Undertow

by Warren Adler

  The young policeman held out his hand, brushing it first on his shirt (perhaps a reflex that revealed more of a class complex than cleanliness).

  “Officer Benton.”

  He was in his early twenties, his black hair pasted against the side of his head (an anachronistic hairdo, but somehow not out of place). Without his uniform, he could have been pumping a gas tank or delivering groceries.

  It was better than we dreamed. A green kid. We were able to use the subtle intimidation that only a celebrity could carry off on this type of person. Don sensed this. He was calm, deliberate.

  “I’ll tell you what we do. I’m staying about a mile from here. Why don’t I give you a statement. It may be we’re unnecessarily alarmed. Maybe the girl is safe, after all. Just you write it down, and I’ll get back to My place, and you can have the chief call later in the morning. I think, though, that you should at least get the facts down and start to proceed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Officer Benton said. He pulled an electric typewriter on its stand toward the desk, put a piece of paper in the carriage, and proceeded to take our dictation. Don devised a short, quick statement. Heavy tide. Slipped. Got carried away. Tried to save her. No details of time or place. Vague. All as agreed. It was a lot less painful than we had expected. He signed the statement and made sure the boy gave him a carbon copy.

  The young patrolman looked at it, then pulled another piece of paper out of the drawer. “Can I have you autograph?” he said.

  Don signed the paper. “I would appreciate your giving me a call if anything turns up. I plan to be at this number all day.”

  We left the station house and got back into the car. It was all so simple, so casual. One had the feeling the young patrolman even welcomed our quick exit so he could call his wife or mother about this sudden difference in the dull pattern of his days.

  “Okay, that’s done,” Don said. “So far, so good. But the shit is now about to hit the fan. At least I can gather my wits now. Could you imagine if we had some son-of-a-bitch at the desk? He would really have killed us.”

  “The old James luck.”

  “Yeah. I’m real lucky, Lou.”

  “He could have been one of those officious crew-cut types who talk like a book of regulations. I think we’ve passed this hurdle nicely.”

  “And I think we took advantage of the kid. He’ll pay for it someday.”

  XIII

  Back at the beach house, Jack had literally sprung into action. His glasses were on his forehead as he barked orders into the telephone.

  Don was getting retrospective again, slipping deep into himself. This could be disastrous. He looked around for Karen. “Where’s Karen?”

  “She was here a bit ago,” Jack said. “Try outside.” He peered through the screen. We could see Karen in the distance, along the water’s edge, a huddled figure in the gloom and chill of the early morning. Don started out towards her.

  “Hey, Don,” Jack called. “We’ve got things to do.” Don ignored him and proceeded to the water’s edge.

  I showed Jack a carbon of the statement we had signed at the police station. He read it while still on the phone.

  “. . . and I want that AP and UPI wire watched. Just keep the line open at the motel. One line only. Don’t hang it up. All we’ve got here is one phone. Just dictate it and shuttle it over to us. You’re about a half mile from the house.”

  He hung up.

  “The way I figure it, the first bulletin will come over the AP or UPI. I’ve got someone covering that base. At this point, all publicity is the enemy. We’ve got to see what the enemy is up to.”

  Jack Barnstable was one of those people who get turned on by crisis. He was like a lion who spots a kill—all tense, every nerve taut, with calculating intelligence, alert, with all energy and concentration on the prey.

  The two sounds were almost simultaneous: the earsplitting siren, as it shattered the early morning stillness, and the unfamiliar, tinny ring of the telephone. The siren stopped outside the door. We heard car doors slam and the march of heavy footsteps outside. Jack looked out the window.

  “Here they come. Looks like the chief and two patrolmen. I’ll get them. Take the phone.”

  I answered the phone.

  “This is station WSIL. My name is Cleveland. We just got a police bulletin about Senator James—some drowning. Could you give me the information?”

  “Where did you say you were from?”

  “Station WSIL. I’m the night disc jockey.”

  Another burst of luck. Another amateur. If only the professional will stay hidden for a while, I thought.

  “Okay,” I said. “Here it is. Ready? One of Senator James’ staff people fell in the ocean and drowned. At least we think she drowned.”

  I gave him nothing concrete. No names. No race. No age. He would call it in to the wire services and get his $2.00, and that’s the way the world will first get it.

  Almost as soon as I hung up, the telephone rang again. From the corner of my eye, I could see Christine emerge from a bedroom, and it occurred to me that the typewriter had been clicking since we arrived.

  “Yes,” I barked into the phone. The police chief had been shown in by Jack and was being taken out to the screened porch, outside my field of vision. The voice on the telephone was that of Henry Davis, one of Barnstable’s bright young political P.R. types, apparently staying at the Rehoboth Motel.

  “Give this to Barnstable, Lou. We’re ready to make our calls to the state coordinators. We need word from you fellows on what the line is. We need some answers if the calls are to be credible.” He lowered his voice. “I wish you could be more explicit as to what’s going on. We’ll sound like dummies when we make those calls.”

  “You’ll know soon enough,” I said, hanging up.

  I called Christine and took her out of earshot of the police, who were standing in the sun porch watching Don and Karen on the beach.

  “Just stand by the phone. If it’s the press, no comment. I think we might be lucky on the first break. No need to complicate anything with any additional information.”

  Jack was waving me toward the screened porch, a sense of urgency on his face. I could hear the police chief’s voice.

  Chief Bernhard was one of those leathery types, with a face all lined and wrinkled. One might take him for retired navy. Even his voice had that same leathery quality, worn and gravel toned. From his very first words, I got the feeling that he was skeptical, not only of our own story, but of all human aspirations. Perhaps it was the nature of his job. But distrust was written all over him. I introduced myself to him and made an attempt at small talk; then, seeing that I was getting no reaction either out of him or the two stony-faced types beside him, I gave up. There is no more frustrating experience than being up against a nonreaction person, a blank.

  “I’d like you to point out to me where she went in,” Chief Bernhard said. I obeyed, showing him just where she had begun to slip. Then I showed him that point where we both went in after her and where we lost her.

  “Has her body been found?” I asked.

  “Too early. We figure she’ll come up at Buzzards Point in about an hour or so. I’ve got men out there, waiting. Tides at this time of year point to that area.”

  Frankly, the information relieved me. It, once and for all, blotted out the possibility of getting rid of Marlena’s body.

  XIV

  Don and Karen started back from the water’s edge, their faces tight and grey in the morning light. We all watched them silently as they approached. I introduced them to Chief Bernhard and the patrolmen, who had their names engraved on little black plates across their right-hand vest pockets: Officer Barker and Officer Sims. Both Don and Karen flashed their best political smiles, that casual, relaxed lip smile, showing lots of teeth, the mouth opened slightly, the head back a bit, as if they were on the verge of unparalleled joy. Force of habit. They picked out the most incongruous weapon from their arsenal. Chief Bernhard showed n
o reaction. The effort was wasted on him.

  He did, however, shake hands—a kind of limp, suspicious, and perfunctory movement. Both patrolmen had their pads and pencils ready, and, as if on signal, both began to jot down some notes.

  “Would you mind if my men went through her effects?” Chief Bernhard asked. Don looked at me and shrugged.

  “I suppose,” I said. “If you think you ought to.”

  He nodded to his men who went off into the interior of the house.

  I had half expected him to say something like “just routine,” but he disappointed me. He very definitely was not a cliché of a police chief.

  “Now, will you tell me exactly how she got into the water, Senator?”

  Don explained, as carefully as he could, the technical aspects of the drowning, beginning at the point when Marlena got caught in the swirl of the tide. It was as if the entire episode had begun at that point in time. Don, as always, was quite articulate as he explained the sequence of events, both during and after we had lost her. The details were merely that—pure details, facts, bare of observation, stripped clean of any emotion. Chief Bernhard listened intently, watching Don’s lips move, as if he were deaf, reading his lips. It was a peculiar trait, watching a person’s lips, especially in a man who could hear. I hadn’t noticed it until he began to listen to Don. It was extremely annoying. Perhaps it was just a device to make the speaker uncomfortable. I wondered if Don noticed it. If so, he didn’t reveal himself but just went on with his description, almost as a small child tells a story in perfect chronology. “And then I did this. Then this. Then this.” Don’s voice was strong and confident. Karen sat beside him on the rattan couch, where yesterday Don and Marlena had slept and felt closeness. The brief image of that scene chilled me. I involuntarily shook my head, as if I had swallowed something too sour.

  “I appreciate your thoroughness, Senator,” Chief Bernhard said. “But what I would like to know is how she got into that water in the first place.”

  “We were sort of jogging along the beach.”

  “Jogging?”

  “More like tag. You know. One person chases another. We were all taking a little exercise.”

  “And she simply ran, or was chased, into forty-degree water?”

  “More or less.”

  “Was there any drinking?”

  “We had just had lunch. Some wine.”

  We both knew that he was skirting around the edges, that he was narrowing his base until he had worked himself into the eye of the target.

  “Do you always come out here, Senator?”

  Don looked at me. For a moment, I could detect some helplessness, some brief indecision. It was like reading sign language. In that split second, he had made up his mind. He knew what he was going to say.

  “Only occasionally, Chief. One of my Washington neighbors, Harley Donovan, owns this place. We’ve come here for years with the family. Occasionally we use it for working weekends, like this one. I brought my staff people this weekend. Lou Castle here, my administrative assistant, my secretary, Christine Donato, over there by the phone, and, of course, Marlena Jackson, one of my staff assistants on the education sub-committee of the senate, of which I am chairman. She was working on the problems of minority education, which you know have been absorbing the country. Bright girl. A damned shame. She had a great future.”

  It was difficult to read anything in the chief’s face. Don had hardly answered the question, although to an untrained ear it might have sounded like it. I knew by his next statement that the Chief was not buying the explanation.

  “Oh, a working weekend—is that what you’d call it?” It was half statement, half question. Since it was not clearly defined as a question, Don remained silent.

  “Was your wife here, too?” Chief Bernhard asked, looking at Karen. She smiled, a little too toothily again.

  “No. I was back in Washington. Came in early this morning. Don called me. He was so upset. It is upsetting, you know.”

  “Yes, I can well understand,” Chief Bernhard said.

  “What time did you say it all happened?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure. Lou?”

  “About sundown,” I said, feeling a tightening in my throat. “It suddenly had gotten dark.”

  What the hell. It had to be said. It was in the air now. No way to avoid this turn of the road. This was the point that required real finesse.

  “Why did you wait so long?” Chief Bernhard asked. “Nearly eleven hours.” I thought he would go on with some admonishment. Instead, he clipped the sentence short—cleverly, I thought—letting the thought hang there like an accusing finger.

  “I really can’t offer you an explanation of that, Chief,” Don was playing a strong game with a weak hand and knew it.

  “Eleven hours, Senator.”

  “Yes, eleven hours.”

  “You don’t think that’s strange?”

  “Strange?”

  “Yes, strange. Eleven hours. Did it ever occur to you that fast action might have saved her?”

  “Nothing, in my opinion, could have saved her. We tried. We searched. It was hopeless. We searched for hours. It exhausted us.”

  “Why didn’t you call for help?”

  “We were so damn busy trying to find her. It probably never occurred to us.”

  “Never occurred to you,” Chief Bernhard said.

  “It’s hard to keep your wits about you in such circumstances.”

  “You say you searched for that girl for eleven straight hours.”

  “Most of it.”

  “How do you search a single stretch of beach for eleven straight hours?”

  “We felt it was worth the time.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Well, that’s what we did.”

  “I just don’t understand it,” Chief Bernhard said, still stoic, neither smiling nor frowning. “In any event, we haven’t got a body yet.”

  “That’s right.”

  “The body will tell us something.”

  The implications were impressively clear. We had agreed not to be baited by inferences, and, I must say, Don was masterful. He held himself in check. The chief was trying to break our cool. Hell, we couldn’t blame him. That was his job, and he was doing it well, in the face of great intimidation.

  “I think the implications of that remark are insulting,” Don said.

  “You don’t think I have the right to make it?”

  “You’re questioning my integrity?”

  “I am.”

  “I am a United States senator.”

  “Yes,” Chief Bernhard paused, “and a senator in deep trouble, I’d guess.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  “I’m not a fool, Senator. There’s a young woman involved here, a weekend at the beach. You’ve got to admit there are ingredients here that are suspect.”

  “Yes, I have to admit that.”

  “So let’s not be thin-skinned about implications.”

  “I know. You’re only doing your job, I suppose.”

  “Yes. And I promise I won’t make hasty judgments.”

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  “I believe the body will tell us something.”

  “Yes, I suppose it will.”

  “Like cause of death, for example.”

  “Cause of death? I told you the girl probably drowned.”

  “We shall see.”

  “You sound ominous.”

  “It’s the business I’m in.”

  “I think you’re subjecting me to a suspicion that I don’t deserve.” Don paused, but I could see his hands begin to tremble. “Even an inadvertent hint of such a suspicion can have a fatal effect on my career.”

  “Suspicion of what?”

  Don backed off. He restrained further comment. “Come on, Chief. You know what I mean.”

  “I’d be less than honest if the possibility were dismissed.”

  “I suppose.”

  “The sea
is a potent weapon. In this area, it cannot be discounted.”

  “Of course. I was unnecessarily indignant.” Don’s tone was apologetic.

  “There is always a thin line here. Accident, suicide—murder.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Don said hastily. “I guess I can only hope you believe me.”

  “About the accident?”

  “Yes, the accident.”

  “Senator, I must impress upon you. It’s too early for conclusions.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chief Bernhard stood up. He did not shake hands. Without a word, he walked out to the beach in the direction of the water’s edge. We said nothing to each other. The chief stood looking out over the sea.

  After a while he returned. The two patrolmen had finished their search.

  “Nothing unusual,” one of them said, looking over his notes.

  “We’ll be back, Senator,” the Chief said. He left by the front door. From the window, we could see him talking to his men. One patrolman stayed behind. He took up a post in front of the door. Then the chief and the other patrolman got into the car and drove off.

  The siren was silent.

  XV

  When they had gone, Jack Barnstable stood up and stretched his long frame.

  “We’ve got a fox on our backs,” he said.

  “I hope he’s a good investigator,” Don said. “That’s all I can ask.”

  I knew what he meant. We all knew.

  “There is only one conclusion,” I said, hoping that I could believe my own words.

  “It was an accident,” Don said. “It was an accident.”

  “It’s on the ticker,” Christine interrupted. “AP got it first. Just one paragraph.”

  “Was it carried as a bulletin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit.”

  “It said, ‘Senator Donald Benjamin James today reported the drowning of a young woman staff member during a weekend outing in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. The staff person, whose name was not immediately known, was a twenty-two-year-old black girl. According to police officials in Rehoboth Beach, Senator James and his Administrative Assistant, Lou Castle, reported the drowning at 6:00 A.M. this morning.’ ”