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and he was hungry.
He shook his head and put on a robe wondering how many seconds again before
the teeter would totter. With his hand halfway down the robe s left sleeve he
stopped, hearing the door chime. The home manager announced nothing; a not
unexpected failure.
Shall I? Nadine inquired archly, expression implying a fallen woman should
not be exposed to morning visitors.
No. Me.
He answered the door after putting on slippers. Beyond the antique eternal
plastic screen was a young man he had never seen before: red haired,
pleasantly round faced and intent with a quick smile and the air of a
salesman. Salesmen did not come to this section of the shadows.
You re Richard Fettle?
Yes. He pulled on the other sleeve.
My name is not important. I have some questions to ask. For society s sake I
hope you will answer.
That formula For Society s Sake had become a nervous joke in the shadows and
even in the combs but this was not a joke. Of course they would become
interested. There was news here and he was a part of it. Celebrity publicity
sensation.
Excuse me? Richard fumbled, hoping he might be allowed to close the door.
May I come in. For society s sake.
In the kitchen Nadine stood like a cat with fingers spread shaking her head.
No.
Don t.
The untherapied so seldom called pd. Here was statistical safety a perfect
ground to ply their trade of perfection rooting out correcting. He hoped he
was wrong and the formula and posture were part of a sour joke.
I beg your pardon.
Mr. Richard Fettle.
Yes.
The red haired man lifted an eyebrow as if to say quid pro quo you are you and
the rest is formality.
Come in, Richard said. He could not think of a way to dissemble.
Please don t get in a rough, the man said. I only have a few questions.
+ Want to say Who do you think you are? Self appointed God of all? Hate this
cowardice Don t get in a rough keep silent my gut
You were a friend of Emanuel Goldsmith?
Nadine had backed into the kitchen doorway, leaning against the thick enamel
covering the doorjamb eyes cautiously blank. Richard wished to concentrate on
her and on the age creamed white paint. + Puzzle that out think about the
century old wood here before any of this. But he forced himself to look at the
man.
The visitor wore a simple black suit, cuffs rising a few inches above shiny
black shoesocks, narrow red tie against green shirt, sleeves short above
wrists making him appear tall and lanky but in fact he was shorter than
Richard by six or eight centimeters;
about Nadine s height.
I was, Richard said.
Did you know he was capable of murdering people?
I did not know that. + Would you punish me for that? It s the truth; I told
the pd; did not know.
Did he ever tell you he was going to do such a thing?
No.
I don t recognize this woman. Was she a friend of Goldsmith s?
+ Perverse honesty here; hate this man but spill my guts to him.
She knew him. Not as well as I did.
Do you know what I am? the man asked Nadine. She nodded like a child caught
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eating forbidden candy.
She didn t know him well at all, Richard said.
She s part of de Roche s clique, isn t she? Like you?
Yes.
Aren t you all a little culpable for what happened?
Swallowing. Not my brother s keeper.
We are all our brothers keepers, the man said. I live for that truth. You
should have known what your friend was capable of. What we do or neglect to do
affects all;
what anyone does affects us.
+ Punish us all then.
You do not know where Goldsmith is?
I assume the pd have caught him.
The man smiled. Our reluctant colleagues haven t the slightest idea where he
is.
Colleagues. Richard managed a brave but brief smile.
The man returned the smile.
+ Admires my stage presence.
Our local chapter is interested in this case because it seems possible that a
man of fame and privilege might be able to escape justice. You know. Hide out
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