p&c.brimstone-第6部分
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still seemed to be in private ownership。 Despite the warmth of the day； there were already strong traces of fall coloring in the trees that marched up the gentle slopes。
The car slowed； then slid into a long cobbled driveway； ing at last to a noiseless stop beneath a red…brick porte…cochère。 As he stepped out of the car； D'Agosta found himself before a rambling； Flemish…style mansion。 A narrow bell tower at the flank of the building appeared to be a later addition。 Beyond； well…tended greensward swept down toward the Hudson。 A plaque screwed into the facade announced that the structure was built in 1874 and was now designated a historic site on the National Register of Historic Places。
Their knock was answered by a cowled monk in brown robes； a silken rope tied around his waist。 Without a word； he ushered them into an elegant interior smelling of time and wax polish。 Pendergast bowed and presented the monk with a card； in turn； the monk nodded and beckoned。 They followed him through several turnings and twistings of corridors to a spartan room； whitewashed and bare save for a single crucifix and two rows of hard wooden chairs along opposite walls。 A single window near the exposed rafters let in a bar of light。
The monk bowed and withdrew。 Moments later； another figure appeared in the door。 He； too； was dressed in a monk's habit； but when he drew back the collar； D'Agosta was surprised to find a man well over six feet； broad…shouldered； square…jawed； with black eyes that sparkled with vigor。 In the background； he could hear the faint peal of bells as the changes began to ring in the tower。 Somehow it gave him the shivers。
〃I'm Father Bernard Cappi；〃 the man said。 〃Wele to the Hyde Park Carthaginian Monastery。 Here we're under a vow of silence； but we meet in this particular room once a week to talk。 We call it the Disputation Chamber； because this is where we piss and moan。 You build up a lot of resentments in a week of silence。〃 He swept his robes back； taking a seat。
〃This is my associate； Sergeant D'Agosta；〃 Pendergast said； following the monk's lead。 〃He may want to ask questions as well。〃
〃Pleased to make your acquaintance。〃 The priest crushed his hand in greeting。This is no gentle lamb of God； thought D'Agosta。 He eased down in the chair； shifting； trying hard to get fortable。 He failed。 The room； despite the sunny day outside； felt cold and damp。 God； he would never make a good monk。
〃I sincerely apologize for this intrusion；〃 said Pendergast。
〃Quite all right。 I just hope I can be of help。 This is a tragic business。〃
〃We'll take as little of your time as possible。 Perhaps we should begin with the telephone call。〃
〃As I told the police； the call came to my home at 3：10 in the morning…the answering machine registered the time…but every year I take a two…week retreat here； and so I wasn't home to receive it。 I check my messages upon rising…it's a violation of the rules； but I've got an elderly mother。 I immediately headed out to Long Island； but； of course； it was too late。〃
〃Why did he call you？〃
〃That's a plicated question requiring a long answer。〃
Pendergast nodded at him to proceed。
〃Jeremy Grove and I go way back。 We met at Columbia as students many years ago。 I went on to the priesthood； and he went to Florence to study art。 In those days； we were both…well； I wouldn't call us religious in the usual sense of the word。 We were both spirituallyintrigued 。 We used to argue to all hours of the morning about questions of faith； epistemology； the nature of good and evil； and so forth。 I went on to study theology at Mount St。 Mary's。 We continued our friendship； and a few years later I officiated over Grove's marriage。〃
〃I see；〃 murmured Pendergast。
〃Grove stayed in Florence and I visited him several times。 He was living in a beautiful villa in the hills south of the city。〃
D'Agosta cleared his throat。 〃Where'd he get his money？〃
〃An interesting story； Sergeant。 He bought a painting at an auction at Sotheby's that was billed as being by a late follower of Raphael。 Grove was able to prove it as the hand of the master himself； turned around and sold it for thirty million dollars to the Met。〃
〃Nice。〃
〃Indeed。 Anyway； while living in Florence； Grove had bee quite devout。 In an intellectual kind of way； as some people do。 He loved to engage me in discussion。 There is； Mr。 Pendergast； such a thing as a Catholic intellectual； and that was Grove。〃
Pendergast nodded。
〃He was very happily married。 He adored his wife。 And then； quite abruptly； she left him； ran off with another man。 To say that Grove was devastated is not saying enough。 He was destroyed。 And he focused his anger on God。〃
〃I see；〃 Pendergast replied。
〃Grove felt betrayed by God。 He became 。 。 。 well； you certainly couldn't call him an atheist or an agnostic。 Rather； he picked a fight with God。 He deliberately embarked on a life of sin and violence against God； which in reality was a life of violence against his own higher self。 He became an art critic。 Criticism is a profession which allows one a certain license to be vicious outside the bounds of normal civilized behavior。 One would never tell another person in private that his painting was a revolting piece of trash； but the critic thinks nothing of making the same pronouncement to the world as if he were performing a high moral duty。 There is no profession more ignoble than that of the critic…except perhaps that of the physician presiding at an execution。〃
〃You're right there；〃 said D'Agosta with feeling。 〃Those who can't do； teach； and those who can't teach； critique。〃
Father Cappi laughed。 〃Very true； Sergeant D'Agosta。〃
〃Sergeant D'Agosta is a writer of mysteries；〃 explained Pendergast。
〃Is that so！ I love detective stories。 Give me a title。〃
〃Angels of Purgatoryis his latest。〃
〃I'll buy it immediately。〃
D'Agosta mumbled his thanks。 For the second time that day； he found himself feeling embarrassed。 He would have to talk to Pendergast about sounding off about his abortive writing career。
〃Suffice to say；〃 the priest continued； 〃Grove made a splendid critic。 He surrounded himself with the most degraded； selfish； and cruel people he could find。 Everything he did was excessive…drinking； eating； sex； money； gossip。 He gave dinner parties like a Roman emperor； and he was often on television； savaging this person or that…in the most charming way； of course。 His articles in theNew York Review of Books were avidly read。 Naturally he was a huge hit in New York City society。〃
〃And your relationship to him？〃
〃He couldn't forgive me for what I represented。 Our relationship simply couldn't continue。〃
〃When was this？〃 D'Agosta asked。
〃Grove's wife ran off in 1974； and we had our falling…out shortly thereafter。 I haven't heard from him since。 Not until this morning； that is。〃
〃The message？〃
The priest removed a microcassette recorder from his pocket。 〃I made a copy before turning it over to the police。〃
Holding it up in one hand； he pressed the play button。 There was a beep。 Then：
Bernard？ Bernard！ It's Jeremy Grove。 Are you there？ Pick up the phone； for God's sake！
The voice was high； strained； tinny。
Listen； Bernard； I need you here； now。 You've got to e。 Southampton； 3001 Dune Road。 e immediately。 It's 。 。 。 it's horrible。 Bring a cross； Bible； holy water。 My God； Bernard； he's ing for me。 Do you hear？ He's ing for me！ I need to confess； I need forgiveness； absolution 。 。 。 For the love of God； Bernard； pick up the phone…
His voice was cut off by the message machine using up its allotted time。 The harsh voice echoed into silence in the bare； whitewashed room。 D'Agosta felt a shiver of horror。
〃Well；〃 said Pendergast after a moment。 〃I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on that； Father。〃
Father Cappi's face was grim。 〃I believe he felt damnation was upon him。〃
〃Damnation？ Or the devil？〃
Cappi shifted unfortably。 〃For whatever reason； Jeremy Grove knew his death was imminent。 He wanted to obtain forgiveness before the end。 That was even more important to him than calling the police。 Grove； you see； never stopped believing。〃
〃Are you familiar with the physical evidence at the scene of the crime： the burned hoofprint； the traces of sulfur and brimstone； the peculiar heating of the body？〃
〃I was told； yes。〃
〃How do you explain it？〃
〃The work of a mortal man。 Grove's killer wished to make a statement about what kind of man Grove was。 Hence the hoofprint； brimstone； and all the rest。〃 Father Cappi slid the tape recorder back into his cassock。 〃There's nothing mysterious about evil； Mr。 Pendergast。 It's here all around us； I see it every day。 And I somehow doubt the real devil； whatever form he might take； would wish to draw such unwele attention to his way of doing business。〃
7
In the first darkness following sunset； the man known only asWren walked up the broad； trash…strewn thoroughfare of upper Riverside Drive。 To his left lay the black outlines of Riverside Park and the Hudson River beyond； to his right； the vast hulks of once…great mansions； now empty and decaying。 Wren's shadow flitted from streetlamp to streetlamp as the last touch of red left the incarnadine sky。 Despite the gentrification creeping up from southern Manhattan ； this remained a dangerous neighborhood； one in which few would wish to be caught after dark。 But there was something about Wren…the cadaverousness of his features； perhaps； or his quick； stealthy scuttle of a walk； or the wild shock of white hair； unnaturally thick for a man of his years…that kept predators at bay。
Now Wren stopped before a large Beaux Arts mansion that fronted Riverside Drive from 137th to 138th Streets。 The four…story pile was surrounded by a tall spiked…iron fence； furred in rust。 Beyond the fence； the lawn was overgrown with weeds and ancient ailanthus bushes。 The mansion itself seemed in decrepitude： windows securely boarded up with tin； slate roof tiles chipped； widow's walk missing half its metal posts。
The iron gate blocking the entrance was ajar。 Without pausing； Wren slipped through the opening and down the cobbled drive to the porte…cochère。 Here； trash had accu
