A Shock to the System - Stevenson Richard (чтение книг TXT) 📗

"Why not?"

"Because I think what Paul really wanted in life was the love of a good woman. And when he quit Dr. Crockwell's treatment program, he probably figured he was dipped, as far as a woman."

"Do you have a particular woman in mind?"

"What? You mean besides Tracy?"

"I mean for Paul."

"Oh, I don't know who it would be. That would be up to Paul. But Larry was—I think he could keep being a homosexual and it wouldn't bother him. He sure was one tough nut to crack for Dr. Crockwell. Poor ol' Crocky. But I think Paul could have been saved if Larry hadn't led him down the garden path. Paul didn't have the willpower to resist temptation, though, and I guess he was so ashamed, he could no longer go on living. And I can relate to that. Paul has my deepest sympathy. Without Dr. Crockwell's help and Tracy's supportiveness, there but for the grace of God go I, possibly."

Tracy placed her hand on Cebulka's free one and gave it a squeeze.

I said, "Some people think that Paul's suicide wasn't any such thing, but that he was murdered."

"Whoa."

"And that someone in the group or connected to the group in some way is the killer."

"Holyjehelka!"

"Ever hear of a Steven St. James?"

"No. Who's that?"

"I'm not sure yet. Gene, did anyone in the group ever threaten anyone else in the group or show signs of becoming violent?"

He screwed up his face. Tracy was big-eyed. Cebulka said, "When you called me up earlier, and you said you wanted to talk about Paul's suicide and Dr. Crockwell's program, I figured you were with Dr. Crockwell's insurance company or what have you, maybe some type of malpractice lawsuit, and I could put in a good word for the doc—happy to help him out after all the help he gave me. But now you're telling me somebody thinks somebody murdered Paul? Where in the world did a crazy idea like that get started?"

The waiter approached and set plates of two egg rolls each in front of Gene and Tracy and a bowl of hot-and-sour soup in front of me. When he was gone, I said, "There is some circumstantial evidence pointing to Dr. Crockwell's involvement—in Larry Bierly's shooting and maybe even Paul Haig's death. It's possible he'll be charged."

Cebulka stared at me and momentarily ceased his labors above. Tracy said, "But Dr. Crockwell has done so much good for people. How can they do this to him?"

"Who else in the group might have wanted to hurt Paul?" I asked. "Or shoot Larry Bierly? It's not clear yet, but the two events might be connected."

Tracy perked up. "Tell him," she said, "about—what's-their-names? Those two guys."

Cebulka was twisting away again with one hand, attempting with the other to cut a hunk off the end of an egg roll, which appeared to have been manufactured from a shingle-like material.

"You mean Dean and Roland?" Gene said.

"Yeah."

He abandoned the egg roll. Tracy ignored hers. I sipped at my smooth soup.

Cebulka said, "There were two guys in the group named Roland Stover and Dean Moody. They were always pretty down on gays—very negative, if you know what I mean. Gays are sinners, et cetera. They always talked like that in the group. Then when the group ended last December, I thought, one good thing is, I'll never have to listen to their hot air again. But then, lo and behold, I ran into them—about a month ago, I think. Over at Pizza Hut. Tracy was even with me. I introduced her to those two bozos. Jeez."

I said, "They were together?"

"Yeah, their table was right near our booth. Dean had salad bar and Roland was eating off of it too, and I'll bet Dean went back three times if he went back once. I think it says right on a sign, no sharing. The waitress saw it too, but she never let on."

"And you spoke to them?"

"For a minute."

"What did they have to say?"

Cebulka shook his head, a complicated maneuver. "Roland said, did I hear about Paul Haig? And I said yes, wasn't that too bad. And then do you know what Roland said?"

"No."

"He said, 'Paul had it coming.' "

"That's all?"

"No. He said, 'He who lieth with another man shall be put to death.' And then Dean said, 'Larry should die too,' and something about if American civilization is going to survive, it has to purge itself of people like that."

I said, "But this condemnation didn't include you—or themselves, of course."

"No, why should it? We all had our certificates by that time."

"You were certified heterosexual?"

Cebulka nodded vigorously, and a good-sized clump of hair

came out in his hand. We all looked at it.

After a moment Tracy said, "Gene has a scalp condition." Cebulka shrugged. "I guess it runs in the family. I have an

uncle with the same condition."

13

I parted company with the Cebulkas around nine and headed back into Albany. I told them I might need to be in touch again and they said fine. Gene said next time I should bring the wife along. I let it go.

Following the revelation about Moody and Stover, not previously known to be a pair, I'd asked Cebulka about the session where Bierly and Haig had walked out of therapy amid a crossfire of recriminations. But Cebulka remembered the event only hazily and said Crockwell's outburst, while unusual, didn't have any lasting effects. After Haig and Bierly left, the group just picked up and proceeded without them.

Visiting hours at Albany Med were over, so I'd have to wait until morning to talk to Larry Bierly. I went home and called my machine. Nothing from Crockwell or Finnerty, but Phyllis Haig had left a minute's worth of breathy pauses and slurred imprecations.

While Timmy read a travel book called Around the World by Yak and Kayak, by Maynard Sudbury, one of the Peace Corps old boys Timmy knew from his long-ago but fondly remembered days in Andhra Pradesh, I tried to reach Roland Stover and Dean Moody, the only two surviving members of the therapy group I hadn't met yet.

I got no answer at the number I had for Moody, but just as I was about to hang up, a man breathing hard picked up the phone at Roland Stover's residence.

"Yes?"

"Is this Roland Stover?"

"Yes, and who is this?" He sounded tense and mean, fitting the consensus description I had.

"Hi, Roland, I'm Don Strachey, an investigator doing some work that might be of assistance to Dr. Vernon Crockwell. Dr. Crockwell didn't give me your name, but it was provided by another member of the psychotherapy group you were in. Could we get together some time soon so that I could ask you a couple of questions about the group? Dr. Crockwell might be having some legal problems, and there's a chance you could shed some light on the situation."

"What kind of legal problems?" Stover growled. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, if we could sit down over a cup of coffee—"

"And who has the right to give you my name? That is a breach of medical confidentiality, and I demand to know this minute who gave you my name!"

"Larry Bierly did. He thought if I talked to you, Roland, I might come away with some insights into Dr. Crockwell's therapy group and who his friends and enemies in it are."

"I can tell you right now," Stover snapped, "that I am Vernon Crockwell's friend and Larry Bierly is his number-one enemy. Anyway, I heard on TV that somebody shot Larry, so how did you get my name from him?"