Shock to the system

14

Saturday morning at ten, before heading over to Albany Med, I phoned Phyllis Haig.

"Well," she said, "you're goddamned hard to get ahold of. I've been trying to reach you for days. I'd've had better luck trying to get a rise out of Dick Tracy than getting one out of you. So, Don, what's your pleasure? Are you gonna rob me blind and go to work for me and put that little fairy Larry Bierly behind bars where he belongs, or am I going to have to go out and find a real man for the job? Say, I see somebody shot Bierly and put him in the hospital. Too bad. I'd much rather see justice take its course. It wasn't you that shot him, was it? Jay Tarbell never said you were a hit man, which wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Though you call a lawyer these days and you never know what kind of stunt they're going to pull, just so they can charge you top dollar for it."

I didn't think she'd started drinking yet-my guess was she observed the proprieties of her class by holding off until 12:05- but otherwise she was in vintage form.

I said, "No, Phyllis, I didn't shoot Larry Bierly. Did you?" "No, I didn't, Don. I didn't drive out to Millpond at midnight the other night brandishing my forty-four and plug Bierly in the gut. At least, not as far as I can recall, I didn't. So if I didn't do it, and you didn't do it, what was it, a mugging?"

"It doesn't appear to have been. Nothing was taken." "The little homo probably staged the whole thing. Everybody knows what a conniver he is."

I said, "Why would he do that, Phyllis?"

"Well, how the hell should I know? You're the one who's supposed to be… Now look. I've done everything but hire a detective to get ahold of the detective-that's Y-O-U-who was supposed to let me know two days ago if you're gonna help me out on this goddamn thing or not. So, Mr. Hard-to-Get-Ahold-Of Strachey, what is the verdict?"

I said, "Sorry to have been out of touch, Phyllis, but I've been doing some preliminary snooping around before I decide whether or not to take your money. I'll let you know one way or another in a day or so for sure if I'm going to hire on with you. But first I've got some questions that need answering, and there are a couple of them that you can answer."

"Oh, really? What questions? I hope this isn't going to be some kind of third degree. Larry Bierly is the one you should be grilling, not me. So, what do you want to ask me?"

I said, "After Larry and Paul left Crockwell's therapy group, did Crockwell ever contact you?"

After a little silence, she said, "I don't know what that has to do with the price of tea in China."

"Before he was shot, I spoke with Larry Bierly, who said when he and Paul left the therapy group, Crockwell threatened to turn you against Paul unless Paul reconsidered and continued therapy. My question is, did Crockwell ever try to do that?"

Another pause. "Well, I don't remember exactly what Dr. Crockwell had to say to me at that point in time. I suppose we must have chatted."

"Uh-huh."

"I know I asked for my money back-I'd paid him a goddamned small fortune-and never got so much as a red cent out of that chiseler."

"When Dr. Crockwell spoke with you, was he critical of Paul?"

"He was none too pleased with the outcome, if that's what you mean."

"But who did he blame it on?"

"Crockwell accepted no responsibility for himself, I can tell you that, Mr. Don, private eye. That would have left him open for a lawsuit, and for all he knew I could have been taping the conversation. Doctors don't pass gas anymore without checking with their lawyers first."

I said, "Have you secretly taped conversations in the past?"

"No, why on earth are you asking me that?"

"You said Crockwell might have suspected that you were."

"God, I can't even get my friggin' VCR to work."

"Did Paul ever record people's conversations that you know of?"

"No. Now what are you getting at? Does somebody have something on tape?"

"The Albany police were sent a recording of the therapy session that Paul and Bierly walked out of and never came back. The sender remains anonymous. Accompanying the tape was a note implicating not Larry Bierly but Vernon Crockwell in Paul's death. There's no proof, just the tape, on which Crockwell says a lot of nasty stuff about Paul's sexuality and threatens to come between you and Paul if Paul quits therapy. When Paul warns Crockwell not to interfere in his family life and says he won't allow Crockwell to mess things up between you and Paul, Crockwell proclaims that he will not be impeded in his noble work, and he tells Paul that if he gets in the way Crockwell will stop him dead in his tracks. Those are Crockwell's words: 'I'll stop you dead in your tracks.' Are you familiar with any of this, Phyllis?"

A silence.

"Moreover," I went on, "on Wednesday you told me that Larry Bierly had threatened Crockwell, and Crockwell had it on tape. But it wasn't Crockwell who sent the cops the tape, and it wasn't Bierly who was recorded threatening Crockwell. It was Paul."

She did not reply, and after a moment I became aware that Mrs. Haig was quietly weeping.

"Are you there, Phyllis? Are you okay?"

She sniffled and said, in a breaking voice, "I don't know who taped what. I just know what Paul told me. Oh, poor, poor Paul. I want Paul. I want my son back. I want my Paul."

"What happened is terrible for you, Phyllis. It's bad, I know."

Choking back tears, she said, "Paul didn't kill himself, did he? Am I right? I was-maybe I said the wrong things.

Yes, I know I did, I know maybe I did. But Paul wouldn't kill himself over that. Paul was used to me." She snuffled and blew her nose next to the phone.

I said, "Phyllis, the police actually have some good evidence now showing that Paul could not have killed himself.

And as for you and Paul-hey, it's clear from the tape, which I've heard, that you and Paul hit it off, and he was used to you and devoted to you."

"I know I said some things that were harsh. But it was all tough love, you know? Am I right?"

"I know what you're saying."

"I even got Paul another doctor. To help Paul-goddamn get on with it. Whatever."

I said, "What doctor was this?"

"Glen Snyder in Ballston Spa. Deedee went to him for a while after her marriage broke up. He's not-I mean, he's just a regular head shrinker. Pills and whatnot. I was even going to foot the bill, but Paul only went five times before he died, so it only ended up costing me seven-fifty. So I was trying to do it Paul's way, wasn't I? Even if I opened my big yap once too often, maybe, right after Paul left Dr. Crockwell, later on I made it up to him by doing it his way.

Am I right?"

"It sounds as if you were doing your best, Phyllis. Was it Dr. Snyder who prescribed the Elavil?"

"Yeah. And ain't that a kick in the head? It looks like indirectly I'm the one who supplied that treacherous homicidal maniac Larry Bierly with the murder weapon."

Back to that again. I said, "Larry Bierly tells a different story about Paul's finances from the one you told me. You said you thought Larry killed Paul for his lucrative business. Larry claims Beautiful Thingies is deeply in debt and, for the foreseeable future, more of a burden than a help. He said Paul was swindled by an assistant manager during a period when Paul was drinking too much to notice and he nearly lost the business late last year."

"That is a lie!"

"It will be easy for me to check."

"Then do it, do it."

"And I'm sorry to have to remind you, Phyllis, that serious financial problems sometimes trigger suicide in people who are shaky otherwise. Isn't it possible that-"

She had begun to sob.

"Phyllis?"

Then a crash and a dial tone.

Now what had I said? I thought I'd described a possible suicide motive-financial desperation-that took Mrs. Haig more or less off the hook even if the murder theory somehow didn't pan out. But instead, something I said had pushed her over the edge. It was something I kept doing to people as I stumbled around in the darkness, and that darkness was one that the people I was hurting were choosing not to illuminate. Why? end user