and he knew it. The pain must have been unbearable for him. He hadn’t
long.”
Greenberg watched closely as Kressel returned his glasses to his face.
Matlock bent down and crushed out his cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee
table. Finally, Greenberg spoke.
“Are you suggesting that theres no relationship be. tween Herron’s suicide
and Matlock’s seeing him this afternoon?”
“I’m not suggesting any such thing. Im sure theres a relationship…. But
you didn’t know Lucas. His whole life for nearly half a century, except for
the war years, was Carlyle University. les been his total, complete
existence. He loved this place more than any
TEE MATLOCK P”ER 149
man could love a woman, more than any parent a child. I’m sure Jim’s told
you. If he thought for a moment that his world here was going to be defaced,
torn apart-that would be a greater pain than the physical torture his body
gave him. What better time to take his own lifer
“Goddamn yoW” roared Matlock ‘You!re saying I killed hi?nl”
“Perhaps I am,” KresseI said quietly. “I hadn7t thought of it in those
terms. I’m sure Adrian didet eithm*
“But that’s what you’re sayingl Yotere saying I went off half-cocked and
killed him as much as if I’d slashed his wristsl … Well, you weren’t
there. I wasF
Kressel spoke gently. “I didn~t say you went off half-cocked. I said you
were an amateur. A very wellintentioned amateur. I think Greenberg knows
what I mean.
Jason Greenberg looked at Maflock. “There’s an -old Slovak proverb: Vhen
the old men kill themselves, the cities are dying.'”
The telephone bell suddenly pierced the air; its sound acted as a jolt to
the three men. Matlock answered it, then turned to Greenberg. “Its for
you.”
“Thanks.” The federal agent took the phone from Matlock. “Greenberg…. OX
I understand. When will you know? … I’ll probably be on the road by then.
I’ll call you back. Talk later.” He replaced the telephone and stood by the
desk, his back to Matlock and Kressel. The dean of colleges couldn!t
contain himself.
‘What was it? What happened?’
Greenberg turned and faced them. Matlock thought his eyes seemed sadder
than usual, which Matlock
3LSo Robert La&um
had learned was a sign of trouble in Greenberg.
We’re making a request of the pohce-ffie courts -for an autopsy.”
‘Why?/” KresseI shouted as he approached the agent. “For God’s sake, why?f
The man killed himself] He was in paird … Jesus Christ, you oan1 do thisl
If news of it gets out. .
“Well handle it quietly.”
‘Mat caet be done and you know itl ItT leak out and all hell7U break loose
around herel I woet pertwt iti”
“You can’t stop it. Even I couldn1 stop it There!s sufficient evidence to
indicate that Herron didn’t take his own life. That he was killed.”
Greenberg smiled wryly at Matlock. “And not by words.”
Kressel argued, threatened, made another call to Sealfont, and finally,
when it was obvious that all were to no avail, he left Matlock’s apartment
in fury.
No sooner had Kressel slammed the door than the telephone rang again.
Greenberg saw that the sound disturbed Matlock-not merely annoyed him, but
disturbed him; perhaps frightened him.
“I’m sorry…. I’m afraid this place has to be a kind of patrol base for a
while. Not long…. Maybe it’s the girl-0
Matlock picked up the phone, listened, but did not say anything into it.
Instead, he turned to Greenberg. He said only one word.
“You.”
Greenberg took the telephone, uttered his name softly, and then spent the
next minute staring straight ahead. Matlock watched Greenberg for half the
time and then wandered into his kitchen. He didnt wish to
TBE MATLOCK PAPM 151
stand awkwardly to one side while the agent listened to a superioes
instructions. ,
The voice at the other end of the line had initially identified itself by
saying, “Washington calling.”
On the counter lay the empty envelope in which the brutally hypocritical
statement had come from the Department of justice. It had been one more
sign that his worst fantasies were gradually becoming real. From that
infinitesimal portion of the mind which concerns itself with the
unthinkable, Matlock had begun to perceive that the land he had grown up in
was changing into something ugly and destructive. It was far more than a
political manifestation, it was a slow, all-embracing sense of morality by
strategy. A corruption of intentions. Strong feelings were being replaced
with surface anger, convictions and compromise. The land was becoming
something other than its promise, its commitment The grails were empty
vessels of flat wine, impressive solely because they were possessed.
“I’m off the phone now. Would you like to try reaching Miss Ballantyne?”
Matlock looked up at Greenberg, standing in the frame of the kitchen door.
Greenberg, the walking contradiction, the proverb-quoting agent deeply
suspicious of the system for which he worked.
‘Yes. Yes, I’d like to.” He started into the living room as Greenberg
stepped aside to let him pass. Matlock reached the center of the room and
stopped. Mat’s one hell of a quotation. What was it? ‘When the old men kill
themselves, the cities are dying.'” He turned and looked at the agent “I
think that’s the saddest proverb I’ve ever heard.”
“Yoere not Hassidic. Of course, neither am 1, but the Hassidim wouldn1
think it sad… Come to think
152 Robert Ludlum
of it, no true philosopher would.”
“Why not? It is sad.”
“Ies truth. Truth is neither joyful nor sad, neither good nor bad. It is
simply truth.”
“Someday lees debate that, Jason.” Matlock picked up the telephone, dialed
Pat’s number, and let it ring a dozen times. There was no answer. Matlock
thought of several of Pat’s friends and wondered whether to call them or
not When angry or upset, Pat usually did one of two things. She either went
off by herself for an hour or so, or, conversely, sought out one or two
friends and drove off to a film in Hartford or an out-of-the-way bar. It
was just over an hour. He’d give her another fifteen minutes before phoning
around. It had, of course, occurred to him that she might have been taken
involuntarily-that had been his first thought. But it wasn7t logical. The
Cheshire Cat had been filled with people, the tables close together.
Greenberg was right Wherever she went, she went because she wanted to go.
Greenberg stood by the kitchen door. He ha(&t moved. Hed been watching
Matlock.
“I’ll try in a quarter of an hour. Then, if theres no answer, III call some
friends of hers. As you said, shes one strong-willed young lady.”
“I hope you’re not from the same cloth.”
*What does that mean?”
Greenberg took several steps into the living room When he spoke, he looked
directly into Matlocles eyes.
Yoere out. Finished. Forget the letter, forget LorIng, forget me…. Thaes
the way ies got to be. We understand you have reservations for St Thomas
on Pan Am for Saturday. Enjoy it, because that’s where yoxfre going. Much
better this way.*
TEE MAnDM PAPER 153
Matlock returned the government man’s look “Any decision like that will be
made by me. I’ve got a gentle old man on my conscience; and you’ve got that
stinkpot in your pocket I signed it, remember?”
“The stinkpot doeset count anymore. D.C. wants you out. You go.”
“Why?”
“Because of the gentle old man. If he um killed, you could be, too. If that
happened, certain records might be subpoenaed, certain dien who had
reservations about recruiting you might voice those reservations to the
press. You were maneuvered. I donI have to tell you that”
“SO?,
‘The directors at justice have no wish to be called executioners.”
“I see.” Matlock took his eyes off Greenberg and wandered toward the coffee
table. “Suppose I refuse?’
“Then I remove you from the scene.”
‘How?”
“I have you arrested on suspicion of murder one
OWhat?”
‘You were the last person of record to see Lucas Herron alive. By. your own
admission, you went out to his house to threaten him.”
‘ro wam himl”
‘That’s subject to interpretation, isn’t it?”
When the thunderous crash came, it was so ear-shat. tering both men threw
themselves to the floor. It was as if the whole side of the building had
collapsed in rubble. Dust was everywhere, furniture toppled, glass
shattered, splinters of wood and plaster flew through the air, and the
terrible stench of burning sulfur settled over the room. Matlock knew the
smell of that
154 Robert Ludlum
Idnd of bomb, and his reflexes knew how to operate. He clung to the base of
his couch waiting, waiting for a second explosion–a delayed detonator which
would kill any who rose in panic. Through the mist, be saw Greenberg shut to
get up, and he leaped forward, tackling the agent at his knees.
“Get downl Stay. . . .”
The second explosion came. Parts of the ceiling blackened. But Matlock knew