The 56th Man by J. Clayton Rogers Page B

the artist dies, while the value of his house
goes down. You did buy that house down on Beach Court, didn't
you?"
    "Do the police here keep track of property
transfers?"
    "Not much. But some." Carrington stuffed
several fries in his mouth. They were no longer too hot for him,
Ari supposed. "You can see the difference, though. The guy who
invented the car, you don't get spooked every time you drive just
because he's dead. Same with the paintings. But a house,
now..."
    "Especially under the circumstances..."
    "Right on. Walking around, sleeping, taking a
dump...there you go, taking a dump on the same toilet that this guy
and his whole family used not a year ago...that would give me the
creeps."
    "I don't believe in ghosts, Detective
Carrington." Ari removed the tea bag, placed it on the saucer, and
sipped at his drink. It was recognizably tea, at least.
    "Hey, you never know." The detective winced
as though stung and reached under his jawline. He found some
ketchup on top of his shaving cut. He wiped it off with his hand,
then wiped his fingers halfheartedly on his napkin. "But even
leaving out the ghosts, just the idea of it, you know, kind of
takes the spice out of a new house."
    Once again, he looked at his watch.
    "If I'm keeping you from an appointment--"
Ari began.
    "No. Cops are always looking at their
watches. There's not a whole lot else to do."
    "Really?"
    "That and eat doughnuts." He sounded
perfectly serious. "Did you know what had happened in that house
when you--"
    "No."
    "Well there you go. Tell the real estate
agent to shove the contract up his ass and vamoose."
    "Vamoose..."
    "Get the hell out of there."
    "Circumstances...make that impossible."
    "You need a lawyer? I know a few. I could
give you a hand on that."
    "I'll bear it in mind." Ari fingered the
handle of his cup. "I don't suppose you could answer any questions
about the murders."
    "Nothing that's not already in the papers."
Carrington frowned down at his plate, as if weighing which to
polish off first: the burger or the fries. "You wouldn't want to
know more, anyway. Believe me."
    "I was wondering about the back door. Don't
you think crashing through like that would have made a tremendous
racket?"
    Carrington grunted.
    It was a neutral sound. It should have
conveyed nothing more than an acknowledgement of the question. Yet
there was profound disparagement in it, not only of Ari, but in
what he himself was doing. The detective was putting on an act, a
very broad act, and he was suddenly growing tired of his own
performance. His faced slackened, his chin drooped, the folds
around his eyes deepened. He glanced at his watch again.
    "We thought about that," he answered wearily,
then forced down the last bite of his hamburger.
    Ari waited. This was not a man to be pushed.
It would only make him stubborn.
    Sensing Ari's gaze, he raised his head from
his plate. "I said we thought about that."
    "Mr. Riggins was found seated in the living
room, correct? Was he wearing night clothes?"
    "You mean pajamas? No. He..." Carrington
stopped, considering his words, then slid the last two fries into
his mouth.
    "How were the others dressed? Were any of
them bound? Were there signs of intoxication? Were any of them
deaf? You see, the newspapers left quite a bit unexplained."
    "Why are you so interested?"
    "Wouldn't you be, if all of this had happened
under your roof?"
    Carrington crooked his finger at Mabel, who
was chatting with the bartender. She came and took up his
plate.
    "Separate checks?"
    Carrington nodded sluggishly. The waitress
left to work up the bills.
    "Detective--" Ari began.
    "It wasn't 'your roof' at the time. Tell you
the truth, if I found myself living in a haunted mansion, I'd shrug
it off. But that's me. All wrapped up in my work. Speaking of
which..." He shot Ari in inquiring look.
    As if you didn't already
know , Ari thought. "I work out of
home."
    "There all day?"
    Ari was surprised by the question. The
detective had already revealed too much with