Time Out of Mind (66 page)
Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
The answer, which he could not give her, was that the
dim anger he felt was not so dim anymore. At Ella. At
questions concerning Laura Hemmings, because there were things a gentleman simply did not discuss. At Margaret for
going away. At all the people who would not leave them
in peace. At Bigelow. Even him. Especially him. At who
ever was ruining the peace he'd felt in this house, in this
town, for so long.
“
Just give me an hour.” He kissed her lightly and s
queezed her hand as he moved toward the door. ”I need
an hour.”
Then, remembering, he stepped back to the closet for his
umbrella. “It could change to rain,” he said.
Or the snow could get heavy.
Fourteen
“
You're full of shit, lady.”
urines, facing the door he'd entered. Another door was on his left, and Ella's desk was to his right. Lesko let his coat
fall to the floor and stood with the Beretta held low in both
hands. “Why don't we get old Tom Burke in here where
I can see him?”
eyes were locked on it. “Whatever are you talking about,
Mr. Lesko?” she asked.
opened that front gate for me?”
”
I did, of course.”
You want to walk back over to that window and show
me how you did it with you and Dancer both standing there
watching me?”
It is done by remote control. Certainly.” She moved
her thin fingers toward the buttons of the telephone console
as if to demonstrate.
Suit yourself, lady.” The ex-cop raised his weapon and
trained it on the closed door opposite him. “Go ahead.
Push.”
She looked up at him with an expression meant to con
vey utter bewilderment. But her eyes met his a bit too long,
and she seemed to realize it. Slowly, she brought her hands
together and leaned forward over the desk.
“
Very well, Mr. Lesko.” She drew in a breath that bared
her teeth ever so slightly. “Mr. Burke is indeed here. He is in the kitchen, some distance away. I would prefer not
to summon him because I intend this to be a private inter
view.”
Yeah.” Lesko made a face. He had not lowered his
gun. “Well, I don't want to stand like this all day, lady.
How do I know he's not right outside the door?”
“
You have my word.”
“
Right.” Lesicö showed his own teeth. He crossed the
room once more and dragged a heavy chair in front of the door. It was intended to delay, not stop, anyone who might suddenly enter. Next he snapped his fingers at Dancer and
pointed to the second door. “Throw the latch on that one,” he ordered.
Dancer looked helplessly at the old woman, hesitating. Ella Beckwith snapped her own fingers and motioned him
on. Dancer's hands went to his heart. “You can't intend locking us in here with
him?”
Mr. Lesko is merely being prudent, Lawrence dear.”
Lesko thought he saw a glimmer of appreciation as she
spoke. “In any case, Mr. Lesko is not here to harm us. He
is here to attempt an extortion.”
door, which he clicked three or four times, as if it were
stubborn. Lesko made another pained face at Ella Beckwith.
She smiled and nodded in return.
“
Lawrence, dear.”
“
There!” Dancer turned and straightened.
“
Lock it, Lawrence,” she said. “Actually lock it.”
Dancer hesitated, then glanced at Lesko, who was pa
tiently drumming his fingers on the Beretta. He turned back,
his face flushed, and slid the bolt easily into place.
“
Lawrence,” the old woman asked, “can that be your
last attempt to outwit Mr. Lesko?”
“
Well, I only…”
“
Sit down, Lawrence.” She looked up at Lesko. ”I
know, sir, that you are not a fool. I flatter myself that I am
not a fool. May we begin on that assumption?”
“
It depends.” Lesko made a final check of the room. He could have locked the hallway door as well, but then he'd
still have to worry about where Burke was when he was
ready to leave. This way, Burke has a chance to bust in if
he's going to. But as soon as the door hits that chair, any
one behind it is going to get a hole in him. “What about your brother?” Lesko asked. “What does ‘indisposed’ mean?”
“
He is alone with his bottle and his fears. He is in no
way a danger to you.” She rapped her desk top to indicate dismissal of that subject. “Would you care to show your
cards,.Mr. Lesko?”
“
For openers,” he said nonchalantly, “how about
1944?”
”
A card or two more, sir, if you don't mind.”
“
You would have been what? Twenty-five or thirty?
Were you part of it or did you just stick around to pick up
the marbles?”
”
I see we must fence for a while,” she sighed. “Very
well.” Ella affected the look of an aged Scarlett O'Hara,
the role she'd played when he first entered the room.
“Whatever could you mean by that, sir?”
he wondered if she ever stepped outside this house. And
every now and then there was just a flicker of that funny little light you see in the eyes of people in psycho wards. But psycho or not, like she said, she wasn't any dummy.
And she was used to a lifetime of getting her way. Of never
being pushed too hard. So, let's see how she handles a
press.
“
You people killed Charlotte Corbin.” His tone was
matter-of-fact, not accusing. “Or you had it done. You also
killed Charlotte's son, who turned out to be the Corbin
guy's grandfather. You would have killed Corbin’s father
too if the krauts didn't get him first.”
done?”
the orig
inal
Tilden Beckwith has this accident in his office. If I had
to bet, I'd say he went first and the accident had a little
help. I'd also bet that if I looked real close I'd find a couple
of other stiffs along the way because things like this never
go as clean as you'd like.”
I repeat.” She folded her hands under her chin. “Why,
Mr. Lesko?”
“
Money. What else?”
I have more than I could possibly spend. That was al
most equally true in 1944.”
Lesko nodded. “If the Corbins let you keep it.”
”
I see.” She smiled. Lesko thought she seemed relieved.
“At last, we have a motive. Tilden Beckwith sired a bastard
son. The legitimate Beckwiths, fearing a pretender to the
family fortune, eventually took up arms against the pre
tender and his entire line, slaying all but one who was hid
den like Moses among the reeds. Is that approximately what
you believe, Mr. Lesko?”
“
It's in the ballpark.”
she lowered her voice as if sharing a secret—“the number
of illegitimate children produced by rich men who dally
with cocktail waitresses? Or the number of alleged relatives
who surface every time a rich person dies?”
Dancer smirked. “I'm sure, Mr. Lesko, that any com
petent attorney would advise Corbin not to waste his time
without documentation.”
“
Who says he doesn't have paper?” Lesko asked offhandedly. Then he watched Dancer's eyes to see if they
would widen and glance toward Ella Beckwith. They did.
“
Such as what?” Dancer tried to affect a scornful dis
belief.
Lesko waved off the question with a wink. He had no
idea what Corbin might have had, but he knew at least that there could be something. “What do you say we speed this up? Next you're going to tell me that whatever the guy has,
it doesn't matter because you got more lawyers than he
does and you'll tie him up in the courts for years until he's
ready to take any bone you throw him. Then I say yeah,
but how come you tried to kill the guy twice? Then you, lady, you say that's news to you and if it's true, old Tom
Burke must have been acting on his own for some reason,
right?”
Ella's smile flickered but remained.
“
Once we get past that,” Lesko went on, “you're going
to tell me there's no evidence of attempted murder, espe
cially since I screwed up both attempts.”
“
You are peeking at my hand, Mr. Lesko. Play your own
cards, please.”
“
Oh, sorry.” Lesko scratched his head. “We were talk
ing motive. If you don't like money, how about blood?”
“
Blood, sir?”
She turned a shade more pale. Lesko would not have
thought it possible.
Blood,” he repeated. “As in, Corbin and the first Til
den Beckwith look like twins because they got the same
blood. The rest of the Beckwiths, you included, all look
like each other because you all got the same blood too,
except it's not Beckwith blood. You got as much Beckwith
in you as my cat, lady.”
Ella's smile became a mask.
“
No arguments?” Lesko spread his hands.
“
He could be recording this,” Dancer warned.
“
Recording what?” The detective shrugged. “So far I'm
doing a solo.”
That funny little light blinked on.”‘Were you approaching
a conclusion, Mr. Lesko?”
“
Tilden's wife, she was your grandmother, right? She
screwed around a little.”
Dancer emitted a horrified moan at Lesko's crudeness.
Ella didn't even blink.
“
Anyway,” Lesko continued, ''she gets pregnant. I have
a feeling that the guy was not a class act. I have a feeling
you're not real anxious for people to know you came out
of him and not out of uptown types like the Beckwiths.”
Lesko watched her for some sign that the pecker who
started all this could be identified if you dug deep enough and got lucky. He saw it on her temple. A vein there had begun to throb.
“
What was he,” he pressed, “part nigger, maybe? Or
maybe he got hung up by his balls for molesting little boys.”
Lesko knew that he'd hit. If not the ten ring, then something
very close. He decided to let it cook by itself for a while.
The detective began to pace. “Next thing you know,
your grandma has this baby. Tilden probably takes one look
and says you gotta be kidding. No way that came out of
me. He'd like to throw the wife and kid out but maybe he keeps them for appearances. But then, I figure, Tilden de
cides he wants a kid of his own and he sure as hell isn't
going to ask your grandma for it. He goes to this girl who's
maybe a young hooker. He gets her to have a kid for him.
He sets her up right here in Greenwich, maybe in that same
house Corbin came back here and bought. She stays here
a few years, she raises the kid, then something spooks her and she splits for Chicago. Fifty years later there comes a
space of maybe six weeks in which Tilden dies, she dies, her kid dies, and I think her kid's kid would have died too if you could get a clean shot at him while he was in town
for the funerals.”