The Question of the Felonious Friend (19 page)

“The conclusion you have reached,” Ms. Washburn said. “Sorry for not being precise in the way I asked. What did you learn from Tyler just now?”

“I did not learn much but I was able to confirm some suspicions I have had for some time,” I said.

We reached Ms. Washburn's Kia and settled into our traditional seats. She started the engine. “Such as?” she asked. That I understood.

“There was someone else in the store whom Tyler knew, someone he is trying to protect with his story,” I said. “He knows how he ended up holding the murder weapon but he is not explaining, despite the fact that it could exonerate him.”

Ms. Washburn began to drive back to Questions Answered. “How do you know that?”

“Detective Hessler said there was one other patron in the Quik N EZ when the shooting occurred,” I reminded her. “Tyler admits there were two. Whoever actually shot Richard Handy managed somehow to escape the scene before anyone could see. But Tyler knew who it was and decided the only way to protect the other person was to pick up the gun and take the blame for the murder.”

“So who was it?” Ms. Washburn asked.

“An excellent question,” I said. “Something we will have to ask Molly Brandt. May I have the GPS unit, please?”

Twenty-Two

Molly Brandt was the
young woman I'd seen leaving Dr. Shean's office and seemed an unlikely candidate to be Tyler Clayton's girlfriend, only because she never seemed to talk to anyone except Hawkeye Pierce, Trapper John McIntyre, and B.J. Hunnicutt.

Although she had been obviously concerned with biblical verse when I'd seen her outside the therapist's office, that did not seem to be Molly's primary special interest, which was helpful, as I am not well schooled on the subject. Instead, today she seemed to be especially intrigued with the television program
M*A*S*H
, which was something of a phenomenon in the 1970s and '80s.

“Hawkeye came from Maine and fell in love with Carlye Breslin when he was in his surgical residency in Boston,” she informed us without being prompted. “When she arrived at the four-oh-seven-seventh, Hawkeye said his heart started beating again.”

We were seated in the very tidy family room of the home owned by Molly's parents, Jack and Evelyn Brandt. Evelyn sat on a sofa nearby, hands folded in her lap, her face just a little tense at what her daughter might do or say. I have seen that kind of anxiety before. Molly did not seem to notice it.

Ms. Washburn had parked the car on the side of the road and telephoned Evelyn when I'd suggested we divert our route to include a trip to Molly's home. Evelyn had informed her that Jack was away on business at the moment, but agreed to the visit, although she had warned Ms. Washburn that Molly would probably not be of much help. She rarely had conversations, Evelyn said. Molly preferred to lecture.

“But Carlye was married and didn't want to cheat on her husband,” Molly went on. Ms. Washburn, in a recliner she had chosen not to recline, was taking notes, although I could not determine exactly what might be useful to us in answering Mason's question.

“That is true,” I answered. “But she and Hawkeye did renew their romance and Carlye resolved to ask her husband for a divorce.” I avoided looking at Ms. Washburn when I mentioned the dissolution of a marriage and when Molly had brought up a cheating spouse.

Molly looked at me for the first time. Ms. Washburn and Evelyn also seemed somewhat surprised by my contribution to the conversation. I went through what Mother would have undoubtedly described as a “
M*A*S*H
phase” during my high school years.

“But Carlye didn't want to compete with Hawkeye's work, so she applied for a transfer,” Molly pointed out. “Hawkeye could not change who he was, even for the woman he loved.”

That last phrase referred to a comment the character made in a much later episode, but an encyclopedic knowledge of the subject was to be expected in such an area. I know a great deal about the New York Yankees and the Beatles because those subjects have piqued my interest, so I absorb a good deal more about them than I would about something in which I am not as completely engaged.

Because I understood the concept of a special interest in a topic, I could try to relate her fascination with the information I wanted to obtain. “Is that what happened between you and Tyler Clayton?” I asked.

Molly looked at me, seeming less stunned than surprised. “Hawkeye and Carlye were in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital in Korea decades before I was born,” she said. “At the time of their affair, they were under the command of Colonel Sherman Potter and the spiritual guidance of Father Francis Mulcahy.”

“They were also fictional,” I noted. “I am asking about you and Tyler Clayton, two people who are real.”

“A lot of people think Hawkeye was in love with Major Margaret Houlihan, but I believe Carlye was his true match,” Molly volunteered. It was not a response to my question or to my remark about Tyler and her, but I wondered whether there was a message Molly was trying to deliver.

“Why do you think he did not love Margaret?” I asked, eschewing the crude nickname “Hot Lips” that the character was given in the novel, film, and television series. “Did you see something about the way he acted with her that was different than his manner with Carlye?”

“He told Carlye he loved her,” Molly said without hesitation. “He never said that to Margaret.”

Ms. Washburn, who had been watching intently, said, “How did Hawkeye know Margaret?” I understood that she was asking about Molly and Tyler, but that was not going to be an effective strategy in this context. Molly might be speaking in metaphor, but she would answer any questions about her special interest in a literal sense.

Indeed, she looked positively contemptuous when she said, “She was assigned to the four-oh-seven-seventh when he got there.”

“Of course,” Ms. Washburn said. “Sorry.”

Molly's mother was squinting at her daughter and me as if he were speaking a language she did not understand. “Why are we talking about
M*A*S*H
?” she asked. “Molly, Mr. Hoenig has questions for you. Please answer them.” Sometimes parents are anxious to have their children with behaviors on the spectrum show off that they can act without those “quirks.” But it is often more effective to indulge the idiosyncrasies and work with the personality.

“When
M*A*S*H
aired its final episode in 1983, it attracted the largest viewing audience in broadcast television history with the exception of some special events like the Super Bowl,” Molly said. She was drifting further from the conversation. Evelyn grimaced but did not respond.

I decided the metaphor would be most helpful. Where talking bluntly would be the more useful tactic with Tyler, Molly needed to communicate in her own fashion, which appeared to be through her own agenda and specialized information. “What did Father Mulcahy think about the fact that Hawkeye and Carlye were not married to each other, and she was in fact married to someone else?” I asked.

“It didn't matter that they weren't married because she was really his true love,” Molly said. It was not an answer to my question, but it gave me information that was going to be helpful. But I wanted to know one thing more.

“Did Father Mulcahy think Hawkeye should be in love with Margaret?”

“He knew who Hawkeye really loved,” Molly said definitively.

“Thank you, Molly,” I said. I stood and Ms. Washburn followed my lead. We began to walk to the door. Ms. Washburn turned to face Evelyn, who was leading us out as Molly retained her seat.

“Does Molly have any other special interests?” Ms. Washburn asked.

Evelyn's eyes went up to indicate she was trying to remember. “Certain books of the bible,” she said. “But also New Jersey Transit train schedules and Beyoncé,” she said.

“‘Let's be careful out there,'” Molly said as we left.

“Right,” her mother said, nodding. “And
Hill Street Blues
.”

“It's late,” Ms. Washburn said. “I'm going home. You?”

“I believe I'll call Mike,” I said. “There is some computer research I want to do.”

Ms. Washburn had not asked me to interpret the conversation I'd had with Molly Brandt during our ride back to Questions Answered. So it was not a surprise when she turned before reaching the door and asked, “What was all that about Hawkeye and Father Mulcahy?”

“I believe Molly might have been Tyler's girlfriend, or at least believed she was, at some point,” I said. “But Molly thinks another woman came between them and distracted Tyler to the point that he left her for the other woman. I don't know whether that is the truth or not, but it appears to be what Molly believes.”

Ms. Washburn turned a little bit more toward me with a thoughtful look on her face. “Why did you ask about the priest?”

“Molly is interested in some books of the bible,” I answered. “She might have spoken to a religious leader about the difficulty with Tyler,” I said. “When you were bringing the car to the front of the house, I asked Evelyn if there is a minister or priest in whom Molly might confide. She did not know of one, saying Molly is interested in the bible as a book but is not at all religious.”

“Do you think that's true?”

“Again, I think it's what Evelyn believes is true. The facts are not yet clear.”

“That's confusing,” Ms. Washburn said.

“Yes.” I find so many things confusing that it has almost become the norm for me; I don't often even note it anymore. “I hope you have a good night, Ms. Washburn.” I say that as she leaves each evening; it is the accepted salutation for that occasion.

“You too, Samuel.” With that, Ms. Washburn left the office. Less than one minute later I saw her car leave the parking lot.

I decided to begin my research with a continuation of the previous work I had done on some contraband items confiscated in the past month. But I was only about four screens into the searches when the bells attached to the office door (left over from San Remo's Pizzeria) jangled and I looked up.

Sandy Clayton Webb walked in wearing a tan trench coat and blue jeans. She was holding the coat tightly around herself, which would have been more understandable if this were February.

“Has it begun to rain?” I asked, forgetting the necessity of social ritual in such cases. (It is never clear in such a question as to
what
has begun to rain, but no one questions that usage.)

Sandy, in the midst of striding purposefully into the office, stopped abruptly and stood still in the middle of the room. “No. Why?”

There was no point in explaining my reasoning. “I thought I heard something,” I said. “How can I help you, Ms. Webb?” I gestured toward the client chair, but Sandy sat in Mother's recliner. I did not correct her.

“Please, it's Sandy,” she said. “I'm just here to get a progress report.”

Since her demeanor since Tyler's arrest had been almost adversarial toward Questions Answered (Ms. Washburn had told me), it was unusual for Sandy to make that request. It was more distressing because she was technically not a client of the agency. “I have already told your brother Mason all that is currently relevant toward answering his question,” I said.

“I haven't heard from Mason. What can you tell me?” Sandy sat leaning forward with her elbows on her thighs and her hands supporting her chin.

In such cases, it is sometimes a useful distraction to ask a question of one's own. “Is there a reason you are not in touch with your brother?” I said.

“It's a family matter.” Sandy's veneer of joviality vanished. “Now would you please give me a progress report?”

There was no longer a reason to couch my answers in niceties; I have never had much success with such a strategy anyway. “I'm afraid I can't,” I said. “My client is Mason Clayton. He asked the question at hand. Without my client's permission, I am unable to divulge any information we have discovered in regard to that question.”

“Really.” Sandy stood but did not turn to walk to the door as I had anticipated. Instead she took two steps toward my desk and put her palms down on it, leaning uncomfortably toward me. It was not so much intimidating a gesture as it contemptuous. “Have you received your fee from my brother yet, Mr. Hoenig?”

We had not required our usual retainer of one-half the agency's fee from Mason in advance because of the pending nature of the original question Tyler had asked, for which we had also waived the retainer at Ms. Washburn's insistence.

“I believe that is a matter of some privacy between myself and my client,” I told Sandy.

“Well, I'm betting you haven't gotten a dime out of Mason,” she responded, her voice dropping to a raspy growl. “And you should consider this: You're not going to get paid. Answer the question, don't answer the question. Mason won't give you the money he owes you. Want to know why?” She did not wait for a response to her question. “Because he doesn't have it. Mason's business went bankrupt and he's trying to find a way to avoid paying his creditors.”

I had known of the financial problems with which Able Home Help had been grappling. In fact, I had planned on asking Sandy about Tyler's name being listed as a partner in the business, but she had begun abruptly with her questioning about Mason's payment. “I am aware of the Chapter XI proceedings,” I said.

“So why are you still working for him?” Sandy asked.

“He is a client and has shown no cause for me to stop working for him,” I answered truthfully. I had required nothing of Mason so he had not fallen short in any way. “Are you aware that Tyler is listed as a partner in Mason's business?”

Sandy blinked three times, an indication that the information I'd just given her was a surprise. But she answered, “Of course.” If Ms. Washburn had been here, I was sure she would have informed me that Sandy was likely lying. I made that my assumption.

“I assume most of Tyler's income, his savings, his finances generally, come from Able Home Help. Is that correct?” It was best to ask while Sandy was stunned; she would have less capacity to think of untrue answers.

“Yes. Tyler gets almost everything except his walking-around money from Mason,” she said. She stood up straight, abandoning her position leaning on my desk. She appeared to be thinking. “The electronics store job was just for his personal expenses, like a sandwich or comic books or something.”

“So how do you explain the fact that Tyler was leaving one-­hundred-dollar tips in the jar at the Quik N EZ for Richard Handy virtually every day?” I asked. “Where would he get five hundred dollars a week just for that?”

Sandy coughed. “I have to go.” Without another word, she left.

Immediately I called Mike the taxicab driver. “Are you close to my office?” I asked.

“I'm two blocks away,” he answered. “I stay close this time of night. Do you need a ride?”

“No. But come here quickly. I need you to follow someone.”