Part 14 (2/2)
”I don't believe this,” said the veterinarian.
Kingsbury stepped forward to see for himself and Joe Winder followed, though he was sorry he did.
”Call somebody,” wheezed Dr. Kukor.
”Looks like a human,” Kingsbury remarked. He turned to stare at Winder because Winder was clinging to his arm. ”Don't puke on me or you're fired,” said Kingsbury.
Joe Winder was trying not to pa.s.s out. The corpse wasn't in perfect condition, but you could tell who it was.
A wan and shaky Dr. Kukor stepped out of Orky's excavated carca.s.s. ”Asphyxiation,” he declared numbly. ”The whale choked to death.”
”Well, d.a.m.n,” said Francis X. Kingsbury.
Joe Winder thought: Choked to death on Will Koocher. Koocher, in a mint-green golf s.h.i.+rt.
”Somebody call somebody,” Kukor said. ”This is way out of my field.”
Winder reeled away from the scene. In a croaky voice he said, ”That's the worst thing I ever saw.”
”You?” Kingsbury laughed harshly. Three f.u.c.king tons of whale meat, talk about a nightmare.”
”Yes,” Joe Winder said, gasping for fresh air.
”I'm thinking South Korea or maybe the Sudan,” Kingsbury was saying. ”Stamp it 'Tuna,' who the h.e.l.l would ever know? Those little f.u.c.kers are starving.”
”What?” said Winder. ”What did you say?”
”Providing I can get some G.o.dd.a.m.n ice, p.r.o.nto.”
ELEVEN.
Charles Chelsea decreed that there should be no mention of Dr. Will Koocher in the press release. ”Stick to Orky,” he advised Joe Winder. ”Three hundred words max.”
”You're asking me to lie.”
”No, I'm asking you to omit a few superfluous details. The whale died suddenly overnight, scientists are investigating, blah, blah, blah. Oh, and be sure to include a line that Mr. Francis X. Kingsbury is shocked and saddened.” Chelsea paused, put a finger to his chin. ”Scratch the 'shocked,' he said. ” 'Saddened' is plenty. ”Shocked” makes it sound like something, I don't know, somethinga””
”Out of the ordinary?” said Joe Winder.
”Right. Exactly.”
”Charlie, you are one sorry bucket of puss.”
Chelsea steepled his hands on his chest. Then he unfolded them. Then he folded them once more and said, ”Joe, this is a question of privacy, not censors.h.i.+p. Until Dr. Koocher's wife is officially notified, the least we can do is spare her the agony of hearing about it on the evening news.”
For a moment, Winder saw two Charles Chelseas instead of one. Somewhere in the cacophonous gearbox of his brain, he heard the hiss of a petc.o.c.k, blowing off steam. ”Charlie,” he said blankly, ”the man was eaten by a f.u.c.king thirty-foot leviathan. This isn't going to remain our little secret very long.”
Chelsea's brow wrinkled. ”Eventually, yes, I suppose we'll have to make some sort of public statement. Seeing as it was our whale.”
Joe Winder leaned forward on one elbow. ”Charlie, I'm going to be honest.”
”I appreciate that.”
”Very soon I intend to kick the living s.h.i.+t out of you.”
Chelsea stiffened. He s.h.i.+fted in his chair. ”I don't know what to make of a remark like that.”
Joe Winder imagined his eyeb.a.l.l.s pulsating in the sockets, as if jolted by a hot wire.
Charles Chelsea said, ”You mean, punch me? Actually punch me?”
”Repeatedly,” said Winder, ”until you are no longer conscious.”
The publicity man's voice was plaintive, but it held no fear. ”Do you know what kind of day I've had? I've dealt with two dead bodiesa”first the man on the bridge, and now the vole doctor. Plus I've been up to my knees in whale guts. I'm drained, Joe, physically and emotionally drained. But if it makes you feel better to beat me up, go ahead.”
Joe Winder said he was a reasonable man. He said he would reconsider the beating if Charles Chelsea would show him the suicide note allegedly written by Dr. Will Koocher.
Chelsea unlocked a file drawer and took out a sheet of paper with block printing on it. ”It's only a Xerox,” he said, handing it to Winder, ”but still it breaks your heart.”
It was one of the lamest suicide notes that Joe Winder had ever seen. In large letters it said: ”TO MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY,.
I SORRY BUT I CAN'T GO ON. NOW THAT MY WORKS IS OVER, SO AM I.”.
The name signed at the bottom was ”William Bennett Koocher, PhD.”
Winder stuffed the Xerox copy in his pocket and said, ”This is a fake.”
”I know what you're thinking, Joey, but it wasn't only the voles that got him down. There were problems at home, if you know what I mean.”
”My goodness.” Winder whistled. ”Problems at home. I had no idea.”
Chelsea continued: ”And I know what else you're thinking. Why would anybody kill himself in this...extreme fas.h.i.+on? Jumping in a whale tank and all.”
”It struck me as a bit unorthodox, yes.”
”Well, me too,” said Chelsea, regaining some of his starch, ”until I remembered that Koocher couldn't swim a lick. More to the point, he was deathly afraid of sharks. It's not so surprising that he chose to drown himself here, indoors, rather than the ocean.”
”And the green s.h.i.+rt?”
”Obviously he wasn't aware of Orky's, ah, problem.”
Joe Winder blinked vigorously in an effort to clear his vision. He said, ”The man's spine was snapped like a twig.”
”I am told,” said Charles Chelsea, ”that it's not as bad as it appears. Very quick, and nearly painless.” He took out a handkerchief and discreetly dried the palms of his hands. ”Not everyone has the stomach for using a gun,” he said. ”Myself, I'd swallow a bottle of roach dust before I'd resort to violence. But, anyway, I was thinking: Maybe this was Koocher's way of joining the lost voles. A symbolic surrender to Nature, if you will. Sacrificing himself to the whale.”
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