A Movement Toward Eden

by Clark Howard

  Evelyn Lund’s face grew very thoughtful. She stared down at the wetly darkened sidewalk for a moment before raising her eyes to meet his again.

  “I’m not really sure of you, Mr. Devlin,” she said straight-forwardly. “I have been in daily touch with Mr. Keyes’ attorney regarding this matter and he hasn’t intimated in any way that I might be helpful in locating Mr. Keyes.”

  “You’re referring to Everett Simmons, I presume. He doesn’t know anything about it—aside from the fact that his client is missing. He doesn’t even know where my investigation has led so far. If you are interested in helping Mr. Keyes, you’ll disregard Simmons entirely.”

  “And rely on you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You understand, of course, that I am Mr. Keyes’ confidential secretary. I am not in a position to divulge any of his affairs that are of a private nature.”

  “Miss Lund,” Devlin said flatly, “at this point there is probably very little about Mr. Keyes’ personal and business life that I don’t already know. What I’m mainly interested in right now is being able to factually connect Keyes in some way with several persons whom I feel might be involved in his disappearance. I promise you I won’t be persistent about any subject you are reluctant to discuss.”

  Again, she glanced down at the sidewalk, seeming to use it as a diversion from Devlin’s face in order to allow her a respite from his steady gaze to collect her thoughts.

  “All right,” she said finally. “There’s a cocktail lounge around the corner where we might find some privacy.”

  “Good.”

  Devlin took her arm and they hurried toward the corner as the rain suddenly changed from mist to heavy shower.

  In the lounge they sat at a tiny table as far away from the bar as possible. They waited until their drinks had been served before resuming their conversation.

  “When did Simmons tell you the truth about Keyes’ absence?” Devlin inquired casually.

  “After three days had gone by and I hadn’t heard from Mr. Keyes directly. Mr. Simmons knew I would be very suspicious, which I was, of course. It was the first time in the seven years I had worked for Mr. Keyes that he’d let more than a day go by without at least telephoning to check with me.”

  “Are any of Keyes’ clients or anyone in your office becoming suspicious about the fact that he hasn’t been around recently?”

  “Not yet,” she shook her head. “A lot of our clients are in television, of course, and they’re busy filming next season’s shows. As for the people in the office, they’re used to not seeing him. The work is pretty routine; it isn’t necessary for him to personally oversee much of it.” She paused to sip at her drink and then came to the point with him. “You said that possibly I had information that might help you find him. Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “Yes,” Devlin said. “But first I want to tell you how the picture looks on the basis of what I’ve found out so far. I’d like to know if you can confirm part of it for me. Is that all right with you?”

  “All right.”

  ‘You had a young girl named Abigail Daniels working for you up until a short time ago,” Devlin began without further preliminary. “She was having an affair with Keyes; an affair of quite some duration, as near as I can determine. Keyes was partially supporting her, supplementing her regular salary with personal checks of his own every week. For some reason, perhaps as a result of the affair, perhaps not, the Daniels girl suffered a mental breakdown. It was serious enough for the court to commit her to the state hospital, where she is presently confined. She is under the personal care of a doctor out there who has considerable authority and is keeping her strictly isolated. The doctor appears to be involved with a local minister and a police officer who is an investigative aide for the State Supreme Court. Just how they are all connected, I don’t know. But I do know that Keyes disappeared not long after Abigail Daniels was sent to the state hospital, and I believe that the doctor and the other two are somehow involved in his disappearance.”

  He sat back and lighted a cigarette, studying her briefly as he did so. Her thin, somewhat intense face seemed softer now than it had been earlier; he wondered if it was just the lighting or if perhaps she was relenting in her attitude toward him. She was rather pretty, he suddenly realized, though in a plain, hardly noticeable way. He had never seen such a severe hairstyle quite so becoming on a non-Latin woman before. Vaguely he wondered how long her hair would be and what she would look like with it let down.

  “Is that all?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Yes; I’m sorry if I was staring. I was admiring your hair; that’s a Spanish style, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She blushed slightly and began to toy with her glass in order to occupy her hands.

  “Anyway, getting back to the subject,” he said quickly to squelch her embarrassment, “I’m sure that if the first part of my theory is correct—the affair between Keyes and the Daniels girl—you’ll be able to confirm it. Can you?”

  “Mr. Devlin,” she said slowly, hesitantly, “you’re making this very difficult for me. I—I have a very good job; it’s the only good job I’ve ever had. Mr. Keyes has complete confidence in me, and he pays me a very good salary to maintain that confidence. I depend completely on that salary, too: I have no family, no really close friends that I could go to for help—if I ever got down and out, so to speak. Can you understand my not wanting to jeopardize my position?”

  “Yes, I can understand that,” he answered quietly. So, he thought, the ruthless, cold-blooded career secretary isn’t that at all.

  “I have very little to do with the people with whom I work,” she went on, “except at the business level. I keep out of their personal lives and I expect them to keep out of mine. It’s that way even with Mr. Keyes—”

  “Your Mr. Keyes, despite his lily-white reputation,” Devlin said flatly, “is very definitely a player when it comes to women. I’m surprised you haven’t found it difficult to maintain that kind of detachment with him.”

  “I had to quit once to do it,” she told him quite frankly. “After I’d worked for him about six months, he tried to put our working relationship on an after-hours basis as well. I avoided his subtle little advances for a week and on Friday when I got paid I told him I wouldn’t be back. He was quite surprised—and very apologetic. He said he was sorry if he had offended me, told me that I was very efficient and that he liked my work, et cetera. He asked me to stay and promised that in the future he would keep our association strictly business. So I stayed, and it’s worked out very well.”

  “I see,” Devlin said. He smiled and lifted his glass in salute. “To you,” he toasted. “He might have fired you.”

  “He couldn’t,” she smiled back, “I had already quit, remember?”

  “Yes, that’s right. You’re very pretty when you smile.”

  “Thank you.” He noticed that she did not blush at the compliment this time.

  “Would you rather I left you out of this thing entirely?” he asked.

  “No, I—I do want to help you.” She looked down at the table again. “What you asked me before, about Mr. Keyes and Abby: I don’t know for certain, of course, but I think you’re probably right about them. I was—that is, Abby and I were fairly friendly for the first year or so that she worked there. Usually, as I said, I keep pretty much to myself, but I felt kind of sorry for Abby. She and I were in the same boat, so to speak: both without families, both living alone, that sort of thing. Of course, I was several years older than her and a little more secure and—well, I tried to give her the benefit of my experience. I helped her find clothes that suited her and picked out a hairstyle that was becoming: little things like that. I guess we were friendly for a year or so; nothing after work or anything, just an occasional lunch, maybe a shopping excursion together, that was all. Then I started going to school a couple of nights a week, taking creative art courses, and I began using my lunch hours to go to the park and
sketch. We sort of drifted apart after that. It was a year or so later that I began to suspect that she had taken up seriously with someone, and a short time after that I guessed that the someone was Mr. Keyes. As I said, I don’t know for sure, I mean I couldn’t swear to it, but—” She paused and her face turned sad for a moment. “I’m sorry about Abby being sent to the—to that place. She was a nice kid, really. Is she going to get well again?”

  “I don’t know,” Devlin said quietly.

  “I hope she does,” Evelyn Lund said. She tilted her head to one side, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “You were going to tell me how I might be able to help you find Mr. Keyes.”

  “Yes, I was going to ask if you had any knowledge of Keyes being associated in any way with the doctor I mentioned, and the other two men.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Dr. Damon Fox is one. The others are Abraham O’Hara, a minister, and Todd Holt. Mean anything to you?”

  She thought for a moment, looking away in concentration, and then shook her head.

  “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any of them.”

  “Exactly how close are you to Keyes’ business affairs?” Devlin asked. “I mean, do you handle everything for him or does he take care of some matters himself?”

  “I handle nearly everything, I suppose. Although he does have a locked file cabinet in his office: I guess he keeps personal papers in it, I don’t know; I’ve never been given a key to it.”

  “Is there a key to it available?”

  “Yes. There’s an extra key in a sealed envelope that he keeps in the safe.”

  “Do you have access to the safe?”

  “Yes. What are you getting at?”

  “I’d like you to go through that private file of his for me,” he told her openly. “I’d like to know if there’s anything of a tangible nature in there that will connect Keyes with any of the men I named.”

  “Well—” she said hesitantly. “I’m not sure if I could do that.”

  “Look,” Devlin leaned forward, “I need some kind of factual evidence to somehow connect Keyes with one or more of those men. If I can turn up something like that, I can take it to a judge and get a subpoena to question that person under oath. I can get my teeth into what I really want to find out: what they’ve done with him, where he is.” He sat back again, sensing that perhaps he was being too urgent with her. “I’m not asking you to let me see what Keyes keeps in that file. All I want to know is whether there’s anything in there that can help. If there isn’t, then no harm’s been done. Isn’t that right?”

  “I suppose so, when you put it that way,” she admitted, still a little reluctantly.

  “What do you say then?” he prompted. “Will you help me?”

  “All right.” She sighed quietly, as if relieved that the decision had been made and she was finally committed. “Are you always so persuasive?” she asked lightly but wearily.

  “Lately,” he said wryly, “I’ve been wondering if maybe I wasn’t losing my touch. I wasn’t kidding before when I said that no one else had even pretended to cooperate with me. You’re the first.” He lifted his glass to her again. “Thanks for restoring my confidence.” He took a swallow and put the glass back down. “When can you do the looking?” he asked.

  “Sometime tomorrow. I’d do it now but some of the accountants are working overtime and I’m afraid it might look odd if I went back tonight. Tomorrow I can take one file at a time to my desk and do it that way.”

  “Fine.” Devlin smiled at her. “You’d make a first-rate policeman.”

  “No, thanks,” she retorted, taking her turn at being wry. “All this intrigue is too much for me. I’m the quiet, homebody type.”

  “Are you?” he asked, his voice suddenly becoming serious.

  “Yes.” She looked down at the table and blushed again, slightly this time. Then she raised her eyes to meet his. “Yes, I am.” But she found Devlin’s eyes too deep, too piercing for her, so as if seeking escape from them she glanced at her watch. “I’m afraid I have to be going now. ”

  He paid for the drinks and walked outside with her. The rain had stopped but the air had turned cool so he took the raincoat from her arm and held it for her to put on.

  “It’s damp out,” he said simply, and she slipped into the coat without argument, a small smile, which he did not see, appearing briefly on her lips.

  “I live at eight hundred South Fairchild,” she said. “Large corner building; apartment Four-B. I’ll be home tomorrow night after seven. I’ll be able to tell you then whether there’s anything in the file.”

  “Eight hundred South Fairchild,” he repeated. “I’ll be there.”

  “See you then,” she smiled. “Thanks for the drink.”

  Devlin watched her walk away. Her legs were truly beautiful.

  Eighteen

  The Examiner sat straight and dignified in his plushly upholstered leather chair behind the highly polished cerulean table in the Blue Room. His ruddy face was freshly shaved and the silver-slashed black hair along his temples appeared damp, as if he had just come out of a shower or a pool. The dark clear eyes that looked out at the quiet room before him were, as always, alert and penetrating. His presence, as usual, was the most commanding element in the blue-toned chamber.

  “Mr. Keyes,” he said, addressing the seated, bound prisoner before his table, “the six members who comprise the Truth Court have now heard all the evidence which the Eden Movement has compiled against you. The crime you have been charged with as a result of that evidence is Inhumanity. The specifications to that charge are Promoting Depravity, Aiding and Abetting Moral Degeneracy, Undermining Civilization, and Larceny of a Human Mind. Are those charges clear to you?”

  “They’re clear, yes,” Keyes said indifferently with a slight shrug of one shoulder, “but I don’t see how any of them apply to me. I think you are taking advantage of me by not letting me have someone to defend me.”

  “You have someone, Mr. Keyes,” the Examiner told him. “You have yourself. Man can always defend himself with the truth—if he is free of guilt.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Keyes said smugly. He had returned to his original belligerent attitude, all others having quickly and uncerimoniously failed.

  “As to how the charges apply to you,” the Examiner said, ignoring the prisoner’s remark, “I will take a moment to clarify. The specification of Undermining Civilization relates directly to your culpability in the matter of your client Hal O’Brien’s illegitimate child. The specification of Aiding and Abetting Moral Degeneracy results from the part you played in the destruction of the lives of Molly Carlyle and Dan Merritt and their unborn child. The specifications of Larceny of a Human Mind and Promoting Depravity are both relevant to your conduct in your association with Abigail Daniels.” The Examiner folded his hands before him. “Are the charges clear now, Mr. Keyes?”

  J. Walter Keyes looked away and did not answer. He would not, he decided, dignify them with any further response.

  “Relative to the evidence presented,” the Examiner went on, “the members of the Truth Court panel, jointly and severally, have found you guilty of all specifications and, as such, guilty of the charge and the crime of Inhumanity.”

  The Examiner paused to give Keyes the opportunity to reply or object to the verdict. When it became obvious that the prisoner meant to continue ignoring him, he proceeded with the formalities.

  “Because of the serious nature of the crime of which you stand convicted, it is felt by the panel that you are entitled to have the members polled individually and to hear the verdict repeated by each of them in your presence. It is also felt that because of the graveness of the sentence that is likely to result from the conviction, that each member of the panel resolving the conviction is entitled to make known to his peers his personal reasoning in so doing. We will therefore now hear from the panel individually. ” The Examiner turned to the long table positioned at a right angle t
o his own. “Mr. Psychologist, may we hear from you first, please?”

  Dr. Milton Price removed the ornate pipe from his mouth and rose at his place at the table. His wrinkled tweed coat, as usual quite seedy in appearance, hung open in front due to the absence of a button he had neglected for more than a week to tell his wife about. The grey hair around his ears and at the back of his neck was becoming unkempt again; a result of the same neglect, directed this time toward his barber. Everything about him was grossly untidy. When he spoke, however, and the even, assured tone of his voice subtly conquered the silence in the Blue Room, all else about him was forgotten.

  “Mr. Examiner,” he said, “I have found Mr. Keyes guilty of the charges against him, based primarily on the conduct of his life as he has chosen to live it. To a great extent, I fully realize, a good deal of our lives as individuals is guided by environment, social class, family attitudes and a number of other factors over which we have no control—primarily because they begin when we are helpless infants and nothing occurs to change them. In many cases I, as a psychologist, have been faced with a patient whose attitude of hostility or wantonness or indifference or whatever, could be directly attributed to some basic factor in his everyday existence; a factor such as poverty, personal maltreatment, physical pain from an illness—something definite and disturbing, something that created in him the impulse to strike out at his fellow man, to hurt someone, to retaliate in some way for the anguish that life was causing him.