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Chapter 13
Now therefore be ye not scoffers, lest your bonds be made strong,
For a decree of destruction have I heard from the Lord.
 Isaiah 28:22
Logan s harangue played over and over in my mind until I fell asleep,
but it was his car that was in my thoughts when I awoke on Saturday
morning. One of the few bits of information we had gleaned from a
witness was that, right around the time of the murder, there was a car
near Stella Maris Church with its wipers going on a sunny afternoon.
Which suggested the driver was not used to the controls. Surely I was
not alone in having that experience in a vehicle I was not accustomed
to. A new car or a rental. Go for the light switch and you get the
wipers. Or vice versa. Perhaps somebody had been in the parking lot
near the murder scene in a car that was unfamiliar to him or her. I
now knew William and Babs Logan had bought a car a few months
ago, and she was unfamiliar with its locks because, she said, she never
got to drive it. Lou Petrucci had come to town in his own car.
Whether it was new or old, he would have had lots of time to get used
to it on the drive from New Jersey. Kurt Bleier had a rental car. Enrico
Sferrazza-Melchiorre had taken a car out for a test drive. It should be
easy enough to determine whether the witness, the woman with the
little dog, had noticed American plates, or a snazzy British auto, or
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maybe a car with a rental sticker in the parking lot that day.
I made a quick trip to my office and pulled out the notes of my
interview with Clara MacIntyre. All I had was that she nearly got hit
by a car with its wipers going in the bright sunshine. The car was nice
and clean and did not appear to need its windshield wiped. Nothing
about the kind of car or the driver. I hadn t pressed it, I remembered,
because I hadn t been interested in the car. The near-collision was inci-
dental to what I had questioned her about: voices she might have
heard coming from the church. It was time to pay another call on
Mrs. MacIntyre. I gathered up my photos of our suspects and called
her number.  Come right over, she said.
But she put a damper on things right away when I told her what I
was after.
 I don t know one car from another, Mr. Collins, she said, stroking
Dewey s tawny head as he slept beside her on the chesterfield.  Last
car I had was a Plymouth Valiant.
 They haven t made those in a while.
 No.
 Do you know what an Aston Martin looks like?
 That s an English car. My husband didn t hold with English cars.
 One more thing and I ll leave you in peace, Mrs. MacIntyre.
 Oh, I don t mind at all, Mr. Collins. Dewey and I enjoy com-
pany.
 Can you remember anything about the driver?
 I couldn t see a face at all. Not that I really looked. I just wanted
to avoid getting hit. But the sun was blinding on the windshield. The
driver could have been King Kong for all I know.
 That s fine. I understand. Here are the photos anyway, in case you
saw one of these people lurking around the church.
She peered at the pictures, reached for a pair of reading glasses, and
tried again.  No, no. Oh, I did see this fellow, I think.
My heart missed a beat.  Which one?
She pointed to the photograph. Fred Mills.  It was either him or
someone who looked a heck of a lot like him. But he wasn t as bright-
eyed and bushy-tailed that day as he looks in this picture.
 You saw this man when you were walking Dewey on Friday,
November 22?
236
 I think so. No. No, it was the day before.
 He was at Stella Maris Church the day before the  on the
Thursday?
 No, not at the church.
I took a deep breath and willed myself to stay patient and calm.
 Just tell me in your own words, Mrs. MacIntyre.
 Dewey and I had a walk at Seaview Park, which as you know is
right there on the water, some distance east of Stella Maris, but you
can see the church plain as day from the park. We walked around the
park on Thursday until that man with the unruly Rottweilers showed
up. The same rough owner and his dogs were there again on Friday,
which is why Dewey and I decided to go to Stella Maris instead that
day. But it was on the Thursday that we saw the young man in the
picture. He was sitting on a bench looking at the church. Then he just
sat there staring down at his feet. He was pale and shaky, looked as if
he were about to be sick. In a way I wanted to ask if he needed help.
But you never know  he could have been on drugs or something.
Dewey ran up to him and sniffed his legs. He reached down and
patted Dewey s ears but it was obvious his heart wasn t in it. He was
unwell or upset, or had other things on his mind. Dewey left him
alone. Then the fellow got up from the bench and headed for the
parking lot. I never gave him another thought until now.
Monday morning it was minus twelve outside, with a wind chill of
minus thirty. Every muscle in my body contracted in protest when I
sat in my frozen car. The heater finally afforded some relief just before
I got to the choir school. I went inside and found Fred Mills, but he
wasn t alone. He and Kurt Bleier were deep in conversation outside
one of the classrooms.
 Achtung, Kolonel! I turned just in time to see William Logan
click his heels together and stand at attention facing Bleier.  Herr gen-
eral wants to see you. Schnell! He says zere iss a large wall crumbling
behind the compound and comrades are escaping to the West! Zere
iss no discipline in the Fatherland anymore!
Bleier looked up at Logan and replied in a deadpan voice:  Yes,
237
many are scrambling to the West today. In America they are giving
away free assault rifles to the first million people over the age of ten
who eat the most wieners and answer a skill-testing question. The
question is:  Who is the guy who is not on tv? 
 You ve got some nerve laughing at American society!
 It was you who started the conversation, on a decidedly offensive [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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