I wasn't sure how much more Kim had left.
"Why did he think that, Kim? Why did he think his mother was shot?"
"Because," she said, too loudly, nearly a wail. She dropped her voice. "Because he was there."
She fell silent. Me too. Then, "Kim, at that last lunch, did Stephen say anything about being in danger, or…"
She blew her nose and fixed me again. "You don't understand," she said. "He'd found it. That was what he told me at lunch. The quest was over. He'd found the gun."
"He'd found it?"
"Yes. The night before. Every night he'd wait until everyone was asleep. Then he'd search a different place. He thought his father might suspect he was on the quest, so sometimes Stephen would double back and recheck some of the old places. But he finally found it."
"Did he say what he was going to do with it?"
"No." She managed a half-smile. "No. He had been on the quest for so long, years, that I don't think he really had figured out what he was going to do. I mean exactly what he was going to do. When he found it."
She wiped her eyes again.
"Kim, I think Stephen left on his own. And from what you've told me, I'm sure it was because of finding the gun. Is there anything else you can tell me about Stephen, like where he might go?"
She shook her head. "He never-"
She stopped and froze as the big front door clicked and then banged open. "Sal, Kim. I'm home. Hey, Sal, I may be early but-"
I swiveled around and rose. A bearish, balding guy of forty-five or so came tromping up the stairs to the living room. I caught Kim rubbing furiously on her lips with my handkerchief as he saw us and exploded.
"Who are you? Kim! What the hell is that stuff doing on your-You're crying!"
By this time a terrified Mrs. Sturdevant, with Val in her wake, burst into the room.
"Hal, oh Hal," she cried, "they said it would be all right."
I remember nearly laughing. Val, Sal, and now Hal. But there was nothing humorous about Hal just then.
"You're the guy we told to stay away, aren't you?"
Hal's briefcase, newspaper, and a supermarket bag hit the carpet. A widening pool of milk gurgled out of an unseen carton.
"Mr. Sturdevant, I'm investigating…"
He swung a rounding left as Sal screamed his name and Val yelled mine. I ducked under it and just pushed him, but hard, with my open hands as his shoulder went over my head. It knocked him off balance, and his momentum was broken by banging into the wall.
I spoke as quickly as I could. "This is your home, Mr. Sturdevant. I have no desire or reason to hurt you. I will leave immediately if you tell me to."
Sturdevant came off the wall and hesitated. Sally grabbed his arm. "Please Hal, just tell him to go."
Hal, his honor saved by her entreaty, glared at me. I noticed for the first time that Kim was gone. I had a vague recollection of a slamming door in there somewhere.
"Get out! Get out of my house and don't ever come back!"
I nodded and backed toward the stairs. I motioned to Val to precede me down, which she did. The Sturdevants, Hal leading and Sal in tow, followed us down, maintaining a three-step interval.
"Get out. Get out. Get out!" The last shout cracked his voice a bit.
We were outside. Sturdevant slammed the door behind us. We had reached our car when I heard a window open. I turned around in time to see Kim's head and forearms pop out an upper story window.
"Tel1 Stephen," she sobbed, "tell him that I love him. Tell him. .." at which point a pair of fatherly hands pinned her elbows, yanked her from the opening, and slammed the window as well.
A tearful Val spoke as I opened the car door for her. "Somebody else does care for Stephen."
"Yeah," I said, "for all the good it's done him so far."
SEVENTEENTH
– ¦ I dropped Val off at her place. She apologized for having to rush off to meet her friend, and I assured her that I'd see her for dinner the next night. As I backed out of her driveway, I checked my watch. Three-thirty. A little early for court to be over, I hoped.
I drove down several now-familiar Meade byways until I reached the Kinnington driveway. I swung into the drive and up, parking it in a position that would let me leave quickly, and knocked at the door. Mrs. Page opened it a crack, into which I introduced my foot. We both spoke at the same time.
"Mrs. Kinnington?"
"Go away!"
The door jarred against my foot.
"You're crazy to come here."
"I have to see her, Mrs. Page."
The pressure relaxed.
"Upstairs," she sighed. "Same room." `
At the room, I knocked and entered.
This time I had to pull the strong chair over myself. Otherwise, the scene was unchanged.
"You have word of Stephen?" she asked.
"Yes and no. I've received some words that encourage me and other words that I should have heard first from my client. That's you."
"Mr. Cuddy, I am not used to being addressed-"
"And I am not used to playing Blind Bozo bumbling in the dark. At least not in unnecessary darkness. Why didn't you tell me what Miss Pitts saw?"
Her eyes dropped to examine her teacup.
"It is not the type of thing one discusses."
"Maybe not at the D.A.R., Mrs. Kinnington, but to the detective who's looking-"
"That's quite enough!" she snapped, the teacup rattling against its saucer. "You damn, self-righteous bastard! You're my employee, not my employer. You may be a professional, but you're my professional. You'll do what you're told and be satisfied with what you're told or you can resign."
I stood up. "My resignation will be on your desk in the morning, ma'am," I said. I dropped her original print of Stephen's photo on the table and turned to leave.
"Mr. Cuddy," she said, her voice wavering, "are you close to him?"
"Mrs. Kinnington," I said over my shoulder, "I'm closer than I was the last time we had this argument."
Her voice steadied. "Please sit down again."
The air seemed a bit freer. I sat. "Why didn't you tell me about Stephen and Blakey?"
She reseated her teacup in the saucer. "It's so troubling to think that there could be any relationship between them that… Stephen has always been so indifferent to the judge. I just assumed that the. .. edge between Stephen and Blakey was a function of Blakey's being my son's… oh, henchman."
"Henchman?"
"Well, that's just how Blakey has always struck me. As a doer of evil things. I even forbade the judge to allow Blakey to come into the same room with me. Consequently, when Miss Pitts called me, I realized I was in no position to be able to say what there was between Stephen and Blakey."
"Mrs. Kinnington, I have to assume that Stephen left voluntarily? I remembered my promise to Kim Sturdevant. "But I still need to know what reason he might have had for leaving."
She clasped her hands in her lap and tried to relax.
"Mr. Cuddy, I do not know why Stephen would have gone. He did not get along with his father, but I know of no recent incident that could have triggered Stephen's disappearance."
"Speaking of triggered," I asked, bending my promise to Kim a bit, "did Stephen have a gun?"
Her throat worked once before the sound came out.
"A gun?"
"Yes."
"Why do you want to know about guns?"
"Please, Mrs. Kinnington."
She considered. "My son, that is, Stephen's Uncle Telford, left him a pistol in his, ah, will. Some sort of fancy target pistol. To start him properly. Stephen, almost before he could write, would shoot at targets on the grounds with Beeman, who was the houseman then. But I haven't seen the gun, or Stephen with a weapon of any kind, in years."
"Well, he has one now," I said as I rose.
"How do you know that?"
I ignored her question, substituting one of my own.