Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [27]
“Not a good idea to kill informants,” D’Agosta said, modulating his voice carefully, making it as casual as possible. “Maybe he isn’t done talking. Maybe the gin and tonics will kill him for us, save you the trouble. Don’t worry—the fat fuck isn’t going anywhere.”
Pendergast hesitated, gun still pressed to Wisley’s temple. Then, slowly, he released his grip on Wisley’s thin tonsure of reddish hair. The ex-concessionaire sank to the ground and D’Agosta noted, with disgust, that he had wet himself.
Without speaking, Pendergast slipped back into the vehicle. D’Agosta climbed in beside him. They pulled back onto the road and headed for Lusaka without a backward glance.
It was half an hour before D’Agosta spoke. “So,” he said. “What’s next?”
“The past,” Pendergast replied, not taking his eyes from the road. “The past is what’s next.”
12
Savannah, Georgia
WHITFIELD SQUARE DOZED PLACIDLY IN THE failing light of a Monday evening. Streetlights came up, throwing the palmettos and the Spanish moss hanging from gnarled oak limbs into gauzy relief. After the cauldron-like heat of Central Africa, D’Agosta found the humid Georgia air almost a relief.
He followed Pendergast across the manicured carpet of grass. In the center of the square stood a large cupola, surrounded by flowers. A wedding party stood beneath its scalloped roof, obediently following the instructions of a photographer. Elsewhere, people strolled slowly by or sat on black-painted benches, chatting or reading. Everything seemed just a little soft and out of focus, and D’Agosta shook his head. Following the mad dash from New York to Zambia to this center of southern gentility, he felt numb.
Pendergast stopped, pointing across Habersham Street at a large gingerbread Victorian house, white and immaculate and very much like its neighbors. As they headed over, Pendergast said, “Keep in mind, Vincent—he doesn’t yet know.”
“Got it.”
They crossed the street and mounted the wooden steps. Pendergast pressed the doorbell. After about ten seconds, the overhead light came on and the door was opened by a man in his mid-forties. D’Agosta looked at him curiously. He was tall and strikingly handsome, with high cheekbones, dark eyes, and a thick head of brown hair. He was as tanned as Pendergast was pale. A folded magazine was in one hand. D’Agosta glanced at the open page: the footer read Journal of American Neurosurgery.
The sun, dipping behind the houses on the far side of the square, was in the man’s keen eyes, and he couldn’t see them well. “Yes?” he asked. “May I help you?”
“Judson Esterhazy,” Pendergast said, extending his hand.
Esterhazy started, and a look of surprise and delight blossomed over his features. “Aloysius?” he said. “My God! Come in.”
Esterhazy led the way through a front hall, down a narrow, book-lined corridor, and into a cozy den. Cozy wasn’t a word D’Agosta used very often, but he could think of no other way to describe the space. Warm yellow light imparted a mellow sheen to the antique mahogany furniture: chiffonier, roll-top desk, gun case, still more bookshelves. Rich Persian rugs covered the floor. Two large diplomas—a medical degree, and a PhD—hung on one wall. The furniture was overstuffed and looked exceptionally comfortable. Antiques from all over the world—African sculpture, Asian jades—adorned every horizontal surface. Two windows, framed by delicate curtains, looked out over the square. It was a room stuffed full of objects that somehow managed not to appear cluttered—the den of a well-educated, well-traveled man of taste.
Pendergast turned and introduced D’Agosta to Esterhazy. The man couldn’t hide his surprise upon learning D’Agosta was a cop; nevertheless he smiled and shook his hand warmly.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said. “Would you care for anything? Tea, beer, bourbon?”
“Bourbon, please, Judson,” said Pendergast.
“How’d you like it?”
“Neat.”
Esterhazy turned to D’Agosta. “And you, Lieutenant?”
“A beer would be great, thanks.”
“Of course.” Still smiling, Esterhazy stepped over to a dry sink in the corner