The Will

by Reed Arvin

  “What the hell is that?” Roger snapped. “You’re going the wrong way.”

  “Thirteen percent.”

  Roger looked at Hesston but kept his mouth shut.

  “Good boy. And don’t worry about Boyd. Nobody is going to suspect you. Nobody is going to suspect anybody. It’s wired.”

  Roger swallowed another gulp of whiskey to cover his humiliation and fear. He tried to tell himself he had won; he had pried out another three percent. “But what do you expect me to do? I can’t just walk up and kill the guy.”

  “Of course not, Roger. That would endanger all of us, and I can’t have that. Raymond is going to die the only death with no suspects. Suicide.”

  “You mean for Boyd to kill himself?” Roger asked incredulously. “Why would he kill himself right after finding out he’s rich?”

  “Money doesn’t mean anything to Boyd, Roger.”

  Roger tried to think, but his emotions and the booze made it hard to focus. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “Daddy always said everybody has a price.”

  Hesston looked bored. “There’s only one thing in this world that matters to Boyd. You’re forgetting where we started today, Roger.”

  Roger’s eyes opened wide. “You mean Ellen?”

  Hesston smiled. “Ellen.”

  T. R. Harris walked into the law office of Henry’s father shortly before noon the next morning, his face a scowl. He fixed Henry with a level gaze and said, “This was a setback.”

  Henry stood up and shook his hand. “Tell me.”

  “He’s more distant now. I tried to talk to him, but he was gone, retreated in his own world. We’ve got to give the drugs a chance to work, Henry. If you keep on upsetting him, we’re wasting our time.”

  “Look, I’m on your side. I’ve got a trial in two days, and I’d like nothing more than a coherent Raymond Boyd.”

  “That isn’t going to happen, not in two days.”

  “Of course. But the point is that his reaction confirms our suspicions about the wells,” Henry insisted. “The first visit wasn’t a fluke.”

  “I’m beginning to think that the real reason you want Boyd around is for your own purposes, not his.”

  Henry bristled. “What does that mean? Look, I’m here at my own expense, working on a case with very limited prospects. I don’t think I have to defend my motives.”

  “Taking him to the hospital gets him out of the way. But you’re trying to break open a case in a very short amount of time. Incidents like what happened at the well speed things up. I’m not sure that’s best for Raymond.”

  “We both know there’s more than brain chemistry involved in getting Raymond better. The truth has to come out, and that could take some pushing. I think that’s important for his sake, too.”

  “You push and things break loose. Have you stopped to think about what Raymond could get hit by?”

  “Sometimes I can’t think about anything else.”

  Harris looked troubled, but relaxed. “All right, I’ll get off your back. But he has to be left alone from this moment forward. Any more incidents, and I’m taking him back with me.”

  “I can’t fight that. You’re the doctor.”

  Harris nodded, leaning against Henry’s father’s battered desk. He looked around, curiosity derailing him for the moment. “So this is your new headquarters,” he said. “I call that fascinating.”

  “That so.”

  “Son takes over the father’s place, assumes his mantle. Moves into his domain to complete his unfinished work. Worlds of meaning in that. I could interpret this for you, if you like.”

  “I’m slightly busy at the moment,” Henry said.

  Harris shrugged. “How do things look?”

  “Ordinarily, the pressure would be on Roger. Overturning the wishes of the dearly departed is taken pretty seriously. On the other hand, most courts aren’t in Cheney County.”

  “Worried about Crandall influence?”

  Henry shook his head. “It’s not Crandalls I’m worried about right now.” Just then Amanda came in the door, weighed down by two large boxes. She stopped at the sight of Harris. “Is Raymond okay?” she asked.

  Henry got up and took one of the boxes. “He’s going to be all right,” he said. “I was just about to tell the doc here about your friend Carl.”

  Amanda’s face flushed with disgust. “I’m sleeping with Henry if he can nail him for something, even a parking ticket,” she said, setting her remaining box down. “And after what we saw at the wells, I think he might do just that.”

  “Then something good might come out of this,” Henry said, smiling.

  “My God, an anthropologist could use you two to study mating rituals,” Harris said. “I wish you’d just get it over with.”

  “I was only teasing,” Amanda said.

  Harris shrugged. “Fine,” he said, “have it your way. So what’s the story about the wells?”

  Henry could feel Amanda looking at him surreptitiously from across the desk. Having a psychiatrist around when you’re falling for somebody is definitely a pain in the ass, he thought. “Ammunition,” he said. “Only we don’t know what kind of gun we need to use it.”

  “Then why not go to the sheriff right now?” Harris asked. “Nail them before they get off the mark.”

  Henry shook his head. “Collier’s their boy. I’ve got to be bulletproof. I have to figure it out first.”

  Harris’ face clouded over. “You might not like what you find,” he said. “Listen, I need to say this to both of you. You two have decided to care about Raymond, and I’m glad. It’s the only reason I’m letting him stay here. But you shouldn’t operate with the assumption that he’s simply a victim. He’s carrying an enormous load of guilt, and those feelings must come from somewhere.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Amanda asked.

  “That he wants us both to be able to live with defending somebody who’s done something sordid,” Henry said.

  “He could end up in jail,” Harris said.

  “I woke up last night with that nightmare running in my head. But I’m here to protect him from that. You need to be prepared to testify if it comes down.”

  “I think we can keep him out of a conventional jail, even if things turn from bad to worse. But even the psychiatric hospitals for criminals . . .”

  “The way back for Raymond is through the truth,” Henry said, not letting Harris complete the grim thought. “But if it turns out that he was part of something terrible, that’s how it turns out.”

  Frank Hesston sat behind his desk, the lights low. His office was a kind of cool tomb to him, comfortable in worn leather and dark wood, the smell of cigar smoke suffused the upholstery. Early in the evening he liked just to sit, a halo of smoke surrounding his head, secure in the fastness of his secret wealth and public power.

  He had worked all day on the Crandall will, and felt he had earned this time, this tribute to his competency. Twelve million he had pried from the ground of Crandall’s ranch, patiently, never rushing, not making the mistakes that led petty crooks to their inevitable downfalls. He had let the money flow slowly, not attracting attention, mounting over the years into a variety of numbered accounts from Switzerland to the Caribbean.

  Flamboyant spending, the mark of an amateur, had always annoyed him. More important was the sense of security, the feeling of complete self-protection that only millions could give. He had spent some of the money, certainly, but always tactfully, and always far away from his life in the halls of state politics. The house he would disappear to, in a few years’ time, was in Costa Rica, and both it and the yacht docked in Fort Laud-erdale were titled in the name of a paper corporation, untraceable to him. Patience had insulated him, protected him. Patience and unshakable nerve.

  But recent events had required his most intense concentration, a focus that resisted any coming apart of the discipline he had imposed on Durand and, before his death, on Tyler Crandall. Now was the time to look
the greatest risk in the face and stare it down. Now was the final solution, the act that would seal all knowledge of what had really happened in a locked, buried casket. One week from now, he would be completely free.

  As he sat, he became aware through the haze of cigar smoke that the door to his office was moving. He saw the brass lever go down, and watched a crease of light open on the edge of the doorframe. He leaned back, watching with a sense of calm; he knew who it would be. He had planned for it. He had created the forces that led to its inevitability.

  Ellen pushed the door open and stepped into the office, her outline framed by the light behind her. “Hello, Frank,” she said, and her voice betrayed a kind of defeated exhaustion.

  “Hello, Ellen,” Hesston said, rising. “Come in. Please, be comfortable. Sit right here.”

  Ellen walked in on high heels, her stiletto shoes sinking into the plush carpet. She remained standing. “I’m here,” she said, not looking at him. “So talk.”

  “So hard,” Hesston said in a hurt voice, walking from around the desk. “But I’ve always liked you. That will be even more clear to you when I explain why I wanted to see you.” He leaned across his desk to kiss her cheek but she turned away, facing the wall. He shrugged and returned to his seat, a pale smile on his face. “I’ve always felt that you were the real victim in all this, you know,” he said. “And I’ve hated that.”

  “Maybe you should explain that to Jimmy Waddell.”

  “God, I had forgotten his name.” Hesston sighed. “The field hand was regrettable, but nothing compared with what you’ve been through. His suffering was over in an instant. A flash of sulfur, his brain choked of oxygen, the world going black. Your suffering has gone on for years. Now I want to make things right. You’ve been quiet for a long time, and the time has come to reward you.”

  “You had nothing to do with my keeping quiet,” Ellen said. “I had my own reasons for that.”

  “But that kind of dependability deserves a reward,” Hesston said. His expression softened. “Let’s not fight, Ellen. You and I have always understood each other so well. We’re so much alike, you know.”

  She turned to him at last, his wide face a place for her hatred to land. “I’m nothing like you,” she said in a raspy whisper.

  “We’re exactly the same, my dear. We both want to be protected from anything this big bad world can do to hurt us. We want a wall surrounding us that nothing can penetrate. The only difference between us is how much more of what we both want I have been able to get.” He picked up a cigar, caressing it between his fingers. “I know what you want, Ellen. And I’m prepared to give it to you. All you need.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  Hesston smiled indulgently. “Then call it something else. Call it the chance to start over, away from all this pain. Away from Roger, from Raymond. Away from the past. You can forget about Council Grove and everything in it and live life clean. Clean, Ellen. No ghosts to haunt you ever again.” His voice was a caress. “I have the door, Ellen. Behind that door is everything you ever wanted. All you have to do is open it.”

  “Why do you need me? I know you’re contesting the will. If you win that, you’ll have everything you want.”

  “Not everything.” Hesston set the cigar in a brass ashtray. “I want those doors closed forever. The trial is scrutiny. I don’t like scrutiny.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “To keep Mathews off my back until I can take care of things. He’s a dangerous young man, and he’s nosed around too much already. But Mathews or no Mathews, I don’t intend for that trial to ever come to a verdict.”

  She looked at him, fear and curiosity mingling in her expression. “What are you talking about?”

  Hesston’s voice turned even sweeter. “It’s enough to say that you can be a great help to me, and I am prepared to reward you for that help. I’m willing to give you a life far away from everything that’s hurt you so deeply.”

  Ellen’s voice was barely audible. “I don’t want to hurt Raymond.”

  Hesston smiled and stood from behind his desk. He walked slowly to the bar across the office and poured himself a drink. “Can I get you something?” he asked. She shook her head. He fixed himself a highball, carefully putting two cubes of ice in a glass. He poured scotch over the cubes, watching the dark liquid begin to melt the ice. “It’s not just your suffering that has broken my heart,” he said quietly. “I’ve had to endure Raymond’s suffering, too.” He took a drink, holding the scotch in his mouth a moment, savoring it before swallowing. “So any solution to my problem has to help him as well.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked darkly.

  “Right now I’m thinking of you, Ellen, of how simple everything really could be at last. All you have to do is open the door, walk through, and close it again behind you. You pass quietly into a new life. You never look back.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Think of it, darling. All the pieces of the game at rest,” Hesston said, his voice sounding tired. “No more fear, no more worrying. Ever since that horror at the well you’ve been waiting for your life to begin again, tortured by what you know. But you can never really live, not with Raymond near you, reminding you every day of your life of what you carry with you.” He crossed the room to her, and for a moment, he looked like he might take her in his arms. “You’re tired. You’re not young anymore. No, don’t turn away. I know how cruel it is that you wasted your youth on a man who gave you nothing. But think, darling. This is your last chance. If you don’t take it, you are going to die old, alone, and miserable in the same clapboard house you’ve lived in your whole life.” He moved even closer, and his voice was all warm breath. “It’s too late for games. Much too late. You have to face the mirror, my love. You have to face the lines in your skin. You have to face what your body is doing. Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart, not now. This is your life, and it’s the last chance you will ever have to avoid being horrible and hateful and utterly, completely alone.” His mouth was touching her ear now, lips against her skin. “I have two hundred thousand dollars for you, darling. I know what you make at the bank, Ellen. You can’t save a thousand dollars a year on it. With that money no one will ever call you cheap again. No broken-down house in Council Grove, no Kmart dresses. No cheap pictures on your walls. No bad memories. All that will fade away in your new life.”

  Ellen closed her eyes; her breathing became deeper, slower. “What will happen to Raymond?” she asked quietly.

  “I don’t want you to worry about that,” Hesston answered, and now he put his arm around her, supporting her weight. He kissed the side of her face very gently, just touching his lips to her skin. “I only want to protect you from anything that could ever hurt you. I want you to be safe.”

  Ellen’s eyes fluttered. She opened her purse, taking out a tissue. Carefully, she touched the tissue to her face, wiping her tears. Her breathing steadied, and her face took on a distant expression. Hesston took her hand and held it in his own, raising it to his lips. “It’s time to rest, Ellen,” he whispered. “It’s time to let go.”

  When she looked at him, he knew she was his.

  The trial was scheduled to begin at two o’clock, and that morning Henry stayed in his office, organizing his case and making a list of potential witnesses. If Hesston was going to break the will, there was only one way to do it: create an overwhelming case of circumstantial evidence that showed Crandall’s real intention had been to leave his estate to his family. The will, in such a view, would be either fraudulent, superseded by another will either lost or missing, or made in an emotional state not representative of Crandall’s true wishes. Ordinarily, such a case would be extremely difficult to prove, although Henry knew that large estates were commonly fought over. But ordinarily the plaintiffs weren’t Crandalls, they weren’t in Council Grove, and the beneficiary wasn’t a crazy man who lived in a park.

  Amanda came by with lunch at eleven-thirty. �
��Another Gladys special from the diner,” she said. “Just a sandwich and some coffee.”

  “Thanks,” Henry said, barely looking up. “I appreciate it.”

  She set the sack down on his desk. “Are you ready?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “For chaos? Who knows? We have a good position. But I’ll know ten minutes into the trial if that matters.”

  “Because?”

  “Because that’s how long it’ll take for me to figure out if the judge is above Crandall and Hesston influence.”

  Amanda glanced at her watch. “Not much time left,” she said. “Anything I can do?”

  Henry exhaled. “There is, actually.” He picked up a stack of papers. “You can run these by the clerk of the court. It’ll be on the second floor, just beside Brackman’s chambers.”

  “What do I tell him?”

  “That I’m sorry they weren’t there yesterday.”

  She laughed. “What can they expect? They dropped this on you.”

  “Procedure’s funny, though,” Henry said, barely looking up. “It doesn’t care how much sleep you’ve had.”

  “All right. I’ll just meet you over there, okay? And, Henry, leave a little early. There’s a crowd at the courthouse.”

  Henry put down his pen. “Like the sheriff said, the entertainment options are limited around here. How many?”

  She shrugged. “Sixty or seventy outside. I don’t know how many more inside.”

  “Just what we need, a little circus atmosphere.”

  “I know. It doesn’t help you to spend time talking to me. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. And good luck.”

  Henry drank the coffee, ignoring the sandwich. He worked a while longer, and just after one made a list of his assets and liabilities. Most encouraging was the in terrorem; it showed that Crandall knew that his plan would cause controversy, demonstrating a clear state of mind. On the negative side, nobody had seen Boyd and Crandall speak for more than twenty-five years, at least nobody who had come forward. Moreover, the Crandalls were powerful, and they were allied with a highly competent and experienced lawyer. And there was Boyd himself; emotionally, it would be hard for a judge to let someone like Raymond walk off with what seemed so logically to belong to the family.