This last was said to me with the unblinking stare. Either I was touchy, or Di Pietro guessed that I was holding back on something. The possibility suggested dimensions to him that I hadn’t considered. I switched subjects. “I’d like some help from you, too. Sort of a trade-off.”
His voice was noncommittal. “We’ll see how it works out. But don’t get your ass in a wringer, playing detective. You’re not a cop.”
The thought seemed to give him some satisfaction. He stood up. We exchanged telephone numbers and a wary handshake. Gubner did the same, belatedly. Then Sergeant Brooks led us away.
They took our statements in a pale green room with a metal lamp hung from the ceiling. Then the crew-cut cop drove us back to the Ritz. Gubner brooded out the window. I wasn’t much better. My game with McGuire had turned into murder.
Giving the statement had made me feel more organized. But it didn’t help with anything else. Lehman’s chances had run out.
I figured Lasko had killed him. Nothing else made much sense. The question was how he had known to do it.
There were a couple of possibilities. I didn’t like them at all.
Ten
Gubner and I got out at the Ritz and wandered aimlessly through the lobby. We passed the bar without looking in, both of us carrying the weight of unsaid things. I decided to get them out.
“Let’s talk, Marty.”
He gave me a resentful look, like a trapped animal. Then he nodded. “OK, my room. But not long.”
We went to his room. I selected one of two matched blue chairs and turned on all the lights I could reach, to push away the police station. Gubner fell into his chair with a thick-bodied slump. He looked like a man who could use a drink. But this wasn’t the kind of tough day you could ease away with gin. I felt sad and helpless.
“This is pretty worthless, Marty, but I’m sorry.”
Condolences didn’t interest him much, especially from me. The useless words hung in the air. Gubner looked at the wall with an air of deliberate choice.
“OK, let’s have it.” The defensive sharpness in my voice surprised me. He turned on me with tired distaste.
“How did they know about the meeting?”
I wondered how he was so sure of the answer. “You can turn off your spotlight. I didn’t tell anyone outside of my agency. Try Lehman or yourself.”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” he said distinctly.
“That leaves Lehman.” I said it with the hollow feeling that Gubner had an answer.
“I talked to Alec once. He called from a pay phone on the Mass. Turnpike. No tap possible. Sorry.” His voice wasn’t sorry at all.
I decided to play out the string. “What about meeting you? That could have looked strange.”
Gubner’s eyes flashed impatience. “I had lunch with Alec about seven, eight times a year. Almost every time I came to Boston. I was an old friend. Everyone knows that. And Alec swore he hadn’t told anyone else about meeting you. Not Valerie. Not anyone.”
I believed him. I could see Lehman cowering in a lonely phone booth before I could imagine him calling Gubner from his office. His sad afternoon apologia had the freshness of catharsis.
“Do you know anything more than what he told us?”
He shook his head. “Not about what he had on Lasko.”
I got up. “I can’t help you, Marty. But I may want to talk to you later-to get your help.”
His eyebrows raised in bitter inquiry. “Why should I?”
“You’ll have to answer that question yourself.” I let myself out, went down to my room, flopped on the bed, and stared at the bare ceiling, trying to pull my scattered thoughts together. A slow, sick anger spread through me like nausea. Lasko, Catlow, and a friend of theirs paraded around in my stomach. The phone rang.
It was McGuire. I looked at my watch. 7:30.
“Chris. I was at the office late. How was your wild goose chase?” His voice sounded reedy through the bad connection.
“Not good.”
“Cop out on you?”
“Not exactly. Someone ran him over.”
Silence. “You’re kidding me.”
The anger rose and gripped my throat. “You want pictures? He’s dead.”
The phone conveyed reedy awe. “Jesus. What happened?”
“He got hit-skipped in front of the Ritz-Carlton. He didn’t look like anything human.”
“Who was it?”
“Alexander Lehman. Controller at Lasko Devices.”
“That’s awful.” It was hard to tell how he felt. “What’s being done?”
“The police are looking into it.”
“Can you help them?”
“I’ve given them a statement.”
“Did you find out anything?”
“No.”
“What happened exactly?”
I told him. He was silent. “Well,” he finally said, “there’s nothing for you to do then except come home.”
“I guess not.”
“OK. Come see me as soon as you get in.”
I hesitated. “I may take an extra day in case something comes up.”
“Listen, it’s a horrible thing. But don’t fool around up there unless the police want you. We need you back here.”
“I’ll see you later, Joe.” I slammed the phone down, and started thinking.
My thoughts began to mesh. McGuire had never called me out of town before. I remembered that he had let me meet Lehman after a sham argument. And there was the lunch with Catlow. Whatever I was going to do, I didn’t have much time to do it. I jumped up and left the room.
Gubner was still in. He let me in, his dull stare following me to the chair. I steeled myself. “I want you to take me to Lehman’s place tomorrow.”
Hostility changed to shock. “You’re out of your mind.” The stock phrase seemed to be all he could think to say.
“It’s the only way. Lehman said he had a memo and I don’t want anything to happen to it.”
Gubner half-rose from his chair. “You fucking ghoul. You honestly think I’d let you bother Valerie and the kids after this?”
I stayed calm. “If I have to, I’ll subpoena her to Washington.”
His voice shook with disbelief. “I’ll take you to court on it.”
“Which will only upset her more.”
He stood up. “You know, I hadn’t realized what a prick you really are.” He said it as if he had just turned over a rock and found me there, looking up.
“Save the bouquets. You’ve been sitting here sniping at me to indulge yourself. You’ve got a dead friend, and you won’t help. I tell you, man, it’s pathetic.”
My words stung his eyes. “I don’t give a shit about your investigation. Alec’s dead. What else matters?”
“Is that your position on Buchenwald too, Marty?”
It was a raw remark. Gubner stood staring at his clenched fist. I got ready to dodge the punch which had been coiling all evening. But it never came. I figured I knew why. I spoke with a toughness I didn’t quite feel. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Lehman got killed because you didn’t bring him to Washington. Maybe you blew it.” Gubner shot me a look of pained anger. I went on. “You figured that if his information was good, you’d threaten to have him take the Fifth unless we gave him immunity for testifying. That you’d have me come up here and then run back to McGuire, all excited. It might have worked. Except now we’re out of luck, especially Lehman. And you’re trying to push it all off on me. That’s a chickenshit play, and I’m not going to play along. Try a psychiatrist.”
Gubner’s face collapsed in a tired, confused look. I chose a more even tone. “I’ll apologize now, Marty. You can decide to or not, later on. I really don’t care. But Lehman’s death isn’t your personal possession. And sitting on your ass is a crappy memorial.”
Gubner had decided not to hit me. But my agency was in the way. He shook his head slowly.
I had to commit. “OK, you think someone at my place tipped Lasko. But there’s no way you could ever find out. I’m going to try.”
Gubner sat down as if someone had sucked the starch out of him. He sat, elbows on knees, with his head half-covered in his hands. Then he raised a blank, weary face. “I’ll call Valerie in the morning. Whatever she wants. If she’ll see you, OK. If she wants to fight you, I’ll fight you. Either way.”