Chain of Fools - Stevenson Richard (читать книги онлайн бесплатно полностью TXT) 📗

"Oh yes," Dale said. "We could take a chance and let our guard down. What have we got to lose but another human being?"

Timmy muttered something indecipherable, and I said, "I thought we had an agreement, Dale."

"Whoops."

Janet said, "I think Dale is right that since both the future of the Herald and people's lives are at stake, we have to hope for the best but plan for the worst."

"That's an extremely generous interpretation of Dale's remarks," Timmy said, and in the dim light I glared at him. He caught this, and added, "But I believe both of you are entirely correct in your estimation that continued caution is in order."

"What I'm going to do," Janet said, "is talk to Slim Finn in the morning. He was Dad's lawyer and he's Mom's. I'm sure Chester's got somebody else intriguing away, probably his golfing partner, Morton Bond, and Slim will know how to get a mental competency hearing postponed for the five weeks we need until the board meets, or—failing a postponement—have the hearing held on a day when Mom is compos mentis. Meanwhile, I guess at least one of us needs to be here with her at all times. Whenever possible, two of us."

We all looked at each other, aware of which two of us would be most often available over the next week for a watch over Ruth Osborne. I said, "This job is critically important," and Timmy and Dale both gave me an indignant look that said, There's no need to treat us like children.

"I'm also going to get Mom's physician, Frank Whately, over here," Janet said, "to get an updated evaluation of her Alzheimer's, and the best short-term prognosis he can come up with. God, I just hate it that Mom is facing this horrible thing—and I'm facing this horrible thing with Mom—at exactly the same time all this other putrid crap is happening with the paper, and Eric being killed, and the Jet Ski attacks, and Eldon being in the hospital. It's just—it's too damned much."

We all agreed that it was, but we sat there helplessly, making vague, useless, sympathetic noises. It "was Janet who finally said, "At least Eldon is recovering from the Pneumocystis, and he's no longer psychotic now that he's off the prednisone. There's that good news anyway."

"He was a little groggy when we saw him tonight," Timmy said. "And I got the impression he didn't remember anything he said to us last night. I mean, none of that nasty stuff about. . . what happened after

high school. But he wasn't wild-eyed and crazy, and he did remember who I was, of course, and that I was there last night."

I said, "Of course."

Dale said, "Did either of you ask Eldon if he had any idea why Dan puked up his supper when he heard that there might be a connection between the sale of the Herald and Eric's murder?"

"Why would Skeeter know anything about that?" Timmy asked.

"Because he and Eric were sleeping together. Presumably they conversed about important matters."

Janet said, "Dan was completely devastated by Eric's death. I mean, we all were, and are—I still wake up in the night weeping when I dream about him. But at the time, it was Dan who really fell apart. And obviously he still hasn't recovered."

"Were Dan and Eric especially close?" I asked.

"In a messy, complicated way, they were," Janet said. "They'd been rivals for Dad's approval from the time they were toddlers. Of course, they were pretty much wasting their time in that department—Dad was not what you'd call warmly demonstrative with any of us. He saved his good opinions for the Heralds editorial page, and his emotions too. But Dan and Eric both loved Dad and they both became journalists because of him. That was a bond between them. But then, because they were so temperamentally different—Dan being more Watson-like in his passions and volatility—they often fought, with Dan starting the fights and Eric, who was always stronger and more sure of himself, finishing them. Believe me, it was a busy, complex household to grow up in. As most households with big families are, of course. And households with small families too."

I said, "When you say, Janet, that Dan and Eric fought, do you mean physically?"

"Until they were both well into their teens. It's a big joke in Edens-burg that this house full of pacifists used to erupt about once a week with crashing and banging and yelling, as if bloody murder was being committed inside." She caught herself, and when no one spoke, she added, "Please—don't even think it. Not Dan." More awkward silence. "It wouldn't make any sense," Janet said. "It just wouldn't. And I wouldn't be able to stand it."

After a moment, Timmy said, "It wouldn't make any sense, Janet,

unless Eric's death and the Jet Ski attacks weren't even connected. And Eric's murder and the sale of the Herald had nothing to do with each other."

They all looked at me as if I, being a detective, might have an observation to offer that could clear the air a little, break the tension. But I didn't.

11

Thursday morning, Timmy, exhausted, slept in—we'd shared a frilly four-poster in what had been June's room—while Janet drove off to the Herald, Dale joined Elsie the housekeeper in keeping an eye on Ruth Osborne, and I left Maple Street at 7:45 in search of Captain Bill Stankie.

I drove out to the edge of town and found Stankie in his office at the State Police barracks, one of those characterless brick boxes that are representative of public architecture in the age of hate-all-government. Stankie didn't look as if he minded the lack of columns and a cupola framing his official presence. Squat, ruddy-faced, and agreeably unprepossessing in shirtsleeves and green suspenders, Stankie looked up at me placidly from behind his metal desk. I introduced myself and explained that I'd been hired by Janet Osborne to investigate any connection between her brother's murder and two apparent attempts on her life. For the moment, I left out the sale of the Herald, that day's edition of which lay open to the sports section on Stankie's desk next to his coffee mug.

"I doubt there's any connection, but I'd be interested to hear what you've come up with," Stankie said. "Have a seat."

I seated myself across from Stankie and told him that I was only just getting started and had come up with nothing of substance yet, and that was why I'd come to see him. I asked him to fill me in on the Eric Osborne murder investigation, and on anything Stankie knew about the sheriff's office investigation of the two Jet Ski attacks on Janet.

"Was that your boyfriend that got clipped yesterday?" Stankie asked. "My wife is a nurse at the ER, and she said a gay couple came in, and

one of the guys had a broken foot from a Jet Ski incident out at Osborne's place on the lake."

"How did she know we were a couple?"

"Sue always knows. Our third son, Hank, is gay, and he and his partner, Ray, are both police officers in Cincinnati, Ohio—Ray's hometown. We don't see nearly as much of them as we'd like. We get out there once a year, but Hank and Ray are kept pretty busy with their off-duty gay-rights -work. Cincinnati is a pretty conservative town. Which is fine with me, overall. I'm conservative myself."

"Except in one way, it looks like."

"Oh no," Stankie said with a shrug. "If you mean gay rights, that's conservative as I see it. The government leaving decent, law-abiding people alone is conservative. People being treated fairly is conservative. No, I don't see that I'm being inconsistent at all. It's the Newt Gin-grichs that are being inconsistent." He paused, then added, "Not that I always saw it that way, I have to admit. I had to be educated on the subject."