enough to leave Archie alone. Leave them all alone; and Loring had
specifically said there was no proof that the Beesons were involved with
the Nimrod unit.
There was no proof that they weren’t, either.
Nevertheless, if it was Beeson, the alarm would be called off in the
morning. There was no mistaking the conclusion of the nighes engagement.
The “near-rape by a dirty, drugged “old man.” He was Beesoes acaden-Ac
ladder.
On the other hand, and far less preferable, there was the possibility that
the warning and the search were centered on the Corsican paper. What had
Loring whispered behind him on the sidewalk?
“. . . There’s only one thing they want more than this briefcase; that’s
the paper in your pocket.”
It was then reasonable to assume that he!d been linked to Ralph Loring.
Washington’s assessment that his panic at finding Loring dissociated him
from the agent was in error, Jason Greenberg’s confidence misplaced.
Still again, as Greenberg had suggested, they might
THE MATL4(XX PAP= 83
test him. Press him before issumg a clean bill of health.
Might, couK possible, still agaim
Conjectures.
He had to keep his head; he couldn’t allow himself to overreact. If he was
to be of any value, he had to play the innocent
Might have, could have, it was possible.
His body ached. His eyes were swollen and his mouth still bad the terrible
aftertaste of the combined dosages of Seconal, wine, and marijuana. He was
exhausted; the pressures of trying to reach unreachable conclusions were
overtaldng him His memory wandered back to the early days in ‘Nam and he
recalled the best advice hed ever been given in those weeks of unexpected
combat. That was to rest whenever he could, to sleep if it was at all
possible. The advice had come from a line sergeant who, it had been
rumored, had survived more assaults than any man In the Mekong Delta. Who,
it was also rumored, had slept through an ambush which had taken most of
his company.
Matlock stretched, out on the barely recognizable couch. There was no point
in going into the bedroom -his mattress was destroyed. He unbucided his
belt and ldcked off his shoes. He could sleep for a few hours; then he’d
talk to Kressel. Ask Kressel and Greenberg to work out a story for him to
use about the invasion of his apartment. A story approved by Washington
and, perhaps, the Carlyle police.
The police.
Suddenly he sat up. It hadn’t struck him at the time, but now be considered
it The crass but imperiously polite patrolman whose primitive detection
powers had centered on the “weirdos and niggee
84 Robert Lu&um
had addressed him as “Mister,” throughout the nearly two hours of police
investigation. Yet when he was leaving, when he insultingly referred to the
possibility of Matlocles withholding information, he had called him
“Doctor.” The “mister,” was normal. The “doctoe was most unusual. No one
outside the campus community–and rarely ther&-ever called him “Doctor,”
ever called any Ph.D. ‘Doctor.” It struck most holders of such degrees as
fatuous, and only the fatuous expected it
Why had the patrolman used it? He didn’t know him, he had never seen him to
his knowledge. How would the patrolman know he was even entitled to the
name “doctor”?
As he sat there, Matlock wondered if the combined efforts and pressures of
the last hours were taking their toll. Was he now finding unreasonable
meanIngs where no meanings existed? Was it not entirely plausible that the
Carlyle police had a list of the Carlyle faculty and that a desk sergeant,
or whoever took emergency calls, had checked his name against the list and
casually stated his title? Was he not, perhaps, consigning the patrolman to
a plateau of ignorance because he disliked the officer’s prejudices?
A lot of things were possible.
And disturbing.
Matlock fell back onto the couch and closed his eyes-
At first the noise reached him as a faint echo might from the far end of a
long, narrow tunnel. Then the noise became identifiable as rapid, incessant
tapping. Tapping which would not stop, tapping which b&came louder and
louder.
Matlock opened his eyes and saw the blurred light
THE MATLOM PAMM 85
coming from two table lamps across from the couch. His feet were drawn up
under him, his neck perspiring against the rough surface of the sofds
corduroy cover. Yet there was a cool breeze connng through the smashed,
lead-framed window.
The tapping continued, the sound of flesh against wood. It came from the
foyer, from his front door. He Rung his legs over the side onto the floor
and found that they both were filled with pins and needles. He struggled to
stand.
The tapping and the knocking became louder. Then the voice. “Jandel
Jan-del”
He walked awkwardly toward the door
‘Comingl* He reached the door and opened it swiftly. Patricia Ballantyne,
dressed in a raincoat, silk pajamas evident underneath, walked rapidly
inside.
“Jamie, for Gods sake, I’ve been trying to call you.*
‘I’ve been here. The phone didn’t ring.”
‘I know it didn’t. I finally got an operator and she said it was out of
order. I borrowed a car and drove over as fast as I could and . . .”
‘Ies not out of order, Pat. The police-the police were here and a quick
look around will explain why –they used it a dozen times.”
“Oh, good Lordt” The girl walked past him into the still-disheveled room.
Matlock crossed to the telephone and picked it up from the table. He
quickly held it away from his ear as the piercing tone of a disengaged
instrument whistled out of the receiver.
‘1rhe bedroom,” he said, replacing the telephone and going to his bedroom
door.
On his bed, on top of the slashed remains of his mattress, was his bedside
phone. The receiver was off the hook, underneath the pillow, muffling the
harsh
86 Robert Lua%tn
sound of the broken connection so ft would not be heard. Someone had not
wanted it to ring.
Matlock tried to remember everyone wWd been diere. All told, more than a
dozen people. Rve or six policemen-in and out of uniform; husbands and
wives from other apartments; several late-night passersby who had seen the
police cars and wandered up to the front door. it had been cumulatively
blurre& He coul(Wt remember all the faces.
He put the telephone back on the bedside table and was aware that Pat stood
in the doorway. He gambled that she hadiYt seen him remove the pillow.
“Someone must have knocked it over straightening out things,” he said,
pretending irritation. ‘fhaes rotten; I mean your having to borrow a car…
Why did you? What’s the matter?”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she turned and looked back into the living room.
“What happened?’
Matlock remembered the patrolmaes language. ‘T’hey call it ‘break and
entry.’ A police phrase coverIng human tornadoes, as I understand it . . .
Robbery. I got myself robbed for the first time in my life. les quite an
experience. I think the poor bastards were angry because there wasn’t
anything of any value so they ripped the place aparL Whyd you come over?”
She spoke softly, but the intensity of her voice made Matlock realize that
she was close to panic. As always, she imposed a control on herself when
she be. came emotional. It was an essential part of the girl.
“A couple of hours ago-at quarter to four to be exact-my phone rang. The
man, it was a man, asked for you. I was asleep, and I suppose I didn’t make
much sense, but I pretended to be upset that
THE MATLOCK PAPIM 87
anyone would think you were there… I diddt know what to do. I was
confused. . . ~*
‘Okay, I understand that Sor
“He said he diddt believe me. I was a liar. I … I was so surprised that
anyone would phone thenat quarter to fcur–and can me a har … I was con-
fused..
“What did you say?*
‘Ifs not what I said. Ws what he said. He told me to tell you to … not to
stay ‘behind the globe’ or light the lower world! He said it twicel He said
it was an awful joke but you~d understand. It was frighteningl … Do you?
Do you understand?”
Matlock walked past her into the living room. He looked for his cigarettes
and tried to remain calm She followed him. ‘Vhat did he mean?”
Tm not sure~*
OHas it anything to do with … this?’ She gestured her hand over the
apartment.
‘I dont think so.” He lit his cigarette and wondered what he should tell
her. The Nimrod people haddt wasted any time finding associations. If it
was Nimrod.
‘What did he mean by ‘standing behind the
globe’? It sounds like a riddle.”
‘Ifs a quote, I think.” But Matlock did not have to think. He knew. He