Lawrence Block - Time to Murder and Create

“No, of course not. I didn’t want the man killed.”

“But somebody in your organization—”

He sighed heavily. “It would seem that someone decided to take matters into his own hands. I… confided in several people that I was being blackmailed. It appeared that it might be possible to recover the evidence without acceding to Jablon’s demands. More important, it was necessary to devise some way in which Jablon’s silence could be purchased on a permanent basis. The trouble with blackmail is that one never ceases to pay it. The cycle can go on forever, there’s no control.”

“So somebody tried to scare Spinner once with a car.”

“So it would seem.”

“And when that didn’t work, somebody hired somebody to hire somebody to kill him.”

“I suppose so. You can’t prove it. What’s perhaps more to the point, I can’t prove it.”

“But you believed it all along, didn’t you? Because you warned me that one payment was all I was going to get. And if I tried to tap you again, you’d have me killed.”

“Did I really say that?”

“I think you remember saying it, Mr. Huysendahl. I should have seen the significance in that at the time. You were thinking of murder as a weapon in your arsenal. Because you’d already used it once.”

“I never intended for a moment that Jablon should die.”

I stood up. I said, “I was reading something the other day about Thomas Becket. He was very close to one of the kings of England. One of the Henrys, I think Henry the Second.”

“I believe I see the parallel.”

“Do you know the story? When he became Archbishop of Canterbury he stopped being Henry’s buddy and played the game according to his conscience. It rattled Henry, and he let some of his underlings know it. ‘Oh, that someone might rid me of that rebellious priest!’ “

“But he never intended that Thomas be murdered.”

“That was his story,” I agreed. “His subordinates decided Henry had issued Thomas’s death warrant. Henry didn’t see it that way at all, he’d just been thinking out loud, and he was very upset to learn that Thomas was dead. Or at least he pretended to be very upset. He’s not around, so we can’t ask him.”

“And you’re taking the position that Henry was responsible.”

“I’m saying I wouldn’t vote for him for governor of New York.”

He finished his drink. He put the glass on the bar and sat down in his chair again, crossing one leg over the other.

He said, “If I run for governor—”

“Then every major newspaper in the state gets a full set of those photographs. Until you announce for governor, they stay where they are.”

“Where is that?”

“A very safe place.”

“And I have no option.”

“No.”

“No other choice.”

“None.”

“I might be able to determine the man responsible for Jablon’s death.”

“Perhaps you could. It’s also possible you couldn’t. But what good would that do? He’s sure to be a professional, and there would be no evidence to link him to either you or Jablon, let alone enough to bring him to trial. And you couldn’t do anything with him without exposing yourself.”

“You’re making this terribly difficult, Scudder.”

“I’m making it very easy. All you have to do is forget about being governor.”

“I would be an excellent governor. If you’re so fond of historical parallels, you might consider Henry the Second a bit further. He’s regarded as one of England’s better monarchs.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I would.” He told me some things about Henry. I gather he knew quite a bit about the subject. It might have been interesting. I didn’t pay much attention to it. Then he went on to tell me some more about what a good governor he would make, what he would accomplish for the people of the state.

I cut him short. I said, “You have a lot of plans, but that doesn’t mean anything. You wouldn’t be a good governor. You won’t be any kind of governor, because I’m not going to let you, but you wouldn’t be a good one because you’re capable of picking people to work for you who are capable of murder. That’s enough to disqualify you.”

“I could discharge those people.”

“I couldn’t know if you did or not. And the individuals aren’t even that important.”

“I see.” He sighed again. “He wasn’t much of a man, you know. I’m not justifying murder when I say that. He was a petty crook and a shoddy blackmailer. He began by entrapping me, preying on a personal weakness, and then he tried to bleed me.”

“He wasn’t much of a man at all,” I agreed.

“Yet his murder is that significant to you.”

“I don’t like murder.”

“You believe that human life is sacred, then.”

“I don’t know if I believe that anything is sacred. It’s a very complicated question. I’ve taken human life. A few days ago I killed a man. Not long before that, I contributed to a man’s death. My contribution was unintentional. That hasn’t made me feel all that much better about it. I don’t know if human life is sacred. I just don’t like murder. And you’re in the process of getting away with murder, and that bothers me, and there’s just one thing I’m going to do about it. I don’t want to kill you, I don’t want to expose you, I don’t want to do any of those things. I’m sick of playing an incompetent version of God. All I’m going to do is keep you out of Albany.”

“Doesn’t that constitute playing God?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You say human life is sacred. Not in so many words, but that seems to be your position. What about my life, Mr. Scudder? For years now only one thing has been important to me, and you’re presuming to tell me I can’t have it.”

I looked around the den. The portraits, the furnishings, the service bar. “It looks to me as though you’re doing pretty well,” I said.

“I have material possessions. I can afford them.”

“Enjoy them.”

“Is there no way I can buy you? Are you that devoutly incorruptible?”

“I’m probably corrupt, by most definitions. But you can’t buy me, Mr. Huysendahl.”

I waited for him to say something. A few minutes went by, and he just remained where he was, silent, his eyes looking off into the middle distance. I found my own way out.

This time I got to St. Paul’s before it closed. I stuffed a tenth of what I’d taken from Lundgren into the poor box. I lit a few candles for various dead people who came to mind. I sat for a while and watched people take their turns in the confessional. I decided that I envied them, but not enough to do anything about it.

I went across the street to Armstrong’s and had a plate of beans and sausage, then a drink and a cup of coffee. It was over now, it was all over, and I could drink normally again, never getting drunk, never staying entirely sober. I nodded at people now and then, and some of them nodded back to me. It was Saturday, so Trina was off, but Larry did just as good a job of bringing more coffee and bourbon when my cup was empty.

Most of the time I just let my mind wander, but from time to time I would find myself going over the events since Spinner had walked in and given me his envelope. There were probably ways I could have handled things better. If I’d pushed it a little and taken an interest at the beginning, I might even have been able to keep Spinner alive. But it was over and I was done with it, and I even had some of his money left after what I’d paid to Anita and the churches and various bartenders, and I could relax now.

“This seat taken?”

I hadn’t even noticed when she came in. I looked up and there she was. She sat down across from me and took a pack of cigarettes from her bag. She shook a cigarette loose and lit it.