The staked Goat

drunk, and with all the pressure on Al, he could have...”
    ”I know, I know.” She looked frustrated. ”Look, I’m sorry I keep saying that but I heard you out, now you hear me, O.K.?”
    She nodded. She didn’t like it, but she let me continue.
    ”I don’t think Al got drunk and was drawn into anything. I think Al was pretty desperate for money, and he knew Straun was about to fire him. I also know that when Al called me in Boston, there was an edge in his voice. I was half asleep, and I can’t remember every word he said, but there was something in his voice I’d never heard before. Fear. I can’t say it wasn’t fear over money, but the point is that I think Al was killed for something he set up.”
    ”Set up?” Carol said. ”What do you mean, set up?”
    ”Basically, I mean blackmail.”
    She nearly swung, but decided to stand up and stamp around instead. She crossed her arms against her chest. ”Blackmail,” she snorted. ”Why, John, that’s crazy. Ridiculous. Al Sachs was the most honest guy I ever met.”
    ”Al was honest, Carol, but he had a funny twist. You ever hear him talk about squaring things?”
    ”What?”
    ”Squaring things. Like paying off a debt.”
    She closed her eyes for a minute. ”Once. Just a comment. Somebody... what the hell was it. Oh, I was at their house, and Kenny and Al were watching a Steelers game and there was some commotion on the field and Kenny asked Al what happened and Al said something like, ‘The Eagle hit the Steeler quarterback late, so the Steelers went after theirs. Squaring things.’ I remember I told Al I would just as soon that he didn’t explain things that way to my son. Al shrugged and that was it.”
    ”Yeah, well, he signed off his telephone conversation with me like that and”—I thought of Al’s broken pinkie and decided conclusions were better than details—”I’m convinced someone killed him, someone Al felt had a debt to repay. So for Al, the set-up wasn’t blackmail, it was like squaring things. Paying the debt.”
    Carol sat down next to me again, arms still crossed. ”John, I could be wrong, but I don’t remember Al even mentioning he knew anyone in Boston. Not even you.”
    ”That’s why I’m going to Washington. I don’t think Al would have met anybody in the steel business who would have... gone to such lengths to cover a killing. With luck, I may find something in the files from when he and I were in Vietnam.”
    Carol looked dazed. ”Al’s death was bad enough. But this... blackmail, murder. I don’t know.”
    ”Carol,” I said softly, ”snap back to me, please.” She looked at me, blinked a few times, then busied herself with the vodka bottle. ”Pm sorry, another drink?”
    ”Yes, a light one.” She fixed one more for each of us. No toasting, no clinking, just a couple of long draws.
    ”The reason I told you,” I said, ”is that I was wondering if you knew anybody on the local police force?”
    ”Police force?” she said. ”Well, yeah, a couple of guys. Why?”
    ”I’m not trying to start a panic, and I have no reason to think anybody is interested in Martha or—”
    ”Oh, Jesus Christ!” Carol burst out. She slammed her drink down on the table. ”This isn’t funny, John. I don’t want to hear—”
    I set my drink down and took both her hands in mine. ”I’m sorry to put it on your shoulders, kid, but you’re the most solid person in the group. Just keep an eye out for anyone out of the ordinary. If you see something, like an unfamiliar car on the block for a long time, or guys in doorways, or even workmen in a vaguely painted utility truck, I want you to call your friends on the cops, and I want you to call me, and if you can’t reach me, a lieutenant on the Boston force named Murphy. I’ll write out names and numbers for you. But I need your promise to watch over things. O.K.?”
    She slipped her hands from my grip and dropped her head down. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled herself into my chest, her face nestled in the hollow of my right shoulder.
    ”O.K.,” she said softly.
    ”You’re one of the good ones, Carol.”
    ”Oh, yeah,” she said, not leaving my shoulder. ”So how come the good ones like me always find the wrong ones like you?”
    I had no answer for that.
     
    Carol released me a minute later. We exchanged a familial kiss at her door before I snowshoed down to Martha’s. She answered my second’series of knocks, and we walked into the living