The Sorcerer's House (26 page)

"You could be sued," Doris said.

Cathy smiled. "I work for the paper, Ms. Griffin. You'd be suing the paper. It has lawyers on retainer, and it has the First Amendment. There isn't a politician in the state--and that includes the judges in the state courts--who wants to get the
Sentinel
mad at him. Use your head."

I said, "I've used mine. In return for a favor, I'll open up totally. Give you everything. It's a simple favor and I'll describe it in detail. Give it to me, and I'll be your confidential source in the Black House."

"I couldn't quote you by name."

"Correct."

"Will you deny the stuff you gave me?"

"Rarely if ever. Only when I must, in other words. In the vast majority of cases, and perhaps in all, I will simply decline to comment if questioned."

Doris told her, "He's good at that."

"I'll bet. Tell me what the favor is, and I'll think it over."

"Be careful, Bax."

Smiling, I ignored it. "In a nutshell, my brother George has been arrested for assaulting a police officer. I'm asking you to keep his name out of the paper. If it's printed, it will destroy his career. I want to spare him that if I can."

"He hit a cop?"

I nodded. "With his fist. He had no weapon. I could give details, but you will want to get them from her."

Cathy's eyes went wide.

"You may, of course, use everything you learn except my brother's name. His name is George Dunn. I don't want you to print that."

"I give you my word, and you'll empty the bag?"

"Exactly."

Doris's drink and fish chowder came. I offered to buy Cathy a drink, which she declined.

When the waitress had gone, Cathy said, "We have a deal. It's good until you hold back on me. Hold out and it's off."

"Naturally. I won't."

She grinned and offered her hand. I shook it solemnly without bothering to count my mental reservations.

"Now open that box."

I did.

"Hey, wow! I thought it was going to be pictures. Or love letters. Maybe both."

"They are dueling pistols," I explained. "A legacy from an old friend."

"Cool! Do you know how they work?"

I nodded. "I could load and fire them for you, but I certainly will not do that here."

"What's in the little boxes?"

"I haven't opened them, but one is probably patches and the other bullets. This big brass flask is for powder, and the little one's for priming powder. This is a ramrod. There's only one for the two pistols because they were sold as a set."

Cathy pointed. "What's that?"

"A bullet mold. You heated lead in a crucible--you'd have to buy those separately--and poured it into this. It is smaller than many." I took it out and opened it. "Only two bullets, enough for a single exchange of fire. In most cases, that's all there was to a duel. The duelists stood twenty paces apart, aimed, and fired. Quite often, both missed. They shook hands and retired with honor intact."

Doris said, "How do you know all this, Bax?"

"There are a great many duels in Victorian literature. To understand them properly, and what the author is saying about them, I familiarized myself with the real duels with which the author would have been familiar. The famous duel in which Aaron Burr ended the life of Alexander Hamilton, for example."

Cathy pointed again. "What's this little brass hammer for?"

"To start the bullet. A patched bullet fits tightly in the bore. You didn't really require a brass hammer, of course. Many shooters tapped their bullets in with the handles of their knives. But the hammer's a nice touch."

Doris had picked up one of the boxes and opened it. "These are flints."

I shrugged.

Cathy had the other box. "These are the bullets. Pretty, too! Hey, there's a note in here. . . ." She pulled it out.

I tried to take it from her, but she drew it back. "I found it and I get to read it." She paused. "Hey, listen to this. 'The werewolf will claim my son. Spare her if you can. His mother may help. These bullets are silver.' There's no signature."

Doris said, "Bax, you slipped that note in there."

I shook my head.

Cathy had picked up a bullet. "I think these really are silver. I'm going to show this one to my boyfriend's father. He's a jeweler."

"You can't take it," Doris told her.

"Right over there." Cathy gestured. "I'm having dinner with my boyfriend and his parents." She was gone before Doris could protest again.

The jeweler rose as she returned to the table, and after a moment or two followed her back to ours. "You probably don't remember me, Mr. Dunn. I'm Dick Quist."

"I certainly do."

"Have you noticed his ring, Cathy? That's a star sapphire, the best I've ever seen."

"You know I have!" Cathy gave her future father-in-law a quick smile before turning to me. "Poppa Quist says they're silver, Mr. Dunn."

"Coin silver, probably." He returned the bullet Cathy had taken to the box. "They're a bit tarnished, of course. But silver."

Cathy nudged him. "Somebody thinks Mr. Dunn might have to shoot a werewolf."

Dick Quist chuckled.

Doris said, "Somebody does, and I think I know who. Not who it is, but who it was."

"An eccentric, I'm sure."

"I wish I could be. Did you know Alexander Skotos, Mr. Quist? He died three years ago."

"I've got to get back to Louisa. She'll be mad if I'm gone too long."

He left, and Doris said, "He knew Alexander Skotos."

Cathy shook her head. "He's a family man, that's all. You two wouldn't make trouble for me with Robert's folks, would you?"

I said, "I certainly would not."

"I won't," Doris told her, "provided you go back there right now."

My steak and Doris's salmon arrived. I closed the pistol case hastily and laid it on the seat beside me.

When the waitress had gone, Doris said, "That bitch kept your note."

I was grinding pepper. "It doesn't matter."

"She'll put it in the paper."

"Perhaps. What if she does?"

"Don't you care, Bax?"

"I would rather she put it in there, accurately, than that she attempted to reproduce it from memory. She might write, 'The werewolf widely known as the Hound of Horror,' for example."

"You believe in werewolves."

I nodded. "I've seen and spoken to a woman I believe to be a werewolf. No, whom I believe to be
the
werewolf--the one who killed Martha Murrey's neighbor. You need not credit me."

"I believe you saw someone."

"Correct, I did--the woman by the river who gave me your keys. I'll introduce you at the first opportunity."

"You're looking terribly thoughtful. What is it?"

"Well, well, well . . ." I fear I sighed. "I've always wanted to play the Great Detective. We read a great many mysteries in prison."

"You were in prison?"

"I was. I was trying to tell you in the car, but I lost my nerve and never finished. I defrauded my brother, Doris. After that, I defrauded several of his friends. I was caught, of course. I was caught, and I begged them not to prosecute. I swore that if they would only give me a few years, I would repay every cent."

"I can see how this hurts you, Bax. Why don't we drop it right here?"

"They wouldn't. It took me a long time to understand why, but eventually I did. May I please explain? This is the Great Detective, too."

She nodded.

"The amounts were trivial. Not to me, but to them. What mattered
was the insult to their pride. They thought themselves sophisticated businessmen. They thought me a poor, unworldly scholar--which was true enough. Now the poor, unworldly scholar had sold them three lost mines, a swamp, and half the town hall of El Dorado. He wasn't going to get away with it, by George! So they prosecuted, led by my brother."

"I understand. You believed those lost mines--or whatever they really were--yourself, didn't you, Bax?"

I shook my head. "No, I didn't. I was lying, and I knew it."

"Your steak is getting cold."

Dutifully, I sliced off a small piece, chewed, and swallowed. "Back in the attorney's office, you heard my brother say I had defrauded him. It was true, and perhaps you wondered why I haven't repaid him. I have not, because my offer to repay was spurned. I spent three years and some odd months in prison. That was the payment he wanted, and he has had it. He will get no more from me."

"You promised to tell that girl anything she wanted to know to keep your brother's name out of the paper."

I cut off another bite. "I'd like to think he would do the same for me. He wouldn't, but I like to think it."

"Great Detectives always have weaknesses."

"I've noticed. Mine is wandering from the subject. There's a mystery in that note. Surely you caught it."

"I don't even remember what it said."

"I believe I can quote it verbatim. 'The werewolf will claim my son. Spare her if you can. His mother may help. These bullets are silver.' "

"All right, I'll try. Why would he want the werewolf spared?"

I shook my head. "There could be a thousand reasons for that."

"I've got it!" Doris snapped her fingers. "Alexander Skotos wrote that note. Why didn't he leave his property to his son?"

I smiled. "That isn't what's puzzling me, but let's leave it there. As you said, I ought to be eating."

"Me, too. You know, I felt sure you were going to say Trelawny could've written it. How's your steak?"

I chewed another piece, swallowed, and tried to imitate a gourmet. "Excellent without quite reaching superb. Did the Salmon Rangoon live up to its star billing? My potato is good, by the way. Good, but not great."

"No comment on Trelawny?"

"Only this. His secretary might have written it, too. So might Mr. Hardaway. Not to mention Cathy Ruth. Did you see the note before you saw it in her hands? Are you sure? I did not."

"You're being silly. Two women."

"How do we know the note's telling the truth? You think there's no werewolf. What if there's no son? Either woman could be conning us. It's entirely possible they're working together, and no more unlikely than Trelawny."

"I was going to eliminate that. I don't believe he did it."

"We could explain to each other why he's exceedingly improbable. Shall we do it?"

Doris shook her head. "It would be a waste of time."

"I agree. Nor will I play the Great Detective, which would be another. Here's a real question, by which I mean one that I can't answer. Why was Dick Quist so reluctant to talk about Alexander Skotos? We agree that he clearly knew him."

"Yes. You know, Bax, a good many people must've known him, not just Mr. Hardaway and that lawyer. If we could find some of them and get them to talk about him, we might learn a lot."

"You're right." I pushed aside my plate and took out my telephone. "Have you ever listened to your date trying to date another woman while he was with you? I realize that it cannot have happened often."

Doris shook her head. "You're up to something."

"I certainly am." I switched on the phone, dialed Directory Assistance, and specified this state and town. "I'm trying to locate a policewoman named Kate Finn. Her address is eight eleven Walnut."

. . .

Doris whispered, "Isn't that the one your brother socked?"

I nodded.

"Well, is there a Finn at eight eleven Walnut?" A gesture silenced Doris.

. . .

"That will be a relative, I'm sure," I said. "Would you give me the number, please?"

"Give it to me and I'll write it down."

I covered the speaker. "They're ringing it now."

. . .

"This is Baxter Dunn, Officer Finn. I'm calling for two reasons. The first is that I want to say how sorry I am about what happened tonight. On behalf of my brother George and our family, I apologize most humbly."

. . .

"That's very good of you, officer. I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive my brother someday. He is a good-hearted man with a bad temper. There's a great deal of stress associated with his work."

. . .

"I realize that, believe me. The second reason is that I need to talk to you. I'd be delighted to buy you lunch or dinner tomorrow. Your choice. Will you join me?"

. . .

"Here's the thing that worries me, officer. If it goes to trial, I'll certainly be called as a witness for one side or the other. I'll tell the truth, of course. But I'd like to tell it in a way that does no harm at all to you and Officer Perrotta. George was beaten quite severely, as I'm sure you realize. He's sure to allege police brutality, and quite frankly I don't feel he deserves to get away with that."