To Play the Fool (3 page)

"Yes, I suppose you do. I'd rather talk about the dog."

"Tell us about the dog first, then," Hawkin relented.
Relief blossomed on the woman's weathered face and her hands lay
still.

"He was a real sweetheart, white, with a black patch over his
left eye. His coat looked wiry, but he was actually quite soft, picked
up foxtails terribly. John--that's his owner--had to
brush him every day. Very intelligent, particularly when you consider
the size of his skull. I saw him cross the road once, looking both ways
first."

"So how did he die?"

"We... They... No one saw. He must have made a
mistake crossing the road. John found him, in the morning. He'd
hit his head on something."

"Or something had hit him." She nodded. "Or kicked
him." Her face contracted slowly and her fingers began to wring
each other over and over.

"How did John die?"

"I don't have any idea. I didn't even see him."

"How did you hear about his death?"

"Mouse told me late last night. He was sorting through the bins behind a restaurant on Stanyon Street."

"Which one is Mouse?"

"They call him Mouse because he used to be in computers,
before his breakdown. Lovely man. His other name is Richard, I
believe."

"Richard Delgadio. Tall black man, hair going gray, short beard?"

"Is that his last name? Delgadio. What a lovely sound."

"What time did he tell you about John's death?"

In answer, the woman pushed her left sleeve up her arm and looked eloquently at the bare wrist.

"Roughly what time, then?" Hawkin asked patiently.

"Time," she mused. "Time takes on rather a
different aspect on the streets. However, I do remember that the dress
shop was closed, but the bookstore was still open, so that would make
it between nine and eleven. Is it of any importance to your
investigation?"

"Probably not." Beatrice giggled, and Hawkin gave her a
smile. "But you didn't go to the--what did they call
it? The cremation?"

"I did not. I told Mouse then and there he was a cretin and a
dunderhead, and that he should tell Officer Michaels about John."

"Michaels is one of the local patrolmen?"

"He's a hunk."

"Sorry?" Hawkins asked, startled at the unlikely word.

"He is. Gorgeous legs, just the right amount of hair on them.
Don't tell him I said anything, though. He might be
embarrassed."

Kate thought she recognized the description.

"Is this one of the bicycle patrol officers?" she asked.

"Gorgeous," Beatrice repeated in agreement. Al Hawkin's mouth twitched.

"But you didn't report John's death?" he asked.

"It was not my place."

"You knew they were planning on burning the body first thing in the morning."

"Mouse found a half-empty bottle of paint thinner and asked me
if it would burn. And I saw Mr. Lazari at the grocer's giving Doc
and Salvatore a couple of old wooden crates. I told him, too."

"Mr. Lazari?"

"Of course not. He's quite sensible."

"You told Doc. That John was dead?"

"Inspector, are you listening to me?"

"I am trying, Ms. Jankowski. Beatrice."

"Ah, you are tired, of course. I apologize for keeping you.
No, I told Doc that he and Harry and the rest were a parcel of
half-wits and were going to find themselves in trouble. I told them
Brother Erasmus would be unhappy. Doc listened, Salvatore didn't.
He even had a Bible, although I didn't think much of his choice
of readings. Song of Songs is hardly funereal."

"Salvatore had the Bible? So Salvatore led the... funeral service."

"I was surprised, too, considering."

"Considering what, Beatrice?"

"Well, you know."

"Actually, I don't."

"Oh, of course, how silly of me. You never met the man."

"Salvatore Benito? I spoke with him earlier."

She sat in her chair and gave him a look of sad disappointment.

"Or do you mean John? No, I never met him."

"Lucky old you," she muttered.

"You didn't like John?"

"He did not deserve a dog like Theophilus."

"That surprises me. The others seemed to think he was a nice guy."

"One may smile, and smile, and be a villain. Did Erasmus say
that, or did I read it somewhere? Oh dear, I am getting old."

"John was friendly on the surface but not when you got to know him? Is that what you mean?"

"I did not know him," she said firmly.
"Unfortunately, he knew me. But he couldn't make me go to
his funeral, and now he can't--" She caught herself,
looked down at her hands, and twisted her rings before shooting a
chagrined glance at the two detectives. "He was not a nice
man."

Hawkin leaned back in his chair and studied her.

"He was blackmailing you?" he suggested.

"That's a very ugly word."

"It's an ugly thing."

"I didn't like it, but it wasn't anything nasty.
Maybe a wee bit nasty," she amended. "Just a sort of
encouragement, to make me do things I otherwise might not have."

"Such as?"

"They were such big shops, they could afford to lose a bit to pilfering."

"He had you shoplifting for him?"

Her head came up and she flushed in anger.

"Inspector! How could you think that of me? I would never!
There's a world of difference between actually doing something
like that and just not... tattling."

"I see. You witnessed John shoplifting and he made you keep silent," Hawkin translated.

"After that he would show me things he'd taken. He knew
I didn't like it, that it made me... uncomfortable."

"Did he blackmail others?"

"It wasn't really blackmail," she protested.
"He never wanted anything. It was just a sort of... control
thing. He liked to see people squirm."

"Who were these others?"

"I've only known him for two years."

"Their names?" he asked gently.

"I... don't know for sure. I wondered, because
there were a couple of men he seemed friendly with who suddenly seemed
to be uncomfortable around him and then moved away. One of them was
named Maguire--I think that was his last name--and then last
summer a pleasant little Chinese man named Chin."

"Any who didn't move away?"

"Well, I..."

"Salvatore, perhaps?"

"It did seem very odd, him conducting the funeral like that,
when he's never been all that close to Brother Erasmus."

"Was John? Close to Brother Erasmus, I mean?"

"He thought he was."

"But you felt Brother Erasmus was keeping some
distance?" Kate was very glad that Al seemed to be following this
woman's erratic line of thought, more like a random series of
stepping-stones than a clear path.

"Brother Erasmus has no friends."

"But John thought he was Erasmus's friend?" Hawkin persisted.

"Undoubtedly. He always steps in when Brother Erasmus is away. Stepped."

"Do you think John was blackmailing Erasmus?"

"I don't think that is actually his name."

"John? Or Erasmus?"

"Why, both, come to think of it."

"Was John blackmailing Brother Erasmus?"

"Brother Erasmus isn't the sort to be blackmailed."

"Do you think John was trying?"

"Oh, Inspector, you are so pushy!"

"That's my job, Beatrice."

"You're as bad as John was, in a way, though much nicer with it, not so sort of slimy."

"Do you think--"

"I don't know!" she burst out unhappily.
"Yes, all right, it seemed an unlikely friendship, partnership,
liaison, what have you. But Brother Erasmus is not the sort to submit
to overt blackmail."

"But covert blackmail?" Hawkin seized on her word.

"I... I wondered. There was a sort of--oh, how to
describe it?--a manipulative intimacy about John's attitude
toward Erasmus, and in turn Erasmus--Brother Erasmus--seemed
to be... I don't know. Watching him, maybe. Yes, I suppose
that's it. John would kind of sidle up to Erasmus as if they
shared a great secret, and Erasmus would draw himself up and, without
actually stepping back, seem to be stopping himself from moving
away."

Considering the source, it was a strikingly lucid picture of a
complex relationship, and Kate felt she knew quite a bit about both of
the men involved. She continued with the motions of note-taking until
Hawkin finally broke the silence.

"Tell me about the man Erasmus."

"You haven't met him yet?"

"Not that I know of."

"Oh, you'd know it if you had. He's a fool!"
she said proudly, varying her terms of derision to include a
monosyllable.

"He's a sort of informal leader of the homeless people around Golden Gate Park?"

"Only for things like the funeral."

"John's funeral?"

"I told you, Inspector, he wasn't there. He brought us
together, said words over Theophilus, and lighted the pyre.
Today's lunacy would never have happened on a Sunday or Monday,
but instead those morons Harry and Salvatore and Doc--and
Wilhemena! God, she's the worst of them--decided they could
say words as well as he could. I should have insisted, I know,"
she admitted sadly. "There's not a one of them playing with
a full deck."

"And Brother Erasmus is a bad as the others, you said."

"I never!" she said indignantly.

"But you did. You called him a fool."

"A fool, certainly."

"But the others are fools, too?" asked Hawkin. He spoke
with the caution of a man feeling for a way in the dark, but his words
were ill-chosen, and Beatrice went rigid, her eyes narrowing in a rapid
reassessment of Inspector Al Hawkin.

"They most certainly are not. They haven't any sense at all."

Kate gave up. The woman's occasional appearance of rationality was obviously misleading. Even Hawkin looked lost.

"I think we should talk with your Brother Erasmus," he said finally.

"I'm sure he'll straighten things out for
you," Beatrice agreed. "Although you might find it
difficult to talk with him."

"Why is that?"

"I told you, he's a fool."

"But he sounds fairly sensible to me."

"Of course. Some of them are."

"Some of whom?"

"Fools, of course."

Kate was perversely gratified to see that finally Al was beginning
to grit his teeth. She'd begun to think she was out of practice.

"And where is this foolish Brother now?" he growled.

"I told you, it's Wednesday. He'll be on Holy Hill."

"Holy Hill? Do you mean Mt. Davidson?" There was a cross
on top of that knob, where pilgrims gathered every year for Easter
sunrise services.

"I don't think so," Beatrice said doubtfully.
"Isn't that in San Francisco? This one is across the
bay."

"Do you mean 'Holy Hill' in Berkeley, Ms. Jankowski?" Kate asked suddenly.

"That sounds right. There's a school there, in Berkeley,
isn't there?" The flagship of the University of California
fleet, demoted to a mere "school" status, thought Kate with
a smile.

"Yes, there's a school in Berkeley."

"Brother Erasmus is in Berkeley every Wednesday, Ms.--
Beatrice?" continued Hawkin. "Just Wednesday?"

"Of course not. He leaves here on Tuesday and is back on
Saturday. Although usually he doesn't come to the Park until
Sunday morning, when he conducts services, which is the excuse those
idiots used to cremate John right away. They said he'd stink,-
personally, I think the weather's been too cold."

"Good. Well, thank you for your help, Ms. Jankowski.
We'll need to talk with you again in a day or so. Where can we
find you?"

"Ah. Now that's a good question. On Friday night I am
usually at a coffeehouse on Haight Street, a place called Sentient
Beans. Some very nice young people run it. They allow me to use their
washing machine in exchange for drawings."

"Drawings?"

"I'm an artist. Or I was an artist--I never know
which to say. My nerves went, but my hand is still steady enough. I do
portraits of the customers sometimes while my clothes are being
cleaned--I do so enjoy the luxury of clean clothes, I will admit.
And a bath--I use the one upstairs at the coffeehouse on Fridays,
and occasionally during the first part of the week the man who runs the
jewelers on the next street lets me use his shower--if he
doesn't have any customers. But I'm never far from that
area if you want to find me. It's my home, and the people know
me. It's safer that way, you know."

"Yes," agreed Hawkin thoughtfully. "Unlike some of
the gentlemen in this case, you are certainly no fool."

"I told you," she said with a degree of impatience,
"they are not fools. But then," she reflected sadly,
"neither am I. I'm afraid I haven't enough strength
of character."

And as he stared at the word "fool" written in

luminous letters before him, the word itself began to

shine and change.

When Beatrice Jankowski had gone, Kate and Al sat for a long minute, staring at each other across his desk.

"Al," said Kate, "did that woman have a short in the system or was she just speaking another language?"

"I feel half-drunk," he said in wonder, and rubbed his
stub-bled face vigorously. "I need some air. Come on."

Kate scrabbled her notes together into her shoulder bag, snatched up
her coat, and caught up with Al at the elevators, where he stood with
his foot in the door, irritating the other passengers, who included
three high-priced lawyers and an assistant DA. The door closed and they
began to descend. The four suits resumed their discussion, which seemed
to involve a plea bargain, and suddenly Hawkin held his hand up.

"Fool!" he exclaimed. The lawyer in front of him, who in
a bad year earned five times Hawkin's salary, started to bristle,
but Al wasn't seeing him,- he turned to Kate intently. "The
way she used the word
fool,"
he said. "It meant something to her, other than just an insulting term."