The Resurrection Man (29 page)

“You never once suspected that Goudge might have been stalking you all these years?”

“Oh no.” Arbalest was shocked. “Why should he?”

“You could ask,” said Max. “Here they come.”

“B
ARNABY RUDGE!” HOWLED ARBALEST
. “I know you now, Barn. You’ve had plastic surgery, but I ought to have recognized those mean little eyes. You’re Roderick Rudge’s son. He murdered my mother!”

The man who’d been calling himself Carnaby Goudge smiled a mean little smile. “
Au contraire
, Barty, old bean. She murdered my father. Slashed his throat from ear to ear. Prettiest job I’ve ever seen, I got some lovely photos. I never did care much for old Roddy.”

“Then what happened to my mother?”

“Nothing much, for a while. She and I got rid of Roddy’s body, I don’t suppose you’d care for the details. I made my servants mop up the gore since Medea’s had sloped off, as so often happens just when one needs them most urgently. Then I moved in with her. Our own bungalow was rather a shambles by that time. Roddy had had this impetuous habit of tearing out walls and floorboards when he got into one of his moods.”

“You mean you and she—”

“Oh yes, Medea could be quite good company, in her way. Had a temper, of course. She was really pissed at you for running off with her diamond, Barty. Made me swear to track you to the ends of the earth and take revenge on you for your perfidious betrayal of her trust and so forth. Medea had quite a gift of rhetoric, as you surely know.”

“But mother gave it to me herself! She knew Roderick was coming back to kill her, she told me to flee from the doom that o’er-shadowed her and guard the family jewel with my life, as a sacred trust.”

“Did she really? That would seem to put a somewhat different complexion on the matter then, wouldn’t it? And did you keep faith?”

“Of course.”

“Good lad. That was what Medea couldn’t stand about you, Barty, she used to go on about how damnably nice you were; she said you were just like your father. I must say that after spending so much time in your cozy little ashram, I’ve developed a deeper understanding of what she meant. You’re a bloody bore, Barty.”

The Resurrection Man lifted his shoulders and let them fall. “I’m sorry you haven’t been happy with us, Carnaby. Or Barn, if you prefer. I did try so hard. But then you haven’t made me all that happy either, have you? Am I to infer that the terrible string of tragedies that have plagued me ever since I got to America have been your way of honoring the oath you swore to my mother?”

“Well, yes, in a way. And it was something to do. One does like to keep busy. That was what attracted me to Medea, she always could think of something to do. She had this simply marvelous scheme all worked out: We’d find a temple that contained an idol with a truly impressive jewel in its forehead, drug the monks who were guarding it, pry out the jewel, and slash the monks’ throats as a farewell gesture. Rather clever, don’t you think?”

“It’s been done before,” said Max Bittersohn.

“Really? Well, anyway, while we were still scouting around, trying to find a suitable idol, Medea got knocked down and killed by a very large Bengalese on a motorbike. Call me sentimental if you like, but I hadn’t the heart to pursue the matter without her. I was only fourteen at the time, you understand, though quite mature for my age. So I decided to come back to the States and get on with the revenge as a tribute to her memory.”

“How did you manage the trip?” Jesse Kelling was all set to take notes.

“Quite easily,” replied Goudge. “Money was no problem. Roderick had done quite well out of his drug-running enterprise; he’d completely carpeted the space under the floor of our bungalow with wads of rupees done up in aluminum foil to keep the bugs out, a fact I’d never happened to mention to Medea. I beguiled the time for a week or two exchanging them for travelers’ checks and American dollars, then attached myself to a nice American gentleman who agreed for certain considerations to pass me off as his son, and booked a flight to New York under a forged passport.”

“Why a forged passport?” said Levitan.

“The man who wanted to adopt me thought we’d better both use the same name. He was a bit sensitive about being suspected of evil designs. I ditched him as soon as I got off the plane and headed for Connecticut, where Roddy’s parents were still living at the time. I presented myself on their doorstep with my fingernails cleaned and my hair slicked down and broke the news of how Roddy had sacrificed his own life to rescue a tiny tot from the jaws of a crocodile on the banks of the great gray-green greasy Brahmaputra River far away. I further explained that their devoted son’s last words had been (a) Mater! and (b) Pater! It was that sort of family, you see. So of course they were overjoyed to see me and lost not a moment in shoving me off to the right sort of prep school and thence to the right sort of college, where I acquired the old-school-tie manner that has stood me in such good stead as a bodyguard.”

Goudge smiled benignly at the little group who were hanging on his words, all except the man in the red suit, who seemed only bewildered. “Having thus won my grandparents’ hearts and made sure they’d revised their wills in my favor, I gave them a really splendid double funeral and decided it was time to get on with the revenge, for want of more pressing business. You can fill in what happened after that, can’t you, Barty old pal? Now if you minions of the law would kindly uncuff yourselves from my person and direct me to a competent bail bondsman—”

“Not a chance,” said Levitan. “Not after the way I caught you trying to strangle Officer Greenaway. How’s the neck, Greenaway?”

“Awk,” replied the lesser minion.

“Let me get you something to drink.” Sarah felt she ought to be making herself useful and there didn’t seem to be much else that needed doing just now. “Hot tea? Coffee? Soda water? Perhaps a spot of whiskey for medicinal purposes?”

“Awk!” said Greenaway.

“Soda water,” growled the lieutenant, “with plenty of ice. Why did you off George Protheroe, Goudge? Or Rudge, or whoever you are?”

“Goudge is the family patronymic, Barnaby Rudge was just Roddy’s bit of fun. Offing dear George was my own little treat. Do bear in mind that I’d had to stand at attention for two long, long evenings watching him and Barty play verbal patty-cake. It was obvious to the discerning onlooker, namely me, that they had to be father and son, and that Barty was coming down with a serious case of filial piety. One could hardly let that sort of thing go unchecked, could one? Furthermore, Mrs. Protheroe had been quite insistent that we drop in again when we were out this way, it would have been uncivil not to take her up on the invitation. I may add that this house is quite immorally easy to break into. You really ought to drop the old duck a cautionary word about getting a locksmith out here, Mrs. Bittersohn.”

“Thank you, I’ll do that. And what was your rationale for stabbing Mr. Dubrec?”

“Not upon me be the onus, dear lady, that was your fault. I’m fairly clever at eavesdropping without being noticed, cad that I am. I overheard Monsieur Dubrec burbling on to you about his secret mission and it crossed my mind that George might have fobbed off a lump of glass on Medea and been letting Dubrec baby-sit the real diamond all these years, though I couldn’t imagine why. Anyway, I thought I might as well give it the old school try. Unfortunately, there was nothing in Dubrec’s pockets worth pinching except a gold toothpick and the ancestral silver corkscrew. Quite a nice one, actually; I’d be glad to show it to you if I weren’t wearing these handcuffs.”

“So you went and searched his room, right?” said Levitan.

“Bang on, Your Worship. I didn’t dare take the time to do a thorough job. I’d planned to go back once my good Samaritans left me alone and I’d recovered from my drunken stupor, but you botched that for me by planting—Greenaway, is it?—at my bedside. I do apologize for my clumsiness in not finishing you off Mr. Greenaway. I’m not usually so inept.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind.” Officer Greenaway was still croaky, but the soda water was helping.

“Thank you,” said Goudge. “That’s very generous of you. I also regret not being allowed to finish my search, however. I can’t help thinking the diamond may still be up there.”

“No, it isn’t.” Bartolo Arbalest patted his necktie. “I’ve had mother’s little treasure right here, under my shirt. You’ve been guarding the idol’s eye ever since I hired you, Carnaby, and didn’t know it.”

“Curses! Foiled again. How wily of you, Barty. I suppose now you’re going to evict me from the atelier.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mr. Goudge,” consoled Levitan. “We’ve got a nice, cozy cell all ready and waiting. Would you mind phoning the station, Bittersohn? Ask the dispatcher to send along a stretch limo instead of the meat wagon, Mr. Goudge is used to traveling in style.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Lieutenant,” said his prisoner, “but please don’t bother about the limo. Now that I seem to have run out of things to do, you may as well have them bring back that hearse.”

“Well,” said Max after he’d helped Levitan and Greenaway unshackle themselves from Goudge’s corpse, “that was thoughtful and considerate. He must have had a cyanide capsule parked behind his bridgework.”

“Crazy as a bedbug.” Officer Greenaway’s articulation was much improved, Anora must have bought top-quality soda water. The policeman started to say something else, but his words were drowned out by the loud wails of the little brown man in the bright-red suit.

“What’s the matter with him?” cried Sarah above the tumult. “Can he be mourning that ghastly murderer?”

“No,” said Arbalest, “he’s lamenting the fact that Goudge has died without having paid him the money he was supposed to get for all those clever tricks he’s been playing. He says running around Boston in that red suit is worse than being downwind of a burning ghat. Poor fellow.”

Arbalest shouted a few words in Tamil, the ululations turned to what could only be an outpouring of gratitude. Sarah thought perhaps a round of soda water might help. She was on her way to get some when she met Anora, waddling through the hall in a lurid yellow-and-magenta chenille bathrobe and her brown felt slippers.

“Anora! What are you doing up? I thought the doctor had given you a sleeping pill.”

“So did he. What’s going on down here? Who’s doing all that howling?”

“The man in the red suit, the one George saw running across the yard. He’s all right now. It’s a long story, Anora. Are you sure you feel up to hearing it?”

“No, but I will be once I get something into me. Phyllis, quit fluttering around like a wet hen. Go tell Cook to make a fresh pot of tea and heat up some soup, I’m starving. Who’s here? Sarah, what are you looking at me like that for? Don’t tell me there’s been another murder?”

“Not exactly, this last one’s a suicide.”

“Who?”

“That man Goudge, who drove the car for Mr. Arbalest.”

“The fellow with the mean little eyes? I caught him staring at George that second night they came here, he gave me a funny feeling. Was he the one who speared my George?”

“Yes, Anora.”

“Too bad he killed himself,” Anora grunted. “I’d gladly have done it for him. Where’s Max?”

“In the den with the policemen and the body. He’s called an ambulance.”

“Good. Tell him I said thanks. What happened to Marcus?”

“He and Lydia Ouspenska drove back to Boston with Brooks and Theonia,” Sarah explained. “He said to tell you he’d be out next Sunday and to phone the atelier between times if you want him for anything.”

“Well, that was quite a speech for Marcus, bless his heart. Is Amadée’s son still here?”

“No, he went in the other ambulance with his father’s body. Jacques is going to let you know about the arrangements.”

“They’ll have Amadée cremated here and hold the funeral in Arizona, I suppose, it’s the only practical way these days. I’ll have to go, if I live that long. He did as much for me. Not much else to live for, now that George is gone.”

“Don’t be too sure of that, Anora. Go sit down before you fall down. I’ll tell Max you’re here, he wants to see you.” Sarah hurried to the den. “Max, Anora’s downstairs. Would you bring George’s letter, and the photograph? Mr. Arbalest, you may as well come too. And the Tamil man, does he have a name?”

“Why—yes.” Arbalest got rather uncertainly to his feet. “It’s Cijay, he says, Cijay Cattahoochee, if I’ve got it right. It’s so long since I’ve spoken Tamil. Cijay’s really a nice fellow, we’ve been chatting a bit. He’s in the country illegally, as you may have guessed. Carnaby found him wandering around the waterfront a few weeks ago, scared him into thinking he was in immediate danger of being sent to jail forever, and offered to become his protector. Translated, that appears to have meant using him as a slave, which was a terrible shame because he’s quite a bright, sociable fellow. He says he knows a little English but he can’t speak it well enough because Carnaby wouldn’t teach him and warned him against talking to anybody else.”

“Did he tell why Goudge made him do all that running around?” asked Levitan.

“He believes his master was a very strange man. He doesn’t understand why he’s been made to wear that red suit and do monkey tricks. He thinks Carnaby may have been slightly off in the head.”

“It never occurred to him that Goudge might have been trying to make him look crazy, with the object of pinning him for George’s murder?” said Max. “Well, it’s water over the dam now. Come on, we’d better get straightened out with Anora.”

“I hope Mrs. Protheroe isn’t too—oh, well, we’d better go and get it over with. Perhaps if I just lurk in the background?” The Resurrection Man was scared stiff, why wouldn’t he be?

“Whatever you feel comfortable with,” Sarah told him.

She let Max lead the way carrying the leather portfolio and the fateful letter, and laid her hand on Arbalest’s arm. He needed all the moral support he could get, she could feel him trembling. Anora was in her big armchair, her hands resting on its rubbed-bare plush arms, her eyes on nothing at all. She barely turned her head when they came in. Max opened the portfolio and held it up for her to see.