p&c.brimstone-第3部分
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if he'd mitted the murder himself。
The sergeant took a detour around the lawn and cut behind a small duck pond and fountain； keeping out of the way of the SOC team。 As he came around some hedges he saw a man in the distance； standing by the duck pond； throwing pieces of bread to the ducks。 He was dressed in the gaudiest day…tripper style imaginable； plete with Hawaiian shirt； Oakley Eye Jacket shades； and giant baggy shorts。 Even though summer had ended over a month ago； it looked like this was the man's first day in the sun after a long； cold winter。 Maybe a dozen winters。 While the sergeant had some sympathy for a photographer or reporter trying to do his job； he had absolutely no tolerance for tourists。 They were the scum of the earth。
〃Hey。 You。〃
The man looked up。
〃What do you think you're doing？ Don't you know this is a crime scene？〃
〃Yes； Officer； and I do apologize…〃
〃Get the hell out。〃
〃But； Sergeant； it's important the ducks be fed。 They're hungry。 I imagine that someone feeds them every morning； but this morning； as you know…〃 He smiled and shrugged。
The sergeant could hardly believe it。 A guy gets murdered； and this idiot is worried about ducks？
〃Let's see some ID。〃
〃Of course； of course。〃 The man started fishing in his pocket； fished in another； then looked up sheepishly。 〃Sorry about that； Officer。 I threw on these shorts as soon as I heard the terrible news； but it appears my wallet is still in the pocket of the jacket I was wearing last night。〃 His New York accent grated on the sergeant's nerves。
The sergeant looked at the guy。 Normally he would just chase him back behind the barriers。 But there was something about him that didn't quite wash。 For one thing； the clothes he was wearing were so new they still smelled of a menswear shop。 For another thing； they were such a hideous mixture of colors and patterns that it looked like he'd plucked them randomly from a rack in the village boutique。 This was more than just bad taste…this was a disguise。
〃I'll be going…〃
〃No； you won't。〃 The sergeant took out his notebook； flipped back a wad of pages； licked his pencil。 〃You live around here？〃
〃I've taken a house in Amagansett for a week。〃
〃Address？〃
〃The Brickman House； Windmill Lane。〃
Another rich asshole。 〃And your permanent address？〃
〃That would be the Dakota； Central Park West。〃
The sergeant paused。Now； that's a coincidence。 Aloud； he said； 〃Name？〃
〃Look； Sergeant； honestly； if it's a problem； I'll just go on back…〃
〃Your first name；sir ？〃 he said more sharply。
〃Is that really necessary？ It's difficult to spell； even more difficult to pronounce。 I often wonder what my mother was thinking…〃
The sergeant gave him a look that shut him up quick。 One more quip from this asshole； and it would be the cuffs。
〃Let's try again。 First name？〃
〃Aloysius。〃
〃Spell it。〃
The man spelled it。
〃Last？〃
〃Pendergast。〃
The pencil in the sergeant's hand began writing this down； too。 Then it paused。 Slowly the sergeant looked up。 The Oakleys had e off； and he found himself staring into that face he knew so well； with the blond…white hair； gray eyes； finely chiseled features； skin as pale and translucent as Carrara marble。
〃Pendergast？〃
〃In the very flesh； my dear Vincent。〃 The New York accent was gone； replaced by the cultured southern drawl he remembered vividly。
〃What are you doing here？〃
〃The same might be asked of you。〃
Vincent D'Agosta felt himself coloring。 The last time he had seen Pendergast he had been a proud New York City police lieutenant。 And now here he was in Shithampton； a lowly sergeant decorating hedges with police tape。
〃I was in Amagansett when the news arrived that Jeremy Grove had met an untimely end。 How could I resist？ I apologize for the outfit； but I was hard…pressed to get here as soon as possible。〃
〃You're on the case？〃
〃Until I'm officiallyassigned to the case； I can do nothing but feed the ducks。 I worked on my last case without full authorization； and it； shall we say； strained some high…level nerves。 I must say； Vincent； running into you is a most wele surprise。〃
〃For me； too；〃 said D'Agosta； coloring again。 〃Sorry； I'm really not at my best here…〃
Pendergast laid a hand on his arm。 〃We shall have plenty of time to talk later。 For now； I see a large individual approaching who appears to be suffering from emphraxis。〃
A low…pitched； menacing voice intruded from behind。 〃I hate to break up this little conversation。〃 D'Agosta turned to see Lieutenant Braskie。
Braskie stopped； stared at Pendergast； then turned back to D'Agosta。 〃Perhaps I'm a little confused here； Sergeant； but isn't this individualtrespassing at the scene of a crime ？〃
〃Well； uh； Lieutenant； we were…〃 D'Agosta looked at Pendergast。
〃This man isn't afriend of yours； now； is he？〃
〃As a matter of fact…〃
〃The sergeant was just telling me to leave；〃 interjected Pendergast smoothly。
〃Oh； he was； was he？ And if I may be so bold as to inquire what you were doing here in the first place； sir？〃
〃Feeding the ducks。〃
〃Feeding the ducks。〃 D'Agosta could see Braskie's face flushing。 He wished Pendergast would hurry up and pull out his shield。
〃Well； sir；〃 Braskie went on； 〃that's a beautiful thing to do。 Let's see some ID。〃
D'Agosta waited smugly。 This was going to be good。
〃As I was just explaining to the officer here； I left my wallet back at the house…〃
Braskie turned on D'Agosta； saw the notebook in his hand。 〃You got this man's information？〃
〃Yes。〃 D'Agosta looked at Pendergast almost pleadingly； but the FBI agent's face had shut down pletely。
〃Did you ask him how he got through the police cordon？〃
〃No…〃
〃Don't you think maybe you should？〃
〃I came through the side gate in Little Dune Road；〃 Pendergast said。
〃Not possible。 It's locked。 I checked it myself。〃
〃Perhaps the lock is defective。 At least； it seemed to fall open in my hands。〃
Braskie turned to D'Agosta。 〃Now； at last； there's something useful you can do。 Go plug that hole； Sergeant。 And report back to me at eleven o'clocksharp 。 We need to talk。 And as for you； sir； I will escort you off the premises。〃
〃Thank you； Lieutenant。〃
D'Agosta looked with dismay at the retreating form of Lieutenant Braskie； with Pendergast strolling along behind him； hands in the pockets of his baggy surfer shorts； head tilted back as if taking the air。
3
Lieutenant L。 P。 Braskie Jr。 of the Southampton PoliceDepartment stood beneath the trellis of the mansion's grape arbor； watching the SOC team b the endless acreage of lawn for clues。 His face wore a stolid mask of professionalism as he thought of Chief MacCready playing golf in the Highlands of Scotland。 He pictured in his mind the links of St。 Andrews in autumn： the narrow doglegs of greensward； the grim castle； the barren moors beyond。 He'd wait until tomorrow to give the chief a call； let him know what was going on。 MacCready had been chief for twenty years； and this golf trip was one more reason why Southampton needed fresh blood。 Braskie was a local boy with roots in the town and friends in City Hall； and he'd also managed to build up some powerful relationships among the summer people。 A favor here and a favor there worked wonders。 A foot in both worlds。 He'd played his cards well。
And now this。 They'd have the perp in the bag in a week or two； and e November and the elections； he'd be a shoo…in。 Maybe he'd call MacCready the dayafter tomorrow：Gee； Chief； I really hesitated to interrupt your hard…earned vacation 。 。 。
Braskie knew； from long experience in South Fork homicide； that the first twenty…four hours of a murder investigation were often the most crucial。 Fact was； if you didn't get on the trail and follow it right away； you might as well hang up your hat。 Find ingress and egress； and everything that followed…forensic evidence； murder weapon； witnesses； motive…would form a chain leading to the perp。 Braskie's job wasn't to do the work himself but to make sure everyone else did theirs。 And there was little question in his mind that the weak link in this chain was Sergeant Vincent D'Agosta。 He di
