Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [108]
“How did you know I was here?” I ask him.
“Please, Dr. Hawthorne. What kind of man doesn’t know what’s going on in his own home?” He gestures to the chairs by the fireplace. “Would you care to sit down?”
“Not really.”
I look around the room, not certain what I’m searching for. This is all too simple, too cordial. Surely he’s pressed an alarm of some sort, and we’ll be surrounded by police, or worse, his own private security, in a matter of seconds.
“I can assure you that we won’t be interrupted,” Manheim says.
“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not comforted by your assurances.”
Esperanza has taken a spot just inside the room, from which she can look out and see much of the hallway. She seems to have a knack for knowing the best way to handle this kind of situation, which is something I find disturbing.
“For good reason, I suppose,” Manheim answers. “I heard about that nasty business in Laverton.”
“Heard about it? You mean planned it.” A flash of anger rushes through me, and my hand tightens on the gun. I can almost see myself pulling the trigger. The memory of what I saw in Jim’s home is fresh. Manheim endures my anger without changing anything about his relaxed demeanor. I may even see some measure of sympathy in his eyes—the emotional resonance of a man for whom the bigger picture might necessitate casualties and for whom mourning those sacrificed is appropriate.
“I had nothing to do with that event, Dr. Hawthorne, other than bearing responsibility for bringing into the world the man who is to blame.” He sighs. “Victor has shown extreme impulsiveness over the last few years.”
“Even if that were true, in my book that’s enough.”
“Enough to what? Shoot me in cold blood?” Manheim sets his book on an end table and shifts forward in his chair. “No. I don’t think so. There are two reasons you’re not going to kill me, Jack. May I call you Jack? The first is that you’re not that sort of man.”
“Don’t count on it. Some of your employees—or your son’s employees—found that out.” It’s false bravado. I know it and Manheim knows it.
“Necessity makes animals of us all.”
“What’s the second reason?”
“You want answers, and you can’t get them if I’m dead.”
It’s a baited hook. And exactly the right thing to say. I shake my head as if to chase away the siren song of information, of answers. I gesture with the gun, indicating the whole of the estate. “Where is everyone? Family, security? It can’t be just you and Stemple here.”
At the mention of Stemple’s name, Manheim’s eyes darken a shade. “I trust that Andrew is unharmed?”
I answer with silence, feeling a bit smug that I’ve said something to upset him. It’s not a fair fight if only one of us is on the slippery slope.
But Manheim only smiles and says, “I’ll have to assume that he’s fine, Jack. I honestly don’t believe you’d hurt someone simply for being difficult.”
He starts to get up and I raise the gun back to level, just now realizing that I’d let it slip.
He waves me off. “I’m just going to pour myself a drink. Would you care for one?”
He gives Esperanza a wink, then crosses the room to the bar. He chooses a scotch and decants a generous amount into a glass. His back to me, he takes a sip, his hand on the bar.
“There’s nothing here, Dr. Hawthorne.” When I don’t answer, he turns to face me. “You asked why there is no one here. No security. No family. The truth is that Victor is all the family I have left.” He takes another drink and returns to his chair, placing his free hand on the chair’s back. “There’s no security because there’s nothing left to protect.”
I absorb the words. “The bones . . .”
“Are gone. Transitioned.” He gives a short laugh. “Our time is finished, Jack. There are new caretakers now.”
I work hard to process what he’s said. There’s a part of me—the part that has sought validation for the