hadn’t
even hinted at a possible breakup.
"When he came to see you on Thursday afternoon,
did he talk about any trouble with Cindy?" I asked.
"Not specifically," Mulhane said. "But
looking back on it, I can’t help thinking there was some sort of
coded message in Mason’s complaints. Something that I just missed
at the time. I’ve gone over it again and again, trying to decipher
it. But frankly, save for the fact that the visit was unscheduled, it
was so much like his usual office check-ups that I can’t be certain
that I’m not reading my own remorse into what he said."
"What exactly did he say?"
"He complained that he was tired, that he hadn’t
been able to sleep. He said he’d had a number of bad dreams."
"Did he tell you what the dreams were about?"
"Cindy, Del, Ralph Cable."
"Who is Cable?"
"Mason’s college roommate at Rutgers. Mason
had a love affair with Cable, and Cable took advantage of it to more
or less blackmail Mason into giving him cash and other possessions.
It was a particularly crushing experience for Mason—one that set
the tone for many future disappointments?
"Do you know if he saw Cable again recently?"
"Cable is dead," Mulhane said. "He was
killed in Viet Nam in l97l."
The next question was obvious. "You think it was
possible that someone else was blackmailing him?"
"I think that would be the sort of thing you
would be best equipped to find out. But I’ll say this, Mason was
not the naive, trusting soul he’d been when he was a college kid. I
doubt if anyone could have extorted money from him simply by
threatening to reveal that he was homosexual or bisexual."
In light of the storm he’d weathered after the Paul
Grandin scandal, I doubted it, too. Still it was the iirst thing like
a lead that I’d come across—something I could easily check out by
examining Greenleaf’s bank statements.
"At the time I thought the dreams were
symptomatic of Mason’s usual complex of anxieties. He tended to
convert them into physical complaints, and fatigue and sleeplessness
were nothing new. I gave him a prescription without thinking twice
about it."
I could see where the Seconals had become a major
regret. "He could have gotten the sleeping pills anywhere."
Terry Mulhane stared at me blankly. "What are
you talking about?"
"The pills you prescribed. Seconals."
"I didn’t prescribe Seconals," Mulhane
said defensively. "Mason was a heavy drinker, and I’d never
prescribe sleeping pills for a drinker. I gave him Buspar, a
tranquilizer that isn’t potentiated by alcohol."
"The coroner’s report said he died of
barbiturate poisoning."
"You’re sure?"
"Yes."
Looking surprised, the doctor sat back in his chair.
"Where the hell did he get the Seconals?"
"He didn’t see any other doctors, did he?"
"Not that I know of."
I wasn’t sure what to make of it, save that it was
something else to look into. I got up from the couch.
"You’ve been a help," I said to Mulhane.
And he had been.
Terry Mulhane scrubbed savagely at his beard with the
back of his hand. "I’m still mystified by the Seconal thing. I
just assumed Mason overdosed on alcohol. You think you could get me a
copy of the coroner’s report, so I can double-check the finding?"
"Sure, I can."
"I gotta tell you, Stoner, you’re not the kind
of man I thought you would be. I was afraid you were taking advantage
of an ugly situation, taking advantage of Cindy."
"Believe me, doc, I’ll be happy to get this
thing over with."
"We all will," he said.
13
MASON Greenleaf ’s bad dreams about an ex-lover
turned blackmailer didn’t constitute much of a lead, but they were
what I had. Besides, I figured it wouldn’t take much work to check
them out—just a quick look at Greenleaf ’s bank books. To do that
I was going to need a key to Greenleaf’s condo, which meant I was
going to have to talk to Cindy Dorn. Since I wanted to talk to her
anyway, I went back to the office and dialed her at home. I didn’t
plan on
even hinted at a possible breakup.
"When he came to see you on Thursday afternoon,
did he talk about any trouble with Cindy?" I asked.
"Not specifically," Mulhane said. "But
looking back on it, I can’t help thinking there was some sort of
coded message in Mason’s complaints. Something that I just missed
at the time. I’ve gone over it again and again, trying to decipher
it. But frankly, save for the fact that the visit was unscheduled, it
was so much like his usual office check-ups that I can’t be certain
that I’m not reading my own remorse into what he said."
"What exactly did he say?"
"He complained that he was tired, that he hadn’t
been able to sleep. He said he’d had a number of bad dreams."
"Did he tell you what the dreams were about?"
"Cindy, Del, Ralph Cable."
"Who is Cable?"
"Mason’s college roommate at Rutgers. Mason
had a love affair with Cable, and Cable took advantage of it to more
or less blackmail Mason into giving him cash and other possessions.
It was a particularly crushing experience for Mason—one that set
the tone for many future disappointments?
"Do you know if he saw Cable again recently?"
"Cable is dead," Mulhane said. "He was
killed in Viet Nam in l97l."
The next question was obvious. "You think it was
possible that someone else was blackmailing him?"
"I think that would be the sort of thing you
would be best equipped to find out. But I’ll say this, Mason was
not the naive, trusting soul he’d been when he was a college kid. I
doubt if anyone could have extorted money from him simply by
threatening to reveal that he was homosexual or bisexual."
In light of the storm he’d weathered after the Paul
Grandin scandal, I doubted it, too. Still it was the iirst thing like
a lead that I’d come across—something I could easily check out by
examining Greenleaf’s bank statements.
"At the time I thought the dreams were
symptomatic of Mason’s usual complex of anxieties. He tended to
convert them into physical complaints, and fatigue and sleeplessness
were nothing new. I gave him a prescription without thinking twice
about it."
I could see where the Seconals had become a major
regret. "He could have gotten the sleeping pills anywhere."
Terry Mulhane stared at me blankly. "What are
you talking about?"
"The pills you prescribed. Seconals."
"I didn’t prescribe Seconals," Mulhane
said defensively. "Mason was a heavy drinker, and I’d never
prescribe sleeping pills for a drinker. I gave him Buspar, a
tranquilizer that isn’t potentiated by alcohol."
"The coroner’s report said he died of
barbiturate poisoning."
"You’re sure?"
"Yes."
Looking surprised, the doctor sat back in his chair.
"Where the hell did he get the Seconals?"
"He didn’t see any other doctors, did he?"
"Not that I know of."
I wasn’t sure what to make of it, save that it was
something else to look into. I got up from the couch.
"You’ve been a help," I said to Mulhane.
And he had been.
Terry Mulhane scrubbed savagely at his beard with the
back of his hand. "I’m still mystified by the Seconal thing. I
just assumed Mason overdosed on alcohol. You think you could get me a
copy of the coroner’s report, so I can double-check the finding?"
"Sure, I can."
"I gotta tell you, Stoner, you’re not the kind
of man I thought you would be. I was afraid you were taking advantage
of an ugly situation, taking advantage of Cindy."
"Believe me, doc, I’ll be happy to get this
thing over with."
"We all will," he said.
13
MASON Greenleaf ’s bad dreams about an ex-lover
turned blackmailer didn’t constitute much of a lead, but they were
what I had. Besides, I figured it wouldn’t take much work to check
them out—just a quick look at Greenleaf ’s bank books. To do that
I was going to need a key to Greenleaf’s condo, which meant I was
going to have to talk to Cindy Dorn. Since I wanted to talk to her
anyway, I went back to the office and dialed her at home. I didn’t
plan on
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