Then an idea struck him—maybe it was not brilliant either, but it would help fill the time until Andres came. And it would answer the question he had failed to ask Kate Redwing, back when he had thought his most serious problem was getting through lonely meals at the Eagle Lake clubhouse. He sat down and picked up the telephone—and nearly did start chewing on his fingernails, from sheer doubt of the rightness of what he intended to do. He thought of Esterhaz pulling on his bottle, seeing phantoms all around him, and of a real detective named Damrosch, who had killed himself, and dialed information and asked for a telephone number.
Without giving himself time to reconsider, he dialed the number.
“Hello,” said a voice that brought back an avenue of trees and the touch of cool water against his skin.
“Buzz, this is Tom Pasmore,” he said.
There was a moment of startled silence before Buzz said, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the papers. Or is this a very long distance call?”
“Someone else died in the fire, and I came back to the island with Lamont von Heilitz. But nobody else knows I’m alive, Buzz, and I want to ask you not to tell anybody. It’s important. Everybody will know in a couple of days, but until then—”
“I won’t tell anybody, if you want to stay dead. Well, I might tell Roddy—he felt as bad as I did. In fact, I can hardly believe I’m talking to you! I called your house to speak to your mother, but Bonaventure Milton answered, and I knew he wouldn’t let me say anything to her.…” Buzz inhaled and exhaled a couple of times. “Frankly, I’m reeling. I’m so glad you’re alive! Roddy and I saw the article in the paper, and it reminded us of those times you were nearly injured, and we wondered—you know—”
“Yes,” Tom said.
“My God. Whose body did they find, if it wasn’t yours?”
“It was Barbara Deane.”
“Oh, heavens. Of course. And you came back with Lamont? I didn’t even know that you knew him.”
“He knows everybody,” Tom said.
“Tom,” Buzz said. “You got our portrait back! I don’t know how you did it, but you were brilliant, and Roddy and I are forever in your debt. The Eagle Lake police called last night to say that it’s safe. Is there anything in the world I can do for you?”
“There is one thing. This is going to sound funny, and maybe you’ll think it isn’t any of my business.”
“Try me.”
“Kate Redwing mentioned something to me about your first job.”
“Ah.” Buzz was silent for a moment. “And you were curious about it—about what happened.”
“Yes,” Tom said.
“Did she say I was working with Boney Milton?”
“She just said it was an important doctor, and something reminded me of it a few minutes ago.”
Buzz hesitated again. “Well, I—” He laughed. “This is a little awkward for me. But I could tell you sort of the bare bones of the thing, I suppose, without violating anybody’s confidentiality. I used to take home Boney’s files at night, in order to catch up with the patient histories. I was a pediatrician, of course, so at first I just read the files of the kids I was seeing, but then later I started reading the files on their parents too, so I could have the whole family history in mind when I saw the kid. I had the idea that what happened to the parents played some kind of role in their kids’ lives—Boney didn’t think much of this idea, which is typical of him, by the way, but he didn’t mind much, and I was always tactful when I noticed that he had missed something, or goofed something up. Anyhow, one time I made a mistake, and brought home the file of one of the patients Boney kept for himself, and I thought I saw some classic indications of real trouble, if you see what I mean. Vaginal warts, vaginal bleeding, and a couple of other things that at the time should at least have called for further investigation and were probably an indicator for psychiatric counseling. Do you see what I’m talking about? This was in the woman’s childhood. Really it could only mean one thing. I can’t be more specific, Tom. Anyhow, I said something about it to Boney, and he hit the ceiling. I was out on my ear, and that’s why I don’t have any patients at Shady Mount.”
“Did you know a policeman named Damrosch?”
“You are digging into things, aren’t you? No, not really. I knew of him, and I would have recognized him if I’d seen him on the street. The period I’m talking about was around the time of those Blue Rose murders, though.”
“After the first one?”
“After the first two, I think. I was supposed to be the third, as I guess you know by now. Scarcely my favorite memory. Lamont must have told you about my connection to all that.”
Tom said that he had.
“Of course there’s no connection between my encounter with a maniac and Boney’s throwing me out of his practice—I’m still not convinced that Damrosch was the person who attacked me, but I can tell you one thing—I’m damn sure it wasn’t Boney!”
“No,” Tom said, though at this moment almost anything would have seemed possible to him.
They said good-bye a few seconds later. Tom jittered around the room, thinking about what Buzz had told him, and then could no longer stand the tension of being alone, and let himself out into the hallway and walked downstairs to the bar and grill. He drank two Cokes and stared out the window past the flashing neon scimitar. A battered red taxi slid up to the curb.
Tom ducked down in the back seat when Andres turned east on Calle Drosselmayer. “Now what?” Andres said. “You think some fellow is watching you?” He chugged coffee from a plastic cup with an opening in its lid and chuckled. “How do you come to think this fellow is watching?”
Tom slowly straightened up. They were a block east of the hotel. Two hundred yards ahead lay the glossy shops which had seemed a paradise of earthly things from Sarah Spence’s little car. “Did you see a man in sunglasses and a white shirt across the street from the hotel?”
“I might have seen that man,” Andres said. “I won’t say I didn’t.”
“Lamont saw him when we first came to the St. Alwyn. He’s been there ever since, just watching the front of the hotel.”
“Well, careful does no harm,” Andres admitted. “But there’s no sense in what we are doing now. Get me out of my bed, look for Lamont. When Lamont does not want to be seen, nobody on earth can find him. I know Lamont forty years, and I know that man can drive you crazy. He does not explain himself. This is true! He say, I will be here, and is he? Sometimes. He say, I will see you in two hours, and when does he come? Maybe two days. Does Lamont care, I get out of bed after sleeping two hours? He does not. Does Lamont care, you worry when he stays out? I assure you, my friend, he does not. This is Lamont. Lamont is always working, he goes here, he goes there, he stands in the rain twelve hours, and when he is done he says, ‘Very few men on Mill Walk are wearing purple socks.’ He has a different music in his head.”
“I know, but—”
Andres was not through yet.
“And now we are going to his house! Do you have a key? Do you think he left the door open? You cannot think a circle around Lamont, you know.”
“I’m not trying to out-think him, I just want to find him,” Tom said. “If you want to go back to bed, I’ll walk.”