"Strachey here. Those two lovelies locked up?"
"One's in jail, the other one's over there where you are, under guard. You just couldn't wait last night, could you?"
"You were up in the sky. The criminals were down on the ground where I was. But I knew you were with me in spirit, Ned. As is so often the case."
"That son of a bitch should've chewed your mouth off. What a service to the community that would've been. You okay?"
"I'll dance again. Look, what did the Andruses tell you. They spill it all?"
"Nothing but bullshit. Duane said they'd just come out to the kennel and found McWhirter there and were about to phone the department when you guys walked in and shot their dog. And Glen won't say a goddamn thing. They've got lawyers now, and before the day's done they'll all be in bed together making up the same stories. But we've got our case. It's tight. Duane's handwriting on the ransom notes, his voice on the tapes, and McWhirter's testimony will do it."
"Did they mention who put them up to it?"
"Whaddaya mean? Why do you ask that?"
I described the telephone conversation I'd overheard at the kennel window. I did not include my own speculation about who the third party was, nor the evidence that had led me to arrive at this thought.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me this before?"
"I was unconscious. As you will recall, just as you dropped out of the sky last night, I swooned.
At the sight of your descent from heaven, I guess."
"The way I heard it, you fainted when you found your ear in your pants cuff."
"Yeah, that might have been the way it happened. I forget. Did you recover all the money?"
"No. Just a hundred and a half. Tell me again about this phone conversation you heard. I want to write it down."
I recited it again.
"The third guy's got the rest of the money," I said. "That's why the Andruses are keeping mum.
You've got to convince them that with kidnapping and manslaughter, even involuntary, they're going to be off the streets for a long, long time. And there's no point in their waiting to get out to collect the rest of the money. Tell them with the inflation rate what it is, by the time they're free the fifty grand will be worth about a dollar thirty-five."
"Thanks for telling me my business."
"No trouble. What else did you find out at the kennel?"
"A lot of crap, and I mean crap. Dope too. In the room up front where Duane lived we found an ounce of coke."
"Any papers, letters, addresses, phone numbers?"
"An address book with some names and numbers the department is already familiar with. The narcotic squad has been building a case against certain persons, and Andrus's list will come in handy. The boys over there are grateful to me."
"Right, Ned. You did such a bang-up job on this case. Incidentally, I ran across information that 102
Duane Andrus was peddling his ass, and had some kind of sugar daddy who must have kept him in nose candy. Did you find any evidence to support that?"
"Andrus's room did look like some kind of fag brothel. Little bottles of that chemical you people stuff up your nose, dirty movies, and picture books full of male beaver. No offense, Strachey, but I have to tell you, it made me want to puke."
"For men, you don't say 'beaver,' Ned. If it's male you call it 'wombat.'"
"Oh."
"What else was out there?"
"Nothing incriminating or otherwise of interest. There were five bottles of Vaseline Intensive Care lotion. What the hell's that for?"
"Lotta dry skin, Ned. It's for people who work in air-conditioned places, like Albany Med."
"How long you gonna be laid up over there, anyway? Not more than six months, I hope."
"Don't know. I'm just taking it a day at a time. I'll watch the soaps, feel up the orderlies, follow doctors' orders."
"One true fact out of three. That's not bad for you, Strachey."
I gave him some improbable advice, then hung up. I was looking up an address in the phone book when the phone beside me rang.
"Yah-loo."
"Is this the… Donald Strachey residence?" She pronounced it "Strakey."
"Mista Strakey inna hospital. This-a his mamma."
"Uh… this is Annabelle Clooney at Albany Medical Center. I'm sure there's no need to be concerned, but we're having trouble locating Mr. Strakey. He has been admitted as a surgical patient here, yes, but he's… he's not in his room."
"Oh, that boy! I'm gonna take a strap to him! When you find 'im, you call me and I'm comin' over there and box his ears! One of 'em, anyway. The other one's still sore. You tell 'im that!"
I hung up. I looked up the address I wanted in Colonie, then took two aspirins. Timmy had brought my car back and left it in its space. Waves of heat rose off it. I could have fried an egg on the hood but wasn't hungry. I opened all the windows, placed the floor mat on the hot plastic seat, lowered myself onto it, and drove out into the midday traffic.
I picked up the Smith amp; Wesson at my office, as well as the lightweight jacket that covered it, then headed on out Central.
The owner of Murchison's Building Supply Company in Colonie was disinclined to answer my questions, but when I offered him the choice of talking to me or to Ned Bowman, he picked me.
Bowman would have to be calling on him anyway, but I didn't mention that.
Then I drove back to Moon Road. end user
25
"Hi, Jerry. Your boss says you're feeling under the weather today. Left the office early."
"Oh, hello! It's you! My boss said that?"
"Mind if I come in? I'd like to talk."
"Well… Sandra took Heather swimming."
"No sweat. We won't need a chaperone for this. Joey over at Freezer Fresh?"
"No, not till four. He's down mowing Mrs. Fisher's lawn. She called. That was really white of her. Very Christian. Considering."
He made no move to open the door. We spoke through the screen. The sweat ran down his pale face and splashed onto his drip-dry white dress shirt.
"Why don't you come out and we'll sit under a tree and talk?"
"What about? I'm not feeling well, actually. I was just thinking of… going to the doctor. Maybe another time, when I'm feeling up to it, okay?"
"Mr. Murchison says you turned over fifty thousand dollars to him this morning."
"Wh-what?"
"The fifty that was actually due last week. The second payment, including sixteen percent interest, that's restitution for the hundred and forty-one thousand you embezzled from Murchison over three years, and which he caught you at in June."
His mouth worked at speaking words. He fought to keep from collapsing, and managed it, barely.
I opened the door and he backed away.
"I don't- I want- I need a drink of water," he stammered.
I followed him into the kitchen and watched him gulp down some tap water from a plastic cup with a picture of two Smurfs on it. He rinsed out the cup and placed it on the drying rack. His mind was working and working.
He turned toward me with a twitchy grin. "I really can't understand why Mr. Murchison told you that story. That was just something between he and I. Jeez. Why would he do that?"
"Where did you get the fifty?" I said.
He kept on grinning, his head moving back and forth, back and forth, trying desperately to look incredulous. "Mr. Murchison said-he told me-he'd keep that between us. I was making good. I made a mistake, but he forgave me, and I was making good."
"If he forgave you, why did he sick Dale Overdorf on you?"
"Who? Dale who?"
"The goon who roughed you up in June."
"Oh. Oh, jeez. He told you about that? You'd think he'd be ashamed." The panic in him was rising and he kept swallowing, but it wouldn't go back down.
"Murchison didn't strike me as being either ashamed or forgiving," I said. "I think he had his reasons for stringing you along and not calling in the cops, and leaning on you at the same time.