sex?”
“Abnormal,” he said shortly.
“Did Mrs. Chalmers say so?”
“Not explicitly. It was everyone’s deep silence on the subject.” His voice trailed off.
“Murder makes for even deeper silence.”
Truttwell sniffed. “An eight-year-old boy is incapable of murder, in any real sense.”
“I know that. But eight-year-old boys don’t know it, especially if the whole thing is hushed up around them.”
Truttwell moved uncomfortably in the seat, as if he was being crowded by ugly images. “I’m afraid you’re jumping to conclusions, Archer.”
“These aren’t conclusions. They’re hypotheses.”
“Aren’t we getting rather far afield from your initial assignment?”
“We always expected to, didn’t we? Incidentally, I wish you’d reconsider about Betty. She may know where Nick is.”
“She doesn’t,” Truttwell said shortly. “I asked her myself.”
chapter
15
I dropped Truttwell off downtown. He told me how to get ta Dr. Smitheram’s clinic, which turned out to be a large new building on the fashionable borders of Montevista. “Smitheram Clinic, 1967” was cut in the stone facing over the main door.
A handsome woman with dark-brown hair came out into the windowless waiting room and asked me if I had an appointment.
I said I hadn’t. “There’s an emergency involving one of Dr. Smitheram’s patients.”
“Which one?”
Her blue eyes were concerned. There was a slash of grey in her brown hair, as if time had thrust a loving hand through it.
“I’d rather tell the doctor,” I said.
“You can discuss it with me. I’m Mrs. Smitheram, and I work professionally with my husband.” She gave me a smile which may have been professional but felt real. “Are you a relative?”
“No. My name is Archer—”
“Of course,” she said. “The detective. Dr. Smitheram has been expecting you to call.” She scanned my face, andfrowned a little. “Has something else happened?”
“All hell has been breaking loose. I wish you’d let me talk to the doctor.”
She looked at her watch. “I simply can’t. He has a patient with him, with half an hour to go. I can’t interrupt them except in a serious emergency.”
“This is one. Nick’s run away again. And I think the police are getting ready to make a move.”
She reacted as if she was Nick’s co-conspirator: “To arrest him?”
“Yes.”
“That’s foolish and unfair. He was just a small boy—” She cut the sentence in half, as if a censor had come awake in her head.
“Just a small boy when he did what, Mrs. Smitheram?”
She drew a deep angry breath and let it out in a faint droning sound of resignation. She went through an inner door and closed it behind her.
Eventually Smitheram came out, enormous in a white smock. He looked slightly remote, like a man coming out of a a waking dream, and he shook hands with me impatiently.
“Where has Nick gone to, anyway?”
“I have no idea. He just took off.”
“Who was looking after him?”
“His father.”
“That’s preposterous. I warned them that the boy needed security, but Truttwell vetoed that.” His anger was running on, finding new objects, as if it was really anger with himself. “If they refuse to take my advice I’ll wash my hands of the business.”
“You can’t do that and you know it,” his wife said from the doorway. “The police are after Nick.”
“Or soon will be,” I said.
“What have they got on him?”
“Suspicion of two killings. You probably know more about the details than I do.”
Dr. Smitheram’s eyes met mine in a kind of confrontation. I could feel that I was up against a strong devious will.
“You’re assuming a good deal.”
“Look, doctor. Couldn’t we put down the foils and talk like human beings? We both want to bring Nick home safe, keep him out of jail, get his sickness cured—whatever it is.”
“That’s a large order,” he said with a cheerless smile. “And we don’t seem to be making much
“Abnormal,” he said shortly.
“Did Mrs. Chalmers say so?”
“Not explicitly. It was everyone’s deep silence on the subject.” His voice trailed off.
“Murder makes for even deeper silence.”
Truttwell sniffed. “An eight-year-old boy is incapable of murder, in any real sense.”
“I know that. But eight-year-old boys don’t know it, especially if the whole thing is hushed up around them.”
Truttwell moved uncomfortably in the seat, as if he was being crowded by ugly images. “I’m afraid you’re jumping to conclusions, Archer.”
“These aren’t conclusions. They’re hypotheses.”
“Aren’t we getting rather far afield from your initial assignment?”
“We always expected to, didn’t we? Incidentally, I wish you’d reconsider about Betty. She may know where Nick is.”
“She doesn’t,” Truttwell said shortly. “I asked her myself.”
chapter
15
I dropped Truttwell off downtown. He told me how to get ta Dr. Smitheram’s clinic, which turned out to be a large new building on the fashionable borders of Montevista. “Smitheram Clinic, 1967” was cut in the stone facing over the main door.
A handsome woman with dark-brown hair came out into the windowless waiting room and asked me if I had an appointment.
I said I hadn’t. “There’s an emergency involving one of Dr. Smitheram’s patients.”
“Which one?”
Her blue eyes were concerned. There was a slash of grey in her brown hair, as if time had thrust a loving hand through it.
“I’d rather tell the doctor,” I said.
“You can discuss it with me. I’m Mrs. Smitheram, and I work professionally with my husband.” She gave me a smile which may have been professional but felt real. “Are you a relative?”
“No. My name is Archer—”
“Of course,” she said. “The detective. Dr. Smitheram has been expecting you to call.” She scanned my face, andfrowned a little. “Has something else happened?”
“All hell has been breaking loose. I wish you’d let me talk to the doctor.”
She looked at her watch. “I simply can’t. He has a patient with him, with half an hour to go. I can’t interrupt them except in a serious emergency.”
“This is one. Nick’s run away again. And I think the police are getting ready to make a move.”
She reacted as if she was Nick’s co-conspirator: “To arrest him?”
“Yes.”
“That’s foolish and unfair. He was just a small boy—” She cut the sentence in half, as if a censor had come awake in her head.
“Just a small boy when he did what, Mrs. Smitheram?”
She drew a deep angry breath and let it out in a faint droning sound of resignation. She went through an inner door and closed it behind her.
Eventually Smitheram came out, enormous in a white smock. He looked slightly remote, like a man coming out of a a waking dream, and he shook hands with me impatiently.
“Where has Nick gone to, anyway?”
“I have no idea. He just took off.”
“Who was looking after him?”
“His father.”
“That’s preposterous. I warned them that the boy needed security, but Truttwell vetoed that.” His anger was running on, finding new objects, as if it was really anger with himself. “If they refuse to take my advice I’ll wash my hands of the business.”
“You can’t do that and you know it,” his wife said from the doorway. “The police are after Nick.”
“Or soon will be,” I said.
“What have they got on him?”
“Suspicion of two killings. You probably know more about the details than I do.”
Dr. Smitheram’s eyes met mine in a kind of confrontation. I could feel that I was up against a strong devious will.
“You’re assuming a good deal.”
“Look, doctor. Couldn’t we put down the foils and talk like human beings? We both want to bring Nick home safe, keep him out of jail, get his sickness cured—whatever it is.”
“That’s a large order,” he said with a cheerless smile. “And we don’t seem to be making much