Thad strode across Parsons Drive as if he belonged there and moved quickly along the sidewalk to Welch's house. He glanced my way once, then cut left into the darkness near the side porch. While I counted to sixty, I watched for lights to come on in the Welch house or in any others, but none did.
When a minute had passed, I retrieved the scrap of paper with Lyle's cellphone number, flipped open the glove-box door for illumination, opened up my phone, and dialed.
Even from where I sat, a hundred or more feet away, I could hear the phone twitter.
It was answered after one ring, and it was unmistakably Lyle who said calmly, "Hey, Strachey, I think your Amish sweetheart is taking a leak in the bushes about ten feet from me. That's not very sanitary, if you ask me. Or very polite."
"Lyle? Is that you?" What was he up to?
"Yeah, it's me. I'm stretched out on a lounge inside the porch you're looking at, having a well-earned refreshment."
"You're on the porch?"
"Yeah, the one you're lookin' at right now from the cab of Diefendorfer's pickup truck. I sat here and watched the two of you sittin' over there smoochin'. Then Thaddie gets out, and he ambles over here by where I'm relaxing. He's done taking a piss, it looks like, and now he's standing close in beside a big bush and I'm looking right at him."
"How did you know it was us?"
"I had a locator beacon placed in the truck. It's under the right front fender."
"I see. When did you do that, Lyle?"
"Three hours ago, back in Brooklyn."
"May I ask why you did that?"
"Two reasons. One is, I still wasn't certain I could trust Diefendorfer. The man is a known liar. The other reason is, I wasn't really sure myself what I was going to find when I arrived out here, and I needed to know if and when you might turn up and complicate my life. You were tracked all the way to Hempstead, and I was given updates every three minutes right up until the time you parked across the street from where I'm sitting. Two patrol cars from the Hemp-stead Police Department are parked a block and a half from where you are, and those officers are ready to move in on you if I ask them too."
"So then," I said, "Jay Plankton is not being held captive by Dave Welch and his cop friends in Welch's house? Or was Plankton there earlier, but you tipped Welch off and they all got away?"
Barner grunted, or maybe belched lightly. "Nuh-uh. None of the above, you stupid fuck. Why don't you come over here, Strachey, have a beer, and I'll show you around.
You can see for yourself, if that's what you need, what's been happening here tonight.
It's no kidnapping, that's for sure. It's all voluntary, involving consenting adults. Have a look, and tell your pal there, Thaddie, to come on inside, too. He looks to me like he turned into somebody in a wax museum out there, and he might want to come in and chill out."
Thad had to have heard Lyle's end of this conversation, but apparently he was waiting for some signal from me. Was this a trap of some sort? It didn't feel like one at all. I climbed out of the truck, shut the door, and walked toward the darkened porch, with the phone line to Lyle still open.
"There's a door on the back of the porch," Lyle said. "It's unlocked." Then he hung up.
A light drizzle was still drifting down. The grass in Welch's yard was wet and smelled of ammonia. I was unable to see Thad, but as I neared the porch, I said, "Thad, let's go on in," and he stepped from behind a lilac bush and joined me.
We found the door to the porch, opened it, and stepped inside.
"Welcome to Hempstead, guys," said a voice that wasn't Lyle's.
A match was struck and Dave Welch lit a candle on the table alongside the padded porch chair he was sitting in. Stretched out on a nearby chaise, Lyle was fully dressed, while Welch was clad only in gym shorts.
"Hi," Thad said, "I'mThaddeus Diefendorfer."
Not getting up, Welch extended his hand. "I'm Dave Welch."
"Pleased to meet you."
"I understand from Lyle that the two of you suspected me of kidnapping and tattooing Leo Moyle, and then kidnapping and mutilating Jay Plankton." Welch swigged from a bottle of Sam Adams.
"That came from me," I said. "Was I totally off base?"
"Yeah," Welch said. "You were totally off base. I despise Plankton and his gang. I have to listen to their stupid crap every morning in the precinct house, and if somebody kicked the shit out of them, I'd hate to have to be the arresting officer. But am I a violent criminal? No, I'm not. I'm a cop."
Thad said, "But aren't cops sometimes violent criminals? I've read of a number of cases. The men who abused and tortured Abner Louima, for example."
"Yeah," Welch said, "this can happen. Psychopathic personalities slip through, like anywhere else. And any department gets its share of goons and bullies. But I ' m not one of either category. It's exactly what I ' m against, as a matter of fact."
"I'm glad to hear that," Thad said. "Because it seems to me that police departments shouldn't let any psychopathic personalities slip through. And if they do, they ought to be chucked out. All the goons and bullies, too."
Lyle said sarcastically, "Tell us about it." I had thought he'd been drinking, but he had a can of Coke in his hand and appeared weary but cold sober. Only Welch was drinking, although he was also coherent, even alert.
"If either of you have any doubts about my noninvolve-ment in the kidnappings,"
Welch said, "feel free to look around the house. You'll find evidence of a type of partying that Lyle's not crazy about, but nothing that's illegal in the state of New York. Nothing to speak of, anyway. One of the guys smoked a little weed, but that's about it. It's been ten or fifteen years since sodomy's been illegal in the state, so none of us will be doing time in Dannemora on that one."
Thad said, "Were you having a sex party? Lord, I haven't been to one of those for over twenty years. I'm as good as married now, but I harbor fond memories of my orgiastic youth."
"Fond memories!" Lyle spat out. "Jesus Christ!"
I said, "Thad, I take it that this wasn't back in Lancaster County."
"No, New York and San Francisco in my FFF days. You'll find homosexual dalliances among the Amish, like anywhere else, but no group activity, I think. Barn raising never turned into hayloft orgies among the Mennonite farmers that I heard about."
"Please explain," Welch said to me, "what it was besides my dislike of Plankton that made you think I was behind the kidnappings. This is really very weird. Lyle says he never believed you, but my poor bed-buddy here drove all the way out here from the city to-I think-confront me, search the house, and assure himself that I was no sadistic fiend and kidnapper. Now what was that about?"
Bed-buddy. What did that mean? Poor Lyle thought of Welch as his lover, or boyfriend.
I said, "First, just to add purity to your generally persuasive denials of complicity, Dave, I'd like to take you up on your offer of allowing us to look around your house. Okay?"
Welch shrugged.
"Triad, why don't you give the place a quick look while I backtrack and try to recall exactly what it was that led us out here in the middle of the night. You're the breaking-and-entering specialist. Do you mind?"
"I'd rather not do that."
"All right."
"If it were a rescue, sure. But if it's an orgy, I don't want to see it and experience temptation. Not that I would necessarily be invited to participate. Don't get me wrong."
"I think Delmar and Marty are asleep," Welch said. "But you would certainly be invited, Thad, if you were interested. That goes for you too, Strachey, despite your coming out here to malign my character."
At that, Lyle got up abruptly and went inside the house. "I can't take this," he said as he left.