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

I said, "Who's the All-American Asshole Mega-Hypocrite?"

"The what?"

"Did Rutka ever mention a mega-hypocrite-somebody who was gay and closeted and deserved more than anybody else to be outed? Somebody who was sicken-ingly or even dangerously hypocritical?"

This involved a moral consideration that might simply have been outside Zenck's ken. He looked baffled. "I wouldn't know about that. Miss Bruno, maybe. After the job she did on that law some gay people were in favor of against beating up fags and what have you. I wouldn't really know who else it could be." He glanced at his watch. "You know, Strachey, delicious as it is sitting here being whipped with your rubber hose, I do have other responsibilities to attend to. Could we wrap this up in about, say, half a sec?"

"No, we can't. Where were you last night between six and nine, Nathan?"

He simpered. "Right here, honey-chile. The same place I am every night Monday through Friday from six P.M. to two A.M. Now, I think I am going to have to ask you to excuse me, Donald. People are starting to wonder what we're doing in here." He started to stand up.

"Sit, Nathan. I'm not finished."

He hesitated, got into a sulk, and sat.

"Who else performed this sleazy snooping service for Rutka besides you?"

He sniffed. "Just Jay, that I know of. Jay Gladu. Isn't he in the records too?"

Jay Gladu-JG. "Just answer my questions, please. Who else?"

"He's the only one I know about. I just happen to know Jay because he's in the hospitality and guest-accommodations business too. If you want to call it that."

"He's where-at the Sheraton?"

This got a snicker. "You must have him mixed up with someone else. Jay runs a hot-sheet motel on Central Avenue, the Fountain of Eden. Who's at the Sheraton? John never mentioned that he had a contact there."

"I'll ask the questions, Nathan, and you'll answer them. Whose initials are the letters DR?"

He sniffed and thought. "DR?"

"DR, yes."

"Zantek has a hotel in the D.R.-the Dominican Republic. It's a full resort and convention facility, and we had a sales meeting down there two years ago, the Surf 'n' Smurf. That's the only D.R. I know of."

"Zantek actually has a hotel that's called the Surf 'n' Smurf?"

"It's a family resort. If you want fast-lane resort life, the Surf 'n' Smurf is not for you."

"I suppose not."

It seemed unlikely that John Rutka had been making cash disbursements to the Dominican Republic, but that was the only D.R.

Zenck seemed to know. Maybe Jay Gladu would know who or what D.R. was.

I said, "Nathan, I'm going to get up and leave now and you are going to utter a deep sigh of relief. I'm not going to notify the police or the Zantek Corporation of your sleazy practices-not, that is, unless I return for additional information and you refuse to give me what I want. In that case, I'll destroy you. Also, if I ever learn that you are once again spying on any of your guests, as you did for John Rutka, I will do everything within my power to smash your career in hospitality and guest accommodations to little tiny bits and pieces. You'll be an assistant towel boy by the pool at the Surf 'n' Smurf until you're collecting Social Security. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He glowered up at me. Now he's going to call me a bitch, I thought, but the moment passed and he didn't. He stood up, opened the door to the corridor, and said, "Good night!"

"Don't forget my warning, you weasel," I said, and shoved the door shut in his face. The shouted word was just barely audible through the thick door, but I could make it out. end user

17

I phoned Sandifer from the Parmalee Plaza lobby and asked him if he would like to spend the night at our place again. He said no, a friend from New York had come up; the two of them would stay at the house in Handbag and he would be okay. He sounded less desperate than he had been earlier in the day, and I was relieved to hear it.

Jay Gladu's number was unlisted. I phoned the Fountain of Eden on Route 5 between Albany and Schenectady. The desk clerk wouldn't tell me Gladu's home phone number but said I could leave a message, which I declined to do. I asked when Gladu was likely to show up in person and was told between nine and ten in the morning. This was probably to pick up the overnight receipts.

I reached Bub Bailey at his office in Handbag. He said, "How's your investigation going, Mr. Strachey?"

" 'Investigation' is too grand a word for it, Chief, but I'm doing what little asking around I can."

"That's nice of you. Have you been able to pick up anything yet?"

"Nothing to speak of. How about you? I missed the six o'clock news tonight."

"I have had one piece of good luck," Bailey said mildly. "Two of my officers were combing the driveway area of the Rutka house and they came up with something the abductor may have left behind-a piece of a mud flap from his car. It broke off somehow, or was ripped off, and my officers came across it. It's not from Rutka's car, and Edward Sandifer says no other cars have parked in the driveway to his knowledge. Most park at curbside. So this may be our first real break."

"Can you tell what kind of car it came from?"

"Big, probably American, maybe GM or Chrysler. That's as close as we can get. I'm not making news of the mud flap public, and I'm sure you can understand why. The killer would simply replace his damaged flap and we'd be back where we started. And I can't ask every department in the capital district to go crawling around under all the big American cars looking at mud flaps. That wouldn't make me too popular. But I wanted you to know."

"Thank you, Chief."

"One of my officers will be in Albany this evening and if you'd like, he could stick a photocopy of the mud flap slice in your mailbox-just in case."

"That can't hurt. Thanks." I gave him my street address.

"The bad news is," Bailey said, "that the state lab couldn't find any fingerprints on the note left at the fire scene. Whoever wrote it was being very careful. And the only prints on John's wallet were his own. This all fits in with what we already know about the killer-that he seems to be cold-blooded and methodical."

I said, "I guess I'm not surprised. It seems as though you're looking for someone who's been so unhinged by John's outing campaign that he'll actually kill for revenge, but not so unhinged he wasn't able to go about it in a businesslike way."

"It would certainly help," Bailey said, "if I could get hold of those files John kept. Edward Sandifer says they were sent to Utica for safekeeping but he claims he doesn't know the name of the person out there who has them."

"I'm sure he'd give you the name if he had it, Chief. Eddie wants John's killer caught more than anybody."

"Well, he did give me a list of people who threatened John, and I'm piecing together what I can with copies of Cityscape and Queerscreed and through interviews. Plus, I'm picking up the odd unsolicited tip here and there. I've had two anonymous phone calls, for instance, telling me I'd better check out this Bruno Slinger and find out where he was last night at the time of the abduction and murder. I drove down to the capitol this afternoon and Mr. Slinger wasn't too happy to see me. He had the gall to tell me that he had an alibi for yesterday evening but it was none of my business what it was and I'd just have to take his word for it that he had nothing to do with the murder."