p&c.brimstone-第26节

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　〃SergeantD'Agosta？　No　longer　NYPD？〃　
　〃Southampton　P。D。　You　know；　as　in　Long　Island。　I'm　the　FBI　liaison　on　the　Grove　case。〃　
　He　looked　up　to　find　her　hand　out。　He　took　it；　gave　it　a　desultory　shake。　The　hand　was　warm；　a　little　damp。　It　gave　D'Agosta　a　secret　satisfaction　to　note　she　wasn't　quite　as　cool　as　she　seemed。　
　〃Glad　to　be　working　with　you　again。〃　The　voice　was　crisp；　devoid　of　morbid　curiosity。　D'Agosta　felt　relieved。　There　would　be　no　chitchat；　no　prying　questions。　Totally　professional。　
　〃I；　for　one；　am　happy　to　see　the　case　in　such　capable　hands；〃　Pendergast　said。　
　〃Thank　you。〃　
　〃You　always　struck　me　as　an　officer　who　could　be　relied　on　to　conduct　a　vigorous　investigation。〃　
　〃Thanks　again。　And　if　I　can　be　frank；　you　always　struck　me　as　somebody　who　never　worried　much　about　the　chain　of　mand　or　who　let　the　formalities　of　standard　police　procedure　get　in　your　way。〃　
　If　Pendergast　was　surprised　by　this；　he　gave　no　sign。　〃True。〃　
　〃Well　then；　let's　get　this　chain　of　mand　clear　at　the　outset…shall　we？〃　
　〃Excellent　idea。〃　
　〃This　ismy　case。　Bench　warrants；　subpoenas；　whatever　must　be　cleared　through　my　office　first；　unless　we're　dealing　with　an　emergency。　Any　munication　with　the　press　will　be　coordinated　through　my　office。　Perhaps　that's　not　how　you　operate；　but　that's　howI　operate。〃　
　Pendergast　nodded。　〃Understood。〃　
　〃People　talk　about　how　the　FBI　sometimes　has　trouble　getting　along　with　local　law　enforcement。　That's　not　going　to　happen　here。　For　one　thing；　we're　not　'local　law　enforcement。'　We're　the　New　York　Police　Department；　Homicide　Division。　We　will　work　with　the　Federal　Bureau　of　Investigation　as　full　equals　and　in　no　other　way。〃　
　〃Certainly；　Captain。〃　
　〃We　will；　naturally；　return　the　courtesy。〃　
　〃I　should　expect　no　less。〃　
　〃I　do　things　by　the　book；　even　when　the　book　is　stupid。　You　know　why？　That's　how　we　get　the　conviction。　Any　funny　business　at　all；　and　a　New　York　jury　will　acquit。〃　
　〃True；　very　true；〃　Pendergast　said。　
　〃Tomorrow　morning；　8A。M。　sharp；　and　every　Tuesday　thereafter　for　the　duration　of　the　case；　we'll　be　meeting　at　One　Police　Plaza；　seventeenth…floor　situation　room；　you；　me；　and　Lieutenant…I　mean　Sergeant…D'Agosta。　All　cards　on　the　table。〃　
　〃EightA。M。　；〃　Pendergast　repeated。　
　〃Coffee　and　Danish　on　us。〃　
　A　look　of　distaste　settled　on　Pendergast's　features。　〃I　shall　have　already　breakfasted；　thank　you。〃　
　Hayward　looked　at　her　watch。　〃How　much　more　time　do　you　gentlemen　need？〃　
　〃I　believe　five　more　minutes　should　do　it；〃　said　Pendergast。　〃Any　information　you　can　share　with　us　now？〃　
　〃An　elderly　woman　in　the　apartment　below　was　the　witness；　or　as　close　as　we　have　to　a　witness。　The　murder　occurred　shortly　after　eleven。　She　seems　to　have　heard　the　deceased　having　convulsions　and　screaming。　She　assumed　he　was　having　a　party。〃　A　dry　smile　flickered　across　her　face。　〃It　grew　quiet。　And　then；　at　11：22；　a　substance　began　leaking　through　her　ceiling：　melted　adipose　tissue　from　the　deceased。〃　
　Melted　adipose　tissue。D'Agosta　began　to　write　this　down；　then　stopped。　It　didn't　seem　likely　he'd　forget　it。　
　〃About　the　same　time；　the　smoke　alarms　and　sprinklers　went　off…that　would　be　at　11：24　and　11：25　respectively。　Maintenance　went　up　to　check；　found　the　door　locked；　no　answer；　and　a　foul　smell　emanating　from　the　apartment。　They　opened　the　door　with　a　master　key　at　11：29　and　found　the　deceased　as　you　see　him　now。　The　temperature　in　the　apartment　was　almost　one　hundred　degrees　when　we　arrived；　fifteen　minutes　later。〃　
　D'Agosta　exchanged　a　glance　with　Pendergast。　〃Tell　me　about　the　adjacent　neighbors。〃　
　〃The　man　above　heard　nothing　until　the　alarms　went　off　but　plained　of　a　bad　smell。　There　are　only　two　apartments　on　this　floor：　the　other　one　has　been　purchased　but　is　still　empty。　The　new　owner　is　an　Englishman；　a　Mr。　Aspern。〃　She　pulled　a　pad　from　her　breast　pocket；　scribbled　something　on　it；　and　handed　it　to　Pendergast。　〃Here　are　their　names。　Aspern　is　currently　in　England。　Mr。　Roland　Beard　is　in　the　apartment　above；　and　Letitia　Dallbridge　is　in　the　apartment　below。　Do　you　wish　to　interview　either　of　them　now？〃　
　〃Not　necessary。〃　Pendergast　glanced　at　her；　then　looked　at　the　burn　mark　on　the　wall。　
　Hayward　's　lip　curled；　whether　in　amusement　or　something　else　D'Agosta　wasn't　sure。　〃You　noticed　it；　I　see。〃　
　〃I　did。　Any　thoughts？〃　
　〃Wasn't　it　you；　Mr。　Pendergast；　who　once　cautioned　me　against　forming　premature　hypotheses？〃　
　Pendergast　returned　the　smile。　〃You　learned　well。〃　
　〃I　learned　from　a　master。〃　She　looked　at　D'Agosta　as　she　spoke。　
　There　was　a　brief　silence。　
　〃I'll　leave　you　to　it；　gentlemen。〃　She　nodded　to　her　men；　who　followed　her　out　the　door。　
　Pendergast　turned　to　D'Agosta。　〃It　seems　our　Laura　Hayward　has　grown　up；　don't　you　think？〃　
　D'Agosta　simply　nodded。　
　　　
　22　
　
　Bryce　Harriman　stood　on　the　corner　of　Fifth　Avenue　and　67thStreet；　staring　up　at　one　of　those　anonymous　white…brick　high…rises　that　infested　the　Upper　East　Side。　It　was　a　gray　Tuesday　afternoon；　and　Harriman　had　the　dull　ache　of　an　old　hangover　pulsing　somewhere　behind　his　eyeballs。　His　editor；　Ritts；　had　chewed　him　out　for　not　covering　the　story　the　night　before。　Well；　he　wasn't　on　call；　like　a　doctor；　was　he？　He　sure　as　hell　wasn't　being　paid　enough　to　go　out　sniffing　up　copy　at　three　o'clock　in　the　morning。　And　besides；　he'd　been　in　no　condition　to　cover　a　murder。　It　was　all　he　could　do　to　find　his　way　home　on　the　subway。　
　He　thought　there　might　be　some　stragglers；　but　what　he'd　found　instead　was　a　crowd；　generated　by　morning　television　news　and　the　Internet。　Here　it　was；　past　two　in　the　afternoon；　but　at　least　a　hundred　people　had　converged　on　the　block…rubberneckers；　Goths；　white　witches；　East　Village　weirdos；　even　a　few　Hare　Krishnas；　which　he　hadn't　seen　in　New　York　in　at　least　half　a　dozen　years。　Didn't　any　of　these　people　have　jobs？　To　his　right；　a　bunch　of　satanists　wearing　what　looked　like　medieval　robes　were　drawing　pentagrams　on　the　sidewalk　and　chanting。　To　his　left；　a　group　of　nuns　were　praying　on　their　rosaries。　A　bunch　of　teenyboppers　were　holding　a　vigil；　candles　burning　despite　the　time　of　day；　singing　to　the　acpaniment　of　a　strummed　guitar。　It　was　unbelievable；　something　out　of　a　Fellini　film。　
　As　he　looked　around；　Harriman　felt　a　swelling　of　excitement。　He'd　scored　a　mild　success　the　week　before　with　his　piece　about　the　Grove　murder。　Yet　there　had　been　little　evidence　to　go　on；　and　his　story　had　been　long　on　lurid　speculation。　But　now　he　was　here　on　the　heels　of　a　second　murder…a　murder　that；　from　the　whispered　rumors　that　surged　through　the　crowd　like　electricity；　was　even　worse。　Maybe　his　editor　was　right。　Maybe　he　should　have　been　here　in　the　wee　hours　of　the　morning；　despite　all　the　single…malt　Scotch　he　had　unwisely　imbibed　at　the　Algonquin　with　his　buddies　the　night　before。　
　Another　thought　occurred　to　Harriman。　This　was　his　chance　to　stick　it　to　his　old　nemesis　Bill　Smithback；　busy　dipping　his　wick　on　his　honeymoon。　Angkor　Wat；　of　all　places。　Smithback；　that　bastard；　who　now　had　his　old　spot　at　theTimes　…not　through　brilliant　journalism；　or　even　just　plain　old　pavement…pounding；　but　through　sheer　dumb　luck。　He'd　happened　to　be　at　the　right　place　at　the　right　time；　not　once；　but　several　times：　during　the　subway　murders　a　couple　years　back；　and　then　again　just　last　fall；　with　the　Surgeon　murders。　That　last　was　particularly　bitter：　Harriman　owned　the　story…he'd　already　beaten　Smithback　to　the　punch…but　then　that　stupid　police　captain；　Custer；　had　stuffed　him　with　false　leads　。　。　。　
　It　wasn't　fair。　It　was　Harriman's　connections　that　had　gotten　him　the　job　at　theTimes　；　that　and　his　distinguished　last　name。　Harriman　was　the　one…with　his　carefully　pressed　Brooks　Brothers　suits　and　his　repp　ties…who　belonged　in　the　rarefied　and　elevated　atmosphere　of　theTimes　。　Not　rumpled；　slovenly　Smithback；　who　had　been　quite　at　home　among　the　bottom…feeders　at　thePost　。　。　。　
　Water　under　the　bridge。　Now　this　was　hot　and　Smithback　was　ten　thousand　miles　away。　If　the　killings　went　on…and　Harriman　fervently　hoped　they　would…the　story　would　only　get　bigger。　There　might　be　television　opportunities；　magazine　articles；　a　big　book　contract。　Maybe　even　a　Pulitzer。　With　any　luck；　theTimes　would　be　only　too　happy　to　get　him　back。　
　He　was　jostled　by　an　old　man　in　a　wizard　costume；　gave　a　hard　shove　back。　There　was　an　almost　hysterical　frenzy　to　the　crowd　Harriman　had　never　seen　before；　a　potentially　dangerous　mixture　if　you　stopped　to　think　about　it：　volatile；　like　a　tinderbox。　
　There　was　a　sudden　noise　off　to　one　side；　and　Harriman　looked　over。　Some　Elvis　impersonator　in　gold　lamé…a　halfway…decent…looking　one；　for　a　change…was　blaring　〃Burning　Love〃　with　the　aid　of　a　portable　karaoke　machine：　
　〃I　feel　my　temperature　rising。〃　
　The　crowd　was　growing　noisier；　more　restless。　Now　and　then　Harriman　could　hear　the　distant　shriek　of　a　police　siren。　
　〃Lord　Almighty；　I'm　burning　a　hole　where　I　lay。〃　
　He　had　his　tape　recorder　ready；　he　could　pick　up　some　color　to　add　to　what　he　already　had　on　the　murder　itself。　He　looked　around。　There　was　a　guy　at　his　elbow；　in　leather　boots　and　a　Stetson；　carrying　a　crystal　wand