"Death Vows" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stevenson Richard)

Chapter Thirteen

The first thing Jerry Treece said was, “Steven is calling in the loans.”

“Can he do that? I thought Sturdivant was the lender.”

“It’s in the contract I signed. If Sturdivant were to die, Gaudios would automatically take over as the lender. And the deal was, the loan could be called in on a week’s notice.”

“That last part sounds kind of mob-like.”

“It seemed like a bargain at the time,” Treece said resignedly and sipped from his own Sam Adams as I contemplated mine.

We were in a place called The Brewery just north of town, where the potato skins were as rustic as the decor. Treece was a light-skinned black man in his thirties with a high forehead, a shiny beard and a sedate manner. He worked for a photography restoration company in nearby Housatonic and lived there with his partner, Greg.

Treece said he’d met Sturdivant at the Supper Club and had heard from others that Sturdivant lent money at a below-market rate. Treece had heard rumors of the unwritten conditions of Sturdivant’s loans, but he said that that would not have been a problem unless it involved unsafe sex. And when the time came for Treece to collect the car loan he requested, the requirements were minimal and unobjectionable. His biggest problem, he said, was keeping from laughing when the dog had his martini.

I asked, “How much did you borrow?”

“Twelve thousand. But I’ve been paying it off in big chunks whenever I could, and I’m down to eighteen hundred. So Greg and I can get it together by next week without borrowing somewhere else. It was just kind of a shock, especially after what happened to Jim.”

“And Gaudios just phoned you this morning and told you to pay up?”

“He said a registered letter was in the mail, but he was just giving me a heads-up on what to expect.”

“For some of the other borrowers, this is probably going to be a real problem,” I said. “Did Gaudios say what would happen if you didn’t pay the loan off within a week?”

“He used the words ‘legal action.’ I told him to be cool, that I got the picture and I’d pay up. I told him I was very sorry to hear about Jim’s passing, and then Steven got weepy and said he and Jim had been together for forty-six years, and how was he going to live without him? He cried on the phone and said he didn’t think he could bear it. Both those guys were a couple of scuzzy characters in a lot of ways, but I do feel sorry for Steven. He’s totally devastated. Even people who are not very nice are capable of love, and in their weird way these guys had one of the solidest marriages around.”

“I don’t think they were married,” I said. “In fact, Jim told me they were not – for family reasons, he said.”

“They wore matching silver wedding bands,” Treece said. “I saw them.” He laughed and added, “They were the same design as their cock rings.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“Maybe they had a non-legal union ceremony and exchanged rings at that time.”

“Could be,” I said. “Though I think not at Mount Carmel Church in Pittsfield, where Sturdivant’s mother is a parishioner. Maybe at their house.”

Treece laughed at the idea of a gay union ceremony at Mount Carmel. “I don’t think Jim was even out with his family. Steven either. Everybody who was gay knew they were a couple, and so did a lot of other people down here in South County. But Pittsfield is another world. It’s a kind of gay pit of shame, where only the bravest of the brave come out. For instance, Jim and Steven gave a lot of money to arts organizations and charities, but they were never listed as joint donors. You’d see their names in theater programs as patrons, but unlike most gay couples these days they were always listed separately. It’s a schizoid kind of existence, and it has to take a toll on a person.”

I said, “Are you from the Berkshires, Jerry?”

He smiled. “Nope. I grew up in Batavia, New York. Would I have come out there? Noooo way. I was too much of a coward. People who come out in their hometowns are the bravest people in the world. But I’m not one of them. Were you, Donald?”

“Nah.”

“It’s never too late.”

“Yeah, it is. Anyway, I’m from New Jersey, where the ex-governor recently did all the coming out the state will be needing for the next several decades.”

“Yeah, I read about that.”

“How could you not have?”

Treece asked, “When did you come out, Donald?”

“At Rutgers. It was more of a semi-coming-out. Then I found myself in an official capacity in Saigon – that’s a large city in Southeast Asia that’s since been re-named.”

“Yeah, I’ve read about that, too,” Treece said.

“And I went pretty far back into the closet again. Army Intelligence is not the best place to raise the rainbow banner. I sneaked around a little, formed no real attachments, survived the war, got out of the Army, soon fell in love with a fine woman in the anti-war movement, was married for a while, then figured out who I really was, and started getting it right fast.”

“And became a grown-up.”

“Often a bumbling one, but a grown-up.”

“Have you got a honey?” Treece asked.

“You bet. Timothy Callahan and I have been together for a thousand years, though it doesn’t feel like more than a hundred and fifty. We’re as comfy and nuts about each other as Al and Tipper Gore. Of course, we have had our Bill and Hillary moments. I will say, he never hit me over the head with a lamp, even when I had it coming. Those early conflicts were over differing sexual mores, as is often the case with both homosexuals and heterosexuals, pertaining mainly to monogamy versus a little variety. Over the years we’ve hit a happy medium in that department. Now we both go to Paris twice a year and join the over-forty grope at the Odessa Baths, and that pretty much takes care of that biological imperative. There are annoyances and roll-your-eyes or even clutch-your-head differences, of course, but all within the normal range. We’re a really interesting many-celled organism, the two of us. And terribly lucky to have found each other. We’ve got exactly the kind of marriage the anti-gay religious right says is needed for social stability, proving that they are full of slit. We’re both proud of that.”

Treece said, “Jeez, it sounds just like Greg and me. Except we haven’t been together for a thousand years. Just five.”

“Mazel tov. Together may you live to be a hundred.”

“Are you Jewish?” Treece said.

“No, I was raised Presbyterian. So maybe I should just say, ‘Oh, go ahead and have a second lump of sugar with your Earl Grey tea, boys.’”

“Yeah, well, I was raised Baptist,” Treece said, “and what the Baptists have in mind for me is a big lump of hellfire. Greg and I attend the Church of Christ in Lenox, which is open and affirming. That’s where we had our union. You know, I saw in the Eagle that Jim’s funeral will be in a Catholic church in Pittsfield. But Steven wasn’t mentioned at all. It looks like Jim’s family snatched him back from his world of sin and corruption. That must be terrible for Steven. Do you think that’s why he’s calling in the loans? Maybe being around Berkshire County is now so painful for Steven that he’s cutting his ties and just running away.”

I said, “Possibly. If so, I should ask him what his plans are.”

“So, you don’t think Barry Fields shot Jim?”

“No, I doubt it.”

“I’m glad to hear that. He’s tense, but a good guy, I’ve always thought. So, who the hell would want to shoot Jim? He was obnoxious but basically harmless. Steven’s saying it was Barry. But if it wasn’t, I wonder if Steven knows a lot more than he’s letting on.”

“Me too.”

I drove down to Sheffield, and there it was: a Realtor’s For Sale sign on Gaudios’s lawn. It felt precipitous and strange. Sturdivant had been dead for less than forty-eight hours, and Gaudios was not just cutting his ties, but erasing his past, remaking his life.

The crime-scene tape was gone now, as well as the cop cars and reporters, and in the soft late-summer sunlight the big house looked serene, even inviting. The Beemer convertible was parked in the driveway, and I pulled in behind it. A light breeze rattled a few leaves off the maples, which were already starting to turn. The lawn had been freshly mowed, probably at the suggestion of the real estate agent, who would surely want all the cosmetics to be just right to help compensate for any remaining bloodstains.

Knocking on the front door, where Sturdivant had been gunned down, would have felt not just disrespectful but creepy, so I walked around back. The pool and hot tub were deserted. I walked noisily up the back porch wooden steps – I didn’t want to startle anybody – and rapped energetically on the screen door. I could see into the kitchen, with its gleaming appliances and a fruit basket with a ribbon around it resting on a granite counter.

Gaudios soon appeared, in crisp slacks and a beige polo shirt bearing its manufacturer’s insignia, a small creature that might have been a toad but probably wasn’t. Gaudios did not look glad to see me.

“Oh, Donald, why do you keep tormenting me? What do you want this time? Haven’t you caused me enough heartache already? Really!”

“I’m here with condolences, Steven. I saw that you weren’t mentioned in Jim’s obituary. That stinks.”

He made no move to open the screen door, and said glumly, “Oh, that’s no problem, no problem at all.” He seemed about to add something and then thought better of it.

“So the funeral’s Monday?” I asked.

Gaudios’s face tightened. “Yes. It is. Now, thank you for your condolences, Donald, but I have a lot on my mind and a ton of stuff to do, none of it the least bit pleasant.”

“Will you be going to the funeral?”

At that, Gaudios suddenly trembled, burst into tears, and turned quickly away.

I opened the door, and when Gaudios did not object, I followed him to the kitchen table, where he slumped in a chair, still crying. I took a seat across from him and waited while he uncapped a prescription container, extracted a small white pill with a shaky hand, and popped it into his mouth.

“Would you like some water?” I said.

He shook his head no and gulped the pill down. He seemed well practiced at this.

I said, “So it looks like you’ve been shut out. That’s really rotten.”

He snuffled some more and said, “We buried What-Not today. Nell Craigy and two of the girls in the bridge club dug a hole ourselves and put him in it out behind the rhubarb.”

“Ah.” I wondered about the next owner’s cobbler. “Is his grave marked?”

“No.”

“But you seem to be planning to move.”

Gaudios nodded. “The house is on the market. I can’t live here without Jim. I just walk around the house all day looking for him. I can’t go near the front door, because I’m afraid I’ll find him there on the floor all over again, covered with blood. I can’t sleep because I keep waiting for him to come home, hoping he’s all right. I have to get out of here as soon as possible. I’ll go to our place in Palm Springs for now, for the time being…”

“So, you have a house in Palm Springs. That’s nice. Any others?”

“We have pieds-à-terre in New York and Paris. I’m selling them all, though. I may pick up something in Fort Lauderdale until I decide what to do.”

I said, “You and Jim did well financially, it seems. Are you retired, too?”

“Yes, for some years.”

“What did you do, Steven?”

Gaudios wiped his eyes with a cloth napkin. He said, “Consulting, for the most part.”

“What did you consult about?”

“Ha! You name it.”

“Like what? Mineral extraction? Dandruff control? Past-life regression therapy?”

Now he was looking impatient. “Mostly financial services,” Gaudios said and looked at his watch. “Oh, God, where has the day gone?”

“I know you’ve called in some personal loans,” I said. “Loans with acquaintances in this area.” He looked at me hard. “I’m trying to determine if any of the borrowers might have been involved in Jim’s murder.”

“That is absurd!”

“I have five names.” I rattled them off. “Were there others?”

“You are barking up the wrong tree, Donald. Yes, Jim and I lent money to a number of friends over the years as personal favors. But that has nothing to do with anything, I can assure you. I know you’re determined to get Barry Fields exonerated. But you won’t because you can’t, and you can’t because he is an angry young man who lost control and let his hatred spew out, and he killed Jim over… over nothing!”

“Why,” I asked, “did you and Jim hire me to investigate Fields? You both told me it was to keep your dear friend Bill Moore from making a terrible mistake by marrying Fields. But Moore doesn’t consider either of you dear friends. He thinks of your actions as outrageous butting in where you don’t belong.”

Gaudios considered this and reddened. I thought, Good grief, he may be about to say something truthful.

He said, “The thing was, Jim didn’t like Barry.”

“Uh huh.”

“He offended his mother.”

“His mother?”

“Jim’s mother and brother were at the Triplex one time seeing Star Wars: Episode III Revenge of the Sith. Anne Marie is hard of hearing, and Michael was telling her what the movie was about. Somebody complained about them talking, and Barry came in and told them to keep it down. He was extremely rude in the way he went about it, apparently. Anne Marie told him she couldn’t understand the movie without Michael explaining everything, and how was she supposed to enjoy the movie? Barry told them they were disturbing the other patrons, and he’d give them their money back and they’d have to leave. They thought that was unreasonable – they wanted to see how the story turned out – and they refused to go. Barry lost his famous temper, and he grabbed Michael by the arm, and Anne Marie swung her handbag at him. Somebody called nine-one-one on a cell phone and yelled that the police were on their way. Anne Marie and Michael were humiliated and furious, but not wanting to be in the middle of something that would end up in the Eagle, they left. Without even getting the refund they had coming, Anne Marie said.”

They disturbed people while watching Star Wars? So it wasn’t even The Seventh Seal.

I said, “Did Barry know the yackers were Jim’s mother and brother?”

“No, there’s was no point in telling him. Michael and Anne Marie wanted to let it go. They don’t like to make a fuss.”

“And that was the beginning of some grudge by Jim against Fields?”

“Well,” Gaudios said, “Barry was known to be some kind of weird character. He made up stories about his past – all that BS about Colorado – and he hung around with that annoying Bud Radziwill. Kennedy cousin, my ass! If Jackie O ever met Bud Radziwill, she’d have him arrested for impersonating a Radziwill.”

“Is that a crime in Massachusetts?”

“Now you look here,” Gaudios snapped. “I’ve had just about enough of your smart-ass meddling and insinuations and following me around! I’ve lived a life of law-abiding taste and elegance, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go back to seedy old Albany and leave us alone to worry about our own problems. Thorne Cornwallis is a man not to be trifled with, and if you get in his way in this, he’ll take you apart. Thorne is going to put Barry Fields in Walpole, where he belongs, and if you don’t watch your step, you’re liable to end up there, also. Now, I’ve got stuff to do, so please, Donald, take your ugly accusations and just get the frig out of here.”

I said, “I didn’t accuse you of anything, Steven. Should I have?”

He stood up, stalked to the door, and held it open for me. “Just please go!”

I went.