preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第33部分

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　〃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　here？
　Time　for　a　new　tack。　〃According　to　the　records；　you're　a　major　donor　to　the　mayor's　re…election　campaign。　You　get　in　a　pinch　at　your　construction　site　and　he　bails　you　out。　Coincidence？〃
　Fairhaven　leaned　back　in　the　chair。　〃Drop　the　wide…eyed；　babe…in…the…woods　look。　You　know　perfectly　well　how　things　work　in　this　town。　When　I　give　money　to　the　mayor's　campaign；　I　am　exercising　my　constitutional　rights。　I　don't　expect　any　special　treatment；　and　I　don't　ask　for　it。〃
　〃But　if　you　get　it；　so　much　the　better。〃
　Fairhaven　smiled　broadly；　cynically；　but　said　nothing。　Smithback　felt　another　twinge　of　concern。　This　guy　was　being　very　careful　about　what　he　actually　said。　Trouble　was；　you　couldn't　record　a　cynical　grin。
　He　stood　and　walked　with　what　he　hoped　looked　like　casual　confidence　toward　the　paintings；　hands　behind　his　back；　studying　them；　trying　to　frame　a　new　strategy。　Then　he　moved　to　the　gun　case。　Inside；　polished　weapons　gleamed。　〃Interesting　choice　of　office　decor；〃　he　said；　gesturing　at　the　case。
　〃I　collect　the　rarest　of　handguns。　I　can　afford　to。　That　one　you　are　pointing　at；　for　example；　is　a　Luger；　chambered　in　。45。　The　only　one　ever　made。　I　also　have　a　collection　of　Mercedes…Benz　roadsters。　But　they　take　up　rather　more　display　space；　so　I　keep　them　at　my　place　in　Sag　Harbor。〃　Fairhaven　looked　at　him；　still　smiling　cynically。　〃We　all　collect　things；　Mr。　Smithback。　What's　your　passion？　Museum　monographs　and　chapbooks；　perhaps：　removed　for　research；　then　not　returned？　By　accident；　of　course。〃
　Smithback　looked　at　him　sharply。　Had　the　guy　searched　his　apartment？　But　no：　Fairhaven　was　merely　fishing。　He　returned　to　the　chair。　〃Mr。　Fairhaven…〃
　Fairhaven　interrupted　him；　his　tone　suddenly　brisk；　unfriendly。　〃Look；　Smithback；　I　know　you're　exercising　your　constitutional　right　to　skewer　me。　The　big　bad　real　estate　developer　is　always　an　easy　target。　And　you　like　easy　targets。　Because　you　fellows　are　all　cut　from　the　same　cloth。　You　all　think　your　work　is　important。　But　today's　newspaper　is　lining　tomorrow's　bird　cage。　It's　ephemera。　What　you　do；　in　the　larger　scheme　of　things；　is　nugatory。〃
　Nugatory？　What　the　hell　did　that　mean？　It　didn't　matter：　clearly　it　was　an　insult。　He　was　getting　under　Fairhaven's　skin。　That　was　good…wasn't　it？
　〃Mr。　Fairhaven；　I　have　reason　to　believe　that　you've　been　pressuring　the　Museum　to　stop　this　investigation。〃
　〃I'm　sorry。　What　investigation？〃
　〃The　one　into　Enoch　Leng　and　the　nineteenth…century　killings。〃
　〃That　investigation？　Why　should　I　care　one　way　or　another　about　it？　It　didn't　stop　my　construction　project；　and　frankly　that's　all　I　care　about。　They　can　investigate　it　now　until　they're　blue　in　the　face；　if　they　so　choose。　And　I　love　this　phrase　all　you　journalists　use：　I　have　reason　to　believe。　What　you　really　mean　is：　I　want　to　believe　but　I　haven't　a　shred　of　evidence。　All　you　fellows　must've　taken　the　same　Journalism　101　class：　Making　an　Ass　of　Yourself　While　Pretending　to　Get　the　Story。〃　Fairhaven　allowed　himself　a　cynical　laugh。
　Smithback　sat　stiffly；　listening　to　the　laughter　subside。　Once　again　he　tried　to　tell　himself　he　was　getting　under　Fairhaven's　skin。　He　spoke　at　last；　keeping　his　voice　as　cool　as　possible。
　〃Tell　me；　Mr。　Fairhaven；　just　why　is　it　that　you're　so　interested　in　the　Museum？〃
　〃I　happen　to　love　the　Museum。　It's　my　favorite　museum　in　the　world。　I　practically　grew　up　in　that　place　looking　at　the　dinosaurs；　the　meteorites；　the　gems。　I　had　a　nanny　who　used　to　take　me。　She　necked　with　her　boyfriend　behind　the　elephants　while　I　wandered　around　by　myself。　But　you're　not　interested　in　that；　because　it　doesn't　fit　your　image　of　the　greedy　real　estate　developer。　Really；　Smithback；　I'm　wise　to　your　game。〃
　〃Mr。　Fairhaven…〃
　Fairhaven　grinned。　〃You　want　a　confession？〃
　This　temporarily　stopped　Smithback。
　Fairhaven　lowered　his　voice　to　confessional　level。　〃I　have　mitted　two　unforgivable　crimes。〃
　Smithback　tried　to　maintain　the　hard…bitten　reportorial　look　he　cultivated　in　instances　like　these。　He　knew　this　was　going　to　be　some　kind　of　trick；　or　joke。
　〃My　two　crimes　are　these…are　you　ready？〃
　Smithback　checked　to　see　if　the　recorder　was　still　running。
　〃I　am　rich；　and　I　am　a　developer。　My　two　truly　unforgivable　sins。　Mea　culpa。〃
　Against　all　his　better　journalistic　instincts；　Smithback　found　himself　getting　pissed　off。　He'd　lost　the　interview。　It　was；　in　fact；　a　dead　loss。　The　guy　was　a　slimeball；　but　he　was　remarkably　adroit　at　dealing　with　the　press。　So　far　Smithback　had　nothing；　and　he　was　going　to　get　nothing。　He　made　one　last　push　anyway。　〃You　still　haven't　explained…〃
　Fairhaven　stood。　〃Smithback；　if　you　only　knew　how　utterly　predictable　you　and　your　questions　are…if　you　only　knew　how　tiresome　and　mediocre　you　are　as　a　reporter　and；　I'm　sorry　to　say；　as　a　human　being…you'd　be　mortified。〃
　〃I'd　like　an　explanation…〃
　But　Fairhaven　was　pressing　a　buzzer。　His　voice　smothered　the　rest　of　Smithback's　question。　〃Miss　Gallagher；　would　you　kindly　show　Mr。　Smithback　out？〃
　〃Yes；　Mr。　Fairhaven。〃
　〃This　is　rather　abrupt…〃
　〃Mr。　Smithback；　I　am　tired。　I　saw　you　because　I　didn't　want　to　read　about　myself　in　the　paper　having　refused　ment。　I　was　also　curious　to　meet　you；　to　see　if　you　were　perhaps　a　cut　above　the　rest。　Now　that　I've　satisfied　myself　on　that　score；　I　don't　see　any　reason　to　continue　this　conversation。〃
　The　secretary　stood　in　the　door；　stout　and　unmovable。　〃Mr。　Smithback？　This　way；　please。〃
　On　his　way　out；　Smithback　paused　in　the　outermost　secretary's　office。　Despite　his　efforts　at　self…control；　his　frame　was　quivering　with　indignation。　Fairhaven　had　been　parrying　a　hostile　press　for　more　than　a　decade；　naturally；　he'd　gotten　damn　good　at　it。　Smithback　had　dealt　with　nasty　interviewees　before；　but　this　one　really　got　under　his　skin。　Calling　him　tiresome；　mediocre；　ephemeral；　nugatory　（he'd　have　to　look　that　up）…who　did　he　think　he　was？
　Fairhaven　himself　was　too　slippery　to　pin　down。　No　big　surprise　there。　There　were　other　ways　to　find　things　out　about　people。　People　in　power　had　enemies；　and　enemies　loved　to　talk。　Sometimes　the　enemies　were　working　for　them；　right　under　their　noses。
　He　glanced　at　the　secretary。　She　was　young；　sweet；　and　looked　more　approachable　than　the　battle…axes　manning　the　inner　offices。
　〃Here　every　Saturday？〃　He　smiled　nonchalantly。
　〃Most　of　them；〃　she　said；　looking　up　from　her　puter。　She　was　cute；　with　glossy　red　hair　and　a　small　splash　of　freckles。　He　winced　inwardly；　suddenly　reminded　of　Nora。
　〃Works　you　hard；　doesn't　he？〃
　〃Mr。　Fairhaven？　Sure　does。〃
　〃Probably　makes　you　work　Sundays；　too。〃
　〃Oh　no；〃　she　said。　〃Mr。　Fairhaven　never　works　on　Sunday。　He　goes　to　church。〃
　Smithback　feigned　surprise。　〃Church？　Is　he　Catholic？〃
　〃Presbyterian。〃
　〃Probably　a　tough　man　to　work　for；　I　bet。〃
　〃No；　he's　one　of　the　best　supervisors　I've　had。　He　actually　seems　to　care　about　us　little　folk。〃
　〃Never　would　have　guessed　it；〃　Smithback　said　with　a　wink；　drifting　out　the　door。　Probably　boning　her　and　the　other　〃little　folk〃　on　the　side；　he　thought。
　Back　on　the　street；　Smithback　allowed　himself　a　most　un…Presbyterian　string　of　oaths。　He　was　going　to　dig　into　this　guy's　past　until　he　knew　every　detail；　down　to　the　name　of　his　goddamn　teddy　bear。　You　couldn't　bee　a　big…time　real　estate　developer　in　New　York　City　and　keep　your　hands　clean。　There　would　be　dirt；　and　he　would　find　it。　Yes；　there　would　be　dirt。　By　God；　there　would　be　dirt。
　
　FOUR
　　
　MANDY　EKLUND　CLIMBED　the　filthy　subway　stairs　to　First　Street；　turned　north　at　Avenue　A；　and　trudged　toward　Tompkins　Square　Park。　Ahead；　the　park's　anemic　trees　rose　up　against　a　sky　faintly　smeared　with　the　purple　stain　of　dawn。　The　morning　star；　low　on　the　horizon；　was　fading　into　oblivion。
　Mandy　pulled　her　wrap　more　tightly　around　her　shoulders　in　a　futile　attempt　to　keep　out　the　early　morning　chill。　She　felt　a　little　groggy；　and　her　feet　ached　each　time　they　hit　the　pavement。　It　had　been　a　great　night　at　Club　Pissoir；　though：　music；　free　drinks