The Matlock Paper by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online Page B

somehow contact the appropriate men in Washington and then drive down to the station house.
    Until further instructions, they both agreed Matlock would restrict himself to a simple statement on finding the body and seeing the automobile. He had been out for a late night walk, that was all.
    Nothing more.
    His statement was typed out; questions as to time, his reasons for being in the vicinity, descriptions of the “alleged perpetrator’s vehicle,” direction, estimated speed—all were asked routinely and accepted without comment.
    Matlock was bothered by his unequivocal negative to one question.
    “Did you ever see the deceased before?”
    “No.”
    That hurt. Loring deserved more than a considered, deliberate lie. Matlock recalled that the agent said he had a seven-year-old daughter. A wife and a child; the husband and father killed and he could not admit he knew his name.
    He wasn’t sure why it bothered him, but it did. Perhaps, he thought, because he knew it was the beginning of a great many lies.
    He signed the short deposition and was about to be released when he heard a telephone ring inside an office beyond the desk. Not
on
the desk, beyond it. Seconds later, a uniformed policeman emerged and said his name in a loud voice, as if to make sure he had not left the building.
    “Yes, officer?”
    “We’ll have to ask you to wait. If you’ll follow me, please.”
    Matlock had been in the small room for nearly an hour; it was 2:45 A.M . and he had run out of cigarettes. It was no time to run out of cigarettes.
    The door opened and a tall, thin man with large, serious eyes walked in. He was carrying Loring’s briefcase. “Sorry to detain you, Dr. Matlock. It is ‘Doctor,’ isn’t it?”
    “ ‘Mister’ is fine.”
    “My identification. Name’s Greenberg, Jason Greenberg. Federal Bureau of Investigation. I had to confirm your situation.… It’s a hell of a note, isn’t it?”
    “ ‘A hell of a note’? Is that all you can say?”
    The agent looked at Matlock quizzically. “It’s all I care to share,” he said quietly. “If Ralph Loring had completed his call, he would have reached me.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Forget it. I’m out-briefed—that is, I know something but not much about the Nimrod situation; I’ll get filled in before morning. Incidentally, this fellow Kressel is on his way over. He knows I’m here.”
    “Does this change anything?… That sounds stupid, doesn’t it? A man is killed and I ask you if it changes anything. I apologize again.”
    “No need to; you’ve had a terrible experience.… Any change is up to you. We accept the fact that Ralph’s death could alter tonight’s decision. We ask only that you keep your own counsel in what was revealed to you.”
    “You’re offering me a chance to renege?”
    “Of course. You’re under no obligation to us.”
    Matlock walked to the small, rectangular window with the wire-enclosed glass. The police station was at the south end of the town of Carlyle, about a half a mile from the campus, the section of town considered industrialized. Still, there were trees along the streets. Carlyle was a very clean town, a neat town. The trees by the station house were pruned and shaped.
    And Carlyle was also something else.
    “Let me ask you a question,” he said. “Does the fact that I found Loring’s body associate me with him? I mean, would I be considered a part of whatever he was doing?”
    “We don’t think so. The way you behaved tends to remove you from any association.”
    “What do you mean?” Matlock turned to face the agent.
    “Frankly, you panicked. You didn’t run, you didn’t take yourself out of the area; you flipped out and started shouting your head off. Someone who’s programmed for an assignment wouldn’t react like that.”
    “I wasn’t programmed for
this
.”
    “Same results. You just found him and lost your head. If this Nimrod even
suspects
we’re involved …”
    “Suspects!” interrupted