"In that case, you can pick up Blackjack Barney down there and go home. From the time I left the loft, I didn't have time for anything but business. I ran in the subway because I was late. Unless you've got wax in your ears, you heard my brother and me discussing the lecture I was sup-"
"Did you give the lecture?"
"Yes."
"That's the kind of response we like. Don't concern yourself with what you think we must have heard. Just answer the questions."
"How did you know who I was, and where I live?"
"You're much too modest, Dr. Frederickson. How many noted criminology professors of your stature, so to speak, are nicknamed 'Mongo'? As a result of some of your past exploits, you enjoy a measure of fame."
"Lucky me."
"And, of course, you're listed in the directory. Where did you go after your lecture?"
"To my office."
"Which office? You have two."
"My campus office. When I said I was involved in business all that time, I meant university business. I didn't do any investigating. I had examination papers to grade. I finished up around a half past seven and came home. Who do you guys work for?"
"Where is the money you mentioned, Dr. Frederickson?"
"In the bank."
"Really?" The thick gray brows above the thick lenses lifted slightly. "I don't recall you mentioning that you'd been to the bank when I asked where you'd been."
"I forgot." The blackjack brushed the sole of my right foot. "It wasn't a big deal," I added quickly. "The bank is just off campus. I also went to the post office."
"Why?"
"I sent Kendry a letter explaining why I'd taken the painting and the money, just to cover myself. I also mailed a copy to myself."
"You should have minded your own business, Frederickson."
"You're telling me! You see, I had this peculiar idea that he might be having trouble with some nasty people. Now that I see how wrong
I was, I have a good mind to put those things back where I found them and forget about the whole thing."
He was a tough audience, and he didn't even smile. "Did you send copies of this letter to anyone else?"
"No." Garth didn't need these two jokers showing up on his doorstep. "From the post office, I went back to my office."
"You'd best be careful not to forget anything else, Dr. Frederickson," the older man said evenly. "It would be a shame for you to suffer any more agony just because you can't remember events that happened only a few hours ago. Now, has your brother seen this painting?"
"No. Even if I'd had time to show it to him, which I didn't, he wouldn't have been interested; you heard him on the phone. Why don't you just tell me what this is all about? If you do, maybe we can save time. What do you want?"
"Just continue to answer our questions truthfully, Dr. Frederickson."
"Why is the painting so important? What does it mean?"
"That's not your concern."
"Where's Veil Kendry?"
"Besides yourself, who else has seen this painting?"
"A few hundred cops, most of them police chiefs."
The man with the blackjack started to swing, then stopped when my interrogator held up his hand. But the sap remained cocked, ready to strike. The face of the younger torturer at the foot of my bed revealed nothing; he was just a man doing his*job.
"You must not try to be amusing, Frederickson," the older man said.
"It's the Goddamn truth," I breathed, wriggling my body in an unsuccessful attempt to relieve the cramps in my stomach. "The lecture I gave was to a group of police chiefs and criminologists."
"You took the painting with you to the lecture?"
"I didn't have time to go home. Everyone in the lecture hall must have seen me carrying it, but it couldn't have meant anything to anybody. I'm considered eccentric in some circles." I paused, tried to suck in a deep breath. "I'm answering your questions; I don't have any reason not to. Why don't you loosen the ropes so I can breathe a little?"
"Just a few more questions, Dr. Frederickson; you're tied to make certain we have your undivided attention. You claim that your brother hasn't seen this painting, and that you haven't discussed it with him. Wasn't he at the lecture?"
"No."
I groaned when the sap tapped harder against my left sole, but not too loudly; I didn't want the wet towel over my face again.
"But he said that he was going. Indeed, he seemed quite anxious to see and hear you."
"Some emergency came up at his precinct station, and Garth had to handle it. Look, I'm really sorry you lost me in the subway. If you'd been able to follow me around all day, you'd see that everything I'm telling you is the truth. Aside from what I've told you, I don't know anything. You're the ones who know all the important questions and answers, so I don't understand why you're hassling me. You've got the painting. I've got nothing left to give you, except the money, and if you'll be patient and wait a few hours without driving my feet up into my chest, I'll get that for you."
My interrogator nodded to his colleague, who raised Veil's painting to shoulder level for me to look at.
"What does the painting suggest to you, Dr. Frederickson?"
"I don't know what you want from me, pal," I replied with a rising anger that was thoroughly absurd for someone in my position. "For Christ's sake, it's not a Goddamn Rorschach blot. We're all looking at the same fucking painting; what you see is what I see. What the hell do you expect me to say?!"
"If you don't wish to be hurt again, keep your voice down," the older man said politely but firmly. "Just answer the question."
"It's Veil Kendry as some kind of armed angel floating over a jungle filled with soldiers and guerrillas. It's probably Viet Nam. Is that what you want me to say?"
"What associations to Veil Kendry does it call to mind, Dr. Frederickson?"
"None."
"What does the painting mean to you?"
"Nothing."
"Why do you suppose Mr. Kendry left this for you?"
"I've already answered that-"
"Why you, and not someone else?"
"Probably because he overestimated my intuitive abilities, not to mention my tolerance for pain."
"Ah, you're trying to be amusing again."
"I'm a private investigator as well as a criminologist, pal. You know that. It looks like he was trying to throw some business my way. I don't understand what you're trying to get at."
"The envelope with the money that was with the painting was clearly addressed to you, a point you repeatedly sought to make with your brother. I am suggesting that in the past Mr. Kendry may have said something to you, and only you, that would help you to understand the meaning of the painting. Furthermore, I am suggesting that in the past few hours you could have shared that information with one or more persons."
"That's one wrong from column A, and one wrong from column B."
"The connection could have come to you since your last phone conversation with your brother."
"Nope. You know, if you keep this shit up you're likely to make me angry."
"What do you know of Mr. Kendry's past?"
"When he first came to New York, he was apparently a very disturbed man. A few months before I met him, he'd started painting. It didn't quite keep him off the streets and out of trouble, but it apparently did help him keep his head straight. Now he's a big man on the art scene. He's also the best unarmed fighter I've ever met. Aside from that, nada. Zip."
"He never talked to you about his experiences in the years before he came to New York?"
"Never."
"Did he ever make insinuations?"
"About who or what?"
"About anyone or anything."
"Veil Kendry never makes insinuations of any kind. If he had something to say, about you or anybody else, he'd say it right in your face."