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

Chapter Six

“I’m Bill Moore. I need your help. You know who I am.”

“Yes, I do know who you are.”

The phone had rung not ten minutes after I had hung up with Preston Morley. In those ten minutes, I had found the Berkshire Eagle’s Web site, where a brief story had already been posted on the murder of James Sturdivant of Sheffield, a village south of Great Barrington. Sturdivant had been shot dead in his home at around nine o’clock the night before. His partner, Steven Gaudios, was not home at the time, but Sturdivant’s wire-haired terrier had apparently tried to protect his master, and he also was gunned down. Police had a suspect in the shooting, the Eagle reported, and he was being sought for questioning.

Moore said, “The police think Barry shot Sturdivant. They think this because of the fight at Guido’s yesterday. Are you aware of that incident?”

I said I was.

“But Barry did not shoot Sturdivant.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know why I’m calling you? Bud Radziwill suggested you were a decent human being who knew what you were doing. I double-checked. The reports I received were ambiguous about the know-what-you’re doing part, and not everyone in Albany thinks of you as decent. But overall you come well recommended. So I’d like to hire you.”

“To do what, Bill?”

“To clear Barry.”

“Uh huh.”

“Will you do it?”

“Won’t the facts clear him? Doesn’t he have an alibi?”

A pause. “Not exactly. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are Barry’s nights off at the theater, where he would normally be working at the time the shooting is believed to have happened, around nine. Instead, he was alone at our house. I was working late on a job in Springfield. But Barry was home when I arrived just after eleven.”

“Watching a movie on TMC?”

This reference to the circumstances surrounding Tom Weed’s sad demise was probably unfair, and Moore swallowed hard. “Of course. That’s what Barry does at night. He has ADD, and he’s not much of a reader. And he loves old movies. He was watching television when I got home, and he had not left the house all evening.”

“Did you ask him what movie he’d watched on TMC? Have the police asked him?”

Moore breathed hard. “Well, here’s the thing. The thing is, Barry has disappeared. The police are looking for him.”

“Where did he go?”

“I just said he disappeared.”

“Yeah, I heard you, Bill. But you are the man Barry is planning to marry later this month. I’ll bet you a dollar to a donut that he told his fiancé – that would be you – where he could be reached.”

“Well, he didn’t. And it’s driving me crazy. I’m worried sick.”

What a crock. “If that’s your story.”

“So will you help clear Barry?”

“Sure.”

“You will?”

“Yes.”

“Based on what I’ve heard about you, I thought you would. You might even say you owe it to Barry. In a very real sense, you precipitated – you and the toads, that is – you all precipitated the events that led to Barry being considered a suspect. I think you must know you bear at least partial responsibility for this entire goddamn mess.”

“I can see where somebody might look at it that way. I guess I should be grateful Barry didn’t shoot me.”

“Barry didn’t shoot anybody.”

“He does have a temper, though. I’ve seen it.”

“Yes, well, he comes by it honestly.”

I was going to ask Moore what he meant by that, but he said the police were at his door and he had to go. We quickly made a plan to meet in Great Barrington at two, and then I phoned Timmy.

“I’m headed back to the Berkshires. Jim Sturdivant, one of the toads I told you about, has been shot dead. Barry Fields, one of the suspicious characters I was checking out for Sturdivant, is the chief suspect. He assaulted Sturdivant earlier in the day and threatened to get rid of him. Fields made similar threats in my presence Tuesday night. Now I’ve been hired by Fields’ boyfriend to clear him of the murder.”

“Oh, that’s awful. Good luck, Donald. But how do you know Fields didn’t do it?”

“I don’t know that. But if I find out he did do it, I’ll turn his ass over to the police and sue his boyfriend for my large fee in the event he should refuse to pay it.”

“Well, that certainly sounds like truth, justice and the American way.”

“I appreciate that I’m a little tetchy about all this. I’m not sure how much of it I set in motion by letting myself be used so shabbily by the toads.”

“I wondered if you might be feeling that way. But as soon as you got the picture of what the toads were probably really doing, you backed off. You’re clean, Don. Anyway, that must be why the boyfriend hired you. He sees you as potentially more friend than foe.”

“Yes, or he sees me as an annoying troublemaker who might be turned into a useful troublemaker. I’m not sure what any of these people are up to. There remains the mystery of Fields’ and Bud Radziwill’s origins. Who were – or who are – these guys anyway? Plus, Fields has now disappeared.”

“He ran away? That looks bad, no?”

“I’m sure the police have an opinion. The boyfriend, Bill Moore, claims not to know where Fields is. It’s going to be hard to clear the guy unless I can find him. So I may be spending a lot of time in Great Barrington over the next days. Or elsewhere.”

“Just don’t you get shot, okay? Or arrested. I don’t know about the cops over there, but I’ve heard the Berkshire County DA is a hard case, inflexible and mean. Don’t get caught in his gun sights if you can avoid it. Metaphorically speaking, is what I think I mean.”

“Timothy, I always think of the Berkshires as so benign. All those pretty fields and hills, and Verdi and James Taylor, and Mark Morris swooping around waving his love handles. I’ve always loved the place. I hope I don’t come back from Massachusetts disillusioned.”

“Yeah, or with your ass in a sling.”

“Or my head on a platter.”

“Or your nose out of joint.”

“Or my testicles undescended.”

“I’d help you find them.”

“You always do.”

Being on the phone with Timmy Callahan always cheered me up. But the good cheer didn’t last, as was to be expected.