The Will

by Reed Arvin

  “Why would Tyler Crandall, who was already your lover, want you to do that?”

  “Because he thought I could make Raymond do something Tyler wanted him to do.”

  “What was that thing?”

  “First, to loan him money.”

  “To help set up his oil operation?”

  “Yes. To buy the land.”

  “Why would your sleeping with Raymond make him do that?”

  “Tyler told Raymond that he was going to give me to him,” she said.

  “Did he have the power to do that, Ms. Gaudet? To give you to another man?”

  Another pause, this time longer. “Yes.”

  Henry stopped a moment, letting both himself and Ellen regroup. Then he returned to the wells. “Was it only to buy the land that Tyler needed Raymond Boyd’s help, Ms. Gaudet?”

  “No. But once Raymond made the loan, it was easier to get him to keep helping. Raymond knew he had done wrong. It was a kind of trap, I guess.”

  “What else did Tyler want Raymond to do?”

  “They needed help to put some extra pipes down in the ground. It had to be done in one night, Tyler said, and it would take at least four people to do it. And he wanted to get Raymond involved so he would have to keep quiet about the loan.”

  “Four people?” Henry asked. “So far we have Tyler and Raymond. Who were the others?”

  “There was a field hand, Jimmy Waddell. They needed him to make the connection. Tyler said it was dangerous, and he didn’t want to do it.”

  “The roustabout who died during the drilling of the Crandall wells.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So there was Raymond, Tyler, and the roustabout. That’s three. Who was the fourth?”

  Ellen closed her eyes. “Carl Durand.”

  Henry had never felt so in control. Brackman was on his side. Hesston could do nothing. “Why was Carl Durand there?” he asked.

  “He knew all about wells. Durand had to be there to supervise the whole thing. Tyler said it was complicated, dangerous. He said they were taking a big risk.”

  “Then why use Raymond? Didn’t they just need a pair of arms? Why involve someone from the bank?”

  “Tyler said they needed Raymond to be in on it. They had a lot of other ideas, and Tyler said having the bank in his pocket was a good thing.”

  Henry walked over toward Hesston’s desk, casually, as though the proximity was incidental. But he looked into Hesston’s eyes for the pure pleasure of witnessing a bully tasting fear. He didn’t know how far Ellen would go. She had already gone further than he had dared hope. But for now, he was in no hurry to close the noose. It was like a drug just to know that Ellen Gaudet, for more than twenty-five years powerless and used, held Durand and Hesston in her lined, overly tanned hands. “Ms. Gaudet, what else did Tyler tell you about that night?”

  “They got all the pipe laid in like they planned. But Durand didn’t like loose ends. They couldn’t do anything about Raymond. They needed him anyway. But the roustabout had to be taken care of.”

  “Taken care of?”

  “He didn’t have any family. That’s why they picked him.”

  “So you’re saying that the story about the roustabout dying in an accident isn’t true.”

  “There was no accident. I know who killed him.”

  Henry walked slowly to the witness box, trying to hold her focus, hoping and even, for one second, praying that she would stay strong. He reached the box and gripped the edge of the gate. The destiny of everyone involved in Ty Crandall’s will was about to change forever. “Ms. Gaudet, who killed that roustabout?”

  Ellen began to cry slightly now, little tears escaping her resolve to feel nothing. But when she spoke, her voice was clear. “Raymond Boyd,” she said. “Raymond Boyd killed him.”

  Henry leaned against the witness gate, feeling her words like a blow against his chest. Guilt, the doctor had said, enough guilt to fracture him and drive him to the park. Enough to slowly unravel his mind. “How do you know that Raymond Boyd killed him?”

  “It was all planned. Durand told Raymond to turn a wheel on the wellhead while the roustabout was down in the hole. He turned it, and some kind of gas came out.”

  “Sulfur gas?”

  “I think that’s right. It killed the roustabout in just a few seconds. Durand told everyone it happened the next day while the man was alone working on the well. He said oil rigs were dangerous, and it was just one of those things.”

  “You’re saying that Raymond Boyd murdered the roustabout.”

  “He didn’t know what the wheel was going to do. That was a part of the plan.”

  “How can you be sure Raymond didn’t know what the wheel would do?”

  “Durand and Tyler didn’t want to be the ones. They set it up for Raymond to do it.”

  “So that was another reason to have someone else there? To take care of Waddell?”

  “Yes. Tyler said they would get Raymond to kill the roustabout and make it so he could never say anything. Then they could use the bank whenever they wanted.”

  “Use the bank for what, Ms. Gaudet?”

  “To clean the money.”

  “That part didn’t work out, did it?”

  She looked down. “No,” she said. “Tyler didn’t really understand Raymond. He was right about Raymond not being able to tell anybody what had happened that night. But he was wrong to think Raymond could stay and pretend. He wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t strong like Tyler. So he made himself quiet inside. He covered up everything he knew in his craziness.”

  “He moved to Custer’s Elm.”

  “He did that to stay near me,” she said quickly. “He couldn’t bear to be apart. He couldn’t bear to see me either. He knew that I had betrayed him.”

  “Why didn’t you come forward? Why didn’t you tell what you knew?”

  A wave of anguish swept across Ellen’s face. “Tyler told me he would take care of me.”

  “What did he mean by that?”

  “That we would be together if I kept quiet.”

  “You mean that he would divorce his wife?”

  She smiled, a hard, thin curve of her mouth. “I suppose.”

  “You’ve known that wasn’t going to happen for a long while, haven’t you, Ms. Gaudet?”

  “Of course.”

  “So once you realized you had been used, why did you keep silent? Were you afraid?”

  “No. I don’t know.”

  “Then what kept you from telling the truth, Ms. Gaudet?”

  “Raymond.”

  “I asked you once before if you were in love with Raymond Boyd. You told the court no. Are you sure that your answer was correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell this court why it was so important for you to protect him.”

  Now, at last, she broke her long, unfeeling stare into space. “Because somewhere along the way I realized that he was the only man in the world who had ever actually loved me.” With those words she released herself and began sobbing gently, her body heaving in small convulsions.

  Henry let her cry a moment, hoping she could hold herself together just a little longer. “Ms. Gaudet, I have one final question. Was there anyone else who knew about what had happened that night at the wells?”

  Ellen’s crying subsided as she willed herself back under control to answer. It took some time, and Henry waited, hoping that, having lost her pride, she might find her courage. When she spoke, her voice was very still. “Yes,” she said.

  “Who was that person, Ms. Gaudet?”

  Ellen lifted her arm, pointing a long, slender finger toward the table across from Henry’s. “He knew,” she said. “Frank Hesston was behind every bit of it.”

  Henry exhaled and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Ms. Gaudet. I have no further questions.”

  Frank Hesston was cuffed where he sat in the courtroom, Brackman giving the order. As the bailiff led him from the courtroom, he had stared, dumbfounde
d, not at Brackman or Henry, but only at Ellen, eyes locked on her until he passed out of the room.

  Carl Durand was stopped by U.S. marshals as he entered the Kansas City International Airport. He was wearing cowboy boots, a Kansas City Chiefs sweatshirt, sunglasses, and a dark jacket. He was carrying seventy thousand dollars in cash.

  What happened to either of them afterward didn’t matter to Henry. What mattered was Raymond, and when Dr. Harris called to say that he was out of immediate danger, Henry let himself think that God had heard Amanda’s prayer.

  Closing up his father’s office took less time than reopening it. He and Amanda loaded the fax and copy machine into Henry’s car, and all the papers from the case fit neatly into a couple of boxes. Before they closed the door, Henry surprised himself by rearranging the furniture a last time. He pulled the desk over to the side where his father had placed it, and pushed the filing cabinets behind. He flicked off the lights and pulled the door shut. “So that’s it, then,” he said.

  “And what’s going to happen about Raymond and the money?”

  “The will is validated, obviously. But there will be practically nothing left. With the cost of the fire containment, the back taxes and penalties, it won’t be much.”

  “But something, right?”

  “A little, I hope. It depends on how things go. It’s Margaret I’m worried about.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, Henry. You never wanted her name on that court document.”

  “I know. It’s just another reason to detest Roger, as if I needed it. At least she has Sarah, and some family of her own, I assume. Between that and Social Security she won’t starve.”

  “And the criminal charges on Raymond?”

  “The DA says they’re not pressing charges about the roustabout. He says he’s suffered enough.”

  “Anyway, he didn’t know what was going to happen. But he did know about the wells, Henry. Breaking the law for love isn’t a defense.”

  “The statute of limitations is long past for that,” Henry said. “Of course, for murder, it’s indefinite. But for everything else—the bank loan, the wells—he’s clean.”

  She sighed. “So that’s all right. You really are finished.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So now what?”

  Neither of them had spoken about the future, and he was grateful for it. But that talk couldn’t be put off forever. “Well, my immediate plans are to show you how grateful I am for your help on this,” he said. “That could take some considerable time.”

  She laughed and kissed him, a kiss warm, sexual, and full of promise. “I’m a patient woman,” she said. “And after that?”

  “Not sure,” he said. “Any ideas?”

  She looked down, obviously uncomfortable. “I played with this stupid idea for a while. That you’d open up this office again and practice here.”

  “Dr. Harris would just love that, wouldn’t he? Him and his oedipal theories.” He looked across the square. “But no, I can’t do that. This place is behind me. I can’t live here again.”

  “Even if they need you here? Think of what you could do, Henry. You could defend these people in a way your father never could.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But it’s a mistake to think of yourself as a savior. I don’t want the job.” He looked at her, feeling her sense of exposure and wanting to relieve it. “Anyway, you weren’t the only one with crazy ideas,” he said. “I kept wondering all morning how you feel about Chicago. The day we met you told me you loved it.”

  She took his hand. “I do. But we got Durand, Henry. And the man who’s taking his place on the oil and gas committee—Sam Coulton—he’s wonderful. He’s promised to push for full funding for the agency. I can finally do what I’ve been fighting for the past two years.”

  He looked at her, feeling her dedication, knowing that no plans between them would be right if they pulled her away from her cause. “Then we’ll just have to keep thinking,” he said, putting his arm around her. “I hate to think of the phone bills.”

  She smiled, and then said with a start, “Henry, your cell phone bill through all this—it’ll be a thousand dollars.”

  Henry got a faraway look. “What day of the month is it?”

  “I don’t know. The twenty-third, I think.”

  He smiled. “Paid to the end of the month by the firm of Wilson, Lougherby and Mathers. God, I love irony.”

  She laughed out loud. “Are you sure they won’t sue?”

  “They can’t turn on the lights for a thousand bucks. I’m home free.”

  She kissed him again, more lightly, and said, “Then come show me how grateful you are.”

  Henry’s room was quiet. They had passed the day together, and now it was evening, the light fading through a sliver of curtain onto the bed. His fingers touched her back, tracing downward in lazy circles. He watched her skin yield to his touch, a soft indentation that traveled under his fingers, supple, soft, and warm. When at last his fingers reached her buttocks, her breathing deepened, and he began to kiss her back, lips open, tongue gently flicking. He breathed her in, closing his eyes and letting his own inner protections begin to collapse. He wanted inside her, not just a penetration but an abandonment of soul. He wanted to enter her place where time and light stopped, and only the warm, dark caress of tongue and nipple and entwined fingers remained.

  She turned over and looked at him, taking in his body deliberately, her eyes staring unabashedly at his crotch, his legs, his shoulders. “I want to feel your weight on me,” she said in a whisper, and he moved, happy and obedient, to cover her with himself. Their hips met and she was touching him, teasing and guiding him. There was a low exhalation of his breath and they began moving together, tentative at first, then a rhythm emerging. They gained speed slowly, a cycle of tempos growing like a storm. He opened his eyes and saw her looking at him, her hair errant and wicked, her smile childlike and determined. He grabbed her buttocks and drove into her, breathing hard as tiny droplets of sweat formed on his face.

  He closed his eyes again and he was floating above himself, he didn’t know for how long, his vision tunneled and focused utterly on the one thing. Then, as he released an explosion of breath, he heard her muffled gasp and felt her open mouth on his shoulder.

  No secrets were shared afterward, and none were necessary. Neither moved, and Henry had no recollection of coming apart from her. Only sleep as dark as starless midnight, and the bliss of utter, abandoned nothingness.

  When the sun came up the next morning Henry turned to feel Amanda in his bed. She wasn’t there, and he opened his eyes to see her sitting across the room in a chair, looking at him with a smile. “Good morning,” she said.

  Henry breathed deeply, taking in her scent from the pillow and sheets around him. “Yes, it is. Very good.”

  “You’re up early.”

  “So are you. But I’m glad. I have somewhere to go, and I want to be there early.”

  “Of course. We’ll go to the hospital together.”

  Henry sat up, pushing a pillow behind his back. He licked his lips and ran his hand through his hair. “Not the hospital. And I need to go alone, if that’s all right.”

  “Alone?” She looked surprised and disappointed. “If you need to.”

  “Look, I know it’s bad timing.” She nodded, and he said, “It’s just something I have to do before I leave. It won’t take me long.”

  “Can I ask where you’re going?”

  “Yes, and I’ll tell you. But I’d rather you didn’t. It’s just personal.”

  “All right,” she said, turning to the sink for a hairbrush. “Then you’d better get started.”

  Henry pulled the sheets back, stretched, and stood naked behind her. He reached down and kissed her on the back of the neck softly, then again on the cheek. She turned and put her arms around him, pulling him close. “I’m just getting used to you,” she said.

  “I know. I can tell you that where I’m going doesn’t have an
ything to do with us.”

  She looked at him a moment, then kissed his cheek, releasing him. He walked to the closet and pulled on some underwear, blue jeans, and a tan pullover. At the door he said, “I’ll meet you here. Give me a couple of hours.” She nodded silently, and he pulled the door shut behind him.

  Henry got in his car and drove west on Highway 59, the morning silently opening up outside his windows. He settled into a cruise, passing through tiny towns of only a few hundred people. After a half hour he pulled into Caldwell, the town where his father had been born. He turned left onto a gravel road at the outskirts of the place, and rolled to a stop in front of a small clapboard church. Off to the right he saw the small, neatly kept cemetery that adjoined the church lawn. He got out and walked underneath a cast-iron arch that marked the entryway.

  Henry walked through the little graveyard slowly until he stood before two side-by-side plots sharing a single wide gravestone. He looked down and read the inscription: HENRY AND KATHRYN MATHEWS, HUSBAND AND WIFE. FROM EARTH TO HEAVEN’S SAFE ARMS. He kneeled in front of the stone, running his fingers over the granite letters. He didn’t cry. He was simply still for a long time, feeling the breeze on his skin and the warming sun on his neck. He saw his mother, holding the house and family together on a shoestring. He saw his father, struggling against the injustices he found in the world, losing more than he won, forever dedicated, forever optimistic. For every deep truth, there is pain. Even for the Christ. He finally stood up and reached in his pocket. He pulled out the key to his father’s office and laid it on the headstone. “I got the bastards,” he whispered. He walked to his car without turning back.

  Amanda was ready to go when he got back to the motel, and had packed his belongings as well. She didn’t ask where he had gone, and he kissed her gratefully. They reconnected easily, and the drive to the hospital in Kansas City was sweet. The Flinthills unwound beneath them, the sun arcing between cloud cover across the plains in enormous sheets of light. The outskirts of Kansas City finally appeared, and they made their way through town to Raymond’s hospital.