words he spoke. “Pound sand, mister. I lost a very good friend tonight.
Twenty minutes ago I spoke with his wife. I don’t give explanations under
those conditions. That’s where my employers and me part company. Now, shut
up and III write out the hours of contact and give you the emergency
telephone numbers. If you don1 want them, get the hell out of here.”
Greenberg lifted the briefcase onto a small table and opened it. Sam
Kressel, stunned, approached the agent silently.
Matlock stared at the worn leather briefcase, only hours ago chained to the
wrist of a dead man. He knew the deadly pavanne had begun. The first steps
of the dance had been taken violently.
There were decisions to make, people to confront.
6
The implausible name below the doorbell on the twofamily faculty house read:
Mr. and Mrs. Archer Beeson. Matlock had elicited the dinner invitation
easily. History instructor Beeson had been flattered by his interest in
coordinating a seminar between two of their courses. Beeson would have been
flattered if a faculty member of Matlocles attainments had asked him how his
wife was in bed (and most wondered). And since Matlock was very clearly
male, Archer Beeson felt that “drinks and din” with his wife wriggling
around in a short skirt might help cement a relationship with the highly
regarded professor of English literature.
Matlock heard the breathless shout from the secondfloor landing. “Just a
seel”
It was Beeson~s wife, and her broad accent, overcultivated at Miss Portees
and Finch, sounded caricatured. Matlock pictured the girl racing around
checking the plates of cheese and dip-very unusual cheese and dip,
conversation pieces, really~while her husband put the final touches on the
visual aspects of his bookcases-perhaps several obscure tomes carelessly,
carefully, placed on tables, impossible for a visitor to miss.
THE mATLocK PAPEM &L
Matlock wondered if these two were also secreting small tablets of lysergic
acid or capsules of methedrine.
The door opened and Beeson’s petite wife, dressed in the expected short
skirt and translucent silk blouse that loosely covered her large breasts,
smiled ingenuously.
“Hil I’m Ginny Beeson. We met at several, mad cocktail parties. I’m so glad
you could come. Archies justfinishing a paper. Come on up.” She preceded
Matlock up the stairs, hardly giving him a chance to acknowledge. “These
stairs are horrendoust Oh, well, the price of starting at the bottom.”
Tm sure it won~t be for long,” said Matlock.
“Mat’s what Archie keeps saying. He’d better be right or III have muscles
all over my legst”
“I’m sure he is,” said Matlock, looking at the soft, unmuscular, large
expanse of legs in front of him.
Inside the Beeson apartment, the cheese and dip were prominently displayed
on an odd-shaped coffee table, and the anticipated showcase volume was one
of Matlocles own. It was titled Interpolations in Richard II and it resided
on a table underneath a fringed lamp. Impossible for a visitor to miss.
The minute Ginny closed the door, Archie burst into the small living room
from what Matlock presumed was Beesor~s study-also small. He carried a
sheaf of papers in his left hand; his right was extended.
“Good-ohl Glad you could make it, old mant … Sit, sit. Drinks are due and
overduel Godl I’m flaked out for onel … just spent three bours reading
twenty versions of the Thirty Years’ Warl”
“It happens. Yesterday I got a theme on Volpone with the strangest ending
I ever heard of. Turned out
62 Robert Ludlum,
the kid never read it but saw the film in Hartford.7
‘With a new ending?”
Totally.-
‘Godl Thafs marvyl” injected Ginny sernihysterically. “What’s your drink
preference, Jim? I may call you Jim, mayn1 1, Doctor?”
“Bourbon and a touch of water, and you certainly better, Ginny. I’ve never
gotten used to the ‘doctor.’ My father calls it fraud. Doctors carry
stethoscopes, not books.” Matlock sat in an easy chair covered with an
Indian serape.
“Speaking of doctors, Im working on my dissertation now. That and two more
hectic surnmers’ll do the trick.” Beeson took the ice bucket from his wife
and walked to a long table underneath a window where bottles and glasses
were carelessly arranged.
“It’s worth it,” said Ginny Beeson emphatically. ‘Isn~t it worth it,
Jim?-
“Almost essential. It’ll pay offi”
“Ilat and publishing.” Ginny Beeson picked up the cheese and crackers and
carried them to Matlock. “rhis is an interesting little Irish fromage.
Would you believe, it’s called ‘Blarney? Found it in a little shop in New
York two weeks ago.”
“Looks great. Never heard of it.”
“Speaking of publishing. I picked up your Interpolations book the other
day. Damned fascinatingf Reallyl”
“Lord, I’ve almost forgotten it. Wrote it four years ago.”
“It should be a required textl That7s what Archie said, isn~t it, Archie?”
“Damned rightl Heres the poison, old man,” said Beeson, bringing Matlock
his drink. “Do you work
THE mATLo(x PAmm 63
through an agent, Jim? Not that I’m nosy. rm years from writing anything.”
“That!s not true, and you know it,” Ginny pouted vocally.
‘Yes, I do. Irving Block in Boston. If you’re workIng on something, perhaps
I could show it to him.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t. . . thatd be awfully presump-
tuous of me Beeson retreated with feigned hu-
mility to the couch with his drink. He sat next to his
wife and they–4nvoluntarily, thought Matlock-ex
changed satisfied looks.
“Come on, Archie. You’re a bright fellow. A real comer on this campus. Why
do you think I asked you about the seminar? You could be doing me the
favor. I might be bringing Block a winner. That rubs off, you know.”
Beeson~s expression had the honesty of gratitude. It embarrassed Matlock to
return the instructor’s gaze until he saw something else in Beeson’s eyes.
He couldn’t define it, but it was there. A slight wildness, a trace of
panic.
The look of a man whose mind and body knew drugs.
“That’s damned good-oh of you, Jim. I’m touched, reaUy.”
The cheese, drinks, and dinner somehow passed. There were moments when
Matlock had the feeling he was outside himself, watching three characters
in a scene from some old movie. Perhaps on board ship or in a sloppily
elegant New York apartment with the three of them wearing tightly fitted
formal clothes. He wondered why he visualized the scene in such
fashion–and then he knew. The Beesons had a thir-
64 Robert Ludlum
ties quality about them. The thirties that he had observed on the late night
television films. They were somehow an anachronism, of this time but not of
the time. It was either more than camp or less than puton; he couldiYt be
sure. They were not artificial in themselves, but there was a falseness in
their emphatic small talk their dated expressions. Yet the truth was that
they were the now of the present generation.
Lysergic acid and methedrine.
Acid heads. Pill poppers.
The Beesons: were somehow forcing themselves to show themselves as part of
a past and carefree era. Perhaps to deny the times and conditions in which
they found themselves.
Archie Beeson and his wife were frightening.
By eleven, after considerable wine with the “in-
teresting-httle-veal-dish-from-a-recipe-in-an-old-Italian cookbook” the
three of them sat down in the living room. The last of the proposed seminar
problems was ironed out. Matlock knew it was time to begin; the awful,
awkward moment. He wasn1 sure how, the best he could do was to trust his
amateur instincts.
‘Look, you two…. I hope to hell this woZt come as too great a shock, but
I’ve been a long time without a stick.” He withdrew a thin cigarette case
from his pocket and opened it He felt foolish, uncomfortably clumsy. But he
knew he could not show those feelings. “Before you make any judgments, I
should tell you I doZt go along with the pot laws and I never have~”
Matlock selected a cigarette from the dozen in the ewe and left the case
open on the table. Was that the proper thing to do? He waset sure; he didn1
know. Archie and his wife looked at each other. Through the flame in front
of his face, Matlock watched their
TnE mATLocK PAPEn 65
reaction. It was cautious yet positive. Perhaps it was the alcohol in Ginny,
but she smiled hesitantly, as if she was relieved to find a friend. Her
husband wasn1 quite so responsive.
“Go right ahead, old man,” said the young instructDr with a trace of
condescension. ‘Were hardly on the attorney general’s payroll.”
‘Hardlyl” giggled the wife.
Me laws are archaic,” continued Matlock, inhaltng deeply. “In all areas.
Control and an abiding sense of discretion–self-discretion-are all that
matter. To deny experience is the real crime. To prohibit any intelligent
individuars right to fulfillment is .
goddamn it, ies repressive.”
‘Well, I think the key word is intelligent, Jim. Indiscriminate use among
the unintelligent leads to cham”
“Socratically, you’re only half right. The other half is ‘control.’