Whom Dog Hath Joined (27 page)

“That would imply that he knew the body was there,” Rick
said.

“Which would imply that he put the body there,” I said.
Somehow, going back to the original crime and applying a logical analysis to it
made me feel better. As we ate, we talked about ordinary stuff—where Rick might
take Tamsen for another date, how I was going to manage getting Lili’s
furniture to my place and so on.

When we were finished, he packed up the containers and
dumped them into my trash. “Let’s take the dogs and go for a walk,” he said.
“You can show me where you were.”

“I don’t think Rochester will want to go back there,” I
said.

“He’s a dog. He has an attention span of about sixty
seconds, unless there’s food involved.”

I disagreed; I’d seen evidence that Rochester knew a lot
more of what was going on than most people would give him credit for. We
leashed the dogs and started walking toward Ferry Road.

It was completely dark, just the occasional house light or
passing headlight. I’d always enjoyed walking Rochester at night, the two of us
in our own little world, but after being shot at I felt differently. Every
movement in a hedge, every door opening, every distant car horn made me jumpy.

We walked past the gate at the entrance to River Bend and I
waved at the guard. A few feet farther ahead, Rochester planted his paws on the
ground and wouldn’t go any further.

“I told you so,” I said to Rick. I tugged on Rochester’s
leash. “Come on, puppy, it’s all right.”

“You and your wacky dog,” Rick said. “Give him to me.”

We switched leashes, and Rascal took off toward Ferry Road,
dragging me behind him. A moment later Rochester was rushing to catch up with
his friend. Rascal and I stopped at the corner of Ferry Road. “This is where I
was when I heard the shots,” I said.

“And you say they came from behind you?”

“Uh-huh.”

He handed me Rochester’s leash. “Stay here.” He left me with
the two dogs and then, when there was a break in traffic on Ferry Road, he
hurried across to the far side.

My heart beat faster though I wasn’t sure why. I doubted
that the shooter had been in the woods beside the road, and was sure he
wouldn’t still be there. Across from me, I saw Rick assume a shooting stance, raise
his right arm and aim his flashlight at me, and I felt like a very exposed
target.

“Don’t shoot!” I yelled, only half in jest.

“Not going to!” he called back. I watched as he walked a few
feet toward the river, repeated his stance with the flashlight, then back to
where he was, then a few feet farther ahead and another repeat. Then when traffic
broke he hurried back to me.

“I wanted to get a sense of the trajectory,” he said. “It’s
too dark to waste time looking for bullets or shell casings but now at least I
know what to tell the crime scene guys tomorrow.”

I could tell Rochester was eager to get away from there. I
was, too. We walked quickly back to the townhouse, and as we approached I saw
Lili’s car pull into my driveway.

“Hey, sweetie,” I said, when I reached her. We kissed. “What
are you doing here?”

“You sounded upset, so I thought I ought to come down.”

I kissed her again as the dogs circled around us. “That was
so nice of you,” I said.

Rick and Rascal left a short while later, and Lili and I
went up to the bedroom. Rochester got up on the bed and snuggled between us,
and I stroked his gold flank and thanked him for pushing me down and out of the
way of the bullets.

33 – Tough Situations

The summer heat suddenly returned the next morning, and by
the time Rochester and I finished our walk I was soaked with sweat and he was
panting like mad. I hurried through a shower while Lili poured granola for us.

 “Even though I’m working at Friar Lake, it seems like I
have so spend an awful lot of time on campus,” I grumbled as I slid across from
her at the kitchen table. “Joe Capodilupo needs to meet with me but he’s too
busy to come up to Friar Lake. Now that his son is the superintendent he never
shows up.”

“Don’t worry, Rochester always has a home in my office,” she
said.

As if he knew Lili was talking about him, he rolled over on
his belly beside her so she could scratch him while drinking her coffee. The
domestic bliss hit me – soon, this would be our regular routine, with Lili
living in my townhouse.

Would it someday be “our” townhouse? Would we get married,
maybe buy a bigger house somewhere, with a yard for Rochester? I looked fondly
down at my dog, who had a line of white spittle hanging from his mouth. I wiped
it with a napkin and stood up to clear the table.

Lili suggested that Rochester ride up to Leighville in her
car, since he was going to her office, and I agreed. After they left, I went up
to my bedroom and dug out my father’s handgun. If there was any chance that
someone was shooting at me or my dog, I wanted to be prepared to defend us. I
checked to make sure that it was loaded, and that the safety was on. Then I put
it back in its zippered leather case, and stowed it in the bottom of my messenger
bag.

I wasn’t about to tell Lili or Rick. Both of them would
worry, and I didn’t have a carry permit for the gun, so I had to keep it in its
case. I’d never felt I had to have it with me before.

It was odd driving up River Road without Rochester by my side.
I had become so accustomed to having him near me – what I called his Velcro
behavior. He loved Lili, and she spoiled him almost as much as I did, but there
were times when I looked around for him and realized he was with her instead of
with me.

Sometimes I was grateful for the ability to back my chair up
without worrying about running him over, to lie in bed and read without having
him nuzzle me for playtime. But then there were times, like that morning, that
I missed his company. I worried about that. He was a strong, healthy dog, but big
dogs don’t last as long as the little yappy ones. Goldens had a high rate of
death due to cancer; they were prone to hip dysplasia, elbow problems, heart
defects and eye problems.

I didn’t know his exact birthday, because he’d been a rescue
dog when Caroline got him, but I figured he was about two years old. How long
would I have him in my life? Another ten years, twelve maybe? What would I do
when he was gone? At least I hoped I’d have Lili with me. Despite all the affection
I had for Rochester, I was coming to realize that I loved Lili more.
Rochester’s devotion was endearing and unconditional; but sometimes the love you
have to work for, or deserve, matters even more.

I shook off those maudlin thoughts as I pulled up at the
renovated carriage house where Joe Capodilupo’s office was located.
It was at the back of the Eastern campus, near the
road that led down to Friar Lake. The quaint stone and shingle exterior was a
contrast to the bland efficiency of the inside. To the left, beyond a
receptionist’s desk, was a series of cubicles and one big office, where I found
Joe.

“How’s my boy doing up
there?” he asked, as we sat down. “Keeping everything going?”

“Yeah, he’s very sharp,” I
said.

“I’m glad to see he’s
settling down. He had a rough time in his twenties – got married because he
thought he ought to. Didn’t think we’d love him if we knew who he really was.”
He shook his bald head. “Can you imagine that? That I wouldn’t love my own son
for something as dumb as who he wanted to sleep with?”

“He’s lucky to have you,” I
said. “I’ve known guys with families that were a lot less accepting.”

“Maybe it’s working on a
campus,” Joe said. “You see all kinds of kids here, right? At least he doesn’t
have purple hair and a ring through his nose. Though I’d love him even if he
did.”

He pulled a manila folder
over to him. “Now, about the fire at the stable,” he said. “We have an
opportunity to do something different with that part of the property, and the
architect came up with some sketches. Let’s see what you think.”

We went over the ideas and
then I left to walk to Harrow Hall. As I reached the front door, I spotted
Peter
Bobeaux in the wide, glassy lobby, but hurried up the curving staircase to
Lili’s office before he could say anything to me.

Rochester jumped up from his place beside Lili when I opened
the door, and I ruffled him around the neck. “How’s my boy?” I asked him,
kneeling down to rub my face against his fur.

“I want to know what you meant by your comments yesterday.”

I looked up to see Peter Bobeaux in the door of Lili’s
office.  He was dressed in what I assumed was his regular uniform – another
pressed white shirt, yellow power tie, and suit pants. All that was missing was
the unlit cigar.

I stood up beside Lili, my left hand on the back of her
chair. “About what?” With my right hand I reached into my messenger bag and
unzipped the pouch containing my father’s gun. I hoped I would have the courage
to use it if I had to.

“You know what I’m talking about.” Bobeaux stood there with
his hands on his hips. “My credentials are completely valid.”

I wrapped my hand around the pistol’s grip. “If your real
name is Peter Bobeaux,” I said. “Not Peter Breaux.”

It was like I’d stuck a pin into him, and he deflated.

“You’d better sit down, Peter,” Lili said.

He sank into the chair across from her desk. I released my
grip on the gun and pulled my hand out of the bag. “How did you know?” he asked
me.

I pulled up Lili’s other visitor chair, a spindle-back with
the Eastern rising sun logo on it. “I’ll get to that,” I said as I sat, with
the messenger bag on my lap. “Why don’t you start. say, back in 1969?”

“I didn’t want to go to Vietnam,” he said. “Four boys from
my high school had already come back in coffins. I just wanted to go to college,
but my parents were dirt poor and it wasn’t so easy to get scholarships back
then.”

“Were you a Quaker?” Lili asked.

He shook his head. “I was about as far from being a Quaker
as you could be. I was in the color guard in high school. I used to go deer-hunting
with my father in the fall. There was no way I could convince someone I was a
pacifist. But one of my teachers was a Quaker, and I asked her for help. She
connected me with a network that could smuggle me to Canada.”

“Through Stewart’s Crossing,” I said.

“Yes. I didn’t even know the name of the town back then,
though. I got off the bus in Philadelphia and this man picked me up and drove
me to the Meeting House.”

“John Brannigan?” I asked.

“That was his name. He’s not still alive, is he?”

“Passed away a few years ago. But a few members of his
network are still alive.”

“I should thank them,” he said. “Once this is all behind
me.”

I considered him. He appeared to be relieved more than
anything else. I couldn’t see a weapon on him, and he didn’t seem tense or
angry.

“It had to be fate that brought me back here, though I
didn’t realize it at first. I was stunned when the college where I was teaching
in Dubai closed its doors. I knew we were in the red, but….” He shook his head.
“I assumed there would always be oil money to keep us going. But then one day
there wasn’t, and I was out of a job.”

He turned to me. “It’s tough to be unemployed at my age. I
have another five years until I can collect Social Security. And who wants to
hire someone for five years? I was lucky to find this opportunity. I’d have
taken it even if I knew what I was coming back to.”

I understood how he felt. I’d been in a similar situation
myself when I left prison. Luck had brought me to Bucks County as well. I
smiled at him and tried to look relaxed. “Why don’t you tell us what happened
when you got to the Meeting House?”

“There were two of us on the bus from Pittsburgh. Me and
this other boy about my age.”

“Don Lamprey,” I said.

“I never knew his last name. We hardly spoke all the way across
the state, both of us scared and caught up in our own heads. And he had a funny
smell. At first I thought it was that he hadn’t bathed in a couple of days, but
then at a rest stop he pulled a joint out of his bag and offered to share it
with me.”

Bobeaux stood up and flexed his back muscles. “I’d never
smoked it and I wasn’t going to start. I changed seats for the rest of the
trip. When we got to the Meeting House it was late at night. John let us into
the building, and showed us the space between the walls. He told us to get some
rest, and he’d be back for us the next morning.”

He began to pace around Lili’s office, dodging the student
canvases against one wall and the pile of art books on the floor. “This girl
came over to talk to us, but Don wasn’t interested. He said that he was going
out for a walk.”

He was quiet for a moment, and I assumed he was remembering
that night. “I don’t remember the girl’s name, just that she was kind of silly.
We talked for a couple of hours, and then she had to leave to be home by her
curfew. Don still wasn’t back by then, and I started to wonder if he’d changed
his mind.”

He toyed with the watch around his wrist. “I sat up for a
while longer and then dozed off. He didn’t come back until the middle of the
night. He said he had a bad headache and he went to sleep.” He stopped by the
door to her office, looked out the hallway up and down, then turned back to us.

“He stunk of the dope, and I guess I got a bit of a contact
high. I slept, too, and when I woke up in the morning I climbed out of the
closet to use the bathroom. When I got back I tried to wake him up, but he
didn’t answer me, and his body was cold.”

“You didn’t argue with him?” I asked. “Even innocently? Push
him around?”

“There wasn’t enough room in that space for an argument,” he
said. “We could both stand up, or we could both lie down. That was about it.”