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

"No. But I am confused, and it helps that you've come up with actual incontrovertible evidence that I'm not hallucinating. It all did happen, and it's Skeeter who's losing his mind. Poor Skeeter."

"So where is it?"

"The birthmark?"

"The birthmark."

"It's on the back of his dick. When it's limp, the birthmark has no particular discernible shape. But when Skeeter's penis is erect, the birthmark is shaped exactly like the state of North Carolina. If it was standing on end, of course."

"I guess you would tend to make a mental note of something like that. Is Skeeter originally from the South?"

"No, he was born in Poughkeepsie and grew up about a mile from our house."

"I'll bet the McCaslins were originally from Dixie. How else to explain this remarkable phenomenon? I think Skeeter should send an inscribed photo of his erection to Jesse Helms."

After a moment, Timmy said, "So if I didn't ruin the first half of Skeeter's adulthood—or if I did but he's actually forgotten all about it, I guess I didn't really have to drag you—drag both of us—into this whole Osborne family morass of murder and intrigue. I didn't have to get you involved, I didn't have to get my foot broken, and I didn't have to get into a situation where I'm maligned and abused by Dale Kot-lowicz every time I'm in the room with that merciless, unrelenting, sarcastic harpie."

"Much of what you say is true, Timothy, although I'm confident your opinion of Dale will go up once the air has been cleared on your alleged transgression. Surely it's all a simple misunderstanding. So, are you removing me from the Osborne case? Am I fired? Shall we drive past Edensburg and up to Montreal for a relaxed weekend of jazz and French food and afternoon strolls along the waterfront?"

"Of course not. Jeez. Janet is depending on us now. And so is Mrs. Osborne. And even—other people."

"Dale."

"Yes, Dale too. Dale, Dale, Dale, Dale."

He shifted in his seat again, careful not to get conked on the head by his crutches.

I'd phoned Eden County Air Service from Albany. The pilot who had taken Eric and Skeeter up the previous April to scatter Tom Osborne's ashes over the Adirondacks was away for the day, ferrying a canoe-company executive to Rochester and back. He was expected in around 11:30 p.m., so Timmy and I had time for a sandwich at a diner near the Edensburg airport before we met the charter pilot on his late-evening arrival.

The pilot, a placid, alert-looking man in his late twenties, remembered Eric and Skeeter well—he'd known the Osbornes by reputation for years—and when I told him I was working for Janet, he told me how much he respected and admired her and the Herald. Then he went on to tell me everything he knew about the April excursion.

The pilot did recall the "glitter" of the ashes as they drifted down toward the forest just after sunrise on April 4th. He said he had spread ashes on three previous occasions for other mourners and had never seen ashes sparkle before. He said both Skeeter and Eric seemed as surprised as he was by the glittering display.

The pilot also told us, in answer to a question of mine, that Dan Osborne had—a month or so after the dispersal of the ashes—tracked the pilot down, questioned him about the scattering of the ashes, and paid him to fly Dan over the precise spot where the ashes had been tossed from the plane.

The pilot had done so and had, at Dan's request, marked the area on a topographical map where the ashes would likely have landed in the forest. Because of the relatively low flying altitude of about 1,500 feet, as well as the calm air that day, the probable landing area for the ashes could be narrowed down to about three square miles. Dan had told the pilot he was interested in the ashes' location "for sentimental reasons," which the pilot had had no reason to disbelieve. The pilot helpfully provided me with a map showing the area he had directed Dan to, about twelve miles west of Edensburg.

22

It was close to one a.m. when Timmy and I returned to Maple Street, and while the rest of the neighborhood was dark, the Osborne house was ablaze with light. A police patrol car was parked in front of the house, with two officers visible in the front seat, their foam coffee cups on the dashboard.

Inside the house, I was relieved to find that Mrs. Osborne was safe and had gone to bed, and that Janet and Dale were safe and still up; I wanted to recruit them for an expedition early the next morning to visit the three square miles of mountainside west of Edensburg where I was certain we would find Dan Osborne combing the woods for the $16 million worth of jewels, and where we could use our knowledge of Dan's aiding and abetting a felony to extract from him answers to questions about the sale of the Herald, Eric's murder, and Dan's hypersensitive stomach.

Janet and Dale, however, were not alone on the back porch. "Don, Timmy, I want you to meet Lee Ann Stasiowski," Janet said, and introduced us to the woman who had stuck her head in Janet's office door with a message from Dale the day before. Lee Ann was a tiny, hazel-eyed middle-aged woman with a gray-blond pixie cut, a reporter's notebook in one hand and a bottle of Sam Adams in the other. She was the Herald's reporter, Janet told us, who had once covered police and the courts and now wrote about business. Lee Ann had been reporting in recent months—in a circumspect way—on the Herald's own financial difficulties and impending sale to a chain.

"And now," Janet said, "it's time for Lee Ann to prepare a story on the latest developments in the situation—that is, attempts on the lives

of pro-Griscomb family members and a developing connection between the sale of the paper and Eric's murder."

Lee Ann said, "I'm amazed to hear about all this wild stuff. Well, I'm amazed and I'm not so amazed."

This exercise in aggressive good journalism struck me as premature and maybe reckless. I said, "I don't know. Is this for Sunday's paper or Monday's?"

"It's for later," Janet said. "It'll run sometime next week, or the week after—whenever Lee Ann's got the entire story, including who's been arrested for murder and/or attempted murder."

"What I'm gathering right now," Lee Ann said, "is background, most of which I'm getting from Janet and Dale. I'm also—on Janet's excellent suggestion—using your involvement in the case, Don, as an excuse to grill Osborne family members on Eric's murder. I'm telling any Osborne I talk to that since a private detective is investigating them, I'm reporting on his activities as much as I am any possible family connection to Eric's death. That way they'can vent about you—and, believe me, they do, they do—and at the same time I can ask them, almost in passing, where they were on the morning Eric was murdered, and do they have an alibi, should they need one."

Dale said, "Cagey, huh?"

"Very clever," Timmy said. "Good for you, Janet."

"It was Dale's idea," Janet said. "Chester and June are both fuming, naturally. And Stu Torkildson called me a couple of hours ago and said he would never dream of interfering in the editorial side of the paper, and if he did, at least three Osbornes would be spinning in their graves. But wasn't it likely, Stu suggested in his oleaginous, vaguely threatening way, that Lee Ann's investigation at this point might spook Info-Com or Griscomb or any other potential buyer, and the family might get left in the lurch altogether?"

"Torkildson took that line with me too," I said. "What did you tell him?"