The Book of Air and Shadows - Michael Gruber [128]
Crosetti considered this statement as much as he could, which was not very much, because he was an American and he wanted to make movies and sell them and he thought he had to at least be a tourist in the dark country. Suffering, nihilism, the devil laughing, all that Polanski stuff was a necessary spice, like oregano, not something you were expected to make a meal from. What he admired in the Poles was the competent surface, the camera movements, the way a face was lit, the way the camera dwelled upon a face.
After a pause, he said, “So, anyway, do you want to watch some films?”
“Not Chinatown please!” said Mary Peg.
“No. We’ll watch moral art,” said her son. “We’ll have a John Wayne festival.”
So they did. Crosetti owned nearly five hundred DVDs and several hundred videotapes and they started with Stagecoach and proceeded to hit the highlights of the Duke’s career. Mary Peg crashed halfway through She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, her head drooping against Klim’s shoulder. When the film was over, they settled Mary Peg on the couch with a blanket over her, turned off the set, and went back to the kitchen. Crosetti reflected that this was the first time in his memory that his mother had missed seeing the Tonight Show, and this produced in him a good feeling, as if she had won some kind of prize.
“I too will go to bed, I think,” said Klim. “Thank you for a most interesting evening. I confess I have always liked the cowboy films. They are very soothing to me, like a lullaby when one is a child. Tell me, what do you intend to do about this cipher?”
Crosetti was startled by the change of subject and then recalled that his father had said it was an old cop trick to get the suspect off balance.
“I don’t see what I can do. You said the thing was uncrackable.”
“Yes, but…your mother has told me this entire story, as much as she has of it, and so I know that a man has already died. Now you must think: the men who killed this professor do not know that the cipher is unreadable. Let us presume they have the Bracegirdle letter or a copy of it. This letter mentions other letters, ciphered letters. These they do not have and they must begin to want them and I am sure they must have obtained your name from the dead man. This young lady who was with you when you found them, she at least knows the ciphers exist. She has already disappeared, and sends a letter you suspect, which you are correct to do: anyone can write a letter, or force a letter to be written, and mail it from anywhere. She might be on the next street. Or dead as well.”
Crosetti had considered that possibility any number of times and always dismissed it. Carolyn may have run away—from what he didn’t know yet—but he refused to admit that she might be dead. At some level he knew he was being infantile: people died, but not Carolyn Rolly. She was a survivor and good at hiding, and the script required that she reappear and conclude her business with Albert Crosetti. A little Polish-movie business was okay, but not that.
“She’s not dead,” he said, as much to hear the magic of the phrase as to communicate the thought to Klim. “Anyway, what’s your point?”
“My point is that we are dealing here with violent people and there is no reason why they should not come after you next. You or your mother.”
“My mother?”
“Well, yes. I presume that if they have your mother you will give them anything they want.”
An unwanted laugh sprang from Crosetti’s mouth. “Jesus, Klim! I think it was a mistake to let you watch John Wayne. They can have the damn things right now. I’ll put an ad out—‘thugs who whacked Bulstrode, pick up the cipher letters anytime.’”
“Yes, but of course they would see that as a ploy. The problem with evil people is that they can see only evil in others. It is one of the worst curses of being evil, that you