was following me.
He waited for me to sit on the leather sofa, unbuttoned his jacket,
then sank into an armchair. His belly bulged over his belt, straining
the white broadcloth of his button-down shirt. The rest of him was
broad and hard. His neck flesh was cherry-blossom pink and swelled
over his collar. A carotid pulse plinked through, steady and rapid.
I heard Milo messing in the kitchen.
Huenengarth said, “Nice place. Any view?”
It was the first time I’d heard his voice. Midwest inflections,
medium-pitched, on the reedy side. On the phone it would conjure a
much smaller man.
I didn’t answer.
He put a hand on each knee and looked around the room some more.
More kitchen noise.
He turned toward it and said, “Far as I’m concerned, people’s personal
lives are their own business. As long as what he is doesn’t get in the
way of the job, I could care less. Matter of fact, I can help him.”
“Great. You want to tell me who you are?”
“Sturgis claims you know how to keep a secret. Few people do.”
“Especially in Washington?”
Blank stare.
“Or is it Norfolk, Virginia?”
He pursed his lips and turned his mouth into a peeved little blossom.
The mustache above it was little more than a mouse-colored stain. His
ears were close-set, lobeless, and pulled down into his bull neck.
Despite the season, the gray suit was a heavy worsted. Cuffed pants,
black oxfords that had been resoled, blue pen in his breast pocket. He
was sweating just below the hairline.
“You’ve been trying to follow me,” he said. “But you really have no
idea what’s going on.”
“Funny, I felt followed.”
He shook his head. Gave a stern look. As if he were the teacher and
I’d guessed wrong.
“So educate me,” I said.
“I need a pledge of total” About what?”
Anything I tell you.”
“That’s pretty broad.”
“That’s what I need.”
“Does it have to do with Cassie Jones?”
The fingers on his knees began drumming. “Not directly.”
“But indirectly.”
He didn’t answer.
I said, “You want a pledge from me, but you won’t give an in’ You’ve
got to work for the government.
Silence. He examined the pattern of my Persian rug.
“If it compromises Cassie,” I said, “I can’t pledge anything.
“You’re wrong,” he said, and gave another headshake. “If you really
cared about her, you wouldn’t obstruct me.”
“Why’s that?”
“I can help her too.”
“You’re a pretty helpful guy, aren’t you?”
He shrugged.
“If you’re able to stop the abuse, why haven’t you?”
He ceased drumming and touched one index finger to the other.
“I didn’t say I was omniscient. But I can be useful. You haven’t made
much progress so far, have you?”
Before I could answer, he was up and headed for the kitchen. He
returned with Milo, who was carrying three cups of coffee.
Taking one for himself, Milo put the remaining two on the coffee table
and settled on the other end of the sofa. Our eyes met. He gave a
small nod. Trace of apology.
Huenengarth sat back down, in a different chair from the one he’d just
gotten out of Neither he nor I touched our coffee.
Milo said, “Skoal,” and drank.
“Now what?” I said.
“Yeah,” said Milo. “He’s low on charm, but maybe he can do what he
says he can.” Huenengarth turned toward him and glared.
Milo sipped, crossed his legs.
I said, “You’re here of your own free will, huh?”
Milo said, “Well, everything’s relative.” To Huenengarth: “Stop
playing Junior G-man and give the man some data.”
Huenengarth glared some more. Turned to me. Looked at his coffee
cup.
Touched his mustache.
“This theory you have,” he told me, “about Charles Jones and George
Plumb destroying the hospital-who’ve you discussed it with so far?”
“It’s nor my theory. The entire staff thinks the administration’s
screwing the place over.”
“The entire staff hasn’t taken it as far as you have. Who’ve you
talked to besides Louis B. Cestare?”
I hid my surprise and my fear. “Lou’s not involved in this.”
Huenengarth half-smiled. “Unfortunately, he is, Doctor. A man in his
position, all those links to the financial world-he could have turned