Conduct in Question

Chapter 36

Harry finally went home to his empty house. Every inch of him ached. He tossed his coat onto the hall chair. In the kitchen, he stood in front of the refrigerator and drank the rest of the orange juice from the container. With Laura gone, nothing seemed to matter much.

He switched on the television to catch the local news. A reporter stood at the corner of Danforth and Coxwell Avenues. The twirling lights on the cruisers and ambulance illuminated the street in garish reds and yellows. Frank’s throat had been slit. He could not have attacked Katharine. And Chin was in jail. Rosie was marked. So were Deirdre, Linda Lee and now, Katharine. Another hand had carved those grotesque petals. A wrathful god was on the loose.

Tony McKeown was everywhere. He represented the church in the rezoning application. He represented Katharine and Gerry in the will dispute. His client, whoever it was, had submitted an offer for Marjorie’s house. Yet nothing suggested a direct connection with Albert Chin.

Picking up the phone, he dialed Stephen’s home number. As the phone rang, his eyes drifted about the room. The upholstery on the chair, once so comfortable, was frayed. In the lamp’s light, he could see a layer of dust coating the coffee table. Suddenly the whole house seemed worn and shabby from years of neglect. The phone continued to ring. He wanted Stephen’s advice: something, anything about Tony.

He gazed out the window at the garden. Dark images of McKeown swooping downward like some mindless bird of prey came to him. At first, his face was friendly enough, but then shadows slipped across, so that only the eyes burned from the dark. Such dazzling eyes could paralyze a victim, he thought.

It was only a hunch. There was no proof of any kind, but Harry’s suspicions hardened. Tony was the killer. But he had nothing to go on.

He dialed Natasha. He yearned for the comfort of her soft and reasoned tones.

“You have reached…” Harry hung up. She was not in.

He knew he was on his own.

Tomorrow morning, he would pay a surprise visit to Tony’s office. With a growing sense of dread, he climbed the stairs to the silent rooms above. Without turning on the lights, he lay on the bed. Exhaustion swept over him, and instantly he fell into a deep sleep. At four in the morning, he sat up. Twisted in the covers, he fought to free himself.

At ten o’clock that morning, Harry arrived at Cheney, Arpin without an appointment. The reception area dazzled in the morning light. Beyond the expanse of glass, the lake glared brilliantly, hurting his eyes.

Striding toward the rosewood reception desk, he tried to push thoughts of the rusting fire escapes outside his own office windows to the back of his mind. Earlier he had debated the wisdom of simply appearing at Tony’s office. The man would either see him or not. Crawford had always extolled the virtues of surprise and rear-guard action.

Last night, Harry had imagined dragons and gargoyle-faced keepers at the gate, but the receptionist greeted him with a welcoming smile. How could such a hideous being as Tony exist in the midst of such normalcy?

“I’ll just see if he can squeeze you in, Mr. Jenkins.” In moments, Harry was whisked down corridors to McKeown’s office, which had a miniature reception room of its own.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Jenkins. Mr. McKeown will be with you shortly,” said the secretary. Harry sank into the sofa. The room was elegant and spacious, with dark paneling and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with yards of law texts. It had all the accoutrements of a highly successful law practice.

I have nothing with which to confront him, only a hunch. He will escape. He thought of leaving, but he had no excuse for such behavior.

Harry was fascinated by the photographs of African masks lining one wall. Some were rough-hewn and primitive. Others, with fine flowing lines, were ornately carved and decorated. Harry took out his reading glasses and peered more closely at one. It showed a bronze mask with tiny, agonized faces carved into its chin. Along the cheek and up to the forehead, the tiny faces grew more serene, as if they had been released from purgatory. Harry pocketed his glasses and resumed his seat.