Paradox (FBI Thriller 22)

Did the man have no filter at all? Ty said, “You’ll be pleased to hear, sir, Gunny will be all right. The surgery was successful.”

“Huh. Well, good. I suppose these things happen, even in Haggersville.” Calhoun’s voice dropped to low and confiding. “I had surgery once myself. They took out my gallbladder. I’ll tell you it hurt pretty bad there for a while.” He smiled. “But I got better really fast because my wife hauled me out of bed and walked me all over the hospital, kept telling me I’m a great healer and besides, only weaklings need a gallbladder. She was perfectly right. What would you like to know about Mr. Henry?”

Ty settled into the very comfortable chair. “You can tell us why you were at odds with your father, Mr. LaRoque?”

“Me? At odds with Mr. Henry? Who told you that? He was a popular old man—well, he wasn’t old when I was a boy, I don’t guess. Growing up, he was too busy to spend much time with me. I don’t remember his ever throwing me a baseball or football. He never came to my basketball games, probably worried the bank would go under if he didn’t give it all his attention. He was that caught up in it. He was either holed up in his study or out and about, particularly in the evenings. Very popular, my father, but I guess you already know that.

“Come to think of it, looking back, I don’t think he particularly liked me. I don’t know why, but there it is. But then again, he didn’t particularly like my mom, either. He started sleeping with that scary Mrs. Chamberlain at the post office even before my mom died, at least that’s what I heard later. That went on for years, until the old man finally died, although to be fair, that wasn’t his decision.”

“Died?” Sala repeated slowly, an eyebrow raised. “No, it wasn’t his decision. We understand your father was murdered, brutally.”

“Yes, you’re right, of course. I never understood why the murderer had to kill him in so horrible a way.” Calhoun looked down at his Breitling watch, realized that wasn’t smart, looked up again. “I mean, a bullet would give you the same result, right? My father is still greatly missed, ask anyone in town. I remember there was standing room only at his memorial at the crematorium.” Calhoun paused, frowned down at his Montblanc pen. “Now that I think about it, and to be completely honest here, the old man was a real son of a bitch to me. But we pretended we got along well enough for the most part, no dramatic fallings-out.”

Ty said again, “A son of a bitch? How so, Mr. LaRoque—”

“Calhoun, please.”

Ty leaned forward. “Calhoun. How was he a son of a bitch?”

“You heard me. He was Santa Claus to everyone in town, but nothing for his wife or his son, not even his time. He never visited me at Dartmouth, gave me only enough money to keep food in my mouth. Wouldn’t you say that qualifies?”

Yeah, Ty guessed, it does, but she said, “I can see his behavior hurt you.”

“Yeah, but here I am whining and he’s been gone for five years. I didn’t even see him much until my wife and I moved from Baltimore back to Haggersville when he surprised me by putting me in charge of the bank, said he was retiring.

“I think he had to put me in charge, no choice, since he was big on tradition, and I was his only kid. He decided to will me this bank and his money. He knew I was smart and wouldn’t run his bank into the ground. You see, I managed a bank in Baltimore for twenty years, showed him I could do it very well.” Calhoun paused a moment. “I wish he’d sent me some of that money when I was in school or starting out.

“So in the end, I guess that has to mean he wasn’t really disappointed in me, doesn’t it? He would have even left me that monstrous house of his, except I told him I didn’t want it.”

He began weaving the Montblanc through long, thin fingers. “He left his house to Haggersville. They’ve kept his study like a shrine to him, haven’t touched a thing. I think my old bedroom is a storage room now. Last time I looked, there were boxes of copy paper stacked up in there. All my posters of Wilt were gone.”

Sala said, “Did your father know what you thought of him?”

“Oh sure, when I was an adult making my own living, I told him. It didn’t seem to bother him much. I remember he laughed at me, told me to get over it. That’s about it.” Calhoun rose, an obvious dismissal that Ty and Sala ignored. He sat back down and sighed.

Ty said, “Mr. LaRoque—Calhoun—who do you think murdered your father?”

“I haven’t a clue, Chief. Chief Masters never had a clue, either. No one had a clue. My dad had no enemies, like I’ve said, everyone loved him. Ask anyone around town.”

“Did you love him, Calhoun?”

“I suppose I did, early on, since he was my dad. My wife always laughed at the stories I told her about how he treated my mom and me. She said he had crazy wiring and to forget it.”

Sala said, “Did you ever see your father wear a large Star of David belt buckle?”

Calhoun drew back. “I’ve heard talk about a weird belt buckle they found in the lake, and that’s why Gunny Saks was struck down. Do you really think it belonged to Mr. Henry?”

“Yes,” Sala said, “I assume you saw him wear it?”

Calhoun shook his head. “Gunny made a mistake, understandable since she’s—” He waggled his fingers to his head and rolled his eyes. “It couldn’t have been Mr. Henry’s. He always wore suspenders, even though he didn’t need them to hold up his pants. He was skinny, like me. I bought him an alligator belt once for Christmas, but he never wore it. Only red suspenders. He always said real men wore suspenders, like his father did before him. I’ll bet he was even cremated in those red suspenders.” Calhoun stopped cold. “Now isn’t that odd? He never suggested I wear suspenders, never gave me any, so I never have.”

“I haven’t, either,” Sala said.

Ty asked, “Why do you call your own father ‘Mr. Henry’?”

“Hey, that’s what everyone’s always called him, my mom, too.”

Sala said, “You said Mr. Henry was cremated. What did you do with his ashes?”