pdouglas.thecodex-第6部分

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　I've　never　been　much　on　sentiment；　so　I'll　just　say　to　you；　good…bye。　Good…bye；　Philip；　Vernon；　and　Tom。　Good…bye　and　good　luck。　I　love　you。
　The　screen　went　dead。
　
　5
　
　Tom　remained　on　the　sofa；　momentarily　unable　to　move。　Hutch　Barnaby　was　the　first　to　react。　He　rose　and　coughed　delicately　by　way　of　breaking　the　shocked　silence。
　〃Fenton？　Seems　we're　not　needed　here　any　longer。〃
　Fenton　nodded；　rising　awkwardly；　actually　blushing。
　Barnaby　turned　to　the　brothers　and　politely　touched　the　brim　of　his　cap。　〃As　you　can　see；　this　isn't　a　police　matter。　We'll　leave　you　to；　ah；　sort　things　out　on　your　own。〃　They　began　edging　toward　the　door　archway　that　led　to　the　hall。　They　couldn't　wait　to　get　away。
　Philip　rose。　〃Officer　Barnaby？〃　His　voice　was　half　choked。
　〃Yes？〃
　〃I　trust　you　won't　mention　this　to　anybody。　It　wouldn't　be　helpful　If　。。。　if　the　whole　world　started　looking　for　the　tomb。〃
　〃Good　point。　No　reason　to　mention　it　to　anyone。　No　reason　at　all。　I'll　call　off　the　SOC　boys。〃　He　backed　out；　and　disappeared。　A　moment　later　they　could　hear　the　sound　of　the　great　front　door　of　the　house　clanking　shut。
　The　three　brothers　remained。
　〃The　son　of　a　bitch；〃　Philip　said　quietly。　〃I　can't　believe　it。　The　son　of　a　bitch。〃
　Tom　glanced　at　his　brother's　white　face。　He　knew　that　he'd　been　living　rather　well　on　his　assistant　professor's　salary。　He　needed　the　money。　And　no　doubt　he　had　already　been　spending　it。
　Vernon　said；　〃What　now？〃
　The　word　hung　in　the　silence。
　〃I　can't　believe　the　old　bastard；〃　Philip　said。　〃Taking　a　dozen　old　master　paintings　to　the　grave　like　that；　not　to　mention　all　that　priceless　Mayan　jade　and　gold。　I'm　floored。〃　He　slipped　a　silk　handkerchief　out　of　his　vest　pocket　and　dabbed　his　brow。　〃He　had　no　right。〃
　〃So　what　do　we　do？〃　Vernon　repeated。
　Philip　stared　at　him。　〃We　go　find　the　tomb；　of　course。〃
　〃How？〃
　〃A　man　can't　bury　himself　with　half　a　billion　dollars　of　art　without　help。　We　find　out　who　helped　him。〃
　〃I　don't　believe　it；〃　Tom　said。　〃He　never　trusted　anybody　in　his　life。〃
　〃He　couldn't　have　done　it　on　his　own。〃　。　：
　〃It's　so　。。。　him；〃　said　Philip　suddenly。
　〃Maybe　he　left　clues。〃　Vernon　strode　over　to　the　breakfront　drawers；　jerked　one　open；　and　rummaged　through　it；　swearing。　He　pulled　out　a　second；　and　a　third；　being　so　agitated　that　the　drawer　came　out　all　the　way；　spilling　its　contents　to　the　floor…playing　cards；　Parcheesi；　chess；　Chinese　checkers。　Tom　remembered　them　all…the　old　games　of　their　childhood；　now　yellowed　and　shabby　with　age。　He　felt　a　cold　knot　in　his　chest；　this　is　what　it　had　e　to。　Vernon　cursed　and　gave　the　scattered　mess　a　kick；　sending　pieces　all　over　the　room。
　〃Vernon；　trashing　the　house　is　pointless。〃
　Vernon；　ignoring　him；　kept　opening　drawers；　sweeping　their　contents　onto　the　floor；　moving　on。
　Philip　slipped　his　pipe　out　of　his　trouser　pocket　and　lit　it　with　a　shaking　hand。　〃You're　wasting　your　time。　I　say　we　go　talk　to　Marcus　Hauser。　He's　the　key。〃
　Vernon　paused。　〃Hauser？　Father　hasn't　been　in　contact　with　him　in　forty　years。〃
　〃He's　the　only　one　who　really　knew　Father。　They　spent　two　years　together　in　Central　America。　If　anyone　knows　where　Father　went；　it's　him。〃
　〃Father　hates　Hauser。〃
　〃I　expect　they　had　a　reconciliation；　with　Father　sick　and　all。〃　Philip　flicked　open　a　gold　lighter　and　sucked　the　flame　into　the　bowl　of　his　pipe　with　a　gurgle。
　Vernon　moved　into　the　den。　Tom　could　hear　cupboards　being　opened　and　shut；　books　being　pulled　from　shelves；　things　crashing　to　the　floor。
　〃I'm　telling　you；　Hauser's　involved。　We've　got　to　move　fast。　I've　got　debts…I've　got　obligations。〃
　Vernon　came　back　from　the　den　carrying　a　boxful　of　papers；　which　he　slammed　down　on　the　coffee　table。　〃It　figures　you'd　already　be　spending　your　inheritance。〃
　Philip　turned　to　him　coolly。　〃Who　was　it　took　twenty　grand　from　Father　just　last　year？〃
　〃That　was　a　loan。〃　Vernon　started　shuffling　through　the　papers；　rifling　folders；　scattering　them　on　the　floor。　Tom　saw　their　old　elementary　school　report　cards　spilling　from　a　file。　It　surprised　him　that　their　father　had　bothered　to　save　those…particularly　when　he　had　been　none　too　pleased　with　their　grades　to　begin　with。
　〃Have　you　paid　it　back　yet？〃　Philip　asked。
　〃I　will。〃
　〃Of　course　you　will；〃　said　Philip　sarcastically。
　Vernon　colored。　〃What　about　the　forty　thousand　that　Father　spent　on　sending　you　to　graduate　school？　Have　you　paid　that　back　yet？〃
　〃That　was　a　gift。　He　paid　for　Tom's　veterinary　school；　too…right；　Tom？　And　if　you　had　gone　to　graduate　school　he　would　have　paid　for　yours。　Instead；　you　went　and　lived　with　that　swami　woo…woo　in　India。〃
　There　was　a　tense　silence。
　〃Go　to　hell；〃　said　Vernon。
　Tom　stared　from　one　brother　to　the　other。　It　was　happening；　just　as　it　had　happened　a　thousand　times　before。　Usually　he　stepped　in　and　tried　to　be　peacemaker。　Just　as　often　it　did　no　good。
　〃The　hell　with　you；　too；〃　Philip　said。　He　put　the　pipe　back　between　his　teeth　with　a　click　and　turned　on　his　heel。
　〃Wait！〃　Vernon　called；　but　it　was　too　late。　When　Philip　got　mad；　he　left；　and　he　was　doing　it　again。　The　great　door　boomed　shut　with　a　dying　rattle。
　〃For　God's　sake；　Vernon；　can't　you　pick　a　better　time　to　fight？〃
　〃Screw　him。　He　started　it；　didn't　he？〃
　Tom　couldn't　even　remember　who　started　it。
　
　Back　in　the　office；　Hutch　Barnaby　sat　in　his　chair；　a　fresh　cup　of　coffee　resting　on　his　paunch；　looking　out　the　window。　Fenton　sat　in　the　other　chair；　with　his　own　cup；　staring　gloomily　at　the　floor。
　〃Fenton；　you　gotta　stop　thinking　about　it。　These　things　happen。〃
　〃I　can't　believe　it。〃
　〃I　know；　it's　some　crazy　shit；　the　guy　burying　himself　with　half　a　billion　dollars。　Don't　worry。　Someday　someone　in　this　town'll　mit　a　New　York　Times　front…page　crime；　and　your　name'll　be　there。　This　just　didn't　pan　out。〃
　Fenton　nursed　his　coffee…and　his　disappointment。
　〃I　knew　it；　Fenton；　even　before　I　saw　that　video。　I　figured　it　out。　When　I　realized　it　wasn't　an　insurance　scam；　it　was　like　a　lightbulb　went　on　in　my　head。　Hey；　it　would　make　a　great　movie；　don't　you　think？　Rich　guy　takes　his　shit　with　him。〃
　Fenton　said　nothing。
　〃How　do　you　think　the　old　guy　did　it？　Think　about　it。　He　needed　help。　That　was　a　lot　of　stuff。　You　can't　move　a　few　tons　of　artwork　around　the　world　without　someone　noticing。〃
　Fenton　sipped。
　Barnaby　glanced　up　at　the　clock　and　then　down　at　the　papers　strewn　about　his　desk。　〃Two　hours　to　lunch。　How　e　nothing　interesting　ever　happens　in　this　city？　Look　at　this。　Drugs　and　more　drugs。　Why　don't　these　kids　rob　a　bank　for　a　change？〃
　Fenton　drained　the　cup。　〃It's　out　there。〃
　Silence。
　〃What　are　you　trying　to　say？　What　do　you　mean　by　that　ment？　It's　out　there。　So　what？　Lot　of　things　are　out　there。〃
　Fenton　crushed　the　cup。
　〃You　aren't　suggesting　something；　are　you？〃
　Fenton　dropped　the　cup　in　the　trash　can。
　〃You　said；　It's　out　there。　I　want　to　know　what　you　meant　by　that。〃
　〃We　go　get　it。〃
　〃And？〃
　〃We　keep　it。〃
　Barnaby　laughed。　〃Fenton；　I'm　amazed　at　you。　In　case　you　didn't　notice；　we're　law　enforcement　officers。　Did　that　little　fact　slip　your　mind？　We're　supposed　to　be　honest。〃
　〃Yeah；〃　said　Fenton。　：。
　〃Right；〃　said　Barnaby　after　a　moment。　〃Honesty。　If　you　don't　have　that；　Fenton；　then　what　do　you　have？〃
　〃Half　a　billion　dollars；〃　said　Fenton。
　
　6
　
　The　building　wasn't　an　old　brownstone　as　it　would　have　been　in　a　Bogart　film　but　a　glass　and　steel　monstrosity　that　teetered　into　the　sky　above　West　Fifty…seventh　Street；　an　ugly　eighties　skyscraper。　At　least；　thought　Philip；　the　rent　would　be　high。　And　if　the　rent　was　high；　it　meant　Marcus　Aurelius　Hauser　was　a　successful　private　investigator。
　Strolling　into　the　lobby　was　like　walking　into　a　giant　polished　granite　cube。　The　place　reeked　of　cleaning　fluids。　A　stand　of　sickly　bamboo　grew　in　one　corner。　An　elevator　whisked　him　up　to　the　thirtieth　floor；　and　he　was　soon　at　the　cherry　doors　leading　into　the　offices　of　Marcus　Hauser；　PI。
　Philip　paused　inside　the　doorway。　Whatever　he　had　imagined　as　the　office　of　a　private　investigator；　this　colorless　postmodern　interior　of　gray　slate；　industrial　carpeting；　and　black　polished　granite　was　not　it。　How　could　anyone　work　in　such　a　sterile　space？　The　room　appeared　empty。
　〃Yeah？〃　came　a　voice　from　behind　a　half…moon　wall　of　glass　bricks。
　Philip　came　around　and　found　himself　staring　at　the　back　of　a　man　sitting　at　a　vast　kidney…shaped　desk；　which　instead　of　facing　the　door　to　his　office　faced　in　the　opposite　direction　toward　a　wall　of　windows　that　looked　west　over　the　dull　zinc　sheen　of　the　Hudson　River。　Without　turning；　the　man　gestured　toward　an　armchair。　Philip　crossed　the　floor；　seated　himself；　and　settled　in　to　study　Marcus　Hauser：　ex…Vietnam　Green　Beret；　ex…tomb　robber；　ex…lieutenant；　BATF；　Manhattan　field　office。
　In　his　father's　photo　albums　he　had　seen　pictures　of　Hauser　as　a　young　man；　blurry　and　indistinct；　dressed　in　jungle　khakis；　packing　some　kind　of　firearm　on　his　hip。　He　was　always　grinning。　Philip　felt　a　little　disconcerted　finally　seeing　him　in　the　flesh。　He　looked　even　smaller　than　Philip　had　imagined　him；　and　he　was　overdressed　in　a　brown　suit　with　collar　pin；　vest；　gold　chain；　and　watch　fob。　A　working…class　man　aping　the　gentry。　There　was　the　scent　of　cologne　about　him；　and　what　little　hair　he　had　was　excessively　pomaded　and　curled；　each　strand　individually　arranged　to　provide　maximal　coverage　to　his　bald　spot。　Gold　rings　winked　on　no　fewer　than　four　of　his　fingers。　His　hands　had　been　manicured；　his　nails　cleaned　and　polished；　his　nose　carefully　trimmed　of　hair。　Even　his　bald　pate；　gleaming　under　the　screen　of　hairs　that　covered　it；　gave　every　appearance　of　having　been　waxed　and　buffed。　Philip　found　himself　wondering　if　this　was　the　same　Marcus　Hauser　who　had　tramped　through　the　jungles　with　his　father　in　search　of　lost　cities　and　ancient　tombs。　Perhaps　there　had　been　some　mistake。
　He　cleared　his　throat。　〃Mr。　Hauser？〃
　〃Marcus；〃　came　the　rapid　reply；　like　a　cracking　good　tennis　volley。　His　voice　was　equally　disconcerting：　high；　nasal；　working…class　accent。　His　eyes；　however；　were　as　green　and　cool　as　a　crocodile's。
　Philip　felt　flustered。　He　recrossed　his　legs