“May I have their names? They could be considered possible suspects in the murder. You don’t seem especially angry about the loan conditions, just mildly disgusted. But some people might get rattled by treatment like this, or even unhinged. Then there’s the question of repayment of the loan. I take it you’re not off the hook, and neither are the other borrowers. Or are you?”
“I assume I now owe thirty-four thousand three hundred dollars to Jim’s estate. I certainly don’t plan to welch on the loan. I don’t know about the other guys. You’d have to ask them.”
I said, “What was Barry’s reaction to the hot-tub incident?”
“He was grossed out, naturally. But this was before we were together. I told him later.”
“Detective Toomey didn’t say anything, but I got the impression he knows about Sturdivant’s lending practices. Was it you who filled him in?”
“You bet I did. I wanted him to know what kind of human being Jim Sturdivant was. I said if Sturdivant would pull crap like that, then he might be into all kinds of shit, and why were the cops just looking at Barry and not at anybody else?”
“What was Toomey’s reaction?”
“He didn’t seem all that interested. He never even asked me for the names of the other borrowers. I think I did get the point across that Sturdivant was a scumbag. But I got the impression that Toomey expected gay people to do all kinds of weird sexual stuff, and this was just par for the course, and he didn’t really want to look into it or even think about it. A lot of people in law enforcement are like that. You must have noticed this, being in your line of work.”
“I have, though in my experience there are fewer homophobes in the criminal justice system than there used to be. Albany has a long history of bigoted cops, and yet today the police chief is a PFLAG dad. Have you ever worked in law enforcement, Bill?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“You know guns. You slide right into cop terminology.”
Moore laughed. “These days everybody uses cop language. It’s all those CSI shows. I think it’s funny.”
“So you used to be in the police?”
“Not exactly. But I don’t wish to talk about my past. With you or with anyone else.” His face flushed, and he looked at me hard.
“How come?”
“It’s not nice. We’ll have to let it go at that.”
I said, “Is Barry’s past not nice too? Barry did not officially exist prior to six years ago.”
“You’d have to ask Barry about that.”
“Surely you know Barry’s life story. You’re planning on marrying the guy.”
“It’s not for me to tell. But this I can say. I’m telling you, Strachey, that Barry’s past is totally irrelevant to the Sturdivant situation.”
“And Bud Radziwill, so-called. He only came into existence when Barry did. What’s that about? You guys are three awfully mysterious fellows. Am I being yanked around here in some unfortunate way? I’m starting to have a nauseating feeling about all of this and about all of you.”
Moore thought hard about something for a long moment, and if he was getting the impression he might be losing me, that was fine. Because he was. Then he said, “I understand your frustration, Strachey. In fact, I’ve been there. Look, here’s the thing. I’m going to confide in you. This goes no farther than this room, right? Are you capable of discretion? I think you are. You must be bound by some kind of professional ethics.”
“Some kind, yes. But just spit it out, and then I’ll tell you which ethics might apply. It’s yours I’m worried about.”
“The thing is, I was FBI. Twenty-one years. Ten in the field, eleven at the bureau.”
“I see.”
“I prefer to keep this quiet.”
“Why?”
“People expect you to think and behave in a certain way. I don’t want that. I’m out of that.”
I said, “I know Great Barrington is some kind of hotbed of anti-Bush sentiment. There’s an equestrian statue of Dennis Kucinich as you ride into town. But you were a professional.
Most people respect that, even if they don’t like the politically appointed doofuses, no? Or is that not what you mean?”
Moore slumped back in his chair, raised his muscular arms, and put his big hands behind his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. He said, “I made some mistakes. I don’t want to go into it.”
“That’s up to you.”
“It’s just… hard.”
“Were you fired?”
“No. I resigned. Retired.”
“So it’s nothing criminal.”
He seemed to ponder this and said nothing.
I asked, “Does Toomey know about this?”
“No. It’s not relevant.”
“Does Barry know?”
“Sure. It’s one of the things we have in common. We’re different in a lot of ways. I’m older. I like computers and sports. Barry likes movies. But we both like the Berkshires, and the big thing is, we can understand each other because we both have pasts we want to forget.”
“Can you tell me what Barry’s past is that he wants to leave behind?”
Moore looked at me now and said, “Sorry, no. I swore I’d never tell a soul. Barry would be very, very upset.”
“He does have a temper. You told me on the phone that Barry came by his hot temper honestly. What did you mean by that?”
Moore seemed to consider his reply, and said, “Just that he comes from a long line of hotheads.”
“Uh huh. And what set off the confrontation in Guido’s market yesterday?”
“Don’t act surprised when I tell you it was you and your investigation you were doing for the toads – for Jim and Steven. Barry told me about his confrontation with you on Tuesday night after your dinner at Pearly Gates. Barry vented, and we smoked a joint, and he seemed to get over it. But then on Wednesday he ran into Jim and Steven in Guido’s, and he got mad all over again. Jim got Barry going with some bullshit about protecting his loan, and then he really set Barry off by saying that he was looking out for my interests by protecting me from Barry. Unfortunately, a big piece of cheese was within reach, and Barry threw it at Jim. It’s not a serious weapon, but under the law, assault is assault.”
I said, “Has Barry hit people before?”
Moore thought this over. “I don’t think so. He’s really not a violent person, despite his anger. His occasional rage tends to come out verbally.”
“What is Barry angry about?” I asked.
Moore said, “If I could tell you that – which I can’t – you’d never believe it. Not in a million years.”
Chapter Nine
I parked downtown off Main Street and made some calls from the car. I set up meetings with two of the four hot-tub borrowers – two others I was unable to reach – and with Bud Radziwill. I also arranged to meet Fields’ boss at the movie theater, Myra Greene, a woman Moore said Fields was close to. I needed to (a) track down Fields and get his complete story – it seemed too far-fetched that the Sturdivant shooting was totally unrelated to Fields’ altercation with him on the same day – and (b) get a clearer picture of the toads’ lives and anybody else who might have wanted Jim dead. The circumstances of Sturdivant’s death suggested not rage but calculation, and I needed to find out why that was so.
Moore had been meticulously unhelpful in speculating on where Fields had run off to. He said Fields had had no contact with his own family in years, and Moore stated implausibly that he didn’t even know where they lived. He said all of Fields’ current friends were in the Berkshires and each had told him that they had no idea where Fields went after he left in his car early that morning. Someone with a police scanner had tipped Fields off that Sturdivant had been shot, Moore said – he claimed not to know who – and Fields had sped off in his car at one in the morning, declaring that he would not return until the real killer had been caught. He had fled just in time, for the police came looking for him just twenty minutes later.