iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第26章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　It　es　out　sharp；　and　Gil　seems　to　catch　himself。　Picking　up　the　remote　from　the　floor；　he　says；　〃Let's　see　if　there's　anything　else　on。〃
　Three　different　networks　are　broadcasting　from　somewhere　on　campus；　but　when　there　doesn't　seem　to　be　any　new　information；　Gil　gets　up　and　starts　a　movie。
　〃Roman　Holiday；〃　he　says；　sitting　back　down。　A　distant　ease　es　over　his　face。　Audrey　Hepburn　again。　He　puts　down　the　wine。
　The　longer　the　movie　stays　on；　the　more　I　find　that　Gil　is　right。　No　matter　how　heavy　my　thoughts　are；　sooner　or　later　I　keep　ing　back　to　Audrey。　I　can't　get　my　eyes　off　her。
　After　a　while；　Gil's　focus　seems　to　cloud　over　a　little。　The　wine；　I　guess。　But　when　he　rubs　his　forehead　and　focuses　a　second　too　long　on　his　hands；　I　sense　there's　more　to　it。　Maybe　he's　thinking　of　Anna；　who　broke　up　with　him　while　I　was　at　home。　Thesis　deadlines　and　planning　the　ball　undid　them；　Charlie　told　me；　but　Gil　never　wanted　to　talk　about　it。　Anna　was　a　mystery　to　us　from　the　beginning；　he　almost　never　brought　her　to　the　room；　though　at　Ivy；　I'd　heard；　they　were　never　apart。　She　was　the　first　of　his　girlfriends　who　couldn't　recognize　which　one　of　us　was　picking　up　the　phone；　the　first　who　sometimes　forgot　Paul's　name；　and　she　never　stopped　by　the　room　if　she　knew　Gil　wasn't　there。
　〃You　know　who　looks　a　little　like　Audrey　Hepburn？〃　Gil　asks　suddenly；　catching　me　off　guard。
　〃Who？〃　I　say；　dialing　Taft's　office　again。
　He　surprises　me。　〃Katie。〃
　〃What　made　you　think　of　that？〃
　〃I　don't　know。　I　was　watching　you　two　tonight。　You're　great　together。〃
　He　says　it　as　if　he's　trying　to　remind　himself　of　something　dependable。　I　want　to　tell　him　that　Katie　and　I　have　had　our　ups　and　downs　too；　that　he's　not　the　only　one　who　struggles　in　a　relationship；　but　it　would　be　the　wrong　thing　to　say。
　〃She's　your　type；　Tom；〃　he　goes　on。　〃She's　smart。　I　don't　even　understand　what　she's　saying　half　the　time。〃
　I　hang　up　the　phone　when　there's　still　no　answer。　〃Where　is　he？〃
　〃He'll　call。〃　Gil　takes　a　long　breath；　trying　to　ignore　the　possibilities。　〃How　long's　it　been　with　Katie？〃
　〃Next　Wednesday　makes　four　months　for　us。〃
　Gil　shakes　his　head。　He's　broken　up　three　times　since　Katie　and　I　met。
　〃Do　you　ever　wonder　if　she's　the　one？〃
　It's　the　first　time　anyone　has　asked　that　question。
　〃Sometimes。　I　wish　we　had　more　time。　I　worry　about　next　year。〃
　〃You　should　hear　how　she　talks　about　you。　It's　like　you've　known　each　other　since　you　were　kids。〃
　〃What　do　you　mean？〃
　〃I　found　her　at　Ivy　once；　taping　a　basketball　game　for　you　on　the　TV　upstairs。　She　said　it　was　because　you　and　your　dad　used　to　go　to　the　Michigan…Ohio　State　game　together。〃
　I　hadn't　even　asked　her　to　do　it。　Until　we　met；　she'd　never　followed　basketball。
　〃You're　lucky；〃　he　says。
　I　nod　my　agreement。
　We　talk　a　little　more　about　Katie；　then　Gil　slowly　returns　to　Audrey。　His　expression　lightens；　but　eventually　I　can　see　the　old　thoughts　return。　Paul。　Anna。　The　ball。　Before　long　he　reaches　for　the　bottle。　I'm　just　about　to　suggest　that　he's　had　enough　to　drink；　when　a　dragging　sound　es　from　the　hallway。　The　outside　door　opens；　and　Charlie　stands　in　the　sallow　light　of　the　hall。　He　looks　bad。　There　are　blood…colored　stains　on　the　cuffs　of　his　clothes。
　〃You　okay？〃　Gil　asks；　standing　up。
　〃We've　got　to　talk；〃　Charlie　says；　with　an　edge　to　his　voice。
　Gil　mutes　the　television。
　Charlie　goes　to　the　refrigerator　and　pulls　out　a　bottle　of　water。　He　drinks　half　of　it；　then　pours　some　over　his　hands　to　wet　his　face。　His　focus　is　unsteady。　Finally　he　sits　down　and　says；　〃The　man　who　fell　from　Dickinson　was　Bill　Stein。〃
　〃Jesus；〃　Gil　whispers。
　I　feel　myself　go　cold。　〃I　don't　understand。〃
　Charlie　confirms　it　by　the　look　on　his　face。　〃He　was　in　his　office　in　the　history　department。　Someone　came　in　and　shot　him。〃
　〃Who？〃
　〃They　don't　know。〃
　〃What　do　you　mean；　they　don't　know？〃
　A　beat　of　silence　passes。　Charlie　focuses　on　me。　〃What　was　that　pager　message　about？　What　did　Bill　Stein　want　from　Paul？〃
　〃I　told　you。　He　wanted　to　give　Paul　a　book　he　found。　I　can't　believe　this；　Charlie。〃
　〃He　didn't　say　anything　else？　Where　he　was　going？　Who　he　was　going　to　see？〃
　I　shake　my　head。　Then；　slowly；　it　returns　to　me；　what　I'd　mistaken　for　paranoia：　the　phone　calls　Bill　had　gotten；　the　books　someone　else　was　checking　out。　A　wave　of　fear　descends　on　me　as　I　tell　them。
　〃Shit；〃　Charlie　grumbles。　He　reaches　for　the　phone。
　〃What　are　you　doing？〃　Gil　asks。
　〃The　police　are　going　to　want　to　talk　to　you；〃　Charlie　tells　me。　〃Where's　Paul？〃
　〃Jesus。　I　don't　know；　but　we've　got　to　find　him。　I　keep　trying　Taft's　office　at　the　Institute。　There's　no　answer。〃
　Charlie　looks　at　us　impatiently。
　〃He'll　be　fine；〃　Gil　says；　and　I　can　hear　the　wine　talking。　〃Calm　down。〃
　〃I　wasn't　talking　to　you；〃　Charlie　snaps。
　〃Maybe　he's　at　Taft's　house；〃　I　suggest。　〃Or　Taft's　office　on　campus。〃
　〃The　cops　will　find　him　when　they　need　to；〃　Gil　says；　face　hardening。　〃We　should　stay　out　of　this。〃
　Charlie　turns。　〃Two　of　us　are　already　in　this。〃
　Gil　scoffs。　〃Give　me　a　break；　Charlie。　Since　when　are　you　in　this？〃
　〃Not　me；　you　prick。　Tom　and　Paul。　There's　more　to　us　than　just　you。〃
　〃Don't　get　sanctimonious　on　me。　I'm　sick　of　you　butting　into　everyone　else's　problems。〃
　Charlie　leans　forward；　lifts　the　bottle　from　the　table；　and　throws　it　in　the　trash。　〃You've　had　enough。〃
　For　a　second　I'm　afraid　the　wine　is　going　to　make　Gil　say　something　we'll　all　regret。　But　after　glaring　at　Charlie；　he　rises　from　the　couch。　〃Christ；〃　he　says。　〃I'm　going　to　bed。〃
　I　watch　him　retreat　into　the　bedroom　without　another　word。　A　second　later；　the　light　beneath　the　door　falls　dark。
　Minutes　pass；　and　they　feel　like　hours。　I　try　the　Institute　again；　but　with　no　luck；　so　Charlie　and　I　sit　in　the　mon　room　for　the　duration；　neither　one　speaking。　My　mind　is　moving　too　quickly　to　make　sense　of　my　own　thoughts。　I　stare　out　the　window；　and　Stein's　voice　climbs　back　into　my　thoughts。
　I　get　these　phone　calls。　Pick　up　。　。　。　click。　Pick　up　。　。　。　click。
　Finally　Charlie　rises。　Finding　a　towel　in　the　closet；　he　starts　to　put　his　bathroom　caddy　in　order。　Without　a　word　he　heads　out　the　door　in　his　boxer　shorts。　The　men's　bathroom　is　down　the　hall；　and　there　are　half　a　dozen　upperclass　women　living　between　it　and　our　quad；　but　Charlie　marches　out　anyway；　towel　wrapped　around　his　neck　like　an　oxbow；　caddy　in　hand。
　Sitting　back　on　the　couch；　I　reach　for　today's　Daily　Princetonian。　To　distract　myself；　I　flip　through　the　pages；　searching　for　a　photo　credit　of　Katie's　somewhere　in　the　nether　corners　of　the　paper；　where　underclass　contributions　go　to　die。　I'm　always　curious　about　the　pictures　she　takes；　the　new　subjects　she　chooses；　the　ones　she　thinks　are　too　unimportant　to　mention。　After　dating　someone　long　enough；　you　start　to　imagine　she　sees　everything　the　same　way　you　do。　Katie's　photos　are　a　corrective；　a　glimpse　of　the　world　through　her　eyes。
　Before　long　a　sound　es　at　the　door；　Charlie　returning　from　the　shower。　But　when　a　key　strikes　in　the　outside　lock；　I　realize　it's　someone　else。　The　door　swings　open　and　it's　Paul　who　enters　the　room。　His　face　is　pale；　and　his　lips　are　blue　from　the　cold。
　〃Are　you　okay？〃　I　ask。
　Charlie　arrives　back　just　in　time。　〃Where　have　you　been？〃　he　demands。
　It　takes　us　fifteen　minutes　to　get　the　details　from　Paul；　given　his　state。　After　leaving　the　lecture；　he　went　to　the　Institute　and　searched　for　Bill　Stein　in　the　puter　lab　there。　An　hour　later；　when　Stein　failed　to　appear；　Paul　decided　to　go　back　to　the　dorm。　He　started　the　trip　in　his　car；　only　to　have　it　quit　at　a　stoplight　about　a　mile　from　campus；　then　he　had　to　walk　back　in　the　snow。
　The　rest　of　the　night；　he　says；　is　a　blur。　He　arrived　at　the　north　of　campus　to　find　police　cars　near　Bill's　office　at　Dickinson。　After　asking　enough　questions；　he　was　driven　to　the　medical　center；　where　someone　asked　him　to　identify　the　body。　Taft　showed　up　at　the　hospital　not　long　after；　giving　a　second　identification；　but　before　he　and　Paul　could　speak；　officers　separated　them　for　questioning。　The　police　wanted　to　know　about　his　relationship　with　Stein　and　Taft；　about　the　last　time　he　saw　Bill；　about　where　he　was　at　the　time　of　the　murder。　Paul　cooperated　in　a　daze。　When　they　finally　released　him；　they　asked　him　not　to　leave　campus；　and　said　they'd　be　in　touch。　Eventually　he　made　his　way　toward　Dod；　but　stayed　on　the　outside　steps　for　a　while；　just　wanting　to　be　alone。
　Finally；　we　discuss　the　conversation　we　had　with　Stein　in　the　Rare　Books　Room；　which　Paul　says　the　police　took　down　in　full。　As　he　talks　about　Bill；　about　how　agitated　Stein　was　at　the　library；　about　the　friend　he's　lost；　Paul　gives　little　sign　of　emotion。　He　still　hasn't　recovered　from　the　shock。
　〃Tom；〃　he　says　finally；　when　we're　back　in　our　bedroom；　〃I　need　a　favor。〃
　〃Of　course；〃　I　say。　〃Name　it。〃
　〃I　need　you　to　e　with　me。〃
　I　hesitate。　〃Where？〃
　〃The　art　museum。〃
　He's　changing　into　a　dry　set　of　clothes。
　〃Now？　Why？〃
　Paul　rubs　at　his　forehead；　working　out　an　ache。　〃I'll　explain　on　the　way。〃
　When　we　return　to　the　mon　room；　Charlie　looks　at　us　like　we've　lost　our　minds。　〃At　this　hour？〃　he　asks。　〃The　museum's　closed。〃
　〃I　know　what　I'm　doing；〃　Paul　says；　already　making　for　the　hallway。
　Charlie　gives　me　a　heavy　look；　but　says　nothing　as　I　follow　Paul　out　the　door。
　　
　The　art　museum　sits　like　an　old　Mediterranean　palace　across　the　courtyard　from　Dod。　From　the　front；　where　we　entered　a　few　hours　earlier；　it's　just　a　stumpy　modern　building　with　a　Picasso　sculpture　on　the　front　lawn　that　looks　like　a　glorified　birdbath。　When　you　approach　from　the　side；　though；　the　newer　elements　give　way　to　older　ones；　pretty　windows　in　little　Romanesque　arches；　and　red　roof…tiles　that　peek　out　beneath　tonight's　canopy　of　snow。　Under　different　circumstances；　the　view　from　here　would　be　charming。　Under　different　circumstances；　it　might　be　a　picture　Katie　would　take。
　〃What　are　we　doing？〃　I　ask。
　Paul　is　trudging　a　path　before　me　in　his　old　workman's　boots。
　〃I　found　what　Richard　thought　was　in　the　diary；〃　he　says。
　It　sounds　like　the　middle　of　a　thought　whose　beginning　he's　kept　to　himself。
　〃The　blueprint？〃
　He　shakes　his　head。　〃I'll　show　you　when　we　get　inside。〃
　I'm　walking　in　his　footsteps　now　to　keep　the　snow　out　of　my　pant　legs。　My　eyes　keep　returning　to　his　boots。　Paul　worked　at　the　museum　loading　docks　our　freshman　summer；　moving　ining　and　outgoing　exhibits　onto　trucks。　The　boots　were　a　necessity　then；　but　tonight　they　leave　dirty　tracks　in　the　moon…white　of　the　courtyard。　He　looks　like　a　boy　in　men's　shoes。
　We　arrive　at　a　door　by　the　west　face　of　the　museum。　Beside　it　is　a　tiny　keypad。　Paul　dials　in　his　docent's　password　and　waits　to　see　if　it　works。　He　used　to　give　tours　at　the　art　museum；　but　finally　had　to　take　a　job　in　the　slide　library　because　the　docents　weren't　paid。
　To　my　surprise；　the　door　opens　with　a　beep　and　a　whisper　of　a　click。　I'm　so　used　to　the　medieval…sounding　bolts　of　the　dorm　doors；　I　almost　don't　hear　it。　He　leads　me　into　a　small　antechamber；　a　security　room　supervised　by　a　guard　behind　a　plate…glass　window；　and　suddenly　I　feel　trapped。　After　signing　a　visitation　form　on