DR. JONATHAN SPETZ-MOGG LIVED IN A PRICEY Westwood neighborhood, in a fine Nantucket-style house with cedar-shingle siding so silvered by time that not even the rain could darken it, which suggested that the silvering might be an applied2 patina3.
Spetz-Mogg’s British accent was eccentric enough to be captivating, inconsistent enough to have been acquired during a long visit to those shores rather than by birth and upbringing.
The professor welcomed Ethan and Hazard into his home, but less graciously than obsequiously4. He answered their questions not in a spirit of thoughtful cooperation, but in a nervous, wordy gush5.
He wore a roomy FUBU shirt and baggy6 low-rider pants with snap pockets on the legs, looking as ridiculous as any white man trying to dress like a homey from the hood1, twice as ridiculous because he was forty-eight. Every time he crossed his legs, which he did frequently, the baggy pants rustled7 loudly enough to interrupt conversation.
Perhaps he affected8 sunglasses indoors more often than not. He wore them on this occasion.
Spetz-Mogg removed the shades and put them on again nearly as often as he recrossed his legs, though these two nervous tells were [432] not synchronized9. He seemed unable to decide whether he had a better chance of surviving interrogation by presenting an open and guileless image or by hiding behind tinted10 lenses.
Although the professor clearly believed that every cop was a brutal11 fascist12, he’d never be one to climb a barricade13 to shout the accusation14. He wasn’t incensed15 that two agents of the repressive police state were in his home; he was simply, quietly terrified.
In answer to every question, he vomited16 up a mess of information with the hope that garrulous17 responses would wash Ethan and Hazard out of his door before they produced brass18 knuckles19 and truncheons.
This was not the professor for whom they were searching. Spetz-Mogg might encourage others to commit crimes in the name of one ideal or another, but he was too gutless to do so himself.
Besides, he didn’t have time for crime. He had written ten works of nonfiction and eight novels. In addition to teaching his classes, he organized conferences, workshops, and seminars. He wrote plays.
In Ethan’s experience, industrious20 people, regardless of the quality of what their labor21 produced, rarely committed violent crimes. Only in movies did successful businessmen routinely indulge in murder and mayhem in addition to corporate22 responsibilities.
Criminals were likely to be failures in the workplace or just lazy. Or their material possessions had come through inheritance or by other easy means. Idleness gave them time to scheme.
Dr. Spetz-Mogg had no memory of Rolf Reynerd. On average, three hundred struggling actors attended one of his weekend conferences. Not many of them left a lasting23 impression.
When Ethan and Hazard rose to leave without suggesting that they torture the professor with electric wires to his genitals, Spetz-Mogg accompanied them to the door with visible relief. When he closed the door behind them, he no doubt bolted for the bathroom, his pretense24 of British equanimity25 belied26 by shuddering27 bowels28.
In the Expedition, Hazard said, “I should have punched the son of a bitch on general principles.”
[433] “You’re getting cranky in midcareer,” Ethan said.
“What was that accent?”
“Adam Sandier playing James Bond.”
“Yeah. With a twist of Schwarzenegger.”
From Spetz-Mogg’s house in Westwood, they wasted far too much time tracking down Dr. Gerald Fitzmartin, who had organized the screenwriting conference attended by Reynerd.
According to the university at which he taught, Fitzmartin was home for the holidays, not traveling. When Hazard called, all he got was an answering machine.
Fitzmartin lived in Pacific Palisades. They traveled surface streets, which seemed less well suited for SUVs than for gondolas29.
No one answered the bell at the Fitzmartin place. Maybe he was Christmas shopping. Maybe he was too busy to come to the door because he was wrapping a hate gift in a black box for Channing Manheim.
The neighbor told a different story: Fitzmartin had been rushed to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center on Monday morning. He wasn’t sure why.
When Hazard called Cedars-Sinai, he found that patient privacy was more important to the hospital than were police relations.
Under a sky as bruised30 as the battered31 body of a boxer32, Ethan drove back toward the city. The wind fought with trees, and sometimes trees lost, dropping branches into the streets, hampering33 traffic.
The traffic matched the turbulence34 of the heavens. At one intersection35, car had punched car, and both had gone down for the count. Five blocks farther, a truck had broadsided a paneled van.
He drove with caution that grew into an inhibiting36 wariness37. He couldn’t help thinking that if he had been run down and killed in traffic once, he might die again on another street. This time, maybe he would not get up again from death.
En route, Hazard worked the phone, tracking down the name of the professor, at yet another institution, who had organized the one-day seminar on publicity38 and self-promotion.
[434] Taking neither hand off the wheel, Ethan glanced at his watch. The day was draining away faster than rain into storm culverts.
He had to be back at Palazzo Rospo before 5:00. Fric could not be left alone in the great house, especially not on this strange day.
Cedars-Sinai Medical Center was on Beverly Boulevard in a part of Los Angeles that wanted to be Beverly Hills. They arrived at 2:18.
They located Dr. Gerald Fitzmartin in the ICU, but they weren’t permitted to see him. In the waiting room, the professor’s son was pleased to have a distraction39, though he couldn’t imagine why police officers would want to talk to his father.
Professor Fitzmartin was sixty-eight years old. After a life of honest living, older men rarely turned to crime in their retirement40. It interfered41 with gardening and with passing kidney stones.
Besides, just this morning, Fitzmartin had undergone quadruple heart-bypass surgery. If he was Rolf Reynerd’s conspirator42, he would not be killing43 movie stars in the immediate44 future.
Ethan checked his watch. 2:34. Tick, tick, tick.
1 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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2 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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3 patina | |
n.铜器上的绿锈,年久而产生的光泽 | |
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4 obsequiously | |
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5 gush | |
v.喷,涌;滔滔不绝(说话);n.喷,涌流;迸发 | |
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6 baggy | |
adj.膨胀如袋的,宽松下垂的 | |
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7 rustled | |
v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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9 synchronized | |
同步的 | |
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10 tinted | |
adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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11 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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12 fascist | |
adj.法西斯主义的;法西斯党的;n.法西斯主义者,法西斯分子 | |
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13 barricade | |
n.路障,栅栏,障碍;vt.设路障挡住 | |
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14 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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15 incensed | |
盛怒的 | |
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16 vomited | |
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17 garrulous | |
adj.唠叨的,多话的 | |
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18 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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19 knuckles | |
n.(指人)指关节( knuckle的名词复数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝v.(指人)指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝 | |
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20 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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21 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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22 corporate | |
adj.共同的,全体的;公司的,企业的 | |
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23 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
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24 pretense | |
n.矫饰,做作,借口 | |
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25 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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26 belied | |
v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 );证明(或显示)…为虚假;辜负;就…扯谎 | |
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27 shuddering | |
v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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28 bowels | |
n.肠,内脏,内部;肠( bowel的名词复数 );内部,最深处 | |
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29 gondolas | |
n.狭长小船( gondola的名词复数 );货架(一般指商店,例如化妆品店);吊船工作台 | |
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30 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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31 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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32 boxer | |
n.制箱者,拳击手 | |
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33 hampering | |
妨碍,束缚,限制( hamper的现在分词 ) | |
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34 turbulence | |
n.喧嚣,狂暴,骚乱,湍流 | |
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35 intersection | |
n.交集,十字路口,交叉点;[计算机] 交集 | |
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36 inhibiting | |
抑制作用的,约束的 | |
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37 wariness | |
n. 注意,小心 | |
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38 publicity | |
n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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39 distraction | |
n.精神涣散,精神不集中,消遣,娱乐 | |
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40 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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41 interfered | |
v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 );调停;妨碍;干涉 | |
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42 conspirator | |
n.阴谋者,谋叛者 | |
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43 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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44 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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