The staked Goat

attacked by your defense lawyer and spread across six columns in the paper.”
    ”Thanks, Lieutenant.”
    ”Is this Crowley guy going to be missed by anybody?”
    ”I don’t know.”
    ”Was Crowley the name he’d been using?”
    I had thought about that question a lot. ”If I tell you that I know, and how I know, you might get deeper into this than you want to be.”
    Murphy turned that over. ”Was he living or working in Boston?”
    ”No,” I said, ”well outside the city limits.”
    ”Cuddy, if you ever—”
    ”I won’t,” I interrupted, ”not ever.”
    He rotated the fist with the mug, swirling the coffee. I anticipated his question.
    ”I had to kill him, Lieutenant. Finding out I was still alive, he would have killed me.”
    ”Or run,” said Murphy. ”Man like that, probably had an escape route planned.”
    I anticipated him again. ”With a chunk of money to help him along the way.”
    Murphy drank. ”What do you suppose would happen to that?”
    ”Maybe he was decent enough to leave it to Al Sachs’ widow and child.”
    ”All of it?” asked Murphy.
    ”Most of it.”
    Murphy shook his head. ”Cuddy, if you are for real, I may actually have found something to believe in again.”
    I was starting to thank him when he told me to get out of his office. I got.
    It was 2:45 P.M. when I walked back down the steps of police headquarters. I walked up Stuart Street past the bus terminal and used a glassed-in public phone to call Eddie Shuba.
    ”Shuba,” answered the voice.
    ”Eddie. John Cuddy.”
    A pause at the other end.
    ”Eddie?”
    ”That Pontiac all taken care of,” said Eddie a little strangely. ”On its way to glue factory.”
    I laughed. ”Thanks, Eddie.”
    ”I did it myself.”
    ”I appreciate it.”
    ”Johnnie,” he said, lowering his voice, ”I ain’t seen no cops, but that front seat. There was a lot of... like somebody spilled paint on it, you know?”
    ”Yeah. Somebody had an accident.”
    ”You O.K.?”
    ”I’m fine, Eddie. Just fine.”
    A sigh of relief. ”Anybody asks me, I don’t know not’ing.”
    ”You’re a good friend, Eddie.”
    ”I old-country man, Johnnie. You no do this without good reason. I know.”
    ”The best reason, Eddie. For a friend.”
    ”Take care, you.”
    ”Take care, Eddie.”
    I hung up and decided to call Martha in Pittsburgh, to let her know everything was all right. I still remembered my credit card number, so alternating with directory assistance, I tried her, then Carol. No answer at either home. I obtained Dale’s number and got a pick-up on the third ring.
    ”Dale Palmer.” There was a disjointed tinkling of piano keys in the background.
    ”Dale, it’s John Cuddy.”
    ”Oh, John, it’s good to hear from you. Are you still in Washington?”
    ”No, no, I’m home now. How’s Martha doing?”
    ”Fine, really. She’s out at a job interview now, and I’m minding Al Junior.” He paused and the disjointed music sounded briefly louder. ”Can you hear him at the piano?”
    ”Yeah, a budding Chopin.”
    Dale laughed.
    ”Dale, how are you doing?”
    ”Pretty well, considering. Larry is—has moved out.”
    ”I’m sorry.”
    ”That’s all right. I’ve just got to practice saying it. Better now, though, than after a year of unhappiness. I’ve been that route before. The lame excuses, the dark suspicions, the emotional scenes. Better a clean break.”
    ”I wish I were there to drink to it with you.”
    ”Actually, I’ve... I’m going to make a clean break there, too, if I can. I was beginning to get a little worried about... it. You know what I mean?”
    ”Yeah, after Beth—my wife—died, I came close to... it.”
    He paused, I thought, to move off a subject I hadn’t handled well with him in the past. ”John, Carol told me—I know you told her not to, but I’m the one who’s really home, around here, that is, to keep an eye out—she told me about your, ah, qualms. Is everything really all right? For Martha I mean?”
    ”Everything’s fine. No danger. And with luck, a payment is coming through soon that will, well, that she can use to...”
    ”Square things?”
    ”Yes.”
    ”Bless you, John. She should be home tonight. Do you still have her number so you can tell her personally?”
    I said yes. We exchanged closings and rang off.
    I put in another dime and tried Nancy at the DA’s office. Her secretary recognized my name and told me Nancy had gone home early. I thanked her and hung up.
    I