West smiled at him. “Pretty short nap.”
“There’s not much point trying to sleep,” Hank said.
“You’ve been churning along at about three times normal speed for quite a while. It takes time to slow down. How about a cigarette?”
“Thanks.” Hank sat down slowly and rubbed a hand over his forehead. He was completely spent, but he wasn’t able to sleep. The doctor had given him a sedative half an hour ago, and West had told him to stretch out on the sofa in the sheriff s inner office. But sleep hadn’t come; he had lain staring at the dark ceiling, keeping a vigil with his thoughts. This day had been the longest of his life. They had dressed his injured hand, and then listened to his story — not once or twice, but twenty times. Fifty... They had checked his statement point by point, cross-examining him on each detail. Not merely to trip him up, he knew; they wanted to be sure he hadn’t been involved in the kidnaping. Eventually they had accepted his story; the girl’s testimony had supported his statement fully and exactly. And Grant had talked...
“Is there any reason I can’t go home?” he said.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Are the reporters still out there?”
“No, you won’t be bothered. Your car is parked in back of the courthouse. I think you can get away without posing for any more pictures.”
“Fine. Were there any calls for me?”
“There was a message from Mr. Bradley,” West said. “He’s grateful, which is putting it about as mildly as possible. He wants to talk to you, up here or in New York, at your convenience. And on the same subject, let me say I’m grateful, too, Hank. You had a very tough job and you handled it perfectly.”
“Thanks,” Hank said, getting to his feet. He felt awkward and stiff. “And there were no other calls?”
“No.”
She had said she would call him — here or out at the lodge. When she had a minute... They hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words this morning. West had listened to their stories and then she and the baby had been driven out to the airport to meet the Bradleys. But before that she had crossed to him and put a hand on his arm. She had said she would call him, as soon as she could...
“There’s one favor I’d like to ask,” Hank said.
West sighed and came around his desk. “I can guess,” he said. “You want to see your brother.”
“Yes — can I?”
“Sure, but why not wait a day or so?”
“I’m ready now.”
“It won’t be easy.”
“I didn’t expect it to be.”
“Adam Wilson is dead, Hank,” the Inspector said, and now there was a hard, angry edge to his voice. “A friend of yours, a good, decent guy. The woman, Belle, is dead. It’s only through the grace of God that the baby and the nurse are alive. You, too, for that matter. The baby’s parents were put through three days of unrefined hell, waiting to know if they’d ever seen their child again. This is the dirtiest crime in the book, for my money.” West made a sharp, abrupt gesture with his hand. “And how do you think your brother is taking it? Can you guess? He’s playing it for laughs. Wisecracking, acting as if he’s a celebrity besieged by autograph hounds. He’s loving every minute of it, enjoying the attention and excitement. If you think he’s touched by repentance, or any kind of regret — think again.” West sighed and shook his head. “I sound pretty tough, I know. But I don’t want you to walk in on that right now. Don’t you think you’ve taken enough in the last three days?”
“I don’t know,” Hank said. “But I want to see him. There isn’t much time left.”
“Time for what?”
Hank shrugged wearily. “I don’t know. It’s just the way I feel.”
“All right then,” the Inspector said, turning to his desk. “I’ll arrange it.” He was reaching for the phone when it began to ring. “Excuse me,” he said, lifting the receiver. “Hello, this is West.” The Inspector listened a moment, nodding slowly. Then he said, “When was this? All right... thanks very much. Yes, yes, of course. Good-by.”
Frowning faintly, West put the receiver back into its cradle. He stared at the top of the desk for a few seconds, then sighed and looked up at Hank. “I don’t know whether this will be good or bad news for you, son.”
“What happened?”
“Your brother died a few minutes ago,” West said quietly. “He complained of a pain in his chest after dinner. He suffered two heart attacks within half an hour. He didn’t recover from the last one.”
“He’s dead?”
“Yes. The doctor said his heart must have been in bad shape for some time. I don’t suppose he’d had a check-up lately.”
“Check-up? No, I’m sure he hadn’t. He — he didn’t have much use for doctors.” Hank stood perfectly still, staring out the window behind the sheriff’s desk. He saw the branches of a maple tree stirring slowly in the darkness, and beyond that the lights of the village, shining in the night. “And he’s dead now,” he said softly. The fact was almost impossible to credit; it was as if half of himself had died. Even when he was away from Duke he had never been free from the dark, insistent presence; he had carried his brother with him all his life. Now the burden had been lifted and he knew he would miss it — ache for it at times.
Hank turned toward the door and Inspector West came after him and put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you stay here and have supper with me?”
“Thanks — I think I’d rather go home.”
“We won’t make a production out of it,” West said. “Just a steak and a bottle of beer. How about it?”
“Can’t I take a rain check on it?”
“Of course you can. But I thought you might want to talk a while.”
Hank shook his head slowly. “There’s nothing to talk about. It just doesn’t make any sense to me. My brother was—” He shrugged tiredly, realizing the futility of explanations. “He was trouble,” he said bitterly. “For himself, for everybody. He could have been anything. He said that after I shot him. It was true. Instead he was trouble. Two hundred pounds of trouble, swinging crazily at anything in its way. Does that make any sense to you?”
“I don’t have any snap answers,” West said. “In my job I’ve seen all kinds of people, all kinds of evil. When I was younger I kept watching for a pattern in human behavior, an equation that would make it all clear and significant to me. I thought I could find a few words that might explain all the mysteries and contradictions I kept running up against. But I never found those words. Now I know I never will.”
“So it makes no sense to you either?”
“I didn’t say that. I’ve found out this much, Hank. Sometimes evil is clear and understandable. Sometimes it makes no sense at all. But it’s still our responsibility to face it — as you’ve done. Someone else may understand it. Someone with perfect understanding. Do you know what I mean? With that kind of understanding there may be sympathy, even forgiveness.”
Hank was silent for a moment or so, and then he smiled faintly at the Inspector. “I’ll be at the lodge if you need me. Good night.”
“There’s one other thing.” West stepped across the room and took a wallet from the middle drawer of the sheriff’s desk. “This belonged to your brother,” he said. “It was all he had on him. I thought you might like to take it along.”
Hank hesitated a moment, staring at the worn, black leather wallet. “Yes, I’ll take it along,” he said, and when he spoke he felt the sudden tightness in his throat. “So long, Inspector.”