“It’s disappeared,” I said.
He didn’t respond.
“The so-called private investigator you mentioned and various other people are keenly interested in it. You know that already. I believe you do.”
He remained silent, his eyes shut.
“You have no good reason to trust me, PJ, but I hope you’ll listen,” I went on in a low voice. “I’ve got to find that manuscript, the manuscript Beryl was working on while she was here. I think she didn’t take it back to Richmond with her when she left Key West. Can you help me?”
Opening his eyes, he peered over at me. “With all due respect, Dr. Scarpetta, saying I did know, why should I? Why should I break a promise?”
“Did you promise her you’d never tell where it is?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter, and I asked you first,” he answered.
Taking a deep breath, I looked down at the dirty gold shag carpet beneath my feet as I leaned forward on the couch.
“I know of no good reason for you to break a promise to a friend, PJ,” I said.
“Bullshit. You wouldn’t ask me if you didn’t know of a good reason.”
“Did Beryl tell you about him?” I asked.
“You mean the asshole hassling her?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. I knew about it.” He suddenly got up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a beer.”
“Please,” I said, believing it was important I accept his hospitality despite my better judgment. I was still woozy from the rum.
Returning from the kitchen, he handed me a sweating bottle of ice-cold Corona, a wedge of lime floating in the long neck. It tasted wonderful.
PJ sat down and began talking again. “Straw, I mean Beryl, I guess I may as well call her Beryl, was scared shitless. To be honest, when I heard about what happened, I wasn’t really surprised. I mean, it freaked me. But I wasn’t really surprised. I told her to stay here. I told her to screw the rent, that she could stay. Walt and me, well, I guess it was funny, but it got to where she was sort of like our sister. The fuckhead screwed me, too.”
“I beg your pardon?” I asked, startled by his sudden anger.
“That’s when Walt left. It was after we heard about it. I don’t know. He changed, Walt did. I can’t say that what happened to her was the only reason. We had our problems. But it did something to him. He got distant and wouldn’t talk anymore. Then, one morning, he left. He just left.”
“This was when? Several weeks ago, when you found out from the police, when they came to Louie’s?”
He nodded.
“It’s screwed me, too, PJ,” I said. “It’s totally screwed me, too.”
“What do you mean? How the hell’s it screwed you, other than causing you a lot of trouble?”
“I’m living Beryl’s nightmare.” I was barely able to say it.
He took a swallow of beer, his eyes intense on me.
“Right now I suppose I’m running, too–for the same reason she was.”
“Man, you’re making my brain bleed,” he said, shaking his head. “What are you talking about?”
“Did you see the photograph on the front page of this morning’s Herald!”
I asked. “A photograph of a police car burning in Richmond.”
“Yeah,” he said, puzzled. “I sort of remember it.”
“That was in front of my house, PJ. The detective was inside my living room talking to me when his car was torched. It’s not the first thing that’s happened. You see, he’s after me, too.”
“Who is, for Christ’s sake?” he asked, even though I could tell he knew.
“The man who murdered Beryl,” I said with great difficulty. “The man who then butchered Beryl’s mentor, Gary Harper, whom you may have heard her mention.”
“Lots of times. Shit. I’m not believing this.”
“Please help me, PJ.”
“I don’t know how I can.” He became so upset he jumped out of the chair and started pacing. “Why would the pig come after you?”
“He suffers delusional jealousy. He’s obsessive. He’s a paranoid schizophrenic. He seems to hate anyone connected with Beryl. I don’t know why, PJ. But I have to find out who he is. I have to find him,” I said.