Hit Man - Lawrence Block [108]
The next day he packed his bag and flew back to New York. First thing the following morning he got on a train to White Plains.
In the kitchen, Dot poured him a glass of iced tea and muted the television set. How many times had he been here, sitting like this? But there was a difference. This time the two of them were all alone in the big old house.
“It’s hard to believe he’s gone,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” Dot said. “I keep thinking I should be bringing him his breakfast on a tray, taking the paper up to him. Then I remind myself I’ll never get to do that again. He’s gone.”
“So many years . . .”
“For you and me both, Keller.”
“The paper just said natural causes,” he said. “It didn’t go into detail.”
“No.”
“But I don’t suppose it could have been all that natural. Or you wouldn’t have sent me to Kansas City.”
“That’s where you went? Kansas City?”
He nodded. “Nice enough town.”
“But you wouldn’t want to live there.”
“I’m a New Yorker,” he said. “Remember?”
“Vividly.”
“Natural causes,” he prompted.
“Well, what could be more natural? You live too long, you got a mind that’s starting to turn to pablum, you become erratic and unreliable, what’s the natural thing for someone to do?”
“It was that bad, huh?”
“Keller,” she said, “three weeks ago this reporter showed up. A kid barely old enough to shave, working his first job on the local paper. I’ll tell you, I thought he was there to sell me a subscription, but no, he came to interview the old man.”
“You’d think the editor would have sent somebody more experienced.”
“It wasn’t the editor’s idea,” she said, “or the kid’s either, God help him. And who does that leave?”
“You mean. . . ”
“He’d decided it was time to write his memoirs. Time to tell all the untold stories, time to tell where the bodies were buried. And I do mean bodies, Keller, and I do mean buried.”
“Jesus.”
“He saw this kid’s byline on some high school basketball roundup and decided he was the perfect person to collaborate with.”
“For God’s sake.”
“Need I say more? I’d already reached the point where I made sure all incoming calls got routed downstairs. Now I had to worry about the calls he made on his own. Keller, it’s the hardest decision I ever had to make in my life.”
“I can imagine.”
“But what choice did I have? It had to be done.”
“Sounds that way.” He picked up his tea, put it down untasted. “Who’d you get for it, Dot?”
“Who do you think, Keller? You know the story about the little red hen?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m not about to tell it to you, but she couldn’t find anyone to help her, so she did it all herself.”
“You . . .”
“Right.”
“Dot, for God’s sake. I would have done it.”
“I didn’t even want you within five hundred miles, Keller. I wanted you to have an alibi that nobody could crack. Just in case somebody knew about the connection and decided to shake the box and see what fell out.”
“I understand,” he said, “but under the circumstances. . . ”
“No,” she said. “And I have to say it was easy for me, Keller. The hardest decision, but the easiest thing in the world. Something in his cocoa to make him sleep, and a pillow over his face to keep him from waking up.”
“That’s the kind of thing that shows up in an autopsy.”
“Only if they hold one,” she said. “His age, and then his regular doctor came over and signed the death certificate, and that’s all you need. I had him cremated. It was his last wish.”
“It was?”
“How do I know? I said it was, and they gave me the ashes in a tin can, and if some joker wants to do an autopsy now I’d say he’s got his work cut out for him. I don’t know what the hell to do with the ashes. Well, I’m sure I’ll think of something. There’s no hurry.”
“No.”
“It was something I never thought I’d have to do, something I never even figured I’d be capable of doing. Well, you never know,