Chapter 49
WEST FROM THE ACADEMIC enclave in which Dr. Slocombe resided—he who had so recently had a rock thrown through his window—lay another neighborhood even more lovely.
It was at a somewhat greater elevation above the levees; its lawns were broader; its houses mostly older and larger, with higher ceilings; the canopies of trees lining its lanes were statelier.
This was the retreat preferred by bank presidents and important officials in local government.
An occasional Tulane professor or dean did live here, having accumulated wealth in some manner other than teaching—but this was a rarity.
Behind the main streets onto which the mansions fronted were narrow alleyways: relics from the antebellum South, now serving mostly as places to keep garbage cans, park vehicles within retrofitted garages, or—in the case of the largest houses—used as servant entrances.
At eleven o’clock precisely, a man entered from one of these alleys and walked down the cobblestoned surface.
Despite it being August, he was wearing a long, dark coat with an anachronistic yet stylish homburg.
His destination was a large Gothic Revival house halfway down; its rear gate and back door were illuminated, but the residence itself was mostly dark.
The man stopped at the rear gate, pressed its code while casually looking up and down the alley, then stepped through.
Closing the gate behind him, he followed the uneven stone path that made its way between the hibiscus and bougainvillea.
Mounting the steps to the rear door, he took a key from his pocket, noiselessly unlocked the bolt, and let himself in.
The interior smelled like pine and rose hips—the cleaning lady had been there earlier in the day.
The man glanced around for a moment, then—without removing his coat or hat—made his way confidently through the house and up the stairs to the second floor.
A door at the southern end of the upstairs hallway was ajar, light streaming from it.
Other doors in the hall opened into dark, unoccupied rooms.
The man made his way to the open door and, with his knuckles, pushed it wide.
The room beyond was an elegant corner bedroom, with three-sided bay windows; a rich mahogany dresser, armoire, and bookshelves; and heavy tapestried curtains for privacy. An antique ceiling fan of wicker and brass turned in a lazy, counterclockwise direction.
A four-poster bed sat against the wall across from the covered windows.
Dr. Telligren lay in it, sheets up around his waist, drinking a glass of sherry and reading the Times-Picayune.
Roused by the sound of this new arrival, he glanced up.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said with evident relief, looking at the man over his reading glasses.
“I’m glad you’ve come—we need to talk about that devil Pendergast.”
Now at last Magnus took off his coat and hat, placing them carefully on a sofa in such a way that his fingers did not brush the polished wood. Then he turned back, walked toward the bed, and took a seat in a chair opposite its nightstand.
“No,” he said, smoothing down his elegant, mustard-colored suit. “Actually, I’ve come to talk about you.”
Telligren’s brows knitted in puzzlement. “Me?”
“Agent Pendergast gave you quite a grilling—didn’t he? At least according to your secretary, who then told my secretary. You know how they can’t resist gossip.” Magnus shrugged.
“That’s what I just told you—we need to talk about this damn Pendergast. Somehow, I can’t imagine how, he’s uncovered a lot of things that were supposed to have disappeared a decade ago.”
“Such as?”
“The research lab, and the fact I ran it.”
“Does he know what its purpose was—its ultimate purpose?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“Or who besides yourself participated?”
“I don’t know, but he seems to know about the experiments!” Telligren exploded, shaking his head decisively. “He threatened me!”
While the older man spoke, Magnus looked on attentively. “Yes,” he said at last. “And I am very sorry he did.” He paused. “This won’t do—I’m afraid this just won’t do.”
“Of course it won’t do!” Telligren said, his eyes widening somewhat as he realized the conversation had veered away from Pendergast and was now fixed on him.
“What’s our next move? I mean, I told him nothing of importance; nothing he didn’t already know.
” He paused. “We’ve gone over this kind of thing, time and time again.
” His voice became almost reproachful. “We’ve even practiced it, right down to the way your PSI abilities could render Wickman’s blackmail threats useless.
Ever since we learned about these atrocities he was committing, we’ve lain low, knowing he’d probably come to us when he needed his operation, and that would be a perfect opportunity to get rid of him. ”
“And now, it seems, that day has come,” Magnus replied.
“Only it’s brought with it someone we never bargained for.
Pendergast has learned a great deal about the things we’d buried.
And at the same time, I’ve learned quite a bit about Pendergast. He’s not going to give up until he’s uncoiled this riddle…
and he’s too smart to be satisfied with our circumlocutions and evasions.
It’s gone too far for that. In time, he’ll learn the details of the experiments—your role as professor, and our roles as students.
Given more time, he’ll learn about me and my own special… needs. And that would never do.”
Telligren, sitting up straight now and putting the paper on the nightstand, returned Magnus’s gaze. He seemed to be experiencing a mix of apprehension and indignation. “I didn’t even mention your name, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Not once.”
“I know,” Magnus said. “Nevertheless, thanks to today’s inquiry, you’ve become the weak link in the chain. Pendergast will be back, and then back again—and sooner or later, you’ll fold.”
“Never! I have as much to lose as you do!”
“I said you’ll fold. I can see it. Which is why, regretfully, we must now bring this friendship of ours to a close.” And with this, Magnus brought a 1911 semiautomatic out of his jacket.
“What the hell—?”
“Don’t worry,” Magnus told Telligren as he pulled back the slide and checked the chamber. “I’m not going to use this. It’s only to keep you from trying to escape or some other impetuosity.”
“Dorion—”
Telligren shut up when Magnus pointed the gun at him. “Let me finish. Just because you’ll betray me doesn’t change our past history—you’ve been good to me, and I’m genuinely fond of you. So I’ll give you a choice of how to die. The first option will be quick, without pain—and by your own hand.”
“Dorion, for God’s sake—!”
Magnus stopped this gush of words with the raising of one hand.
He placed the .45 in his lap. “Please don’t degrade yourself with entreaties—you of all people know how I am when my mind’s made up.
Now: you have a bad heart, bad enough that you’re now considering a Watchman implant.
” As he spoke, he pulled a pair of thin latex gloves from one pocket and snapped them on.
Then he withdrew a small lozenge-tin of pills, leaned forward, and placed it on the sheet beside Telligren.
“The compound in here will initiate a painless myocardial infarct. It will take perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes at most for the arterial thrombosis to form. But as I promised, when it happens, it will be almost instantaneous and you’ll die with no pain. ”
By now outrage and fear—and disbelief—had left the old professor’s eyes, replaced by desperation.
As the arguing and begging began, Magnus remained patient.
When Telligren had exhausted both himself and his arguments, Magnus went on.
“The other option,” he said in a colder voice, “should you refuse to cooperate, is this. We’ll go out to my steamship—my man is waiting around the corner in his car.
There’s a skeleton crew aboard. Now that the pilothouse controls are fully operational, I’ve been eager to take a midnight cruise on the river.
There’s a picturesque, remote bayou that I’d love to explore.
My vessel is fully stocked with everything I might need for such a cruise, including a burlap sack, ropes, lead weights… and a forty-foot chain.”
He raised the gun as Telligren sat as still as a statue.
“You’ve always had a fear of water, haven’t you?
I seem to remember you had a close call with drowning when you were six.
I think you mentioned it once. Or maybe you didn’t—it doesn’t matter.
I don’t think you can even swim. Is that right… ? Ah, I see that it is.
“I’ll describe this second option as briefly as I can.
Once we are out in the main flow of the river and away from traffic, you will be blindfolded, hog-tied, and placed in the sack with a lead weight or two.
The sack will be tied to one end of the chain, which will then be tossed over the transom to avoid the paddle wheel.
I have a good imagination, but nevertheless I find it hard to fully picture the horror of your predicament—especially given your phobia of drowning.
You will be dragged behind the boat. Water will seep in through the burlap.
The pilot will hold the vessel at a few knots, enough to keep you at or below the surface of the water.
Perhaps you will rise once or twice to the surface and manage to catch a choking gasp of air.
In any case, depending on your endurance, I’d imagine it would take between five and ten minutes to bring this slow drowning to completion.
From there, you will be towed into my midnight bayou, the chain will be released, and you, the sack, and the chain will sink, first into black water, then finally muck—far away from any commercial channel. ”
For a minute, two, the bedroom was silent. Neither stirred. Then Telligren’s trembling hand began to move toward the pillbox.
“Two tablets, please,” Magnus said.
He handed Telligren the glass of sherry and made sure both tablets were swallowed.
Then he replaced the pillbox in his pocket and sat back with a sigh.
“I’ll just wait while you drift off,” he said, picking up the newspaper and, still wearing the gloves, leafing through it until he reached the crossword puzzle.
Magnus took a pencil off the nightstand and began filling in the blanks with block letters, now and then turning to ask Telligren for help with a clue—meeting, however, only silence.
This went on for about twenty minutes. For a time, Telligren stared at the drapes of the window opposite the bed. Then he slowly shut his eyes.
Magnus was examining the last clue when he stopped abruptly—chuckled in delight—and, instead of filling it in, made a careful mark on the newsprint. “J’ai fini!” he exclaimed, holding up the paper.
At the same moment, as if in grisly congratulation, Dr. Telligren gasped; gripped his chest; then slumped over in the bed.
Magnus waited out the next few minutes, to be sure of cardiac death. Then he tossed the newspaper onto the bed. Pocketing the gun, he rose, checked Telligren’s pulse, or lack thereof, went over to the sofa where his coat and hat lay, put them on, and walked out of the room.
As he moved through the first floor toward the back door that led to the alley, he slipped off the gloves and put them in one of his pockets.
He was a frequent visitor to the house, after all; even if foul play was suspected, his fingerprints and DNA would be everywhere as a matter of course.
It seemed most unlikely he would ever be questioned.
He walked down the back steps and along the path.
It had grown rather chill for August, and he found the coat and hat suited the night air.
After stepping through the gate and closing it carefully behind him, he glanced nonchalantly in both directions, then started walking briskly down the alley, back the way he had come.