preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第32部分

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proached　the　granite　and　titanium　entry。　Another　vast　acreage　of　granite　greeted　him　upon　entering　the　interior。　There　was　a　large　desk；　manned　by　half　a　dozen　security　officers；　and　several　banks　of　elevators　beyond。
　Smithback　strode　resolutely　toward　the　security　desk。　He　leaned　on　it　aggressively。
　〃I'm　here　to　see　Mr。　Fairhaven。〃
　The　closest　guard　was　shuffling　through　a　puter　printout。　〃Name？〃　he　asked；　not　bothering　to　look　up。
　〃William　Smithback　Jr。；　of　the　New　York　Times。〃
　〃Moment；〃　mumbled　the　guard；　picking　up　a　telephone。　He　dialed；　then　handed　it　to　Smithback。　A　crisp　voice　sounded。　〃May　I　help　you？〃
　〃This　is　William　Smithback　Jr。　of　the　New　York　Times。　I'm　here　to　see　Mr。　Fairhaven。〃
　It　was　Saturday；　but　Smithback　was　gambling　he'd　be　in　his　office。　Guys　like　Fairhaven　never　took　Saturdays　off。　And　on　Saturdays；　they　were　usually　less　fortified　with　secretaries　and　guards。
　〃Do　you　have　an　appointment？〃　the　female　voice　asked；　reaching　down　to　him　from　fifty　stories。
　〃No。　I'm　the　reporter　doing　the　story　on　Enoch　Leng　and　the　bodies　found　at　his　jobsite　on　Catherine　Street　and　I　need　to　speak　with　him　immediately。　It's　urgent。〃
　〃You　need　to　call　for　an　appointment。〃　It　was　an　utterly　neutral　voice。
　〃Good。　Consider　this　the　call。　I'd　like　to　make　an　appointment　for〃…Smithback　checked　his　watch…〃ten　o'clock。〃
　〃Mr。　Fairhaven　is　presently　engaged；〃　the　voice　instantly　responded。
　Smithback　took　a　deep　breath。　So　he　was　in。　Time　to　press　the　attack。　There　were　probably　ten　layers　of　secretaries　beyond　the　one　on　the　phone；　but　he'd　gotten　through　that　many　before。　〃Look；　if　Mr。　Fairhaven　is　too　busy　to　talk　to　me；　I'll　just　have　to　report　in　the　article　I'm　writing　for　the　Monday　edition　that　he　refused　to　ment。〃
　〃He　is　presently　engaged；〃　the　robotic　voice　repeated。
　〃No　ment。　That'll　do　wonders　for　his　public　image。　And　e　Monday；　Mr。　Fairhaven　will　be　wanting　to　know　who　in　his　office　turned　away　the　reporter。　Get　my　drift？〃
　There　was　a　long　silence。　Smithback　drew　in　some　more　air。　This　was　often　a　long　process。　〃You　know　when　you're　reading　an　article　in　the　paper；　and　it's　about　some　sleazy　guy；　and　the　guy　says　I　have　no　ment？　How　does　that　make　you　feel　about　the　guy？　Especially　a　real　estate　developer。　No　ment。　I　could　do　a　lot　with　no　ment。〃
　There　was　more　silence。　Smithback　wondered　if　she　had　hung　up。　But　no；　there　was　a　sound　on　a　line。　It　was　a　chuckle。
　〃That's　good；〃　said　a　low；　pleasant；　masculine　voice。　〃I　like　that。　Nicely　done。〃
　〃Who's　this？〃　Smithback　demanded。
　〃Just　some　sleazy　real　estate　developer。〃
　〃Who？〃　Smithback　was　not　going　to　stand　being　made　fun　of　by　some　lackey。
　〃Anthony　Fairhaven。〃
　〃Oh。〃　Smithback　was　momentarily　struck　speechless。　He　recovered　quickly。　〃Mr。　Fairhaven；　is　it　true　that…〃
　〃Why　don't　you　e　on　up；　so　we　can　talk　face…to…face；　like　grownup　people？　Forty…ninth　floor。〃
　〃What？〃　Smithback　was　still　surprised　at　the　rapidity　of　his　success。
　〃I　said；　e　up。　I　was　wondering　when　you'd　call；　being　the　ambitious；　careerist　reporter　that　you　so　evidently　are。〃
　　
　Fairhaven's　office　was　not　quite　what　Smithback　had　envisioned。　True；　there　were　several　layers　of　secretaries　and　assistants　guarding　the　sanctum　sanctorum。　But　when　he　finally　gained　Fairhaven's　office；　it　wasn't　the　vast　screw…you　space　of　chrome…gold…ebony…old…master…paintings…African…primitives　he'd　expected。　It　was　rather　simple　and　small。　True；　there　was　art　on　the　walls；　but　it　consisted　of　some　understated　Thomas　Hart　Benton　lithographs　of　yeoman　farmers。　Beside　these　was　a　glassed　panel…locked　and　clearly　alarmed…containing　a　variety　of　handguns；　mounted　on　a　black　velvet　backdrop。　The　sole　desk　was　small　and　made　of　birch。　There　were　a　couple　of　easy　chairs　and　a　worn　Persian　rug　on　the　floor。　One　wall　was　covered　with　bookshelves；　filled　with　books　that　had　clearly　been　read　instead　of　purchased　by　the　yard　as　furniture。　Except　for　the　gun　case；　it　looked　more　like　a　professor's　office　than　that　of　a　real　estate　magnate。　And　yet；　unlike　any　professor's　office　Smithback　had　ever　been　in；　the　space　was　meticulously　clean。　Every　surface　sparkled　with　an　unblemished　shine。　Even　the　books　appeared　to　have　been　polished。　There　was　a　faint　smell　of　cleaning　agents；　a　little　chemical　but　not　unpleasant。
　〃Please　sit　down；〃　said　Fairhaven；　sweeping　a　hand　toward　the　easy　chairs。　〃Would　you　care　for　anything？　Coffee？　Water？　Soda？　Whisky？〃　He　grinned。
　〃Nothing；　thanks；〃　said　Smithback　as　he　took　a　seat。　He　felt　the　familiar　shudder　of　expectation　that　came　before　an　intense　interview。　Fairhaven　was　clearly　savvy；　but　he　was　rich　and　pampered；　he　no　doubt　lacked　street…smarts。　Smithback　had　interviewed…and　skewered…dozens　like　him。　It　wouldn't　even　be　a　contest。
　Fairhaven　opened　a　refrigerator　and　took　out　a　small　bottle　of　mineral　water。　He　poured　himself　a　glass　and　then　sat；　not　at　his　desk；　but　in　an　easy　chair　opposite　Smithback。　He　crossed　his　legs；　smiled。　The　bottle　of　water　sparkled　in　the　sunlight　that　slanted　through　the　windows。　Smithback　glanced　past　him。　The　view；　at　least；　was　killer。
　He　turned　his　attention　back　to　the　man。　Black　wavy　hair；　strong　brow；　athletic　frame；　easy　movements；　sardonic　look　in　the　eye。　Could　be　thirty；　thirty…five。　He　jotted　a　few　impressions。
　〃So；〃　Fairhaven　said　with　a　small；　self…deprecating　smile；　〃the　sleazy　real　estate　developer　is　ready　to　take　your　questions。〃
　〃May　I　record　this？〃
　〃I　would　expect　no　less。〃
　Smithback　slipped　a　recorder　out　of　his　pocket。　Of　course　he　seemed　charming。　People　like　him　were　experts　at　charm　and　manipulation。　But　he'd　never　allow　himself　to　be　spun。　All　he　had　to　do　was　remember　who　he　was　dealing　with：　a　heartless；　money…grubbing　businessman　who　would　sell　his　own　mother　for　the　back　rent　alone。
　〃Why　did　you　destroy　the　site　on　Catherine　Street？〃　he　asked。
　Fairhaven　bowed　his　head　slightly。　〃The　project　was　behind　schedule。　We　were　fast…tracking　the　excavation。　It　would've　cost　me　forty　thousand　dollars　a　day。　I'm　not　in　the　archaeology　business。〃
　〃Some　archaeologists　say　you　destroyed　one　of　the　most　important　sites　to　be　discovered　in　Manhattan　in　a　quarter…century。〃
　Fairhaven　cocked　his　head。　〃Really？　Which　archaeologists？〃
　〃The　Society　for　American　Archaeology；　for　example。〃
　A　cynical　smile　broke　out　on　Fairhaven's　face。　〃Ah。　I　see。　Well　of　course　they'd　be　against　it。　If　they　had　their　way；　no　one　in　America　would　turn　over　a　spadeful　of　soil　without　an　archaeologist　standing　by　with　screen；　trowel；　and　toothbrush。〃
　〃Getting　back　to　the　site…〃
　〃Mr。　Smithback；　what　I　did　was　perfectly　legal。　When　we　discovered　those　remains；　I　personally　stopped　all　work。　I　personally　examined　the　site。　We　called　in　forensic　experts；　who　photographed　everything。　We　removed　the　remains　with　great　care；　had　them　examined；　and　then　properly　buried；　all　at　my　own　expense。　We　did　not　restart　work　until　we　had　direct　authorization　from　the　mayor。　What　more　would　you　have　me　do？〃
　Smithback　felt　a　small　twinge。　This　was　not　proceeding　quite　as　expected。　He　was　letting　Fairhaven　control　the　agenda；　that　was　the　problem。
　〃You　say　you　had　the　remains　buried。　Why？　Was　there　anything　perhaps　you　were　trying　to　hide？〃
　At　this　Fairhaven　actually　laughed；　leaning　back　in　his　chair；　exposing　beautiful　teeth。　〃You　make　it　sound　suspicious。　I'm　a　little　embarrassed　to　admit　that　I'm　a　man　with　some　small　religious　values。　These　poor　people　were　killed　in　a　hideous　way。　I　wanted　to　give　them　a　decent　burial　with　an　ecumenical　service；　quiet　and　dignified；　free　of　the　whole　media　circus。　That's　what　I　did…buried　them　together　with　their　little　effects　in　a　real　cemetery。　I　didn't　want　their　bones　ending　up　in　a　museum　drawer。　So　I　purchased　a　beautiful　tract　in　the　Gates　of　Heaven　Cemetery　in　Valhalla；　New　York。　I'm　sure　the　cemetery　director　would　be　happy　to　show　you　the　plot。　The　remains　were　my　responsibility　and；　frankly；　I　had　to　do　something　with　them。　The　city　certainly　didn't　want　them。〃
　〃Right；　right；〃　said　Smithback；　thinking。　It　would　make　a　nice　sidebar；　this　quiet　burial　under　the　leafy　elms。　But　then　he　frowned。　Christ；　was　he　getting　spun