“Oh, I already answered that question for Mr. Moize and the answer was no.”
“You would so testify?”
Cadmean pushed the fat pads of his fingertips together. “I recall Solomon also saying there were six things the Lord hates, and one was a false witness who breathes out lies.” The big gnarled fingers interwove, flew apart, interwove. “And another one was a heart that devises wicked plans. You want to hear this short story?”
My shadow, looking strange to me with its wavery cane, nodded.
He pulled out a thick brass lighter and held it up into the sun. “Why don’t we wait for Captain Mangum?”
“No, sir. I’m afraid you’re going to have to put up with a small audience.”
“All right, then.” The fat old man scratched his song against the shave of his cheek with the lighter, his little, lidded eyes on me. “Say there was a man from Atlanta named Cary Bogue, a sort of rival of mine, a ferret and a hog. Maybe you already heard how he came up into our state and tried to work a shady deal that fell through when Bainton died. Say this ferret had gone right then and there to Cloris; says, ‘Let’s you and me dicker, and while we’re at it, I would truly love to get my hands on all those old coins of your departed one.’ Well now, maybe Cloris was not the sort of woman I’m particular to. But she was a feeling woman, and this Bogue showing up the day after her husband died, came across to her a little too much like a carrion crow, so she told him she was making a vow: ‘Not you, not now, not ever.’“
I said, “Skip on ahead some, Mr. Cadmean.”
Slanted light made a play of our shadows against the wall while Mr. Cadmean gazed around the sun-smoky courtroom. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s skip to a few months back when Mr. Bogue fell into conversation with somebody from Hillston who knew Cloris. And Bogue mentioned how he’d, all those years ago, wanted those pretty coins and those designs, and how maybe he still did, because maybe Ames was so smart he could see the goddamn future far enough ahead nobody could be sure they’d still quite caught up to him. You follow me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good, Justin. I appreciate a good listener.”
“Who is this somebody from Hillston?”
Cadmean flicked open the lighter; flame shot up and he blew it out with his pink, puffed lips. “You know him, son. I believe I heard you did to him what he tried to do to me.”
I knew he meant Lawry Whetstone and saw in the sleepily watchful eyes that he was aware I knew.
I said, “I don’t appreciate the comparison. Another thing, Lawry knew what I was ‘doing to him,’ and he didn’t care. And that, I’ll confess, makes me feel even shabbier about it.”
He nodded. “You’re old-fashioned. Like me.”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, I didn’t know I was getting two-timed. But I found out.” The lighter flicked again. “And I did care.”
“And?”
“And I’m afraid my vice president’s liable to be disappointed when he gets back from—what do you call it again? Cruising? I’m afraid Lawry was hoping my board wouldn’t want to tie up so much capital in any new looms just now, when he’s so pressed for cash to finish that electronics plant of his.” Cadmean shifted his huge bulk in the chair. “My vice president spends a lot of time conglomerating and socializing in big-money places, like Atlanta. I’m truly a simple old man. I’ve found out it’s easier to keep your house in order if you stay home and live in it. Sort of like keeping your wife to yourself, am I right? Another thing I’m old-fashioned about is credit. It appears my vice president had arranged to lease on credit a bunch of machinery for his new plant from a place in New England that, pitifully enough, had to go out of business. But this credit was on a mighty short leash. That’s why not getting my capital is going to be a disappointment to him.”
“But I bet you’re going to enjoy telling him.”
“Oh, I am.” Cadmean probed at the bones padded beneath the bald scalp. “I don’t believe he’s going to be all that surprised. Lawry and I already had a little talk about his last trip to Atlanta, when he ran into Mr. Bogue and Mr. Bogue was in a position to offer him a little capital in a hurry to hold off those creditors.”
“And in exchange, what was Lawry offering Bogue?”
“Using my imagination, I’d say he promised he’d talk a foolish woman into selling Mr. Bogue some coins, plus some designs she had no right to sell.” Cadmean’s puffy lips pushed in and out as he got up from his chair now and came across the room. “Problem is, Lawry forgot to remember one thing about women. They change their minds. Like that!” The fingers snapped in a loud crack, and then he continued his walk, going all the way over to the other side of the large room from me, to the jury box, where he eased himself down into the front pew. He put his cigar back into his breast pocket and set the lighter down on the rail in front of him, turning it to the sharp slant of sun.
“She decided to give those papers to you,” I said. “But then you were so obnoxious to her, she decided she’d sell Bogue the copies she’d made.”
Cadmean leaned his crossed arms over the jury rail. “I truly wouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t know about those copies. Didn’t know ’til you told me. Cloris was too sly for me. Women have fooled me all my life.”
I ran my pencil through my fingers, tapping it on the report in front of me, point to top, top to point, while Cadmean stuffed his hand into the pocket of his jacket, took out and slowly unfolded a piece of paper. “This thing here is another copy. The original came to my attention a few weeks ago, and I had this made up because I thought you’d be interested.” He pulled out some bifocals and slowly put them on. “This was in an envelope addressed to my vice president Mr. Whetstone at his Atlanta hotel, but Cloris didn’t get a chance to locate a stamp to put on it before she passed away.” The old man rubbed at his mouth and then began to read slowly. “‘Dear Lawry. You were so upset on the phone this morning….’” Cadmean looked up, over the glasses. “By the way, this letter’s dated. Dated January 9. Day she died. You all right over there, son? You look puke green.”
I pushed my cane out to rest my leg on again; it had been a long time since I’d been up this many hours. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”
“Well, Cloris goes on a little about being sorry to let Lawry down; then she says, ‘When you first asked me if Bainton had left any papers, I thought, well, my stars, why hold a grudge against Bogue after all these years. And the girls could have the money. Still, it just didn’t seem fair to C&W. That’s why I took them to Briggs. But after that old s.o.b.—’” he paused and waved the sheet at me. “Can you believe that woman called me an s.o.b.?” “‘—said what he did to me, I thanked my stars I’d gotten those Xerox copies made, and I called you back. But, like I told you this morning, now I can’t bring myself to sell them,’” Cadmean’s thin copperish eyebrow lifted, “‘without talking to Rowell about it first. I know we agreed I wouldn’t mention anything about this to him, because of his loyalty to Briggs. But he and I have never kept any secrets and I don’t want to start. So, like I said, I’ll put the copies in the safe, and we’ll wait until you get back to Hillston and Rowell’s home, and if he says okay to give you the copies, and not tell Briggs about them, fine. And there’s no reason why Mr. Bogue ought to get mad at you, but I just want to say I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward spot. Apologies, Cloris.’ Interesting letter, am I right?”
Sun reflected back from Cadmean’s glasses as he refolded the sheet. Then with that surprising suppleness I’d seen once before out in the muddy field by the stables, he picked up the lighter off the rail in front of him and set fire to the paper, holding it by its edge in the big stiff fingers until I would have thought they’d be burnt. I jumped, then sat back. With my cane, I couldn’t have reached him in time to stop him, even if I’d been willing to give him the satisfaction of trying.
I said, “These are handsome oak floors. Seems a shame to burn holes in them. It’s also against the law to deface public p
roperty.”
“Justin, you’re a wry man.”
“Not as wry as you, sir.”
He grinned. “That’s true too.”
“What was the point of that little bit of drama?”
“Son, you suspected me of hiring some bumblers to rob a woman that ended up getting killed.” He groaned, bending over to pick up the ashes and to dust the floor with his hand. “Well, that’s insulting.”
I said, “I assume Luster Hudson got this letter out of Cloris’s purse when he went over there to get those papers for Whetstone. Willis got it from Hudson. And kept it, as insurance. And what do you want to bet, you got it from Willis. Now, how did that happen?”
“I’ve learned a lot of sad things in a lot of sad years on this pitiful earth, Justin. One of them is, if a man can be bought once, he can be bought twice. Hunh? You just have to offer him a little bit more than he was getting the first time. A sad tale of betrayal came with that letter.”
I looked up. “What’d you give Willis? The mills?”
Cadmean swayed his big head. “Now, you know that’s something I’d never sell.” The teeth flashed. “And not about to let anybody else sell it. Or shut it. Not ’til they dig my hole.”
I clipped my pencil to the report. “Willis has somehow acquired some very expensive lawyers. I can use my imagination too. As far as imagination goes, you’re a lot of things, Mr. Cadmean, but I’m not sure being a psychic is one of them. How do you know Whetstone was negotiating with Bogue for fast capital?”
Cadmean smiled. “You’re right. I don’t have visions like poor Joanna. What I have is friends. All over the South. When you’ve been in a business for, let’s see, almost seventy years, because I was ten when I started on my daddy’s line, when you’ve been at it that long, and you’re not a complete son of a bitch, and I’m truly not, son, you’re liable to end up with a few friends. And my vice president was not a discreet man.”
If Cadmean was right—and the fact that Lawry Whetstone was cruising the Caribbean while the board canceled his plans to cut back the textiles division suggested that Cadmean was right—then Lawry had taken a considerable risk when he came to me with a story so close to the real one in order to find out what I knew; when he even insinuated that Cadmean was behind the theft. As, indeed, I had concluded. I saw Whetstone, blandly tan, turning the gold college ring, waiting for me to ask him another question. This Dollard thing was really just an excuse to come in. Had he planned deliberately to end our conversation with his proposed foursome to outrage me and obscure his motive in making the only personal contact with me we’d ever had? Sugar, I told Lawry you wouldn’t be interested, but he never listens.
Yes, there was little reason to doubt Cadmean was right, and that Ron Willis, for who knows what price, had sold him the letter that told him he was right. Whetstone must have decided Sunday after Cloris called him that he’d rather not wait to hear what Rowell would say, because he knew what Rowell would say, because Rowell was Cadmean’s man. Cloris must have not only told him in that Sunday-morning call (She was a totally open person, Jay; she never kept anything back.) where she was putting those copies of the designs, but told him she was going to be out at the play all evening. Easy enough to call that evening to be sure she was leaving. Easy enough to call Ron Willis from Atlanta and tell him to go take the papers and make the theft look like an ordinary robbery. Whetstone knew what Willis would do for money, because he was already paying Willis to spy on people like Alice. He already knew Susan would be at A Midsummer Night’s Dream that night, and so he phoned her and left her a message to call him back as soon as she got home. Easy enough, too, to call the Dollard house to warn Willis to get out because Cloris was also on her way home.
Easy enough to think nothing could be easier than getting those copies for Bogue (for whatever reasons of rivalry with Cadmean or revenge against him or curiosity about the designs themselves, Bogue had wanted them), in exchange for whatever financial help Bogue was going to give Lawry to help him rival or revenge himself against Cadmean’s power at C&W.
It must have been a shock to find out Willis had subcontracted the job to a man as stupid and vicious as Luster Hudson, and that Cloris had come home too soon from the play. To find out Hudson had tried to take revenge on Preston Pope and had returned to Hillston from wherever he’d been sent. To find out Susan had been talking to me about what Cloris had said. That Willis wouldn’t stay put and was terrified of Hudson and paranoid about me and in the habit of taking more cocaine than was fashionable, and then shooting off guns. The last shock must have been when old Cadmean showed him Cloris’s letter.
I stood up in the sunlit oval and pushed in my chair. “Of course, Mr. Cadmean, I don’t believe you want Lawry’s felonies to come to light. You like things the way they are. As I recall from your other little story, this is just the way you like to have people in your employ. I’m not sure Lawry’s going to be as much use to you as Rowell was; I very much doubt you’re going to run Lawry for office.”
He rubbed his hand roughly over his face. “Thank God his daddy’s dead and gone.”
“I don’t know why you even bother mouthing the words.” I picked up my report. “The thing is, I’m not interested in playing cat and mouse with you. I’m on a cane and don’t enjoy the scampering. So I won’t. What I am going to do is tell Ken Moize everything you’ve said. It’s his job to decide whether he wants to spend the taxpayers’ money to listen to Willis perjure himself, or whether he’s just going to put him away for assault against me.”
“There certainly doesn’t seem to be any proof that Mr. Willis sent Hudson to poor Cloris’s house. Or that Lawry hired Willis.”
“Like I said, it’s not my job to make that decision. And chasing you for my own satisfaction has gotten to be a waste of my time. What accommodations Lawry and you and Moize make don’t interest me as much as finding out who just killed a girl named Virginia Caponigri.”
There was a noise and the doors behind us opened. Cuddy Mangum, shielding his eyes, stepped inside, a clipboard under his arms. “You two still here? Hello there, Mr. Cadmean. Sorry I got held up, but Justin here can fill me in.”
I said, “One thing we were talking about was how Mr. Cadmean had given you his vote of confidence over at the city council.”
“Was I saying that?” Cadmean threw up his old hands in innocent openness.
“I appreciate everybody’s vote,” Cuddy said.
Cadmean grinned. “Some votes count more than others, that’s a sad fact of democracy.”
“Umm,” said Cuddy.
Mr. Cadmean puffed up his lips. “Well now, you think you deserve this job?”
Cuddy said, “I know I do.”
“I’m as smart as you are, son.” Cuddy had started back up the sloped aisle toward the double doors when Cadmean added, “I want you to bring my Baby over to see me again.”
Cuddy turned. “I don’t know if I would even if I could; but I can’t. Briggs’s not going to be around for a while, soon as her term’s over. Seems like she said she was going off west somewhere to look at a telescope.”
“Well, shit, son!” Cadmean roared. “Shit! Don’t let her get away! Women are truly the wonder of the world, they’re Eldorado and the mouth of the Nile. But you got to remember. Not a one of them has got a lick of sense. I married four of them, and two of those got a pack of coyote lawyers to gouge through my pockets. And there were some others I woke up in time not to marry. Women are going wrong. I swear, they’re getting to be just about as hoggish as men, plus all of them are just as crazy as loons on top of it.”
Cuddy blinked and sun flashed through the blue. “You old bastard, if you hadn’t believed all that bullshit, maybe you wouldn’t have had so much trouble with your women.” He waved the clipboard at me. “Meet you back upstairs, General Lee. We got a lady thinks she saw somebody suspicious hanging around the Arboretum.” The oak doors closed behind him.
As Mr. Cadmean shambled over to my chair, he h
eld out his gnarled hand. “Good man, Mangum. Come on. Between my arthritis and your leg, we ought to be able to keep up with each other.”
“I think we can manage,” I said.
And so we walked back through the courtroom and out onto the black and white marble floor of the rotunda. Cadmean turned at the doors to look up at his varnished portrait. “Shit,” he whispered. “I was old then. If there’s one thing I can’t stand the thought of, it’s the world going on its merry way without me in it.”
“You want it to come to a halt when you do?”
He grinned. “That’s exactly right.”
“Well, that’s something else you can’t do anything about.”
“What was the first something?”
“Acquiring your daughter’s affection.”
From the middle of the patterned floor, he circled back to me. “Justin, you don’t want to waste your time. Don’t waste it trying to hurt my feelings. Don’t get yourself believing I care whether you want to listen to my stories or not. There’s always somebody who does. Always will be.”
“’Til they dig your hole. Or are you planning to keep talking from the grave?”
He chuckled. “Could be. Keep your ears peeled. Hunh! You sure were something in that donkey head, son.”
I pushed against the brass filigree of the door bar. I said, “What if Rowell hadn’t made that nolo contendere plea? What if there’d been a trial and we’d subpoenaed you? Would you have perjured yourself?”
The pink lips pursed against his forefinger. “There wasn’t a trial,” he said.
“But if there had been?”
The old stiff fingers squeezed my shoulder. “Son…son. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ Hunh?”
Outside, the afternoon sun glowed red on all the buildings. I stood with the old industrialist at the top of the broad stone steps that were guarded by empty antique cannon, fired last in 1865 for a lost dream and a cause undefendable. Beside me a long sigh rumbled from Cadmean before he spoke. “I’ll tell you this, Justin. Sometimes I think when I think about my Baby looking up at those tired old stars of hers, what if it was my privilege to be up there, looking down? What do you think I’d see? Hunh?” His sulfurous, low-lidded eyes gazed down over Hillston. “Well, I’d see a little tiny ball of slime, wouldn’t I? And nations of bugs crawling crazy all over it. And I bet up there I’d be able to hear something I’ve always suspected. God laughing His damn head off like a scorching wind. Am I right? Take care of yourself, son.”
Uncivil Seasons Page 32
