Shadow of A Doubt

by William J. Coughlin

  “Yes. Very nice people.”

  “Angel was a patient there when you met?”

  “Yes. So was I. I’ve become a bit nervous since my husband died. He was president of Freeman Cement. Did you know him?”

  “No. When did he pass away?”

  “Twenty-five years ago, this coming November.”

  It was a long time to be nervous.

  “I was on the second floor at Buckingham. I’m almost a regular there. Angel was up on four. Anyway, will you be able to take my case?”

  “As you can imagine, Mrs. Freeman, I’m very busy with Angel’s matter. I’m not taking any outside work at the moment.”

  “Oh, what a pity. Who should I go to?”

  I had been so long away from a full-time law practice that I had forgotten the crazies. They were as much a part of life as lunch.

  “Have you tried other lawyers?”

  “Yes. Hundreds. None of them were able to do a thing.”

  “How about the attorney general?”

  “Oh, yes, I tried there, but I don’t think they believe me. I’m desperate, Mr. Sloan. I want this settled once and for all.”

  “How about the prosecutor?”

  “The tall blond man who was on television, too?”

  I smiled but tried to keep it out of my voice. “Yes, him. Mark Evola. Odd coincidence here, Mrs. Freeman. Evola is a leading Howard Hughes expert.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful. Will he talk to me?”

  “It will be difficult to get through to him, but just keep trying.”

  “Shall I say you told me to call?”

  “No, Mrs. Freeman. He and I are opponents in this Harwell case and it would be unethical for me to recommend him. I’m doing this because I like you, but it will have to be our little secret, okay?”

  It was a harmless prank. And it would give her something to do, something to nurture the delusion that apparently kept her going. She would probably drive Evola bananas. She was the kind who wouldn’t take no for an answer. I tried to keep from laughing.

  “You’re a wonderful man, Mr. Sloan. I shall tell Angel that if I ever see her. Of course, we never saw the people on four much, so I don’t know if she’d even remember me.”

  “What was up on four, Mrs. Freeman?”

  “Oh, I would have thought you knew. That’s where they kept the violent people. I heard Angel stabbed someone, or tried to. I didn’t believe it, of course. She is just too pretty and too delicate to do something like that.”

  I no longer felt the urge to laugh.

  *

  MRS. Freeman’s call reminded me that I had to prepare medical releases for Angel’s signature.

  The old typewriter in the reception area worked well enough, although it needed a new ribbon. I found some paper and began preparing a release form. It was tough going. I could remember the language, but my typing was two-fingered and not very accurate. I did it three times before I came up with something that looked reasonably professional.

  Mitch’s office had had everything necessary for running a modern law office: a copy machine, word processors, a fax, plus secretaries to run them. He had allowed me to use his equipment and people.

  Now I had only the old typewriter.

  I took the single-page form I had prepared down to the marine insurance office below me to beg some copies. It was our first formal meeting. If I had become a minor celebrity they didn’t appear very impressed. The reception seemed a trifle chilly.

  The office manager, a woman who looked like she’d been frozen in aspic, reluctantly made copies for me on their machine, but she let me know it was a one-time thing. She made it perfectly clear that the insurance office was not about to become my unofficial branch. She suggested that in the future I buy or rent any equipment I might need.

  But at least I had the copies I needed. And she did have a point. I decided I would call an office-supply firm and arrange to rent some things. I climbed the outside steps back to my office.

  I smelled her before I saw her. I hadn’t locked the office; there was nothing worth stealing anyway. In the few brief minutes I had spent in the insurance office she had come up.

  She was alone. Her perfume was expensive and it filled the air as if she had bathed in the stuff. She sat in an old chair in the reception room, as relaxed as if she owned the place.

  “Do you remember me?” she asked.

  “I always remember people who threaten me. You’re Harrison Harwell’s sister.”

  She nodded. “Nancy Harwell Somerset.”

  She was dressed in the best by the best, but those solid features, so much like her brother’s, suggested an origin more peasant than patrician.

  “Would you like to come into my office, Mrs. Somerset?”

  If she was appalled by my drab surroundings she didn’t show it.

  “I may have been a bit harsh in the funeral home, Mr. Sloan. I was upset. Harrison was my only sibling.” She didn’t look or sound apologetic. “I presume you are still Angel’s lawyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “One of the reasons I’m here is to discuss Angel’s case.”

  “Angel would appreciate your interest, Mrs. Somerset, but there isn’t much I can tell you.”

  “You mean, there isn’t much you will tell me.”

  I smiled. “Ethically I’m in no position to discuss very much, not even with Angel’s relatives.”

  “She only has one blood relative,” she said. “Me.”

  Nancy Harwell Somerset’s features slowly took on the expression I remembered from Harwell’s navy picture of himself, stern and challenging.

  “I may be able to help,” she said firmly.

  “How?”

  “I have brought suit to stop the sale of my father’s company,” she said.

  “So I’ve heard. But how will that help Angel?”

  “I’ll come to that. It’s important that I stop the sale. I want to preserve the company, Mr. Sloan, as much for Angel as for myself. I don’t want it sold. That’s the other reason I’m here. I want you to become my lawyer for that purpose.”

  “Who is representing you now?”

  “The firm of Gallagher, Kalt, and Blum.”

  “High-priced and powerful,” I said.

  “High-priced,” she said. “I’m not so sure about the power. They have been less than enthusiastic. I’ve been passed through the partners and turned over to a young associate. I don’t think they have much confidence in what I’ve asked them to do.”

  She tried to smile, but apparently she did so so rarely that she couldn’t remember how. The result was a kind of a constricted grimace. “I want you to take over the case. I think I have a proposition that will be advantageous to everyone concerned,”

  “Oh?”

  “I have money, Mr. Sloan, more than enough to purchase the company.”

  “Have you made an offer?”

  Her eyes were unique. They reminded me of the eyes of a snake looking for prey.

  “I attempted to make an offer to buy the company, but only after my brother’s death. Harrison never would have sold to me. When I did make the offer I was told the deal with Amos Gillespie had been approved by both corporate boards and the only thing needed to complete it was the signature of the parties. They refused to consider my bid.”

  “It’s almost impossible to set aside a valid contract agreement, Mrs. Somerset, unless you can show fraud or something similar.”

  I leaned back in my tipsy chair. “Why are you so intent on buying the company?”

  “It is my father’s business.”

  “And that’s your only interest, a sentimental one?”

  The eyes narrowed slightly. “I wish to protect Angel.”

  “How would that help her?”

  “What happens if she’s convicted?”

  I sighed. “The usual sentence, given all the circumstances, figured in time actually served, would be about eight years.”

  “No one can profit from mu
rder. So, if Angel is convicted, that whore my brother married will get everything, and Angel nothing.”

  “So? If you bought the company, that wouldn’t change anything. That law would apply to your purchase money the same as Gillespie’s or anyone else’s.”

  “I’d make arrangements. I’d keep the business away from that whore. I’d make a gift of it to Angel when she gets out.”

  “She’s not in yet.”

  Those snakelike eyes glittered. “She will be.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “She’s been set up from the beginning. Her wonderful stepmother has orchestrated everything to make sure Angel will be convicted.”

  “I think you’ve got things backward. Robin Harwell has done everything in her power to protect Angel’s interest.”

  “Like hiring you?”

  The tone was intended to be insulting. It was.

  “Am I mistaken? Didn’t you just ask me to take your case?”

  “Only because you are in a unique position. You have influence with my brother’s widow. Use it. If she calls off the sale now, you’ll be well paid.”

  “Mrs. Somerset, I think you’ve —”

  “You aren’t about to tell me what an honest and ethical lawyer you are, are you?” Her chuckle had a brittle, cutting sound, like breaking glass. “Frankly, I can’t think of anyone with a law license who has a reputation as bad as yours. However, that doesn’t matter. I’m a realist. Money talks, Mr. Sloan. You’ll find I have a rather loud voice. You fix this with Robin Harwell and I’ll make you rich.”

  “Fix it?”

  “If she backs out of the sale now, it will collapse.”

  “Even if that were true, why would Robin Harwell want to do such a thing?”

  “To keep my mouth shut.”

  “About what?”

  Her expressionless mask reminded me of Angel for a moment. Then she spoke. “Family secrets.”

  “Like what?”

  “Things my brother told me,” she said.

  “Mrs. Somerset, you and your brother were absolute enemies and had been for years. That’s hardly the kind of relationship to foster secret-sharing, is it?”

  “I know some rather surprising things.” Those eyes didn’t blink. “Mr. Sloan, I’ve asked you to become my lawyer. What is your answer?”

  I smiled. “There’s a rather obvious conflict of interest, between you and Angel. The answer is no.”

  “Do you know how much money is at stake in my father’s business? Millions. You would be paid proportionally. I said you would be rich, and so you will, if you do as I ask.”

  “And fix the sale?”

  “That is one way of putting it. You wouldn’t have to represent me formally. It could be our little secret.”

  “You’re fond of secrets. I’m sorry. No.”

  For a moment, the impression of a hunting snake seemed even stronger. “You are a fool, Mr. Sloan.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You don’t know Robin as I do. She will see that Angel is convicted. You weren’t selected at random, you know. I’m sure you’re part of her plan. Perhaps you’re in it with her. If you aren’t, I’d be quite worried if I were you.”

  “Why?”

  “If Angel didn’t kill Harrison, then who?”

  “Robin? Do you have any proof?”

  “Will you do as I ask?”

  “No.”

  She stood up and looked down at me. “You are indeed a fool, Mr. Sloan. And you are in way over your head. I can’t pity a fool but I do pity poor Angel.”

  She walked quickly out but with surprising athletic grace.

  The slithering was only in my imagination.

  *

  I BROUGHT the release forms to Angel to sign. She and Robin had been sun-bathing.

  At forty-seven I don’t consider myself an old geezer, but today’s bathing suits aren’t anything like I remember as a boy, and I lived in a pretty advanced neighborhood.

  The amount of cloth used for either Robin’s or Angel’s suit wouldn’t have been enough to make a pocket handkerchief. I tried not to look, or to look like I wasn’t looking.

  Angel’s body was like polished marble, perfect. Robin was different, but not bad different. Hers had an earthy suggestion of ripeness not found in statues. The two of them, nearly naked, were like the difference between perfection and reality. A smart person would choose reality, since perfection is often nothing more than a tormenting illusion.

  I tried not to look.

  We were once again in the atrium. A table had been brought by the maid so Angel could sign the forms.

  “Why so many?” she asked, thumbing through.

  “It’s always best to have more than you need. You never know when you’ll need an extra one.”

  She began to sign. Her signature was slow and deliberate, not the usual scrawl most of us use.

  “I’ll need that list of doctors and hospitals where you’ve been treated. I’m chiefly interested in anyone who might have treated you for emotional problems.”

  “I’m not insane.” Angel spoke in a conversational tone as she continued signing.

  “Of course you aren’t,” Robin said. “Charley just wants to know the names of the doctors who’ve seen you.

  “It began,” Robin said, “when Angel went off to New York.”

  “My father said I ran away,” Angel said evenly. “I was old enough to vote but he still considered me a child.”

  I thought Robin was beginning to look uncomfortable. “Angel was arrested by the police there,” she said.

  “Arrested?”

  Robin looked at Angel, then me. “The arrest was for performing as a nude dancer. Harrison saw to it that it was dropped.”

  “It was for prostitution,” Angel said, again without emotion. “I worked for a Forty-second-Street place. Some of the girls did more than dance for the freaks who came to see us. I didn’t but the police said I did. Anyway, there was general hell to pay when my father came up to New York.”

  “Angel was put into a New York hospital until she agreed to go to a youth center in Hawaii,” Robin said quietly.

  “It was called Island Clouds, the place. It was mostly for kids who had drug problems, mostly rich kids who had been shipped out by their parents. I was there a couple of months. It wasn’t bad but it was still a hospital,” Angel said as she continued to sign. “It’s on Maui. If it’s still there. They were about to sell it to a Japanese firm as a vacation spot for their workers.”

  “And after Hawaii?” I asked.

  Angel began a recitation of doctors she had seen. She seemed to remember everything, including dates and addresses. I wrote it all down as she talked.

  “You forgot the place in Georgia,” Robin prompted.

  “The Brooke Center in Macon, Georgia,” Angel said. “It’s a glorified drunk tank for rich people.”

  I knew about drunk tanks.

  “Were you having problems with drugs or alcohol?”

  She shook her head. “I was the only person in the place who wasn’t. They put me there to get me away from” — she paused, looked at Robin — “from family.”

  “Things were getting a bit hectic,” Robin said. “The doctor thought it might help if Angel got away for a while.”

  “Did it?” I looked at Angel.

  Those icy blue eyes held no clue to her thoughts. We might as well have been talking about last year’s fashions. “I spent six weeks at the place. It was like prison, only with waiters and physical fitness advisors. There was only one other young person there, a girl from Chicago who was coming off cocaine. She followed me around like a puppy, although I really didn’t like her. I didn’t like the place. If it did me any good, I wasn’t aware of it.”

  Robin smiled nervously. “Harrison wasn’t pleased at her progress so he took Angel out.”

  “And after that?” I asked.

  Robin smiled. “That’s all the hospitals.”

  I looked at Angel. Sh
e nodded her assent.

  They hadn’t mentioned Buckingham, the local mental health farm. I wondered if Mrs. Freeman might have had the same kind of delusion about Angel that she had about being the daughter of Howard Hughes. If not, they were lying to me.

  “No other hospitals? Even up here in Michigan?”

  They both nodded.

  If they were lying it would be easy enough to find out. One of the release forms would go to Buckingham.

  I looked at my notes. The information was skimpy but it was enough to start with.

  “That’s all of it,” Robin said. “Oh, there were a few other doctors, but for sore throats, colds, that sort of thing.”

  Neither of them had specified the problem that caused Angel to be hospitalized and treated by the psychiatrists.

  I decided not to ask. The information I needed would be in the reports.

  “I’ll contact the places I can,” I said. “After I get everything together, plus the results of the testing to be done here, I’ll be in a position to go over it with you, Angel.”

  “We’ll be leaving Friday for Sheridan Key,” Angel said. “As soon as I’ve talked to this psychiatrist you want me to see.” She paused. “I really think all this is unnecessary, Charley.”

  “It may be,” I said. “But we want to cover every base.”

  Robin reached over and tenderly stroked her stepdaughter’s arm. Despite her beauty and stony poise, Angel reacted to the touching like an affection-starved child. I wondered what her life had really been like. She looked at me with those startling blue eyes. “Do you think you’ll really come down and visit us, Charley? I’d like that,” she said.

  Robin, I noted, said nothing.

  “We’ll see.” I got up to leave.

  I had almost become used to their lack of clothing, but not quite.

  If they were lying to me I would find out.

  And if they were, I wondered why.

  15

  MY LIFE WAS CHANGING. WHEN I CAME HOME A MOVING van was pulled up in front of one of the corner apartments and furniture was being carted out. I had no idea who was moving. I didn’t know any of my neighbors in the small apartment complex. I did know that corner apartments were much larger than mine, had two bedrooms, but cost a hundred and a half per month more than my place.