"I'll say I did! If the police use it for their Wanted poster, they'll never catch the guy! You see, I was shooting his train layout for a hobby magazine, and the editor wanted a head-shot of Floyd. I tried a candid, but it made him look like the wild man in a carnival. So I got him to put on a shirt and tie and do a formal sitting in the studio. His secretary came along. She's a knockout, but she drove me crazy, telling Floyd to turn his head, or raise his chin, or not look at the camera. Finally I asked her to wait in the lobby while I took the picture. That didn't make points with her boss, but I got a good portrait."
"Interesting sidelight," Qwilleran said..... "Are you going to the game tonight?"
"Should I?" asked the newcomer to Pickax.
"It's the sporting highlight of the year!" Qwilleran said seriously, as if it were true. "Take your receptionist."
Once a year there was a softball game between the Typos and the Tubes - two scrub teams composed of newspaper staffers and hospital personnel. Compared to the regular league games, their efforts were ludicrous, and the only spectators were family members and fellow employees, but everyone had a good time. On this occasion, Qwilleran was in no mood to attend the game alone, but he knew Roger MacGillivray would be on the sidelines, hurling scurrilous insults at the Tubes. Roger was the on-the-spot reporter in Mudville.
The softball field had been merely a bare spot in the landscape west of Pickax until the K Foundation added two more diamonds, a soccer field, bleacher seats, and a pavilion. Now it was named Goodwinter Field, after the founders of the city. A Goodwinter was playing shortstop this year - Junior, the managing editor. Others were recruited from the city room, sports department, and photo lab. Their bright red T-shirts and baseball caps made a lively scene when they were in the field. The hospital team, composed mostly of technicians, wore T-shirts in operating-room green and happened to win every year.
Most of the spectators sat in the second and third rows of the bleachers. Junior's wife was there with a baby in a car tote and a small boy who couldn't sit still. Bushy had brought his receptionist, who was more attractive than Qwilleran had previously thought. Arch and Mildred Riker were there, of course, wearing red baseball caps with the MCS logo.
"Where's Polly?" Mildred asked. Hixie Rice and Dwight Somers were a chummy duo seated apart from the others, a development that was duly noted by the matchmakers at the game. She waved to Qwilleran and called out, "Where's Polly?"
When he saw Roger arriving and heading for the pavilion, he followed him. "Nice piece in the paper today, Roger."
"Thanks. I finally learned how to make no-news sound like news."
"The shooting of the dog was a bizarre twist."
"Right! The natives are restless. Someone threw a brick through the Lumbertown office window this afternoon, and when they talk about F. T., the initials stand for something else."
The cry of "Batter up" sent the two men scurrying to the bleachers with their soft drinks. At Qwilleran's suggestion they climbed to the top row. "Better view," he explained. More privacy, he thought.
The sun was still high in the sky, where it belonged on a summer evening in the north country. The play on the field was leisurely. The sports fans were appropriately rude.
During a lull in the game, Qwilleran asked, "How did you find out about the dog?"
"The family reported it to the police, and I went out to their house. They're not supposed to talk to the media, and the nurse wouldn't let me in, but then the daughter saw me and said it was all right. She was in my history class when I was teaching - an A-plus student. When I'd assign a chapter, she'd augment it with research in the library.... Sock it to 'im, Dave! Break his bat!... She should've gone on to college."
"Why didn't she?"
"They wanted her at home to take care of her invalid mother. I think she's a lonely and frustrated girl. I could tell she wanted to talk to me, lawyer or no lawyer. We went out on the patio and reminisced about high school - had a few laughs."
"Could you tell how she was reacting to the publicity and the pressure?"
"She was all broken up about the dog. He was a chow. His name was Zak, spelled Z-a-k. Dead on second! Good mitt, Juny!... Finally she told me, off the record, that the dog really belonged to her brother, but the lawyer wanted the public to think he was Floyd's."
"So all the dog lovers would feel sorry for his client," Qwilleran suggested.
"Right! Her brother lives in an apartment where they don't allow pets, so he kenneled Zak at his parents' house, nights. Served a double purpose. Everybody in the country has a watchdog.... Make it three, Dave. You're hot!"
Dave made it three, the green shirts trotted onto the field, and the red shirts took their turn at bat.
"Was Floyd's son in any of your classes?" Qwilleran asked.
"All I can say is: He occupied a seat. A student he was not! He and his buddy from Chipmunk were always in trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Fighting... carrying knives... underage drinking..."
" Any drugs?"
"Alcohol was the chief problem then. That was a few years ago, you know. Eddie and the other kid were expelled.... Okay, Typos! Murder those bedpan pushers!"
From the third row Riker bellowed, "Send those bloodsuckers to the morgue!"
Nevertheless, at the end of the sixth, the score stood 12 to 5 in the Tubes' favor. Qwilleran watched with mild enthusiasm; he preferred hardball to softball. He liked the overhand or sidearm pitch, the crack of a real baseball, the long run to first, and nine innings. At the next lull he asked Roger, "Does Floyd's daughter think the shooting was connected with the charge against her father?"
"She didn't say, and I didn't ask. Sensitive subject."
"What time did the shooting take place?"
"About two in the morning. Her mother was awake and heard the shot. She rang for her daughter."
"Did anyone hear the dog bark at the prowler?"
"I guess not."
The game ended at 13 to 8, and Roger stood up, yelling. "Good try, guys! Next year we'll anesthetize those tube jockeys!"
When Qwilleran returned to the barn after the game, Yum Yum was curled up like a shrimp in his favorite lounge chair, asleep. Koko was in the foyer, looking out the window.
"If it's Zak you're waiting for, give up!" Qwilleran told him. "He won't be coming around anymore.... Let's have a read. Book!
Book!"
After one last intense look down the trail, Koko tore himself away from the window and did some educated sniffing on the bookshelves. Finally he nosed The Panama Canaclass="underline" An Engineering Treatise.
"Thank you for reminding me," said Qwilleran, who had forgotten to open the book since bringing it home.
It contained many statistics and black-and-white photos of World War I
vintage, and although Qwilleran found it quite absorbing, Yum Yum quickly fell asleep, and Koko kept yawning conspicuously.
"To be continued," Qwilleran said as he replaced the book on the history shelf.
-7-
After the ballgame and the Panama Canal session, Qwilleran phoned Polly at her apartment. "Did you read the front page today?" he asked. "Did you see the item about the Trevelyan dog?"