"My grandfather refuses to go inside. He's a snob." Ruth Deeds smiled and squeezed the old man's arm protectively.
"He be coming right on out anyhow. Just showing off for Ruth here, driving all over town. He better come on, I got to get off this leg pretty soon now." Deeds rubbed his calf.
"What's the matter with it? Let me see. Come on, Grandpa." The young woman bent down. Mournfully, Deeds pulled his pants leg up just above his sock, where a wide gash was sticky with pus. "This is infected." She frowned.
"Nothing to worry about. Dropped the clippers on it, that's all.
Granddaughter's a doctor. Lives in Atlanta. Bossy," he explained to Lance with exasperated pride. "Doctor!"
"You ought to have some antibiotics."
"Girl. Don't you nag. You supposed to be on vacation anyhow."
"Long stay?" Lance asked her. Jesus God, a doctor, a black female doctor! And she looked good enough to be a singer.
"No. Very short."
"Won't this place drive you nuts after Atlanta? Look here, Dr. Deeds. Ruth? Ruth. Hey, what kind of doctor?"
"Internist. Well, research. I work with chemical carcinogens."
"Sounds good to me."
William Bredforet, wiping his moustache with a finger, trotted down the steps. "I should have known. Look at that Lance already at point. Fine-looking woman inside the town limits less than half an hour, and you already got wind of it." He slapped Lance on the back.
Deeds sniffed at his employer. "I tell you what I got wind of.
That's you. It wasn't no bathroom you went in there for. You went and had a drink."
"I did not."
"Yes, you did too."
"No, I didn't."
"Hear him lie, Lord."
"You think God's paying any attention to us?"
"He got His eye on the sparrow."
"Then He couldn't have seen me taking a drink."
While the two octogenarians squabbled back into the car, Lance winked at Ruth over the follies of the old. She did not respond. Nor did she wish to learn tennis, or take a drive around, nor could she easily tolerate the fact that he continued to grin like a cat at a mouse no matter how many offers she declined. Kept grinning as he held open the door of the Rolls-Royce for her. She ought to ask herself, she thought, why she disliked Lance Abernathy and yet liked William Bredforet, who was, if anything, more incorrigible, smug, sexist, a parasite of capitalism, and no doubt a racist as well. Was it only that the old man's lechery no longer held any sexual threat, or was it just the perversity of human attraction? She was, after all, also enjoying sitting alone in the back of a limousine . She, Dr. Ruth Deeds, political radical, social reformer, militant feminist.
Something a lover had once said came suddenly back. She'd told him it was selfish of them to make love while the world was a mess, and he'd said, "Honey, you think the revolution's going to get here that much quicker because you won't take the time out to come?"
Well, he'd been a sexist pig too and had cost her an A in microbiology. Dr. Deeds smiled at herself and tapped on the glass, and the chauffeur, nodding, drove out the gleaming drive.
chapter 38
"Jesus bless," whispered Sarah MacDermott. "Who's that grouch you got in there with you?"
"Mrs. Lowtry." Judith put a finger to her lips. "She'll be taking over here."
"I hate to hear you say so, honey. And look at you here in black, just when you had enough problems of your own. If it doesn't rain, it pours. And anyhow, where is Hawk, what's the matter with that man? Joe's about to drop in his tracks trying to do everything himself." Sarah popped her gum loudly. She took another piece from her green grocery smock, which she wore over a blouse and slacks printed to resemble zebra skins. "What's all this big secret Hartford investigation that's worth using up all his sick leave?"
"I don't know really. Just that it's taking longer than he thought.
But he'll be home tomorrow sometime."
"I'll tell him straight to his face, it's criminal if you ask me, leaving you all alone after what you've been through. And Joe. That Mrs. Troyes on Elizabeth Circle had him over there at the crack of dawn because somebody pawed up her sweet petunias and took a knife to some fancy chairs that she just left out in her backyard, if you can picture that. Anyhow, what time is it?"
"Almost twelve. But that's horrible. How? Who did it?"
"Listen, if that's the only thing that woman's got to worry about in this world, who messed up her lawn furniture, well, Lord love her, and vicey versa. Well, I got to go, just came on lunch break to see how the services went. I wish I could have gone, you made it sound like it was real nice. Poor old Alf. Well, Joe and I are going to go look at that house again. 'Dream the impossible dream,' ta-da. How'd you say you were feeling?"
"Fine, really. Sarah, remember you were telling me about Maynard Henry's brother, the one who lives in Newton, Massachusetts?"
"You remember him now? Real good-looking, took algebra with us, sat in the back."
"Yes. Do you know, is he well off? I mean, reasonably."
"I guess so! He's in the insurance business. Arn was always the kind could sell a color television to a blind nun. Left Dingley Falls as soon as he got his arms loose from his graduation robe. And you know anybody that stayed that's worth a red nickel? Yes, last I heard he'd moved out of his duplex and built a real nice Colonial ranch."
"I spoke to him."
Sarah took off her orange harlequin sunglasses and stared until her friend dropped her eyes. "Judith Sorrow Haig. Tell me the truth.
Are you getting yourself mixed up in that Chinkie's business? After I told you."
"Well, I know, but I felt I had to try to reach—"
A car horn barked three times. "On the Blessed Virgin! Joe won't believe you're telling me this! Honey, Hawk, your husband Hawk's the one that arrested Maynard in the first place, and what's more, Chinkie was already running off with Raoul. Oh, Joseph and Mary, that's Joe's horn, I've got to run. I want to hear all about this.
I'll be here at five, and no buts, you're going to eat spaghetti with us."
As Mrs. MacDermott clopped in her white plastic sandals to the post office doors, William Bredforet opened them. The two started to pass, then glared at each other. Finally Bredforet nodded. "Yes," he said slowly. "At Pru's Tea Shoppe. You hit me with a tray."
Sarah puffed air up to her bangs. "And if I was standing up before my Maker and you tried any more funny business with me, you horny little sa-tire, and I had a tray in my hand, I'd hit you again!" She put on her sunglasses and swung open the door. "And every angel watching would let out a cheer."
Bredforet's face crinkled, his moustache curved up, and he laughed out loud. He was still chuckling when he reached the counter. "Hello there. A money order, is that something you still do here?"
"Yes, certainly. Just a moment."
William Bredforet kept staring at Judith until their eyes met; something in the other's face held for each of them a puzzling significance. It was something their eyes saw that their memories couldn't place. They had the same eyes, except hers were a slightly paler blue.
"Chin Lam sent you, huh? I told her no way I was going to deal with that dip public defender the state tried to fasten on me. She got you, huh?" Maynard Henry sat down, hunched forward in the starched blue shirt that stuck out in creases from his shoulders and arms. His eyes ferreted over Abernathy, over the summer suit, the watch, the faded calfskin of the old briefcase, gold-stamped with initials. Then the pale lashes twitched. "How? How'd she get you?"
"I haven't actually had an opportunity to speak with your wife yet," Winslow replied in his quiet, flat accent. "She talked with someone who then asked me if I would look into things." From his pocket he took an unopened pack of cigarettes, which he slid casually across the table toward the prisoner. "I could give her a message."
"Where's Chin? What do you mean, talk to who? Why didn't she come herself?"
"Isn't the best thing not to get her here, but you
there?"
Henry pulled the pack toward him and lit a cigarette. He spit the smoke out.
Abernathy searched for his pipe. "Treating you all right?"
"Been in worse. Had an old colored nut in the cell with me, but they took him away this morning to run some psycho tests on him.
He had me going up the wall for a while. He played the harmonica all the time."
"Must have been annoying."
"There was this dumb grit in my squad used to play, too. Used to get a cassette, play along with it, even carried it along on details."
"Yes?"
"Nothing. He tripped a wire one day, blew his leg off. Bled to death. Like a pig. Dumb grit." Henry jabbed the cigarette into the ashtray. "I can't pay you."
"Payment's not a problem now."
"That's a new one. Why not? It's a problem to me. I'm not asking for handouts."
"I understand that. You've made no arrangements for bail?"
"People want collateral. I don't own anything worth twenty grand."
"You have family?"
"Besides Chin? I got a brother. Leave him out of it. Sooner or later they got to bring me to trial, then I'll be out and it won't be because I went whining to my brother to bail me out."
Abernathy finally found his pipe and began to pat his pockets for tobacco. "First, you may not necessarily be acquitted. Second, trial isn't set until late July. You want to sit here 'til then? I should think your responsibility to your wife…" He paused, struck by the intensity in the man's face.
Henry pushed his hands on the table to shove his chair back. His wrist bones were a clean, scrubbed red below his cuffs. "Okay, okay, what's your deal?"
"No deal. Just some questions to start with." There was no answer. Locating the tobacco, Abernathy eventually got his pipe lit; he examined the lighter as he spoke. "Mr. Henry, I realize you've been through this story endless times, but bear with me. My understanding is that on the day of this incident, you thought your wife had left you for Raoul Treeca and so, when told that she had left, you pursued her. Is that correct?"
"Yeah. Sure." Disinterest closed around the voice.
"Or, you believed Treeca had, if not forcibly, then by misrepresentation, abducted your wife, and you attempted to stop him."
"Yeah."
"Which?"
"What's the difference? I should have blown the shithead away.
He was scum."
"To establish your motivation, I need to know what you were thinking."
"I wasn't."
"You acted on impulse. All right. Now, did you know Treeca had stolen your trailer until you caught up with him on the ridge?"
"Yeah, the MacDermott kid told me."
"Told you what?"
Henry began to rub his palm roughly against his cheek, then up and down his leg. "He saw the beaner's truck with my trailer hitched to it."
"Saw Treeca stealing your trailer. And your wife was with him?
What did you think when you heard this?"
"Get him."
"Stop him.…What about her?"
"Nothing about her. Okay?"
"When you forced the truck onto the shoulder, you pulled your wife out. Then you struck her?"
"He just sat there. Drunk. He'd told her a bunch of shit about going to some fucking refugee camp, how the law said for her to show up there. She couldn't fucking understand. I mean, it's not her language, man. And he just sat there, after pulling that crap."
"But it was your wife you struck.…Did you mean to do it?…All right, you don't know why. You were upset with her and relieved to find her at the same time, like a parent with a lost child. All right.…Did either of them try to explain their actions to you? Did you ask Treeca for an explanation?"
Henry's grin was derisive. "We didn't talk."
"You unhitched the stolen trailer, got back into your car. With your wife. You backed up, drove forward, and in so doing hit the rear side of Treeca's truck. Its front wheels slid over the edge of the ridge, and the truck turned over as it fell, injuring Treeca."
"How do you know all this?"
Abernathy tapped a thick manila folder that the district attorney's office had provided him. "Prosecutor."
Henry smiled. "You make it sound a lot prettier than he did."
"Did you hit Treeca deliberately?"
"You could say so."
"I don't think I would, however. What was your motive in hitting his bumper? Were you trying to kill him?"
Henry's eyes sped back and forth, then fastened on the wall just above Abernathy's head. "It don't matter. He just kept sitting there and I wanted him gone."
"Then why did you climb down the slope to check him out after he went over the cliff?"
"Habit."
"Who called the ambulance? Didn't you?"
"No."
"Did you tell someone to?"
"No. I told some guy at the garage on Hope that Treeca was over the side of the ridge. If he called an ambulance, that was his business.
Look, you said a few questions. I got to get back to the kitchen."
Abernathy folded his glasses carefully. "Mr. Henry. I'm not sure I understand your attitude. This is a serious charge, you have a previous record, both civil and military. Juries tend to think that—"
"Don't tell me about some sorry-ass jury." Henry's hand swooped at the cigarette pack and closed into a fist. "This is just between me and Hawk Haig. He wants me wasted."
"What do you mean by that?"
"He's been looking for a way. He figures he's found it."
"You're saying your arrest is some kind of personal vendetta?
Some prejudice on Chief Haig's part?" Abernathy noticed with interest the surge of adrenaline in himself.
"You better believe it."
"Does that really make sense?"
Henry smiled, the first real smile, his face both bemused and tolerant, his voice soft and, strangely, Abernathy thought, sweet. "Hey, baby. Does it really make sense that Raoul Treeca wants this shit? Do you think he would have said anything, but it was all a lousy accident?
His foot slipped and he gunned the truck and it went over the side and, tough shit, he busted his lousy legs? You think that dumb rockhead called Haig up at the station and said, 'I wanna press charges for aggravated assault, make it attempted homicide, and I wanna go to court'? If I cut the guts out of Treeca's sister and then fucked her corpse, maybe.
Maybe he'd holler law. I doubt it. He'd just kill me. But you think he wouldn't deny he ever saw me, or that trailer, or Chin up on the ridge, if Haig hadn't gotten to him fast? It would never happen."
"I see. Do you know why Mr. Haig feels this way?" He already knew he believed Henry.
"What's the difference?"
"Whether it's really between you and him or not, at this point it's also between you and the state."
Henry's eyes were bored again. "Sure."
Abernathy closed the notebook in which he'd been writing.
"You're currently unemployed, but before that you worked for some time on the highway project north of Dingley Falls? And before that, you were in Vietnam?"
"Yeah. The war lasted longer than the highway."
"How long were you over there?"
"That much too long. Three tours. Khe Sanh was one of them."
"Marines. You enlisted?"
"Why wait?"
"My son's philosophy. He served in Vietnam."
"Why was that?"
"He was a pilot, stationed in Guam."
"Yeah." Amusement flicked past the pale eyes. "We used to see 'em fly over sometimes. Real pretty planes. He make it?"
"Oh, yes. He's home now."
"Most of them did. I was in Eye Corps. First Battalion, Ninth Regiment. Mean anything to you?"
"You had the worst of it."
"So I hear."
"Sure are a lot of folks taking an interest in that guy," said Sergeant Myers when Abernathy returned to the desk. "I told you A.A. Hayes was here, and now, aw
hile ago, we got a call from a lawyer up in Boston, saying he represented Henry's brother, Arn.
Said he'd be here in the morning to arrange bail."
"My impression just now was that Mr. Henry had not been in communication with his brother."
"I bet Maynard made that pretty clear. No love lost there. But somebody's been in touch. Like I say, the bastard's got friends. Excuse me, but like you, Mr. Abernathy, must be a good ten years since we've seen you over here. I guess your clients aren't the kind that end up in the can. Money buys a lot of law."
Abernathy placed the folder back on the desk. "You share Anarcharis's view, Sergeant Myers. He said laws are spiderwebs, through which only the largest flies can break. The small are trapped and destroyed."
"Don't know about that. Do know crime's just like any other business. The little guy's the first to go."
"Not invariably. But, yes, more times than not. Well, in view of what you tell me, I'll assume this Boston lawyer will be responsible for the next step. Frankly, I can see no valid reason why Mr. Henry shouldn't be released at reasonable bail. There're no grounds to prove homicidal intent, in my view, and I can't imagine in Judge Farborough's either. The man's property was stolen. His wife virtually kidnapped."
"He's got a record."
"I read here he's also got the Bronze Star."
"Did you read where he was in the brig twice, a bar brawl where he chewed off another marine's earlobe? And a year later he takes a potshot at a South Vietnamese officer?"
"I read that that officer's ineptness had resulted in the death of one of Henry's squad members."
"Well, Jesus Christ, then I hope I never hand the guy the wrong stack of laundry!"
Abernathy took from a wallet of soft leather an engraved card.
"Could you have that attorney give me a call in the morning?"
"Sure thing. Listen, Henry's been bugging me the last few days, asking where his wife is, why don't she come."
"Yes. He feels quite strongly about her."
"No fooling."
After Abernathy left, Fred Myers, fingering the rich paper of the card, considered briefly why the wealthiest lawyer in the area might have gotten himself involved in a squabble between two unemployed Madder hardhats. Could be Abernathy was bored clipping coupons, could be he had been born again, could be local politics. Or it could be blackmail, adultery, drug addiction, or sodomy. Nothing would especially surprise him. The sergeant went back to his Ben Rough paperback.
Michael Malone Page 33
