Flowering Judas(81)
The phone went dead silent. Kyle looked at the receiver in his hand and then replaced it in the cradle. It had started to feel a little odd to him, using landlines. He pushed the heavy black phone away from him. The women were still in the back, yammering. Almost every one of the patrol cars was over at the trailer park, creating more upset and confusion in the middle of a genuine crisis. If you wanted to rob a bank in Mattatuck, this was definitely the time to do it.
He got off his seat and wandered back toward the hall with the restrooms, not because he needed to use one, but because he was just tired of sitting there doing nothing. He caught Sue Folger’s eye as he went, and she nodded to him. Then she went to take his place at the front desk. Kyle thought he could ask her anything he needed to know about what was going on and she would tell him, with additions.
In the men’s room, Kyle walked into a stall and bolted the door. He put the lid of the toilet down and sat, stretching his legs out in front of him. There was no other man left in the station as far as he knew. He still felt as if he needed protection from something or somebody.
He put his head back and closed his eyes. He had well and truly hated Chester Morton, back in the days when he had known the man. He had hated Chester Morton because Chester had been Darvelle’s main squeeze, and he was in love with Darvelle himself. He had hated Chester Morton because Chester was loud and obnoxious and a regular pain in the ass whenever they had classes together. But mostly, he had hated Chester Morton because Chester always seemed to be standing between him and wherever it was he wanted to go. It was as if he and Chester had lived parallel lives, always going in the same direction, but Chester always got there first.
Of course, that wasn’t the direction Kyle was going in any more, but he didn’t know if that mattered.
3
Howard Androcoelho was willing to admit that he’d done the wrong thing in bringing Gregor Demarkian into this case. He was willing to bet that there were small town heads of police from one end of America to the other who had felt the same. The problem was that it was impossible to bring in any outside investigator and be sure of getting what you wanted. In this case, Howard had only wanted someone to come in and tell him that of course Chester Morton had committed suicide. There was no other way Chester Morton could have gotten up on that billboard. Nobody could have dragged him up there to throw him over the billboard either as a squirming murder victim or a dead weight. The whole idea was ridiculous. Now it was bad enough that it turned out somebody had thrown him up there, and as a dead weight. It was worse that things were happening that seemed to be totally insane, as if people were deliberately doing things to make the situation more complicated. That was the real problem with bringing in a “Great Detective.” A Great Detective was a focal point for cameras and the press. Where cameras and the press congregated, nutcases went to work to make themselves famous.
Howard reminded himself that he did not know for sure that anybody was out there trying to make himself famous. Then he pulled his car into his marked space behind city hall and cut the engine. He was not ready to go back to central station yet. He was not ready to deal with police work. He was really not ready to talk to Gregor Demarkian. Demarkian was beginning to sound as if he were out of patience, and Howard thought that was more than a little outrageous.
He got out of the car and stood for a while, catching his breath. He was so heavy now he had trouble breathing except when he was sitting down. It was hot, too, ridiculously hot for any time in September. Little pinpoint rivulets of sweat kept starting under his chin and making their way down his neck. Beyond the City Hall parking lot, the town of Mattatuck was mostly loud. Too many people were leaning on their horns. Too many people were revving their engines.
Howard went around to the front of the building and in the front door. He could get in the back—he was an authorized person—but he didn’t feel like ringing the bell and waiting for somebody to come and get him. He didn’t feel like making this visit. He went across the foyer to the elevator, got in, and pressed the button for the second floor. City Hall was a pretty building, built back in the Thirties when everybody seemed to be trying to do something about Public Works. They cared about what they built in those days. They wanted to make the government majestic.
On the second floor, Howard got out of the elevator and walked down the long corridor to the mayor’s office. He let himself into the anteroom and said hello to the receptionist there. She was not somebody he knew. Marianne seemed to go through receptionists the way Howard went through Philly cheese steak sandwiches. He gave the girl his name and waited until she’d announced him. He thanked her when she told him he could go in.