Yesterday's News

okay?”
    Hearing the door click closed, I sat. “You ought to ice that.”
    Fetch worked his head up and down. “I’m going to tell you something. Not because it’s any of your business, but because I want you hearing it from me first.”
    His words seemed to be coming a little easier. I said, “Go on.”
    “I wanted to get married. Jane said she was pregnant.”
    “I didn’t know.”
    “Neither did I. The baby wasn’t mine.”
    I watched him, then said, “Whose did you think it I was?”
    He shook his head and gingerly touched around the I middle joint of the ring finger on his right hand. “I don’t know. I just know I had the mumps in college and the doctor at the infirmary had me give him a specimen. Turned out sterile. Not impotent, just sterile.”
    Appreciating the distinction, I said, “When I walked in here, you weren’t exactly forthcoming. How come now you want me hearing this from you first?”
    “Because—shit, this hurts, I think it’s broken, that’s all I need. Because Richie’s deal, the project, is the key to what I’ve worked for the last two years. I’ve lost Jane. I don’t want to lose what Harborside can mean for this town.”
    Fetch looked hard at me, seeming to push the hand outside the room for a moment. “I don’t want to lose everything.”

    According to the white pages, Richard Dykestra listed his office under his own name. When I called, a vapid female voice advised me that Mr. Dykestra was “unavailable and not expected in the office today.” I told her it was usually one or the other, not both, but she didn’t get me, and I couldn’t see any sense in leaving a message.
    I also looked up Charles Coyne. No luck, but then Hagan had said Coyne’s place was a dive.
    Looping back toward my car the long way, I stuck my head into the Watering Hole. There were seven customers today. Three even had plates as well as glasses in front of them at two-fifteen. One of the three was Malcolm Peete.
    “Mr. Peete, that doesn’t look like a very balanced meal to me.”
    He regarded his vodka and french fries. “Nonsense, my lad. We have here representatives of the two basic food groups, alcohol and cholesterol.”
    I sat down. “The experts would say you’re ruining your health.”
    “Ah, that’s where the Smirnoff performs double duty.” He lifted the glass to eye level and rolled it affectionately between his fingers. “Preventive chemotherapy. Requires daily, nay, hourly treatments to be completely effective.”
    “You sober enough to give me some background information?”
    “I’m highly offended. If I’m sober enough to be offended, I’m sober enough to educate the likes of you, good sir.”
    “Jane’s landlady said she had two visitors the night she died. Both came by car. Any candidates come to mind?”
    “No. Mrs. O’Day’s humble dwelling is far enough from everything to require a car to get there, so I fear I’m your only excludable suspect. I’ve deemed it inappropriate to drive for some time now.”
    “Meaning some judge hooked your license?”
    “I’ll not dignify that with a reply.”
    “Mrs. O’Day also said Jane had a lot of visitors in general. Male visitors. Aside from Bruce Fetch, was she seeing anyone you know of?”
    “No, not really any of my business. Tell me, though, did Mrs. O’Day press upon you her view of the generational conflict ahead?”
    “More than I cared to hear.”
    “Don’t be so flip. She’s right, you know. The disputes of the sixties between the older and the younger just involved politics and patriotism, comparative trifles. Wait until every worker contributes 40 percent of a weekly salary to social security, and even then the recipients of our federal bounty will be having to choose between heating and eating. That conflagration will make the Vietnam War seem like a crack in the sidewalk.”
    I let it pass, then said, “What exactly is the corruption situation here? From the police standpoint.” Peete arched protectively over his drink. “There is no ‘exact’ statement anyone could make. Were you ever a cop?”
    “Military.”
    “Not the same thing. Oh, I’m sure the danger and camaraderie and abilities were quite parallel, perhaps even greater. But you were dealing for the most part with other military. You weren’t being paid yearly a tenth of what the bad guys collect monthly. That’s the problem, basically. The good cops, and most of them start out that way, the good cops arrest truly