Death Under the Moonflower, page 10
“Do you mind telling me something about Beck, Doctor?”
Lack sighed and stared at the sharp crease in one of the knees of his trousers. “After that blunder of mine I owe you an explanation, Mr. Bounty. I have reason to know how anxious Beck has been for you to come here. During our first days in Las Palmas I had him make a survey of the community, in order that he might assist me in certain projects which—which came to naught. I wanted a social study but I have wondered at times if he didn’t misunderstand the term. He has since undertaken to advise me as to the acquaintances I should seek. First and foremost of these was yourself. And I may say, Mr. Bounty, that in this case I concurred with him without reservation. If you feel that a personal compliment is out of place, pray take that as one paid to a public official.” Lack’s smile was a constrained one but it was a smile. “So on your first visit I acted on an impulse and gave Beck an opportunity to meet you on an equal footing. In a way, I felt, it was his right. He knew I was sincere, yet you saw what happened. All he wanted was to make a lackey out of himself for you. That’s exactly what he shall do hereafter.”
“Well, Doctor, precisely what is his position?”
“Beck is my valet,” Lack stated emphatically. “Disregard that gesture of mine and treat him as such.”
“I imagine in this instance it’s particularly hard for both of you to keep your footing always in mind. You two must have grown up together.”
“Scarcely that. Beck has been with me fourteen years.”
“I understood him to say all his life.”
“Did he say that?” Lack’s manner became fluttery again. He took an ivory paper cutter from the drop-leaf table beside his chair and began to bend it back and forth. “Well, if that’s the way he wants to put it, all right.”
“I suppose he meant that when he came to you he shed his old skin and grew a new one.”
“Something like that.” Firmly Lack put down his plaything and folded his hands.
“How inquisitive would you consider me, Doctor, if I asked how much you pay Beck?”
“I don’t mind telling you that Beck shares everything I have.”
That rotund statement grew and grew in Bounty’s mind until it became all at once exceedingly vague. “You don’t pay him straight wages then?” he persisted.
“Wages? No.”
“Well, suppose he wants a new suit. Not to wear on duty necessarily. Just new duds. How does he go about getting them? Does he ask you for money or has he credit at the stores?”
“Beck doesn’t have to worry about clothes. We wear the same size, so I keep him supplied from my wardrobe. Well supplied. In fact, I buy many of my things with Beck in mind.”
“Suppose he wants a lollipop?”
Lack stared at him blankly. “A what?”
“A lollipop,” Bounty repeated innocently. “You know—something tasty, sugary, frivolous.”
“Beck and I don’t eat those things. Our digestion won’t permit it.”
On that “our digestion” Bounty had to nip off the end of a match. “I never see Beck around town, except occasionally when he’s driving you,” he said, pursuing his study of the workings of paternalism. “What company does he keep, do you know?”
“What company?”
“Yes, who are his friends here?”
Lack became remote. “I can’t say that I have found Hesperides a very friendly place, Mr. Bounty. Doctor Angelo is the only visitor who ever comes here. And our friendship dates back to other days.”
“If you don’t mind, Doctor, I was talking about Beck. Hasn’t he made any friends of his own? Christopher Hand, for instance.”
“Hand?” The name went up Lack’s nasal passages. “I don’t know what you can be thinking of, Mr. Bounty.”
“Beck knows Hand, doesn’t he?”
“May I ask if Hand is a friend of yours?”
“Not at all, Doctor. Let’s have the dirt.”
Lack frowned. “There isn’t any dirt. I was merely going to answer your question in the only way it can be answered. Beck knows Hand as an individual to whom I am not at home.”
“What have you got against Hand, Doctor?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing!” Lack said ill-humoredly. “As a matter of fact, I feel sorry for him. But that is no reason I should let myself be worn out by his visits. After my—my open house he took to calling almost every day. I know I have hurt his feelings but I saw I had to hold him at arm’s length. He calls me Doc. Is that enough?”
“Plenty. His father is a patient of yours, isn’t he?”
“I have examined Jacob Hand. At Mr. Norcott’s request. That is a professional relationship, not a social one. I wish someone would explain the distinction to young Hand.”
“Suppose Beck happened to like Hand, Doctor?”
“I don’t dislike him, Mr. Bounty, please understand that. If he would ever quit slapping me on the back I might even find a means of helping him make some adjustments. He is groping after immaterial things and he can’t take his eyes off the material.”
“I’m still talking about Beck, though. He and Hand—well, I’ll put it this way: both sort of gravitate about wealth. What if they found each other congenial and wanted to go out and make mud pies together?”
“I’m not sure I grasp your meaning. Beck is a free agent, of course. But he must be fifteen years older than Hand. His background is different. It’s ridiculous to think of any congeniality between them.”
“But just supposin’ that there were. What attitude would you take?”
Lack held his right hand in front of him and stared at it as he rubbed together the tips of the sensitive fingers. “I should have to ask Beck to put an end to it,” he said, “as promptly and painlessly as possible.”
That’s what Bounty thought. “Where does Beck spend his time when he’s off duty?” he inquired casually.
“Why”—the tiny diamond on the little finger flashed as Lack subjected his, left hand to the same scrutiny—“he is always with me.”
“Surely not always, Doctor. You must give him an afternoon or evening off now and then.”
“I took him with me to see a revival of The Life of Louis Pasteur not long ago.”
Bounty sighed. “Doesn’t he ever spend a week end down at the beaches? He looks more tanned than when I saw him last.”
“You must be mistaken. I hadn’t noticed it. But Beck wouldn’t have to go to the beach if he wanted to swim. I have a fine pool at the rear of my house. It’s dry, because I don’t swim. But if he were to take it into his head that he needed that form of exercise, he could fill it whenever he wished.”
“It strikes me Beck’s a very lucky man,” Bounty said, priming the other for more pointed questions.
A tiny smirk at one side of Lack’s mouth told how pleased he was. “Beck doesn’t have a care in the world,” he said. “Except myself. And he seems to bear up under that, don’t you think?”
“Oh, admirably. But still, Doctor, I’d like to seize on that statement that he’s with you all the time. Just how literally do you mean that? Take these last two days for example.”
“The last two days? All right.” Lack accepted it as a challenge apparently. “Saturday and Sunday. Beck has been out of sight or sound of me only twice. And then for no more than half an hour at a time.”
“I was thinking that someone had mentioned seeing him at the airport last night.”
“He was there, but for only a few moments. I sent him with my car to meet Doctor Cotillion. I had him return when I learned the plane was late. Oh, I see what gave you the idea that Beck and Christopher Hand were friends. When Beck called me about the plane he told me Hand was there with a car. I thought there was no need of both of them staying.”
“There seems to have been a misunderstanding about who was going to take charge of Doctor Cotillion.”
“Yes.” Lack’s manner grew hesitant, then he plunged ahead. “I expect you’re wondering why he is not a guest here. With Beck my only servant, I didn’t feel that I had the facilities. And there was a bit of awkwardness about the matter. I was taking it for granted that Mr. Norcott would see to his entertainment. But when I talked with him yesterday I saw that he thought it was up to me. So I made reservations for him at the Sutherland.”
Lack had side-stepped something here, Bounty thought, but he decided to leave that for further examination. “And when was the other time that Beck was separated from you, Doctor?”
“This morning. My paper wasn’t delivered and he went to get me one.”
“What about the time you spend in the hospital?”
“He never leaves my side. He is more than my assistant. He’s my right hand.”
“He assists you in the research you do here in your home?”
“I have done no research here,” Lack said bitterly. “My life in Hesperides has been a futile pottering, one round of caring for my animal needs.”
“Do you keep any poisons in your house, Doctor?”
“Poisons! No, I keep no poisons.” The milky suffusion was back in Lack’s eyes. “Is that what brought you here? To link my home with the death of that blood donor tonight?”
“How did you hear the news, Doctor?”
“Doctor Cotillion called to cancel the engagement we had at nine-thirty. He had volunteered to collaborate with me on tests of the man’s blood, to determine whether he still had immunity to streptococcus. He said you wanted as little publicity as possible. So I have been waiting for you to broach the subject. I didn’t think you would go at it in this way.”
“Don’t be too hard on me, Doctor. I’m no detective, as I was given to understand tonight. Did Cotillion say anything about the cause of death?”
“No, he had just arrived at the morgue. He promised to call me later.”
“Had you had any experience with this J. J. Hieronymus?”
“Experience? Why no.”
“He never visited you or communicated with you?”
“No.” Lack twisted the ring about his little finger. “Tell me, Sheriff—I suppose I had better address you as Sheriff now—do you actually put any credence in this talk of a plot to intimidate our blood donors?”
“What do you think, Doctor?”
“How should I know? Mr. Norcott spoke to me about it at the hospital this afternoon. It all seemed so vague, so fantastic, that I was inclined to dismiss it lightly.”
“And what did you think when Doctor Cotillion called?”
“Of my patient. This may be his death warrant. But you evaded my question.”
“I’ll answer it this way: I hear something crawling about on the floor and I can’t find it. It may be a conspiracy. It may be some perfectly harmless critter. But a man was bitten tonight with fatal results and it’s up to me to do some exploring. I came to get you to help me.”
“I’ll help you. Certainly I’ll help you.” Lack got to his feet and slipped his hands into his pockets. “But when you come and ask these questions about Beck—” He caught his breath. He turned on his heel, strode around the desk and stood looking at Bounty across the expanse of polished mahogany. “So that’s it, is it?” The rasp in his voice was a vicious one. “You came to trump up another charge against my man. While you pretended this was a friendly visit. I offered you my friendship once, Bounty, in all humbleness. You rejected it. Yet I was ready to give you another chance tonight. I see now you’re like everyone else in this Godforsaken country. You’re envious of me. You’re hitting at me where you can hurt me the most. But if you think I’m helpless, you’re mistaken. You don’t realize the legal forces I can bring against you.” He sat down. “Say what you have to say now. And be quick about it.”
Bounty lolled in his chair, telling himself that he had been right about this man. There were potentialities for cruelty in the set of that finely chiseled mouth and in the gleam of those mother-of-pearl eyes. At a memory he felt like crossing himself. Someone had quoted someone else as saying that anger brought out a resemblance between John Belton Lack and Peter B. Bounty….
“Lack, my friend,” he said easily, “let’s you and I take a drive out into the desert one of these days. Where we can’t see anything but each other and space. Each of us has rancor to get out of his system. I have, I know. When you introduced yourself to me I wasn’t at ease. I didn’t want to fawn on you like everybody else, so I suppose I acted churlish. I’m envious of you, if you wish. Because of some of those immaterial things you have. But tonight, when I found I had an excuse to come here, I jumped at the chance. I thought I could show my friendship by clearing your man right at the outset of this business. Before any more suspicion is turned on him and before things get out of my hands. Now—”
Both looked at the door as a light knock sounded. “Come in,” Lack called.
Beck entered, glancing quickly at Bounty before he looked at Lack, and said: “Doctor Angelo is downstairs, sir.”
“Bring him up.”
Beck seemed to have lost the power of movement and stood staring at Lack’s hands, which were folded on the desk.
“Bring Doctor Angelo up at once, Beck.” The flick in that voice sent the man posthaste out the door.
Lack frowned after him for several moments, then looked at Bounty and said evenly: “Mr. Bounty, I let myself be carried away just now. That happens so often that I have ceased asking people to forgive me. I am afraid you must accept my temper if you accept me. But I am always ready to acknowledge when I have been unfair. I was to you. You are doing your duty exactly as you should. I don’t like it, but then I dare say you don’t either.”
“Bygones are bygones, Doctor.”
Beck returned. “I am sorry to say, sir, that Doctor Angelo had left by the time I got downstairs.”
Lack crooked his neck and looked up at him from under sharply circumflex eyebrows. “What’s this, Beck?” he snapped.
“I thought I heard a car drive away as I was going down, sir. When I failed to find Doctor Angelo in the hall I looked outside. His car was neither in front nor in the drive.”
“He left no message?”
“No sir.”
“This sounds very odd, Beck. Get Doctor Angelo on the phone at the earliest possible moment.”
Heedless of decorum, Bounty slung a leg over the arm of his chair. He was becoming extremely curious about Angelo’s off-stage activities. “Wait a minute, Beck,” he drawled. “Did you tell Doctor Angelo I was here?”
“No sir.”
“My car’s out front. Did he ask if Doctor Lack had company?”
“No sir.”
“Can you hear the knocker from here, Beck?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, then …” Bounty turned to Lack. “Angelo hasn’t had time to get any place yet. I’d like to take this chance to ask Beck some questions.”
Lack stiffened. “Must we go over that again?”
“Trouble is, we haven’t been over it at all, Doctor.”
“Please, sir,” Beck interposed, going to the desk. “May I remind you that Mr. Bounty has been most considerate this evening? It is part of his duty to question me. By doing so before you he shows his respect for you and he gives me the benefit of your counsel. Please do not fail me, sir.”
Beck was smart, Bounty decided. Also, he was willing enough to admit, Beck seemed straightforward, although that tan gave the lie to some of the doctor’s statements about him.
Lack cleared his throat several times, loudly. “I hadn’t looked at things in just that light, Beck.” He spoke in a mollified tone. “But your interests are mine, of course. I shall always make them so. I must say, this is very fine, Beck. Very fine. I am really very happy to be of service to you.” A lump seemed to form in his throat and he reached for his handkerchief. “Sit down, won’t you?”
Beck stared for an instant at the salmon hair. “Thank you, sir,” he said with an effort. He brought a straight chair from against the wall and placed it at a corner of the desk. Bounty, watching closely, saw little white arcs appear at the tightly held corners of his mouth as he sat down and gripped his knees.
Something perverse had left the room. It was as if an electrical discharge had cleared the air or an unfelt breeze had cleaned it of particles of irritating dust. Bounty knew that the change emanated from Lack, who had crossed his legs and was leaning back and staring at the ceiling, like a contented man about to blow a smoke ring.
Bounty wondered if he were tossing up a handful of pepper as he said: “What I want, Beck, is a little history of yourself. Beginning last night about eight, say, and continuing up to the time you opened the door for me tonight. Feel equal to it?”
Lack lifted a hand. “Beck”—he spoke in a judicious tone—“I believe Mr. Bounty is justified in making that request. It is hard, I know, to have one’s privacy invaded but we mustn’t think of that. Give him an account of your actions, holding back nothing but making it as concise as possible. Are you comfortable there, Beck? We might move to other chairs.”
“Thank you, sir. I am very comfortable.” Beck folded his arms and looked directly at Bounty. Odd, the latter thought, how he seemed increasingly to assume faint reflections of Lack’s facial expressions. Their mouths were dissimilar but when Beck’s fuller, grosser lips met in that prim way you recognized Lack’s primness. Fourteen years of this close association and one man, the domi nant one, without a doubt would have left more than outward stamps of his personality on the other.
“At eight o’clock last night I served Doctor Lack his dinner as usual,” Beck stated. “At eight forty-five he excused me and I drove his car to the airport to meet the nine o’clock plane. Since the plane was late, I returned, arriving here at about nine-fifteen.”
“Let’s have the particulars of your stop at the airport,” Bounty said.
“I arrived at exactly nine, sir. Mr. Christopher Hand was waiting in his car. He got out as I did, greeted me and we entered the waiting room together. I looked at the bulletin board, saw that the Chicago plane was late and went to the telephone booth. I called Doctor Lack and received his order to return. I did so at once.”
