Third man out - Stevenson Richard (читать хорошую книгу полностью .TXT) 📗

I asked Sandifer if he knew what these initials meant. He puzzled over them and finally said no. The "A" might have meant Asshole Mega-Hypocrite, but the other initials, if that's what they were, remained indecipherable.

I read aloud the payments to NZ: $320 in December; $435 in January; $310 in February; similar amounts through July. JG received even higher amounts from October through July, totaling nearly $6,000. DR was the big money-maker. He-or she, or it

— was paid an even $ 1,400 per month from the previous September right up through July. According to a notation in the margin, all these payments had been made "in cash."

I asked Sandifer, "Were you ever with John when he met his regular informants? It looks as if that's what these entries refer to.

He could have received information from them over the phone, but he must have met them once a month to hand over the cash payments for their diligent research. People in their right minds don't send cash amounts larger than a dime through the mail these days."

"No, I never did. John would just say he had to go talk to somebody. Or he had a meeting with somebody. He wanted to keep me out of that part of it. To protect me, was what he said."

"Protect you from what? You were out in the streets hustling Queerscreed. Wasn't that where the greatest physical risk was?"

"I guess so. I'm not sure what he meant by that- protecting me. I guess he thought some of the people he was after and some of the people they were mixed up with were dangerous. And he was right," Sandifer added with eyes glistening. "John knew somehow that some of them were very dangerous people."

I could no longer argue with that. end user

13

The three of us were in the kitchen the next morning at seven.

"I'll make a few calls while Timmy goes through his Donna Reed routine," I told Sandifer.

"Who's that?"

"She was one of the great chefs of the middle part of the century," Timmy said. "Would you like some eggs? That's what Donald eats."

"Sure."

"He used to drink them, blended with orange juice, but now they've all got salmonella and cleaning up the chicken industry would be communistic. Not that the Communists ever cleaned up theirs."

"I'd like mine fried on both sides with nothing runny anywhere."

"That's a good precaution to take."

I dragged the phone into the cubbyhole under the front stairs, shut the door, and phoned Bub Bailey. He was in his office early, as I expected he might be.

"I gave John Rutka your advice, Chief, but he didn't take it."

"No, I feel real bad for the boy. He had a hard life and he died in a way nobody should have to. It's a blessing Charlie and Doris are gone and don't have to see this."

"What do you mean, John had a hard life? I wouldn't have thought of it that way."

"I don't mean to say he was disadvantaged or he'd been abused. John was always just a big, odd, nice-looking kid who told tales and never fit in very well. His mom and dad never knew quite what to make of him. It was good when John went off to find himself in the city. I admired the boy for coming home when Charlie and Doris went into their decline, but after they died I could never figure out why John stayed on."

"Has the body been positively identified?"

"No, I should hear by noon, the M.E. says. I told him-I suggested he be extra certain on this one."

"That went through my mind, too."

"The circumstantial evidence was there, the wallet and the note. And a body that was the right size and sex- what was left of it.

It was a sickening sight. There was little left of John besides the chains that bound him."

"Chains?"

"At the wrists and ankles, and padlocked. There's no way that boy could have gotten loose. He wouldn't have suffered from the fire, though. The preliminary exam showed he'd been shot in the head. This will all be in the paper, by the way, so I'm not giving anything away here that I shouldn't. Though, come to think of it, maybe there's something you could help me out with."

"What's that, Chief?"

"I talked to a colleague on the Albany force last night who keeps his ear to the ground down there, and he says John was supposed to have kept files on all the people he wrote about or was planning to write about in his column, and these files were supposed to have all kinds of dope in them about who's gay in Albany. Do you know anything about this?"

"I've heard that story too."

"But you have no firsthand knowledge of these files?"

"I would hope that any such files would have gone up in flames with their keeper. It's an abominable thing to have created."

"That doesn't answer my question, Mr. Strachey. Do you know about the files and where they might be located? As you know, these files could be critical in investigating John's murder."

I grasped the receiver tightly and said, "John mentioned the files, Chief, but he never showed them to me or told me where he kept them. They're probably at his house. Have you searched it?"

"I'm heading over there soon, but I can't seem to get hold of Edward Sandifer. Do you know whether he's still in the Rutka house?"

"No, he's not. I picked him up last night and brought him into Albany."

"Yes, I saw your car."

"He's staying with a friend-on Washington Avenue, I think he said. I dropped him off at Johnny's Hot Dogs on Central around eleven-thirty."

"Well, this complicates matters. I asked him to be available and he hasn't done it. If you speak to Sandifer, tell him to phone me immediately. I'll need access to the house for a thorough search, and questions are bound to come up."

"Maybe Ann could let you into the house. She'd probably have a key, wouldn't she?"

"She may well. I'll check."

"Chief, I'd like to think that whoever killed John is not an immediate threat to other people, but I know that anybody who has killed once is capable of killing again. So good luck to you."

"You're not going to interfere with my investigation, are you, Mr. Strachey? When I mentioned your name, my colleague in Albany said you would probably interfere. He put it less politely than that."

"No, I'm not going to get in your way, Chief. I might ask around some, and if I come up with anything I'll certainly pass the information on to you."

"Well, I would certainly expect you to."

"I'll dig up what little I can," I said. "Have you checked Rutka's wallet for prints yet? And what about prints on the note left with the wallet?"

"Yes, that would be standard procedure in an investigation of this type. The note and the wallet are on their way to the state lab for analysis."

"The note seems to rule out any motive except revenge for Rutka's outing campaign. What was it the note said?"

" 'This is what happens to, uh, quote, assholes, unquote, who invade people's privacy.' Yes, the motive is clear enough. Unless the note was supposed to steer investigators away from the real motive. We have to remain alert to that possibility."

"True. Has any other motive suggested itself yet?"

"No. John seems to have made an awful lot of people mad enough to kill him. But they were all mad at him for the same reason.

That's why it's imperative that I get hold of those files he's supposed to have kept. My suspicion is that the files will turn out to be the key to the investigation. You're sure you know nothing about them?"