Stranglehold. Part 19

I'm going to enjoy this, Duggan thought.

"Arthur," he said and sat down.

Danse nodded. "You still on duty or would you care for a whiskey?"

"No thanks."

He poured a gla.s.s for himself. Duggan doubted it was his first one. The hands were far too steady.

"You saw the paper, I guess," Danse said.

"Nope. Heard you made the records section, though."

"Here." He tossed a copy across the table.

Duggan just let it sit there.

"I know what's in it, Arthur. Besides, I'm not really much for the Union Leader. Are you?"

"Is that what you came to talk about?"

"The Union Leader?"

"No. This custody thing."

"Seems to me it's a good bit more than a custody thing, Art. But no, that's not why I stopped by. You know I was out to see your mom and dad the other day, had a kind of talk with them. Your dad looks awful tired, Art. How come he doesn't just retire?"

"He still likes the work, I suppose. They told me you were by. It's about this thing over on the Wingerter property, right?"

"Right. Pretty bad business, Art. Ugly."

"I heard."

"What'd you hear?"

Duggan watched him drink his scotch. Playing for time? Could be.

"That it was a murder. A girl from Plymouth State."

"That all you heard?"

"I heard she was raped."

"Oh, she was raped all right. And then some. I'd give you all the details but you know how it goes, we got to hold on to those best we can, eliminate the cranks. Mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead."

He lit a Newport Lite. Arthur opened a drawer and took out a clear gla.s.s ashtray and put it in front of him on the clean empty desk.

"Ruth tells me you were over there that night. That you came in pretty late and slept at the house. That correct?"

"Yes."

"You hear anything? See anything?"

"I was coming from a party here. Opening of that new office building over on Prospect. To tell you the truth, I got a little loaded. I doubt I'd have heard or seen anything if it jumped out and bit me."

Duggan clicked his tongue. "Drunk driving, Arthur? Shame on you."

"I shouldn't have been on the road, I admit."

"What time'd you arrive?"

"Oh, about one-thirty. Two o'clock."

"Alone?"

"Of course alone."

"Listen, Art. Tell me something. How come you went to your folks' place? I don't get it. Why not to your own?" Danse put down the drink.

"It's ... it's actually kind of embarra.s.sing. Since the divorce I get ... well, it gets sort of lonely sometimes."

"You? Really? That surprises me, Art. With all these people out there? With all these ladies out at the bar? d.a.m.n! I wouldn't think that at all."

Danse smiled slightly. "I suppose it would surprise you. But I've found it isn't smart to mix business with pleasure. I don't date the customers."

"Never?"

"Rarely. Very rarely."

"Too bad. Must be awful tempting, I mean. All those young pretty college kids. It'd sure tempt me. Listen, do you remember this Laura Banks? She used to come in here pretty often I understand."

"I don't remember that name at all."

"Maybe if I showed you her picture."

He dug in his jacket pocket for the snapshot they'd taken from her apartment. That and the other one. The after photo. He'd had the lab reduce it down to snapshot size. The face only. That was bad enough.

He made a point of not looking at them as he handed them over.

He saw Danse wince.

He didn't look like a guilty man.

He looked like any citizen would. Faced with that.

Could he maybe be wrong about this?

He took the "after" picture back from him.

"Sony," he said. "I don't know how that one got in there. Take a look at the other, though, will you?"

Danse appeared to study it.

"Maybe," he said. "She looks familiar. But she's not somebody I know, really. Did you try Jake? He's a whole lot better at faces than I am."

Duggan doubted that. "I will," he said. "One other thing, Art, and then I'll leave you to go back to your business."

He took back the second photo and then made a show of rooting through his pants pockets until he found a small piece of folded paper.

"These places mean anything to you?"

He read directly off the paper. Playing the dumb country cop with not much memory to speak of.

"Franklin, Conway, Munsonville, Tuftonboro. Mean anything?"

Danse looked puzzled. He shrugged.

"Towns. Towns in New Hamps.h.i.+re. I don't get it."

"You do any business there?"

"Near there, sometimes. I distribute to Wolfeboro, which is near Tuftonboro, and Keene, which is over by Munsonville. And there's one store in Conway. But my stuff's all over the state these days, everywhere there's tourists. I go all over. Up into Vermont. Why?"

"No reason." He turned to go. "Thanks for your help, Art."

"Whenever."

He stopped at the door and then turned back to him.

"How do you think it's gonna go, Art? Just between you and me now. I mean, you think you'll beat these charges?"

And he finally saw the coldness there like he wanted to see it, just beneath the thin veil of honest-businessman sincerity.

"I know you don't like me, Ralph," Danse said. "I'm sorry about that. But I didn't do this.. . this thing she says I did. My wife's a G.o.dd.a.m.n crazy woman. And that's the G.o.d's honest truth."

"I guess she was crazy when you smacked her around that time too then," he said.

"You won't believe this but yes, she was. If you'd heard what she said to me, if you'd seen the way she was acting, you'd probably have lost it and smacked her too."

Duggan smiled. "I kinda doubt that, Art," he said. "But I suppose you never know. There's always an edge. And always somebody ready to push you right on over."

Happily he found after a while that it was possible to dump Duggan's visit like the sack of s.h.i.+t it was and get some work done.

When he was ready to leave it was well past eleven and the room outside was still going strong. He didn't relish walking through it. The article in the paper was still on his mind. He could leave through his private entrance but that would be like admitting something.

To h.e.l.l with it. He'd run the gauntlet.

When he was halfway down the bar he was glad he did. Edward Wood was standing there drinking his usual Absolut martini with another, older man who Arthur wasn't able to recognize at first. Not until he was standing right next to him. And then he was shocked. The man was Tom Modine, another lawyer. The last time Arthur'd seen him here Modine had probably weighed a good two hundred and fifty pounds. Now it looked like he'd shed a hundred of it. The man had a wasted sickly yellow look. Cancer, he thought. Had to be.

His handshake, though, was still firm.

"It's good to see you, Arthur," he said. "Edward was just filling me in on your problems in the courts these days. I hope you won't feel he was talking out of school. You've got to trust your lawyer."

"Of course. And I do."

"Excellent." He drained the last of what looked like a whiskey soda and set the gla.s.s down on the bar.

"The fact is," he said, "that I really think things are going to work out for you. I honestly do."

"From your lips to G.o.d's ears, Tom."

He laughed. "Don't worry. You've got the best in the county. Thanks for the drink, Edward. I've got an early tee-off in the morning or I'd stick around and let you sell me on having another one."

"Next time," said Wood.

"Next time." Modine patted Arthur's shoulder. "Don't worry, Arthur," he said. "You'll be fine. See you soon."

"See you soon, Tom."

They watched him walk away.

"Sad," said Wood.

"Cancer?"

"Yes. He's in remission now but you can see what it's done to him."

"Too bad. Tom's a good guy."

"The best." He ordered another drink. "You didn't like my talking to him, though. Did you?"

Wood was nothing if not perceptive.

"Listen, I feel funny about anybody knowing about this. Jesus! What a thing to have people saying about you. And now with this d.a.m.n newspaper thing ..."

Wood held up his hand, smiling. "Guess who's part of Tom's foursome tomorrow, Art."

"Who?"

"The Honorable Thomas J. Burke, that's who. They play together all the time. Same club, very old friends. They went to law school together. And Tom's a big contributor to Burke's campaigns. You still think I did the wrong thing talking about your case?"

"You mean you think he'll talk to Burke?"

"I know he will."

"How? I don't get it. How can he do us any good?"