preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第26部分

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　There　was　a　long　silence。　Smithback　drew　in　some　more　air。　This　was　often　a　long　process。　〃You　know　when　you're　reading　an　article　in　the　paper；　and　it's　about　some　sleazy　guy；　and　the　guy　says　I　have　no　ment？　How　does　that　make　you　feel　about　the　guy？　Especially　a　real　estate　developer。　No　ment。　I　could　do　a　lot　with　no　ment。〃
　There　was　more　silence。　Smithback　wondered　if　she　had　hung　up。　But　no；　there　was　a　sound　on　a　line。　It　was　a　chuckle。
　〃That's　good；〃　said　a　low；　pleasant；　masculine　voice。　〃I　like　that。　Nicely　done。〃
　〃Who's　this？〃　Smithback　demanded。
　〃Just　some　sleazy　real　estate　developer。〃
　〃Who？〃　Smithback　was　not　going　to　stand　being　made　fun　of　by　some　lackey。
　〃Anthony　Fairhaven。〃
　〃Oh。〃　Smithback　was　momentarily　struck　speechless。　He　recovered　quickly。　〃Mr。　Fairhaven；　is　it　true　that…〃
　〃Why　don't　you　e　on　up；　so　we　can　talk　face…to…face；　like　grownup　people？　Forty…ninth　floor。〃
　〃What？〃　Smithback　was　still　surprised　at　the　rapidity　of　his　success。
　〃I　said；　e　up。　I　was　wondering　when　you'd　call；　being　the　ambitious；　careerist　reporter　that　you　so　evidently　are。〃
　　
　Fairhaven's　office　was　not　quite　what　Smithback　had　envisioned。　True；　there　were　several　layers　of　secretaries　and　assistants　guarding　the　sanctum　sanctorum。　But　when　he　finally　gained　Fairhaven's　office；　it　wasn't　the　vast　screw…you　space　of　chrome…gold…ebony…old…master…paintings…African…primitives　he'd　expected。　It　was　rather　simple　and　small。　True；　there　was　art　on　the　walls；　but　it　consisted　of　some　understated　Thomas　Hart　Benton　lithographs　of　yeoman　farmers。　Beside　these　was　a　glassed　panel…locked　and　clearly　alarmed…containing　a　variety　of　handguns；　mounted　on　a　black　velvet　backdrop。　The　sole　desk　was　small　and　made　of　birch。　There　were　a　couple　of　easy　chairs　and　a　worn　Persian　rug　on　the　floor。　One　wall　was　covered　with　bookshelves；　filled　with　books　that　had　clearly　been　read　instead　of　purchased　by　the　yard　as　furniture。　Except　for　the　gun　case；　it　looked　more　like　a　professor's　office　than　that　of　a　real　estate　magnate。　And　yet；　unlike　any　professor's　office　Smithback　had　ever　been　in；　the　space　was　meticulously　clean。　Every　surface　sparkled　with　an　unblemished　shine。　Even　the　books　appeared　to　have　been　polished。　There　was　a　faint　smell　of　cleaning　agents；　a　little　chemical　but　not　unpleasant。
　〃Please　sit　down；〃　said　Fairhaven；　sweeping　a　hand　toward　the　easy　chairs。　〃Would　you　care　for　anything？　Coffee？　Water？　Soda？　Whisky？〃　He　grinned。
　〃Nothing；　thanks；〃　said　Smithback　as　he　took　a　seat。　He　felt　the　familiar　shudder　of　expectation　that　came　before　an　intense　interview。　Fairhaven　was　clearly　savvy；　but　he　was　rich　and　pampered；　he　no　doubt　lacked　street…smarts。　Smithback　had　interviewed…and　skewered…dozens　like　him。　It　wouldn't　even　be　a　contest。
　Fairhaven　opened　a　refrigerator　and　took　out　a　small　bottle　of　mineral　water。　He　poured　himself　a　glass　and　then　sat；　not　at　his　desk；　but　in　an　easy　chair　opposite　Smithback。　He　crossed　his　legs；　smiled。　The　bottle　of　water　sparkled　in　the　sunlight　that　slanted　through　the　windows。　Smithback　glanced　past　him。　The　view；　at　least；　was　killer。
　He　turned　his　attention　back　to　the　man。　Black　wavy　hair；　strong　brow；　athletic　frame；　easy　movements；　sardonic　look　in　the　eye。　Could　be　thirty；　thirty…five。　He　jotted　a　few　impressions。
　〃So；〃　Fairhaven　said　with　a　small；　self…deprecating　smile；　〃the　sleazy　real　estate　developer　is　ready　to　take　your　questions。〃
　〃May　I　record　this？〃
　〃I　would　expect　no　less。〃
　Smithback　slipped　a　recorder　out　of　his　pocket。　Of　course　he　seemed　charming。　People　like　him　were　experts　at　charm　and　manipulation。　But　he'd　never　allow　himself　to　be　spun。　All　he　had　to　do　was　remember　who　he　was　dealing　with：　a　heartless；　money…grubbing　businessman　who　would　sell　his　own　mother　for　the　back　rent　alone。
　〃Why　did　you　destroy　the　site　on　Catherine　Street？〃　he　asked。
　Fairhaven　bowed　his　head　slightly。　〃The　project　was　behind　schedule。　We　were　fast…tracking　the　excavation。　It　would've　cost　me　forty　thousand　dollars　a　day。　I'm　not　in　the　archaeology　business。〃
　〃Some　archaeologists　say　you　destroyed　one　of　the　most　important　sites　to　be　discovered　in　Manhattan　in　a　quarter…century。〃
　Fairhaven　cocked　his　head。　〃Really？　Which　archaeologists？〃
　〃The　Society　for　American　Archaeology；　for　example。〃
　A　cynical　smile　broke　out　on　Fairhaven's　face。　〃Ah。　I　see。　Well　of　course　they'd　be　against　it。　If　they　had　their　way；　no　one　in　America　would　turn　over　a　spadeful　of　soil　without　an　archaeologist　standing　by　with　screen；　trowel；　and　toothbrush。〃
　〃Getting　back　to　the　site…〃
　〃Mr。　Smithback；　what　I　did　was　perfectly　legal。　When　we　discovered　those　remains；　I　personally　stopped　all　work。　I　personally　examined　the　site。　We　called　in　forensic　experts；　who　photographed　everything。　We　removed　the　remains　with　great　care；　had　them　examined；　and　then　properly　buried；　all　at　my　own　expense。　We　did　not　restart　work　until　we　had　direct　authorization　from　the　mayor。　What　more　would　you　have　me　do？〃
　Smithback　felt　a　small　twinge。　This　was　not　proceeding　quite　as　expected。　He　was　letting　Fairhaven　control　the　agenda；　that　was　the　problem。
　〃You　say　you　had　the　remains　buried。　Why？　Was　there　anything　perhaps　you　were　trying　to　hide？〃
　At　this　Fairhaven　actually　laughed；　leaning　back　in　his　chair；　exposing　beautiful　teeth。　〃You　make　it　sound　suspicious。　I'm　a　little　embarrassed　to　admit　that　I'm　a　man　with　some　small　religious　values。　These　poor　people　were　killed　in　a　hideous　way。　I　wanted　to　give　them　a　decent　burial　with　an　ecumenical　service；　quiet　and　dignified；　free　of　the　whole　media　circus。　That's　what　I　did…buried　them　together　with　their　little　effects　in　a　real　cemetery。　I　didn't　want　their　bones　ending　up　in　a　museum　drawer。　So　I　purchased　a　beautiful　tract　in　the　Gates　of　Heaven　Cemetery　in　Valhalla；　New　York。　I'm　sure　the　cemetery　director　would　be　happy　to　show　you　the　plot。　The　remains　were　my　responsibility　and；　frankly；　I　had　to　do　something　with　them。　The　city　certainly　didn't　want　them。〃
　〃Right；　right；〃　said　Smithback；　thinking。　It　would　make　a　nice　sidebar；　this　quiet　burial　under　the　leafy　elms。　But　then　he　frowned。　Christ；　was　he　getting　spun　here？
　Time　for　a　new　tack。　〃According　to　the　records；　you're　a　major　donor　to　the　mayor's　re…election　campaign。　You　get　in　a　pinch　at　your　construction　site　and　he　bails　you　out。　Coincidence？〃
　Fairhaven　leaned　back　in　the　chair。　〃Drop　the　wide…eyed；　babe…in…the…woods　look。　You　know　perfectly　well　how　things　work　in　this　town。　When　I　give　money　to　the　mayor's　campaign；　I　am　exercising　my　constitutional　rights。　I　don't　expect　any　special　treatment；　and　I　don't　ask　for　it。〃
　〃But　if　you　get　it；　so　much　the　better。〃
　Fairhaven　smiled　broadly；　cynically；　but　said　nothing。　Smithback　felt　another　twinge　of　concern。　This　guy　was　being　very　careful　about　what　he　actually　said。　Trouble　was；　you　couldn't　record　a　cynical　grin。
　He　stood　and　walked　with　what　he　hoped　looked　like　casual　confidence　toward　the　paintings；　hands　behind　his　back；　studying　them；　trying　to　frame　a　new　strategy。　Then　he　moved　to　the　gun　case。　Inside；　polished　weapons　gleamed。　〃Interesting　choice　of　office　decor；〃　he　said；　gesturing　at　the　case。
　〃I　collect　the　rarest　of　handguns。　I　can　afford　to。　That　one　you　are　pointing　at；　for　example；　is　a　Luger；　chambered　in　。45。　The　only　one　ever　made。　I　also　have　a　collection　of　Mercedes…Benz　roadsters。　But　they　take　up　rather　more　display　space；　so　I　keep　them　at　my　place　in　Sag　Harbor。〃　Fairhaven　looked　at　him；　still　smiling　cynically。　〃We　all　collect　things；　Mr。　Smithback。　What's　your　passion？　Museum　monographs　and　chapbooks；　perhaps：　removed　for　research；　then　not　returned？　By　accident；　of　course。〃
　Smithback　looked　at　him　sharply。　Had　the　guy　searched　his　apartment？　But　no：　Fairhaven　was　merely　fishing。　He　returned　to　the　chair。　〃Mr。　Fairhaven…〃
　Fairhaven　interrupted　him；　his　tone　suddenly　brisk；　unfriendly。　〃Look；　Smithback；　I　know　you're　exercising　your　constitutional　right　to　skewer　me。　The　big　bad　real　estate　developer　is　always　an　easy　target。　And　you　like　easy　targets。　Because　you　fellows　are　all　cut　from　the　same　cloth。　You　all　think　your　work　is　important。　But　today's　newspaper　is　lining　tomorrow's　bird　cage。　It's　ephemera。　What　you　do；　in　the　larger　scheme　of　things；　is　nugatory。〃
　Nugatory？　What　the　hell　did　that　mean？　It　didn't　matter：　clearly　it　was　an　insult。　He　was　getting　under　Fairhaven's　skin。　That　was　good…wasn't　it？
　〃Mr。　Fairhaven；　I　have　reason　to　believe　that　you've　been　pressuring　the　Museum　to　stop　this　investigation。〃
　〃I'm　sorry。　What　investigation？〃
　〃The　one　into　Enoch　Leng　and　the　nineteenth…century　killings。〃
　〃That　investigation？　Why　should　I　care　one　way　or　another　about　it？　It　didn't　stop　my　construction　project；　and　frankly　that's　all　I　care　about。　They　can　investigate　it　now　until　they're　blue　in　the　face；　if　they　so　choose。　And　I　love　this　phrase　all　you　journalists　use：　I　have　reason　to　believe。　What　you　really　mean　is：　I　want　to　believe　but　I　haven't　a　shred　of　evidence。　All　you　fellows　must've　taken　the　same　Journalism　101　class：　Making　an　Ass　of　Yourself　While　Pretending　to　Get　the　Story。〃　Fairhaven　allowed　himself　a　cynical　laugh。
　Smithback　sat　stiffly；　listening　to　the　laughter　subside。　Once　again　he　tried　to　tell　himself　he　was　getting　under　Fairhaven's　skin。　He　spoke　at　last；　keeping　his　voice　as　cool　as　possible。
　〃Tell　me；　Mr。　Fairhaven；　just　why　is　it　that　you're　so　interested　in　the　Museum？〃
　〃I　happen　to　love　the　Museum。　It's　my　favorite　museum　in　the　world。　I　practically　grew　up　in　that　place　looking　at　the　dinosaurs；　the　meteorites；　the　gems。　I　had　a　nanny　who　used　to　take　me。　She　necked　with　her　boyfriend　behind　the　elephants　while　I　wandered　around　by　myself。　But　you're　not　interested　in　that；　because　it　doesn't　fit　your　image　of　the　greedy　real　estate　developer。　Really；　Smithback；　I'm　wise　to　your　game。〃
　〃Mr。　Fairhaven…〃
　Fairhaven　grinned。　〃You　want　a　confession？〃
　This　temporarily　stopped　Smithback。
　Fairhaven　lowered　his　voice　to　confessional　level。　〃I　have　mitted　two　unforgivable　crimes。〃
　Smithback　tried　to　maintain　the　hard…bitten　reportorial　look　he　cultivated　in　instanc