“I keep telling you not to ask me,” Tony said. “I’m not even Watson. I’m just a fly on the wall.”
Gregor got out his cell phone. He thought cell phone address books had to be one of the greatest inventions ever. They not only kept your numbers for you They let you dial them with a single punch of a button.
He found the number he was looking for, punched it in, and waited. Kurt Delano picked up his own phone and said, “Delano speaking, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“God, you sound official,” Gregor said.
“Gregor! I can’t believe it! It must have been a year! How are you?”
“I’m fine. But this is something in the nature of a business call.”
“Of course it’s a business call. You called my office. I’m going to be in Philly in a month, though. We’ve got some kind of regional conference. More of the happy-crappy that comes with having a desk job. You had a desk job. How did you stand it?”
“I reminded myself every day that it could have been worse and they could have made me the director. Listen, what do you know about Chester Ray Morton?”
“Oh that.” Kurt Delano laughed. “Okay, I knew you were doing that. I heard it on television. I’m the wrong person to ask. The bureau was about to start looking into it, but it wasn’t on my desk. And now it doesn’t matter at all, I guess. It’s a local murder. Or do you think it isn’t local?”
“No, I think it’s local enough. It’s just—did you ever hear about Chester Morton having a fascination with Wyoming?”
“No, but like I said, that wasn’t on my desk. And I’m still not sure it should have been on anybody’s desk. As far as I know, it was mostly the result of the mother just not taking no for an answer, so after a while—well, you know what I mean. I could put you in touch with the agent who was set to handle it.”
“Could you? That would be helpful. Or I think it would.”
“Her name’s Rhonda Alvarez. Give me your number and I’ll ask her to call. Don’t worry. She’s not one of your protecting-the-turf types. I used to think we’d have less of that once we got enough women in the Bureau, but sometimes I think it’s been worse.”
3
The next place Gregor needed to go was the Mattatuck Police Department, but he didn’t want to go there, and he wasn’t sure he was at the place where he couldn’t do anything else. He looked at his notes a few more times. Then he picked up his cell phone and called Bennis.
“I’m in some kind of coffee shop,” he said. “It’s not Starbucks, but then Starbucks is less fey. You can get coffee to drink here that’s pink.”
“How do they make coffee that’s pink?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve seen it. How’s old George.”
There was a sigh on the other end of the line—except, Gregor reminded himself, it wasn’t a line, and that was why it went disturbingly blank-silent when nobody was talking. He didn’t understand why he got himself so tangled up with the technology, but he did. There was a point where he just wanted to do more than turn back the clock. He wanted to turn back the world. Or maybe he didn’t. If he turned back the world, he might be back at a place where nothing could be done for old George but wait for him to die.
“Gregor?” Bennis said.
“Never mind,” Gregor said. “I was obsessing about technology again. It doesn’t matter. How’s old George.”
“I think the proper terminology is ‘resting comfortably.’ There’s just not much anybody can do with him. He’s not in pain. He’s reasonably alert most of the time—”
“Oh, I know. I actually got to talk to him once.”
“And he’s nearly a hundred years old,” Bennis said. “It’s hard to complain, really. He’s nearly a hundred and he’s been living on his own and ambulatory until last week, no nursing homes, no dementia. If I get to live to be a hundred, this is what I want it to be.”
“Isn’t there a prognosis?”
“The prognosis is that he’s a hundred years old,” Bennis said, “and don’t tell me the medical system gives up on old people. I know it does. But I don’t think anybody is giving up on old George. The nurses love him. The doctors admire him. I think Martin would keep him alive by feeding him his own blood if that was what it took. But the man is a hundred years old. There just gets to be a point.”
“I know.”
“Are you all right? This case was supposed to take your mind off things. It doesn’t sound like it has.”