The Question of the Felonious Friend (10 page)

Complicating the matter, of course, was the information I had that I assumed Ms. Washburn did not, which was that her husband had certainly entertained in his bedroom a woman who one could only assume was not terribly fastidious about her underwear, and certainly had not been wearing it for at least some of the time she was there. That would probably be pertinent information going forward, but I was not certain whether it was my place to mention it. I couldn't even decide whether to discuss the matter with my mother, who would understand the marital institution better than I but who might find the subject matter disturbing, especially coming from her son.

Indeed, I was not completely sure Simon's behavior would be a problem. Ms. Washburn might simply have been trying to be civil with her ex-husband and had no intention of reconciling. And while they were in the process of divorcing, it was likely any extracurricular affairs he had might be irrelevant.

But it had worried me, and it was now becoming a distraction from the question at hand.

For now, I decided, I would continue to refrain from talking to Ms. Washburn about her marriage or her divorce. Perhaps I would do some online research on the subjects later to better understand the emotions involved.

“Besides the die, our best bets fall into three categories,” I said in answer to her question. “We have the two Swords and Sorcerers groups. We can get the names of Tyler's co-players from Sandy or Mason Clayton, or perhaps from the hard drive on Tyler's computer. If Tyler gains his composure to the point where he can speak again he might be very helpful indeed, but we don't know if or when that might happen.”

“What are the other two categories?” Ms. Washburn asked.

“Second, there is Richard Handy's Swords and Sorcerers group,” I said. “But that will be more difficult to research. We need to find out if Richard had any family members in the area who might be able to shed some light on his acquaintances. A third line of inquiry would be interviewing the other Quik N EZ counter employee, Billy Martinez, whose contact information Mr. Robinson provided. And there is another avenue I had not considered until now.”

Ms. Washburn looked up from her screen. “What's that?”

“Tyler Clayton's social skills group.”

Eleven

Sandy Clayton Webb called
back that afternoon at 3:26. She explained that she'd been dealing with Tyler's legal defense and attending his arraignment, during which bail was set at $250,000. Sandy and Mason were attempting to raise the required funds but so far had not been able to do so. She said Tyler was not any more communicative than he had been since Richard's shooting, and “staying in jail isn't helping him do any better.”

“What can you tell me about his social skills therapy?” I asked her.

For reasons I could not identify, that seemed to confuse Sandy. “What?” she asked.

I repeated the question. Ms. Washburn, watching from her desk, raised an eyebrow.

“I don't really know that much about Tyler's therapy,” Sandy said after a moment. “That's really more Mason's department; he drives Tyler back and forth most weeks. Why are you asking about it?”

“It is a possible area of research,” I explained. “It might have some significance in Richard Handy's death.”

The silence this time lasted eight seconds. That is a much longer time for a lull in conversation than it might seem. In my own social skills therapy with Dr. Mancuso, I once timed a period of silence at twenty-two seconds, although Mary McWaters, sitting next to me, insisted the interval was at least two minutes. It was not.

“You think Tyler really did shoot that guy at the convenience store?” Sandy sounded shocked. “You think you can find evidence of that by asking Dr. Shean about his group sessions? I thought we hired you to prove that Tyler is innocent.”

“Your brother Mason hired us to answer the question of who killed Richard Handy,” I reminded her. “I approach the process without any prejudice. The facts lead us to the correct answer, not the desired one.”

Ms. Washburn stood up carrying a piece of paper in her hand. She brought it to my desk and set it in front of me.

It read,
You don't always have to tell all the truth.

“But you seem to be trying to prove that Tyler shot him,” Sandy said again. “That's what you think, isn't it?”

“I have not yet formed an opinion,” I said, wondering why Ms. Washburn would want me to conceal some facts from a client. How would I decide which ones to withhold? We would have to discuss this at length later, I thought. “I feel it is best to explore every area which might lead us to some more illuminating facts. Can you tell me the names of the other people in Tyler's social skills group?”

Ms. Washburn turned her head sharply and looked at me, brow furrowed. I nodded in her direction; yes, I was aware we already had that information. It was Sandy's reaction that was the important piece of information being sought here.

It was swift and clipped. “I'm not going to violate that confidence,” Sandy said. I believed her voice was taking on what Mother would consider a “cold” quality. I was not sure how speech could be measured for temperature and even knowing that was an expression some people used did not help me understand it more fully. I did get the impression that Sandy was not trying as hard to sound friendly as she had before. “Those people didn't ask to be subjected to your questioning, Mr. Hoenig. They have enough problems as it is.”

The use of the word
problems
was most significant in my mind. Sandy clearly thought of her brother and others like us as damaged, in some way not as whole as the neurotypical majority. It was stored away in my mind for later. I was not sure knowing that would lead to a swifter or more accurate answer to Mason's question, but at this stage the point was to gather information, not to analyze it.

“Very well,” I said. “Can you answer this for me, then: Why would Tyler put one hundred dollars in the tip container when he went to buy a cold drink from Richard Handy, and where would he gain access to that amount of money?”

Sandy's voice was little more than a whisper. “Tyler tipped that guy a hundred dollars?”

“He did, and the casual nature of the gesture indicated that this was probably not the first time it had occurred. I wonder if this was a habit of his. Do you know if he had a bank account he could tap into, and why he might want to bestow that kind of gift on Richard?”

“I have no idea,” Sandy replied. “You'll have to ask Mason. I'm sorry, Mr. Hoenig, but I need to go now.”

“Can we continue this discussion later?” I asked. Sandy was one of the few sources I had who could tell me about Tyler and his behavior before the shooting. Cutting the conversation short was telling, but it was not helpful to my answering the question.

“I'm afraid not,” Sandy answered, which surprised me. When people are impolite, as when they abruptly end a phone conversation, there is usually either a good reason or some indication that the person is angry. Neither was the case this time. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me again.”

That was odd. “Excuse me?” I said. I have been told that when a comment another person might make confuses me, the best thing to do is to stall a bit, get the time to analyze the situation before responding. If I could think for a moment, I'd be able to determine why Sandy was suddenly asking not to be contacted again. Asking her to repeat her statement was not intended to clarify the request; it was meant to fill a few seconds while I found a proper response.

She disconnected the call.

I have seen motion pictures in which people who have had another person “hang up on them” stared at the telephone receiver or mobile unit in hand as if the phone itself had been rude and confusing. The gesture had always struck me as artificial and irrational. It is not the telephone's fault that someone else has ended the conversation.

Yet I found myself staring at the telephone receiver in my hand.

Ms. Washburn looked over at me. “What?”

“She hung up,” I said.

Ms. Washburn's eyes widened. “Really,” she said.

“What does it mean?” Perhaps Ms. Washburn would have some insight into that sort of gesture that I would not have otherwise understood.

“There was something she didn't want to tell you.”

I placed the receiver back on its cradle. “She could have told me that,” I said.

Ms. Washburn shook her head. “She didn't want to tell you that, either.”

I do not believe, finally, that there is a significant difference in the thought process based on one's gender. While many standup comedians and even others in conversation seem to believe that women's minds operate differently from those of men (and there has even been some scientific research that examines this supposed phenomenon), my experience has always been that each individual thinks in a unique fashion. Even people whose behavior will classify them as having an autism spectrum disorder do not behave—and therefore think—in identical styles.

Still, the fact that Ms. Washburn could interpret Sandy's behavior without having heard anything but my side of the conversation would indicate there was some inherent understanding between the two. The only similarity I could discern based on my limited knowledge of Sandy's personality was that they were both women. Perhaps there was something I was not seeing.

“How do you know that?” I asked Ms. Washburn.

“You think people all act based on your own view of logic, Samuel. My mind is considerably less well structured than yours. I understand the emotional side of things a little better because I'm not blessed with your keen ability to think through every question. So I know when someone is being emotional, because I have acted that way myself.”

I'm not sure how, but I did begin to suspect that Ms. Washburn was speaking both of Sandy's behavior on the phone and her own at Simon Taylor's apartment. Something in the back of my mind began to tingle, a nervousness I could not clearly identify. Perhaps this was one of those emotional moments Ms. Washburn was discussing.

(Of course I have emotions. All of us on the autism spectrum do. Part of what so greatly irritates me about the perception the “typical” have of us is that they believe we are robotic, unfeeling entities. The difference is that we feel without necessarily understanding why, and we do not always know how to react to the emotions we have. It is therefore more efficient to keep them hidden because the displays we tend to make are considered inappropriate in the majority's society.)

The memory of that blue brassiere was not currently helping me navigate this conversation.

“Are you thinking of our visit to your husband's apartment?” I asked Ms. Washburn. Perhaps this was how friends showed empathy or at least interest in others' troubles.

Ms. Washburn's face reddened a bit. “Where did that come from?” she asked.

Since the words had come from my lips, the question confused me a bit. I decided to explain my train of thought. “I have observed a difference in your behavior since we were there,” I said. “If something is troubling you … ” I wasn't sure how to phrase the sentence. “ … it would not be inappropriate for you to talk to me about it if that would make you feel better.”

Ms. Washburn shook her head. “I'm okay,” she said. “Don't worry, Samuel.”

“What do you think, then, that I should do about Sandy hanging up on me?”

“Ignore it and move on.”

I chose to take her advice, which is almost always wise. “The next order of business, then, should be to contact Tyler's therapist, Dr. Shean,” I said. “Would you mind doing that?”

Ms. Washburn gave me a quick look, possibly considering the idea that she should encourage me to make the phone call myself. She knows it is something I dislike doing, but feels I should do some of those things anyway, preparing for a time when she might not be in the office to handle it. She forgets sometimes that I did operate Questions Answered on my own for three months before she arrived to help answer the Question of the Missing Head.

Then, perhaps deciding the ensuing conversation would not be worth it, she picked up the phone and dialed the number she had called up on her screen. She waited a few moments, then clearly was listening to a recorded voice mail prompt. The idea that a caller still needs to be instructed to “wait for the beep and leave a message” is somewhat disturbing.

“This is Janet Washburn of Questions Answered in Piscataway,” she said at the appropriate moment. “We have some questions concerning Tyler Clayton, a patient of yours. Please call me as soon as you can. The matter is fairly urgent.” She recited the office phone number, thanked the voice mail service, and hung up the phone. She turned toward me. “She wasn't there.”

“I gathered that.”

My cellular phone rang, and my hand, which had been in my pocket to check on it, pulled it out. The caller was displayed as Mason Clayton, so I accepted the call and assured Mason he had reached me.

“Sandy called me,” he said. “She thinks you're trying to get Tyler convicted.”

“That is not the case,” I assured him. “I am attempting, as you requested, to accurately answer the question of who killed Richard Handy.”

“That's what I thought,” Mason said. “But Sandy was really upset.”

“Women, right?” I said. I have heard that said before. I do not really understand what it means. Ms. Washburn gave me a somewhat amazed look, one which did not seem to be especially approving.

“What?” Mason said.

Clearly I had said something I should have avoided. “Excuse me, Mason,” I said. “I do not always know the correct phrasing. What I meant to say was that I am not approaching the question with any prejudice whatsoever. My concern is only to provide the correct answer.”

“Sandy wants me to fire you,” Mason said. “She thinks you're working against Tyler's best interests.”

“What do you want to do?” I asked. I have been dismissed from answering some questions in the past. It is not a pleasant experience, but it's the kind of thing that can't be avoided in business. Usually the client doing so is wrong.

“Well, that depends,” Mason answered. “How do you intend to proceed from here?”

Usually I do not discuss methodology with clients. For one thing, I would probably not diverge from a plan even if the client objected and for another, there is no business advantage in revealing how one performs a service if the client can then be persuaded that he or she could do the same thing as effectively. Again, it is unlikely that would be the case, but people are sometimes misled.

In this case, however, I felt it was best to answer Mason's question. If he had moral or ethical objections to my method and wanted me to stop, I could release him from his contract. I would mostly likely continue to research the question, but Mason would not have to pay for my efforts beyond this moment.

“I expect to talk to Tyler's therapist, Dr. Shean, when she calls back,” I began. “Assuming that does not happen soon, I will probably go home for the day and watch a baseball game on television before sleeping. Tomorrow I will try to interview Richard Handy's coworker at the Quik N EZ and contact the members of both their Swords and Sorcerers groups. I'll attempt to get Detective Hessler to tell me if the ballistics test on the bullets that killed Richard are from your gun, and also to gain access to the brief security videos taken before the person who shot Richard spray painted the lenses. Beyond that, I do not currently have a plan of attack, but each step along the way will undoubtedly lead to new questions that must be answered so that will mean additional tactics will be devised and executed.” I noticed Ms. Washburn was looking curiously at me, writing in her notebook without looking at the page on which she wrote.

Mason seemed to take a moment to absorb what I had told him. “That sounds like a pretty thorough plan,” he said. “I don't see any reason to fire you.”

“Thank you,” I said, although I wasn't sure why.