Saratoga Swimmer (Charlie Bradshaw) by Stephen Dobyns

Author:Stephen Dobyns [Dobyns, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781405529372
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2013-07-31T12:00:00+00:00

14

VICTOR DASHED UP THE STEPS, spun around, and raised the broken branch he held in his right hand. The chow dog which had chased him halfway down the block paused at the gate, panting. Victor thought its black tongue looked particularly mean-spirited. With a baleful glance, the dog turned and trotted back up the street. Victor threw the branch after it. The branch clattered on the sidewalk and bounced into the street. The dog didn’t seem to notice. What the hell, thought Victor, those six houses he had missed because he had run past them as fast as a man could run, well, he could try them later.

Victor turned back to the door and rang the bell. As he waited, he straightened his jacket and checked his sweat shirt. It was almost dry. That had been another tactical error, along with calling the dog Fido. Afterward, Victor had realized that the woman was probably one of those rare creatures who are genuinely friendly to everyone. It had been wrong to assume she was making signals for him alone. And even if there had been such signals, it had been wrong to pinch her cheek while she was holding that pan of water.

Victor rang the bell again. There had been a name on the light post by the gate, but he had been running too fast to read it. The house was the last one on the block and bigger than the others; a three-story white Victorian house with gingerbread trim and a two-story carriage house in back.

A thin woman of about fifty in a black dress and white apron opened the door. “Maid,” said Victor to himself. He held up a photograph of Ackerman. “Do you know if this man visited this house Tuesday before last,” said Victor. “I’m conducting a survey.”

“Survey?” asked the maid.

“That’s right,” said Victor, “I go from house to house asking questions.”

Before the woman could respond, a man’s voice behind her said, “Who is it, Lettie?”

“Some man with a survey, Mr. Dwyer.”

She stood aside and in the hall Victor could see an old man in a wheelchair. He recognized the name Dwyer, knew that it belonged to someone connected with horses. For that matter, everyone he met seemed connected to horses. The man had on a brown suede jacket over a white shirt and his long white hair looked as if it had been just brushed. He had the sort of square jaw that Victor associated with cowboy heroes.

“What kind of survey?” asked Dwyer, rolling his chair up to the door.

Victor showed him the picture of Ackerman. “You know if this man was in the neighborhood a week ago Tuesday?” People in wheelchairs depressed Victor because they reminded him of the years his own wife had been confined to one. Even beyond that, this fellow looked decidedly down in the dumps. Victor hoped to be done here soon so he could return home to change. He had to be at work at five and it was four already.

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