In the Shadow of Gotham - By Stefanie Pintoff Page 0,67
my mind, the question of his intent was crucial. Had Alistair made reckless decisions along the way because he had been blinded by the importance of his research? Or, was his hubris so large that he believed his own intellectual pursuits were all-important, and the rest of the world be damned?
There was a long moment’s pause as I waited for his reply.
Finally, he looked at me, and I saw both honesty and fear reflected in his eyes as he replied, “I do not know.” He seemed to collapse in the chair. “What do you plan to do now? Are you going to proceed as we have been doing? Or are you going to sound the alarm, and circulate this information?”
My response perfectly echoed his own.
I looked at him squarely. “Like you, I do not know.”
CHAPTER 16
It was half past eleven by the time I returned to Dobson that night. Despite the late hour, Joe was awake, reading in the front parlor that had become his convalescence room. He preferred that room, with its view of the street leading down to the train station and factories, to the second-floor bedroom that would have isolated him from the daily rhythms of life in the village. As a result, the sofa had been converted into his sickbed, and a bookcase brought in with all manner of reading material. After I peered in the window and confirmed he was up, I tapped at the glass, and then let myself in through the front door at his signal.
Joe greeted me with surprise and pleasure. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Ziele. Thought you had a murder to solve.”
“How are you feeling?”
He shrugged. “Okay. I’m getting old. I don’t recover from ailments as fast as I used to.”
“This wasn’t just an ordinary ‘ailment,’ ” I reminded him. “A stroke is a major illness; you shouldn’t expect too much of your body, too soon.”
“Bah.” He waved me off. “I wasn’t made for the sickbed. I’ll lose my mind, as well, if my body doesn’t heal soon.”
“You like to fish?” I changed the topic, after noticing Izaak Walton’s The Compleat Angler was bookmarked on the table beside him.
“Fly-fishing,” he confirmed. “Just hope I’ll be back in shape by April, when the spring season starts.”
“I’m sure you will be,” I said. “I brought something to drink. Do you have a glass?”
“You’ll find them in the corner cabinet in the dining room.”
I returned a moment later with two glasses and placed them on the table nearest Joe. Then I pulled out a bottle of brandy, a favorite I had just purchased.
“I assume Anna’s safely in bed?” I raised an eyebrow toward the upstairs before I poured him a stiff glass. Joe’s wife had definite ideas about what convalescing patients needed, and I strongly suspected liquor would not meet with her approval.
He chuckled. “Nearly two hours ago. The woman is worn out tending to me. She’s very thorough. I’d frankly trade some of that care for a bit more freedom. ”
More soberly, he added, “I want to stay involved in the case. I can still manage Mayor Fuller and his complaints. And I can still supervise all the work done by those helping us from Yonkers.”
“Agreed.” I raised my glass and toasted him. “To your health—and a speedy recovery.”
“Aye,” he said.
He savored the aroma for a few moments before he spoke again, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re in a dark mood. And why should that be? The last I checked, you had use of both legs and all your wits. In my opinion, a man that can say that has no worries.” Joe’s words were full of jest, but his eyes were serious and searching as he looked at me.
“Actually, I may have lost my wits,” I admitted, the fingers of my left hand tracing circles around my brandy glass. “I placed my trust where I shouldn’t have.”
“You mean with that Columbia professor and all his cockamamie ideas?”
I nodded, and filled him in; I left out no detail as I described what I had uncovered as well as what Alistair had said in his own defense. “I think what troubles me most,” I said, “is my sense that Alistair is still hiding something. I am convinced he has not yet told me the full story of the Fromley matter.”
“Now you’re being smart again,” Joe said. “But the real question is: What are you going to do with what you know? How does it affect solving Sarah Wingate’s murder?”