One Good Deed

by David Baldacci

“Then sell it. I’ll give you a couple of bucks for that monstrosity. But in the future, Marjorie, try to remember that size does not equal good taste.”

  On the tape, Marjorie didn’t respond to this barb. The real Marjorie was sitting as motionless as the fox around her shoulders.

  The room was so quiet that not only could one hear a pin drop, one could probably hear the air being propelled along by the pin as it fell.

  Then the whole courtroom nearly jumped out of their seats at the next sound.

  The single gunshot cut through the room like one had actually gone off in their midst. As though not only had someone cried out fire inside a crowded room, but there actually was an inferno. And then came the sound of a body falling to the floor.

  When these sounds ceased, on the tape Marjorie said, “How’s it feel, Lucas? Being killed by ‘just’ a woman?”

  On this, Archer turned off the machine and looked at Marjorie. “Well?” he asked.

  She was silent for a few moments.

  When she spoke, the woman’s voice was tranquil, even…happy.

  “That’s the most fun I’ve had in my whole life, killing that man.”

  Archer looked up at the judge and said, “I rest my case.”

  Chapter 51

  ARCHER STOOD next to Irving Shaw’s hospital bed. The detective was sitting up, looking far better than the last time Archer had seen him. Herbert Brooks, the district attorney, walked in and came over to the bed.

  “They told me back in Poca City that you had driven over to see Lieutenant Shaw,” said Brooks to Archer. He looked keenly at the detective. “And how is the patient?”

  Shaw gingerly moved his damaged arm. “Not bad. Want a smoke bad, but they said no. They got oxygen around.”

  Brooks eyed Archer. “Now, a few things. I’ve spoken with the DOP and they have agreed that in light of, well, recent developments, you are deemed to have completed your three-year parole and may freely move about as you desire.” He added, “I would imagine that you have no wish to remain in Poca City.”

  “I think it’s time for me to head on.”

  Then he held out to Archer an envelope.

  “What’s that?” asked Archer.

  “Two thousand dollars, from the city government. This was deemed to be fair compensation for all that you endured.”

  Archer didn’t move to take the money until Shaw nudged him. “Go on, Archer. You earned it, son. You solved three murders on your own. You need to hang out your gumshoe shingle. Use the money as a stake to get started.”

  Archer reluctantly took the envelope. “I wouldn’t have solved anything if it weren’t for you, Mr. Shaw. You should get half of this.”

  “No can do. I’m a public servant. It’s my job.” Shaw looked over at Brooks. “Any word on Draper?”

  “He passed away the other night. But he would’ve been hanged anyway. Marjorie Pittleman talked like a canary, though we heard most of it already on the recorder. Draper killed Pittleman on Lucas Tuttle’s orders after he and Marjorie agreed on the sale of the businesses. And then they tried to frame Archer for it. And Dill and Draper killed Sid Duckett, and they tried to kill Jackie Tuttle, at Marjorie’s direct request.” He shot Archer a glance. “And you were right. We found Hank Pittleman’s Smith and Wesson in Marjorie’s home. It was the gun she used to kill Tuttle.”

  “What’ll happen to her?” asked Archer.

  “I doubt the state has the stomach to hang a widow. But she’ll die in prison.”

  “And that fancy house of hers?” asked Shaw.

  Brooks shrugged. “Maybe someone can turn it into a hotel.”

  Archer looked at Shaw. “You called it, Mr. Shaw. You said early on that Marjorie was involved in her husband’s death.”

  “Well, unfortunately, between husband and wife, it’s usually one or the other doing the killing.”

  “Reason enough to stay single,” said Archer.

  Shaw said, “So Lucas Tuttle killed his wife and scared his daughter into keeping silent?”

  Archer glanced at Brooks. “I guess a man’s word is worth more than a woman’s? You sorta told me that before.”

  Brooks said quietly, “I guess you could say that was the case, yes.”

  “There’s nothing right or fair about that.”

  Shaw cleared his throat. “There’s some more information about Ernestine Crabtree’s past, Archer. Thought you might want to hear it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Those men did rape her.” He added in a far more somber tone, “In fact, she could never have children after that because of her injuries.”

  There was an awkward silence until Brooks said, “I have to say the way you handled yourself in that courtroom was truly remarkable, Mr. Archer, particularly so for a person with no legal training.”

  “When a man’s fighting for his life, what choice does he have except do what he has to so he can survive?”

  Shaw said, “Amen. Every man who fought in the war damn sure knows that.”

  Archer eyed Brooks and said, “So you have no reason to go after Jackie, right? You’re convinced that Lucas Tuttle killed his wife?”

  Brooks nodded. “I am convinced, Mr. Archer. She has nothing to worry about from me. It was a terrible thing for her to endure. Even more so for a young woman. They are very delicate.”

  Archer’s gaze at the man sharpened. “You married?”

  Brooks looked surprised at the question. “Well, yes.”

  “You work, and your wife stays at home?”

  “She has no head for matters outside of the home.”

  “You might be surprised about that, Mr. Brooks. I mean, I don’t see much logic behind men being the breadwinners and all except it’s just the way it’s always been, and for no good reason. Everybody deserves a fair shake.”

  Brooks shook his head and smiled. “A woman’s place is in raising children and keeping the home and assisting her husband. But it’s still important work nonetheless and quite proper for someone with their fairer sensibilities. It’s a hard world out there, Mr. Archer, and men are designed to thrive in that world, not our women. I mean, that’s why they’re referred to as the weaker sex, after all.”

  “Well, by the time I’m an old man, maybe the world will see things differently.”

  After Brooks left, Archer said to Shaw, “You taught me a lot.”

  “I can say the same about you. So what’s next for Aloysius Archer?”

  “Maybe a bit of wandering.”

  “Would that wandering take you to see a couple of gals far away from here?”

  “Couple of gals?”

  “Yeah.”

  Archer smiled. “I’m not sure. As you know, I’m sort of susceptible to the spell they can cast over me.”

  “Hell, boy, we all got that problem. Ain’t enough reason to stay away, though, so I say go for it. Hey, you got a smoke, Archer?”

  “I thought you said—”

  “Come on, son, don’t make me pull my gun.”

  Archer shook out a Lucky and lit the man up.

  Shaw gratefully blew the smoke out and looked up at Archer with a bemused expression. “I wonder what happened to all that money in Lucas Tuttle’s safe?”

  “Never could really figure that out. I thought maybe I knew, but I’m probably wrong.” He paused. “You gonna dig into that?”

  “Archer, I catch killers. I don’t waste no time with people taking stuff from people who already got too much.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Thought you’d see it that way.”

  Archer put out a hand for the lawman to shake.

  “You let me know how you get on,” said Shaw.

  “You can count on that.”

  “Take care, shamus.”

  As Archer walked out, he met a woman and three teens—two young men and a girl—coming down the hall to Shaw’s room. He figured he knew who they were and introduced himself to Shaw’s family.

  “He thinks the
world of you, Mr. Archer,” said Shaw’s wife.

  “It’s mutual. Oh, and one more thing.” He took out the envelope and counted out half the money in there. “The folks in Poca City took up a collection for Lieutenant Shaw.” He handed her the money. “I wouldn’t mention it to your husband. I know how proud he is. Maybe you can use it for the kids’ education and such.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Archer.”

  Archer eyed the oldest boy. “Hear you’re going into the Army?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good man. You stay safe and make your parents proud.” He gave the young man a crisp salute and then headed on his way.

  As Archer walked down the hall, the spring was fully back in his step.

  Chapter 52

  THE SEA VOYAGE was rough for much of the way because of gale-force winds clustered along the shipping channels. But it seemed the more hostile the ocean was, the more soundly Archer slept in his first-class berth. It was perhaps fitting that a man who had done his hardest fighting on land and even lost his freedom there could find peace in such chaotic waters.

  He would venture out to the top deck from time to time to admire the vastness and calamitous pitch of the ocean, while most passengers and even some of the crew were below decks vomiting into buckets. For him, this trip symbolized many things. Yet chief among them was redemption. Not for him, though he could use a fair amount of it, he supposed. No, this journey was not about him. It was about others.

  During the war, Archer had one chief goal: to survive. Wedded to that enterprise was his desire to survive with as many of his fellow soldiers as possible. In that spirit, one looked out for the other. Sometimes you risked your life to save another. Sometimes you succeeded and sometimes you didn’t, and sometimes all died in the collective effort. But there was profound risk in not trying. Then what sort of a world would one have? Not to be too mushy about it, thought Archer, but thinking only of yourself as you trudged through life was a lonely journey indeed.

  He finally reached Brazil and immediately made his way inland to São Paulo. To an address that he had taken off the crate in Hank Pittleman’s warehouse and stuck in the Gideon Bible in his room at the Derby. It was a small house on a low rise of earth with expansive views just outside the city’s main footprint. It was painted a deep eggplant and had yellow shutters. There were exotic flowers in terra cotta pots thriving in the warm air and hot sun, in a place where rain bursts were plentiful and welcome.

  Archer had purchased a new wardrobe; his three-piece suit was beige and made out of lightweight summer cloth that was comfortable for where he was right now. He wore a Panama hat and brown lace-up leather shoes, and his face was tanned and weathered from the ocean trip.

  Archer walked up the steps to the front door and knocked. He almost instantly heard approaching footsteps.

  When the door opened, he had to look twice to recognize Jackie Tuttle. Her hair was dyed blond, for one thing, and cut short in a gamine style, the peekaboo all gone. And instead of the clingy and expensive dresses he was used to seeing her in, she had on a pair of faded coveralls, like those the factory women would wear during the war. Under that was a loose-fitting blue cotton shirt. No gloves, hat, jewelry, or makeup in sight. On her feet were a pair of clogs.

  “You don’t look surprised to see me,” he said.

  “That’s because I’m not.”

  She stepped back to allow him passage.

  He walked through and into a small front room.

  It had three chairs and a small settee resting on threadbare carpet. In one of the chairs was Ernestine Crabtree, looking as physically modified as her companion. Again, he had to look twice to make sure that it was her. Her blond hair was styled in an urchin cut and partially covered by a plum-colored beret. She was also dressed as plainly as Jackie.

  He sat down with his hat perched on his knee and looked around. “You like it here?”

  “It’s warm, sunny, and beautiful, and the people are friendly,” said Jackie as she sat next to Ernestine. “And we’ve got some money to live on—the remains of the cash my father paid on the debt to Hank. But I’ll have to get a job at some point.” She paused and eyed Archer with a bemused look. “Maybe I can find a Hank Pittleman down here.”

  “How’d you come by this place?” asked Archer.

  “This used to belong to my mother’s family. It passed to me when she died. I used to travel here with her when I was younger. I can speak the language, which comes in handy. And I’ve been teaching Ernestine.”

  Archer nodded as he took this in and then looked at Ernestine. “I’m sorry for what happened to you back in Texas,” said Archer.

  She glanced sharply at him. “How did—”

  “I…saw your scrapbook,” he said. “And Mr. Shaw checked into some things.”

  Staring down at her lap, she said, “When my father was arrested, he told me he would only go to jail for a few months. He had me and my mother move away and then he said he would come and join us.” She halted here, the tears clustering in her eyes. Jackie put a supportive arm around her. “And then…and then.…”

  “I know, Ernestine,” said Archer quietly.

  She suddenly sat up straight and brushed away the tears. “I couldn’t believe it. I was so furious with them both. I didn’t care if my father told everyone what those men had done to me. I just wanted him to be with us. I…I didn’t want him to die on my account. And I said things to my mother, things I regretted.” She paused once more as her eyes filled with fresh tears. “And then she was gone, too.”

  After she composed herself, Archer looked around and said, “So where’s the Royal typewriter?”

  She glanced up and said quietly, “I…I have a little room in the back of the house.”

  “For your scribblings?”

  “She’s working on a novel, Archer,” said Jackie. “I’ve read parts of it. It’s really good.”

  “‘A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction,’” said Archer, quoting Virginia Woolf.

  “Y-yes,” said Ernestine. “So I believe, too.”

  “Maybe you can take everything you had to endure in life and put it on those pages, Ernestine. And I think you’ll have a fine book. Because sometimes, you just have to be rid of it, and move on.”

  A few moments of silence passed.

  And then Jackie took a letter from her pocket and held it up. “You wrote to me here and asked me to come back and testify.”

  “And if you did, I said everything would be okay, for both of you, and me. I gave you my word.”

  “But why was that so important? You had Marjorie Pittleman dead to rights with that recording. And my father, too. He confessed to killing Hank and Sid Duckett. You didn’t need me to win your freedom.”

  “It wasn’t about my freedom, Jackie. It was about yours.”

  He took out the onionskin carbon copy and handed it to her. “I found this curled up inside your father’s Remington. I don’t think this went through Desiree Lankford, or else she would have told you.”

  She read quickly through it and then looked up at him in shock. “My father was accusing me of killing my mother. He said he had evidence and he wanted Brooks to prosecute me for murder. He wanted to see me hang.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Even after everything he did, he still wasn’t done hurting me.” She handed back the letter and said quietly, “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

  “You left home because of what he did,” said Archer.

  “I wanted to kill him. I wanted to throw him on that corn picker. But he just laughed at me. Said I was just a girl, no one would believe me.”

  “He tried to make out to me that you were the crazy, violent one.”

  She gazed at him with wide, probing eyes. “I guess with how I acted around you, you might have been justified in believing that.”

  “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Jackie. I could see that. Nothing deviou
s there. Your father, on the other hand, he was way too manipulative. Way too slick. Those are the ones you have to watch out for.”

  “I guess your reading all those detective novels came in handy,” interjected Ernestine.

  Archer said, “I wanted to put you on the stand and show Brooks that you didn’t kill your mother. I didn’t want you to have to worry about that ever again. And now you don’t. I confirmed that with him.”

  Jackie looked shaken by this news and said, “Thank you, Archer. That was very kind of you.”

  “But you didn’t know that was my reason. I didn’t put that in my letter to you.”

  “And so I didn’t have to come back.”

  “But you did, Jackie. Why’s that? It was risky for you. You had to trust me.” He paused. “And for a few seconds in the courtroom, I’m not sure you did.”

  She looked away for a moment before focusing on him. “Remember I was asking you how it was in the war?”

  He frowned. “You mean the killing part?”

  “No, about being part of something bigger than yourself. Well, I guess that bigger something was you, Archer. I…I couldn’t leave you to fight that battle alone. That’s why I came back.”

  Ernestine leaned forward and said, “We had no idea you were going to be implicated in what happened. With the evidence from the safe in the Nash and all. I had already left town, and Jackie soon followed. But we never meant to hurt you, Archer, never.”

  “I believe you,” he said simply.

  Jackie said, “When I was on the witness stand, my trust in you did waver at one point.”

  “But?” said Archer.

  “But in the end, I figured I had to count on a man at some point in my life. And it might as well be you. I think you earned that right.”

  He nodded and said, “I thank you for that.”

  A few moments of silence passed.

  “Archer, how did you know I had seen my father kill my mother?”

  “I didn’t know for sure. But in prison I hung around a lot of guilty people, so I know what that looks like. But I was innocent, so I know what that looks like, too. You loved your mother and you butted heads with her, nothing wrong with that. But Lucas Tuttle tried to convince me you had killed her, while you wouldn’t even talk about it, or got agitated when you did. And then you left home to be Pittleman’s chattel. You never struck me as the type that would do that unless you had a really good reason. And that reason was you couldn’t live with a man who had killed your mother, and you wanted to punish him in the only way you could, by being with Pittleman.”