Freud for their theoretical underpinnings, or to Adler or Sullivan or Erik Erikson. But Irving Berlin? This is a first.'
'You're missing the point, Donald. A long time ago you decided to miss the point, and there's nothing I can do about that- unless, of course, you decide that you want me to.'
I was growing increasingly queasy in Crockwell's presence- and a little puzzled too. Was this magisterially patronizing but mild-mannered twit the raging monster Larry Bierly had described to me just a day earlier? The man who-when Bierly and Haig announced they were leaving Crockwell's group-purportedly screamed that they were deluded, and they'd be miserable and sorry, and that they were disturbing the group, and Haig's mother would hate him forever for being a sexual deviant? Was this a distorted impression of Bierly's, or a total lie, or what?
I said, 'Vernon, one of the people I've spoken with about Paul Haig is Larry Bierly. You remember Larry, of course.'
He blinked and his face both tightened and colored. 'Yes, I remember Larry Bierly all too well.'
'He told me that when he and Paul became lovers and left your group together, you blew up. He said you ranted and carried on and screamed that they would be very sorry for leaving and for disrupting the group. Does any of that ring a bell?'
Now Crockwell was blushing- blushing -just as Bierly had. Looking as if he were trying not to break into a stammer, or get up and rush from the room, Crockwell said, 'That is a gross exaggeration, Donald-a serious, serious exaggeration of what actually transpired. Did I try to impress on Paul and Larry that they were making a terrible mistake? Of course I did. Did I lose control and act in an unprofessional manner? Absolutely not.' Now his face was as red as a new Miata.
I said, 'Vernon, did Larry Bierly ever threaten you in any way? Or attack you?'
Most of the blood in his body now seemed to have surged up and pushed against the front of his face. He said, 'Oh, no. No attack, and no threat that I can recall.'
'Bierly never threatened to kill you?'
'I'm sure I would remember if he had done that, Donald. I would have notified the police, in fact. Tell me, is it Larry Bierly who hired you to investigate Paul's death?' His breathing was shallow now, but I had no intention of performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Crockwell. Let him die.
I said, 'My client wishes to remain anonymous for now. I can neither confirm nor deny that it's Larry Bierly, or that it's anyone else, or that it's not anyone else. Sorry.'
'But you're going to pursue the killer?' He brought both hands up on the desk now and folded them tightly in front of him. His respiration was still poor, and his knuckles were as white as his face was red. Not good.
'To tell you the truth, Vernon, I'm not sure that I am going to do that. I'm making some preliminary inquiries and then I'll decide if I think it's worth my client's money for me to keep spending it by digging into this. Say, did you say 'killer'? Did you ask me if I was going to pursue Paul Haig's 'killer'?'
'Why, yes.'
'So you don't think Paul committed suicide? Or that his death was accidental either?'
He tensed up even more. 'I-I don't know. But this seems to be a theory that's going around. That Paul Haig was murdered.'
'What do you mean by 'going around'? Are you saying you heard it before I walked in here today?'
'Yes,' he mumbled, and nodded once.
'Who from?'
'The Albany Police Department.' Now sweat broke out around his eye sockets.
'When?' I asked.
'Yesterday. They asked me to come to their office at Division Two. There was a Detective Finnerty and a Detective Colson. They-I have to tell you, it's very difficult for me to admit this, Donald-but they seemed to think Paul Haig might have been murdered. And, they seemed to think that I might have done it. They were not explicit, but the implications were clear.'
'Where did they get an idea like that?'
'Someone had sent them an anonymous letter suggesting that I killed Paul. The letter was accompanied by a tape cassette of part of a therapy session of the group Paul was in. On the tape, I made some comments that could
