Cold moon over Babylon

by McDowell, Michael

  The lawyer didn’t know why Nathan had insisted on the story when he telephoned late the night before. Nathan had claimed that it was the truth, that he had found out from somebody or other that Jerry and Evelyn Larkin were planning to stay away from Babylon for a bit, and that this absence fit in well with the plans for procuring the blueberry farm. Darrish, who had taken the call in the den, desperately hoping that Ginny would not surreptitiously lift the line in the bedroom, didn’t believe Nathan, but did not dispute the veracity of the story. If there was something peculiar about it all, and it looked as if there were, he would just as soon not know the truth. He refused to speculate, even to himself,

  But without knowing or wanting to know what had become of the Larkins, Darrish knew enough to call up Nathan at the bank, as soon as the sheriff had rung off. He repeated the conversation at length, and appended the judgment that the sheriff had believed the story.

  Why shouldn’t he?” demanded Nathan: “It’s the truth.”

  “Oh,” said Darrish easily, “just because he was getting it secondhand, that’s all.”

  “All right,” said Nathan, “you let me know if he calls again. Did you say anything to Ginny last night about this?”

  “No. I knew if I did, she’d call ’em up, and if they weren’t there, she might go out there or something. Who knows what Ginny would do? I’ll tell her when she gets back tomorrow night. Maybe—what do you think?—I should tell her that I heard from ’em, they called the house from Pensacola, saying they’d be there for a while. Evelyn didn’t leave a number, but said she’d call back in a few days. I could say that—”

  “Good,” said Nathan: “Say that. I don’t want anybody looking into this—I mean, you and I could use a few days to clear this thing up, get everything ready, while they’re still out of town.”

  “Good idea,” concurred Darrish: “How long you suppose they’re gone be gone?” he asked, without any expression that Nathan could interpret over the telephone.

  “Oh,” replied Nathan: “At least a week, I’d say. At least a week,”

  By eleven o’clock the next morning, the clock- thermometer in front of the CP&M bank read 101°. The sky to the south was crowded with gray clouds that filled the air with moisture but did not mask the sun. There was but one car in the parking lot in front of the high school, Warren Ferry’s beat-up Rambler, set far off to one side, in the dense shade beneath the outermost row of pecan trees in the neighboring orchard. The young man had agreed, for the two days of Ginny’s absence, to sit for a few hours in the principal’s office.

  Warren sat hunched over Ginny’s desk, working in a paperbound book of crossword puzzles. He had finished all the easy ones first, and had started in on the second grade of difficulty; he was having trouble. The shade of the window that looked out onto the parking lot had been lowered against the sun; but it penetrated the dark paper and filled the room with hot green light. A rent in the shade focused a brilliant white spot on the desk. Perry stared at it while trying to think of short unfamiliar words that fit the incomprehensible definitions.

  A large floor fan in the doorway was turned to highest speed. Over its noise, Warren did not hear the International Scout as it passed outside the window.

  Ben Redfield was driving, and despite the heat, wore close-fitting leather motoring gloves that snapped at the wrist. He drew up also beneath the shade of the pecan trees, and parked so that the Scout obscured the back of the Rambler from anyone passing.

  With his hand on the door, Nathan turned to his brother and said: “Wait till I get inside, then count thirty. If I haven't come back out, go to work. There's nobody around. Nobody in his right mind is out today,”

  Ben nodded but said nothing. He mopped the sweat from his forehead with his arm, to avoid staining the leather gloves that he had carefully wiped of the Larkins’ blood. Nathan got out of the car and walked toward the portico of the building. Ben watched his progress in the rearview mirror, and as soon as Nathan reached the top of the stairs, he began to count slowly, aloud: “One. Two, Three....”

  Nathan entered the building and knocked loudly on the doorjamb of the principal’s office. Warren jerked his head up. For a moment he stared stupidly at Nathan. Nathan smiled pleasantly. “Hey, Warren, how you?” Warren nodded, but found he couldn’t produce a smile. He motioned to the fan: “Turn that off, if you want...”

  Nathan shook his head no, and stepped carefully over the machine. “Is Ginny around?” he asked.

  Warren shock his head. “Ginny’s in Tallahassee.”

  “Oh,” said Nathan, “that’s too bad, I had to talk to her for a few minutes...”

  Warren distrusted Nathan’s pleasant untroubled demeanor, but out of automatic and irresistible politeness, he asked: “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “No, not really,’ said Nathan, “I really came by to talk to her about Evelyn Larkin...” He trailed off in apparent sympathy with the Larkins’ misery, then picked up again: “I just wanted to tell Ginny that we weren’t going to do any more about that loan for the time being.”

  “Well,” said Warren quietly, “I'm sure Miz Larkin and Jerry will be glad to hear it.”

  Nathan smiled then. “Yes, but why don’t you let Ginny tell them? I think it’ll be better coming from her. You understand, don’t you?”

  Warren nodded yes, but in fact he didn’t understand at all. “It would be a load off their minds if I could go out and tell 'em today, though. Ginny won’t be back till late tonight, so she couldn’t get out there till Saturday. I know they’re worried about paying you back. They want to of course, and I know they’ll be able to once they get a little deeper in the season. I know Jerry went down to Pensacola to deliver a whole carload of berries, so there’ll be money off that—” He spoke quickly, without thinking—Nathan Redfield made him that nervous.

  But he broke off, remembering for what other reason Jerry had driven to Pensacola. He supposed that Nathan knew that Evelyn had accused him publicly of murdering Margaret, but he was glad that the man held no apparent grudge against her.

  “Let Ginny tell them,” said Nathan again. “They're not out at the house now anyway...”

  Warren looked up curiously. Nathan had taken the chair between him and the shaded window. It was impossible to make out his eyes in the thick green light, and difficult to hear his voice beneath the low-pitched roar of the fan.

  “Where are they?” Warren asked.

  “Pensacola, I hear,” smiled Nathan. “I don’t really know though, I’ve just heard. I heard they went to Pensacola, and were going to stay with relatives for a few days, try to get Miz Larkin’s mind off things. It’s a good idea if you ask me.”

  “I'm surprised,” said Warren, “real surprised to hear it. It’s hard to imagine that Jerry would leave in the season. It’s all he talks about, the season, and what it means to all of them.”

  “Well,” said Nathan with a curious smile, “I guess his grandmother means more to him than the blueberries. Besides, as far as I know, he may have somebody out there taking care of it for him.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know who. I haven’t been exactly intimate with Jerry and Miz Larkin lately—though I don’t bear ’em any ill will now, and I’m just real sorry for what happened to that poor girl—but it doesn’t seem unlikely that there might be somebody out there looking after the farm.”

  “Maybe I’ll go out there this afternoon,” said Warren thoughtfully.

  “You do that. I heard you’ve been real good to them, and God knows, they need some help right about now. Anybody would, in their fix.”

  Nathan stood, and walked casually to the window, and peered out behind one comer of the shade into the parking lot, “Too bad you don’t have air conditioning in here. This side really gets the sun.” He turned to Warren with a broad smile. “I ought to run on now. You tell Ginny I stopped by.”

  “I will,” said Warren, with a trembling smile.

  “Bye now,” said N
athan, and stepped over the fan. Warren stood, and made steps toward the door, but Nathan waved him back. “Don’t bother. Go back to your puzzle. It was nice talking to you.”

  Warren dropped into his chair, He was at a loss to account for Nathan Redfield’s altered behavior, his affability, his ungrudging leniency toward Evelyn Larkin. But it was difficult to think in the heat, and he put aside those questions until it was cooler, until Ginny Darrish had returned from her meetings in Tallahassee.

  He telephoned the Larkins, but there was no answer. Maybe he wouldn’t drive out there this afternoon after all; tomorrow he could stop by on his way to Atmore. If they weren’t there by then, he would leave a note. He wanted for himself the pleasure of telling Evelyn and Jerry that Nathan Redfield had decided not to push them on the loan. Perhaps then, Evelyn would realize that the man could not possibly have murdered her granddaughter.

  He sighed heavily. His great unselfish wish was for the old woman to be able to mourn her grandchild in peace. There was so little left to her and Jerry, they ought to be allowed at least that. Warren returned to his puzzles.

  Meanwhile, Ben had got out of the Scout with a long screwdriver clutched in his gloved hand. He squatted on the hot asphalt behind Warren’s Rambler, and thrust the screwdriver into the hole in the trunk, from which the lock had long ago fallen out. After fifteen seconds or so of jiggling, he pressed against the latch, and the trunk jarred open. Holding it down, he reached through the open door of the Scout, and pulled from beneath the front seat the broken sword, by which Evelyn and Jerry Larkin had perished. Blood had dried dark brown along its length and was spattered on the golden hilt.

  Quickly Ben slipped the sword along one side of the trunk, among the greasy tools there, and covered them all with one of the large dirty beach towels that lay folded beneath the jack. He brought down the lid of the trunk quietly, tested it twice to make sure that it had latched, then quickly got back into the Scout. Until Nathan returned, he kept a feverish watch for anyone passing by, but in the scarce five minutes his brother was absent not a single vehicle passed on the steaming road, not a soul crossed the baking lot, or took refuge beneath the drooping foliage of the pecan trees.

  Chapter 33

  That same morning, shortly before noon, Nathan Redfield crossed John Glenn Avenue, from the bank to town hall, and stuck his head in the sheriff’s office.

  Hale motioned him inside, but Nathan shook his head grinning no.

  “I just came by, cain’t stay, to ask you to come over to the house for a drink after you’re through here. I got something I want to talk over with you.”

  “What’s that?” said Hale.

  “Nothing, nothing much,” said Nathan: “You just come on over to the house, okay?”

  Hale nodded yes, and Nathan disappeared.

  When the sheriff arrived at the Redfields’ that afternoon, he was not surprised to find his daughter’s car parked in the knob of the cul-de-sac.

  Nina opened the front door to the sheriff, and showed him into the den. The curtains had been opened onto the patio, and Hale paused to watch Belinda perform an excellent jackknife. He liked the sound of the splash and the reverberating board.

  “I’ll go get Mr. Nathan,” said Nina, and left the room. Hale stepped out onto the patio.

  “Oh hey, Daddy!” cried Belinda, when she shot up out of the water, shaking her head, She stroked to the side of the pool. “What are you doing here?” She crossed her arms on the tiles, and raised herself a little in the water. “We sure are lucky to know rich people with a private pool, aren’t we?” She smiled. “Aren’t you gone speak to Mr. Red, Daddy?” Belinda nodded in the direction of the high shading ornamental pines.

  James Redfield, pale and wasted, slouched in a painted metal rocker. He squinted and nodded to Hale. “Hey, Ted,” he said briefly, “I hope you didn’t come over here to take Miss Pie away.”

  “No,” said Hale affably, “I just came by to see if you were taking good care of her.”

  “I keep her out of trouble,” the old man wheezed, and chuckled hoarsely. “She doesn’t get in trouble when I keep her round me. That’s more than I can say for other people in this town. That’s more than I can say for that Larkin girl. I hope you’re not letting Miss Pie ride her wheel out toward the Styx River bridge, are you, Ted?”

  “Mr. Redfield, I don’t think Belinda has a bicycle to her name, but if she did, I wouldn’t let her be riding it out that way, I can tell you.”

  Belinda climbed from the pool. “Daddy,” she said, approaching him, “why you here? You couldn’t do without me for five minutes?”

  Hale thought he could detect a little nervousness to her question, but he pretended not to have caught it. “Honey, I just came out to talk to Nathan for a few minutes. He said he wanted to talk to me.”

  “What about?” demanded Belinda in a sharp low voice, turning her head so that Mr. Red could not hear her.

  “Honey, I don’t know,” said her father, “and—”

  Nathan appeared in the doorway, and motioned Hale inside. Belinda started to follow, but Nathan said to her: “Belinda, you let me talk to your daddy alone, you hear me? You take care of Daddy for a while, you make sure he’s not getting burnt.”

  Belinda looked at Nathan quizzically, but said nothing. She didn’t like to speak to him in the presence of her father, fearing that she might betray their intimacy by her too-easy manner. She moved to Mr. Red, and sat cross-legged by the side of his chair.

  Inside, Nathan led Hale to the couch before the fireplace. The sheriff sat and Nathan brought bourbons and water that he had already prepared.

  “What’d you want to talk to me about?” said Hale. He suspected that it had something to do with the Larkins. It wasn't unlikely that Nathan had heard of Evelyn Larkin’s search for a sympathetic lawyer in Pensacola. Since his experience the morning before, which the sheriff had tried without complete success to attribute to mildew, insects, and the early morning heat, Hale was more and more uneasy with the case.

  “Not much,” said Nathan: “Not much really: I Just wanted to talk to you about Belinda.”

  “Belinda!” cried Hale. “What about Belinda!”

  “Nothing,” said Nathan, in a tone to reassure Hale: “Nothing about her directly. I just wanted to tell you something that you might not have known about, something I just found out myself.”

  “What?” demanded Hale.

  “Shhhh!” said Nathan. “Belinda doesn't know anything about this now, and Daddy and Ben and I just love the daylights out of her, but you know and I know that she is capable of listening in at the door, so you just keep your voice down.”

  “What about Belinda?” whispered the sheriff desperately.

  “Not really about Belinda,” said Nathan, in a low considered voice, “it’s about Warren Perry.”

  Hale looked up sharply, with narrowing eyes, but Nathan either did not or pretended not to notice this.

  “Perry’s been hanging around the house,” said Nathan carefully.

  “Hell,” said Ted Hale, “the man lives on top of the garage. Of course he—”

  “Not your house,” explained Nathan, “this house.”

  Hale considered this over a sip of bourbon.

  “He drives by,” said Nathan: “And turns round in the cul-de-sac, and I don’t know if he thinks we cain’t recognize a ten-year-old green Rambler when we’ve seen it about two hundred times. He drives by—but only when Belinda’s here. Like he was keeping an eye on her or something...”

  “Well, that’s not much…” said Hale, but was apparently disturbed.

  “No,” said Nathan: “It’s not much, you’re right. But it’s not all either. Ben and I have caught sight of him in the woods. Sometimes in the evening, we see him down by that little stream. Ben’s got good eyes, Ben’s got night eyes, and he can see Warren when he’s down there. That’s our property, and I’m not gone prosecute him for trespassing or anything like that, but he doesn't have any business down
there. The only time we see him is when Belinda’s in the house. I just thought you’d like to know, keep an eye on him and everything. You know how much we all think of Belinda, especially Daddy, and I think we couldn’t go on like we are if anything happened to her, like for instance the way if happened to poor old Margaret Larkin.”

  Hale nodded solemnly, troubled. “Anything else?” he asked quietly.

  Nathan looked up at the portrait above the fireplace for a few seconds before answering. “No,” he said: “Just one other thing. Somebody broke in the house—”

  “What?!”

  “—and took the sword that was hanging down right under that picture.”

  Hale spluttered. “Somebody broke in! When? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Listen,” said Nathan, holding up a cautionary hand: “We don’t know when it happened. Last night, Ben noticed that the sword was gone. The scabbard was still up there, and we just hadn’t noticed it before I don’t think it had been gone long, but we just cain’t be sure, ’cause we don’t go looking at it every day.”

  “What else is gone?”

  “Nothing,” said Nathan: “That’s what was funny about it. Nothing else was gone, that we can think of. Now, I didn’t want to report this, because I didn’t want to get Daddy upset by telling him that there had been a robber in the house. We don’t know who took it, and even if we did, I don’t think there’s much chance of getting the sword back, and to tell you the truth, I don’t care much whether I ever see it again or not.” What Nathan did not say, but what Hale understood perfectly, was that Nathan suspected that Warren Perry had taken the sword from the house.

  Hale swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp, and declined Nathan’s offer of another.