“That’s still a pretty thin reason for jumping to the conclusion that the dead man is Haywood. Unless, of course, you expected to find him at the Tower?”
“I didn’t.”
“You didn’t go there looking for him?”
“No.”
“His presence was a complete surprise to you?”
“It was a surprise.”
“Even in these parts very few people have ever heard of the Tower, let alone know its location. What would a real estate agent from Chicote be doing there?”
“He was dressed as a convert. He wore the regulation robe and his head was shaved.”
Lassiter assumed an expression of exaggerated concern. “You found this body in a strange place, wearing strange clothes, head shaved and face battered to a pulp, and you
identified it positively as belonging to a man you’d seen only once?”
“Not positively. But if you’re a betting man, Sheriff, I’ll give you odds.”
“Officially, I’m not a betting man. Unofficially, what odds?”
“Ten to one.”
“Those are very good odds,” Lassiter said, nodding gravely. “Very good indeed. Makes me kind of wonder what you base them on. Is it possible you haven’t been entirely frank with me, Mr. Quinn?”
“I can’t be entirely frank about Haywood. I know very little about him.”
Someone knocked on the door and Lassiter went out into the corridor for a minute. When he came back his face was flushed and beaded heavily with sweat.
He said, “There was an item in this afternoon’s newspaper about a woman named Haywood. Did you see it?”
“No.”
“She escaped from Tecolote prison yesterday in a supply truck. Early this morning she was picked up wandering around the hills about fifteen miles north of Tecolote. She was suffering from shock and exposure and could give no explanation of her actions. Are the two Haywoods related, by any chance?”
“They’re brother and sister.”
“Now isn’t that interesting. Maybe Miss Haywood was also a friend of yours?”
“I saw her once,” Quinn said wearily. “Which happens to be the same number of times I saw her brother, which doesn’t make either of them exactly a pal of mine.”
“Have you any reason for believing the two Haywoods planned a rendezvous at the Tower?”
“No.”
“It seems a funny coincidence, though, doesn’t it? Haywood disappears, and a couple of days later his sister tries to. Were they pretty chummy?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“You’re a great disappointment to me, Mr. Quinn. I assumed that since you’re a licensed detective you’d be brimming with information which you would naturally pass on to me. But I expect it’s easier to get a license in Nevada than in California?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, maybe you’ll find out if you try to get one here,” Lassiter said. “Now about this woman you brought in, what’s her connection with Haywood?”
“I have no idea.”
“I presume she has a name other than Sister Blessing of the Salvation?”
“Mrs. Featherstone. Mary Alice Featherstone.”
“Any close relatives that you know of?”
“A son living in or near Chicago. His name may be Charlie.”
“Is that another of your hunches, Mr. Quinn?”
“Not one I’d care to lay odds on.”
Lassiter went back to the door and addressed someone standing in the corridor outside: “Send Sam over here with the lab car, will you, Bill? And get in touch with the Chicago police, see if they can locate a man called Featherstone, first name possibly Charlie, and tell him his mother’s dead. Somebody fed her enough arsenic to kill a horse.”
In spite of the heat in the room, Quinn had begun to shiver and his throat felt as though a hand had seized it. She was a nurse, he thought. Perhaps she knew right away that she’d been poisoned and who had done it, yet she made no attempt to accuse anyone, or to save her own life by taking an antidote.
He remembered the first night he had talked to her. She had stood in front of the stove rubbing her hands together as if she felt the chill of death in the air: “I am getting old . .. Some of the days are hard to face. My soul is at peace but my body rebels. It longs for some softness, some warmth, some sweetness. Mornings when I get out of bed my spirit feels a touch of heaven, but my feet—oh, the coldness of them, and the aches in my legs. Once in a Sears catalogue I saw a picture of a pair of slippers.... They were the most beautiful slippers I ever did see, but of course an indulgence of the flesh...”
“Come on, Quinn,” Lassiter said. “You’re about to take another trip to the Tower.”
“Why?”
“You seem to know your way around the place. You can act as our guide and interpreter.”
“I prefer not to.”
“I’m not offering you a preference. What’s the matter, feeling a little nervous? Something on your mind?”
“A pair of fuzzy pink slippers.”
“Sorry, we’re fresh out of fuzzy pink slippers. How about a nice cuddly Teddy bear instead?”
Quinn took a long deep breath. “ ‘Having trod the rough earth, my feet uncovered, I will walk the smooth and golden streets of heaven.’ ... I’d like to see Sister Blessing, if I may.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to see her later. She’s not going anywhere.” Lassiter’s mouth stretched in a mirthless smile. “You don’t like that kind of talk, eh, Quinn? Well, here’s my advice, learn to like it. In this business, if you start thinking too seriously about death, you end up cutting out paper dolls at the funny farm.”
“I’ll take that chance, Sheriff.”
Quinn rode in the back seat with Lassiter while a deputy in uniform drove the car. A second car followed, containing two more deputies and portable lab equipment.
It was four o’clock and still very warm. As soon as they were outside the city limits Lassiter took off his hat and coat and unbuttoned his shirt collar.
“How well did you know this Sister Blessing, Quinn?”
“I talked to her a couple of times.”
“Then how come you got all choked up at her death?”
“I liked her very much. She was a fine, intelligent woman.”
“Somebody evidently didn’t share your high opinion of her. Any idea who?”
Quinn looked out of the window, wishing there was a way he could tell the sheriff about O’Gorman’s murder without bringing in the letter to Martha O’Gorman. He had promised Martha never to mention it to anyone, but he was beginning to realize that his promise might be impossible to keep.
“I have reason to believe,” he said carefully, “that Sister Blessing was acting as the friend and confidante of a murderer.”
“Someone inside the colony?”
“Yes.”
“A stupid and reckless position for a woman you describe as intelligent.”
“In order to understand the situation, you have to understand more about the colony itself. It operates as a unit almost entirely separated from the rest of the country. The True Believers, as they call themselves, do not feel bound to obey our laws or follow our customs. When a man enters the Tower he sheds his other life completely, his name, his family, his worldly goods, and, last but not least, his sins. Under our system it’s illegal to harbor a murderer. But look at it from the viewpoint of the sect: the victim belonged to a world they no longer recognized, the crime is punishable under laws they don’t believe in or consider valid. In her own eyes Sister Blessing was not acting as an accessory after the fact of murder. Neither were the others, if they knew about the murder, and that’s a big if.”