Present Tense

by Gil Hogg

  At the time Donna and Rovnik were dancing around the lounge at ‘Pine Hill’ and Chadwin was trying to free himself in the workshop, I genuinely intended to notify the police and hand him over. I thought that act would neuter him, and I was confident my story would prevail. But when Donna and Rovnik deserted me, and I was on my own, I sank into that cold-hearted hopelessness I had felt when I invited Chadwin to come to the house. Desperate, I grasped the baseball bat again, moved the barrier at the top of the stairs, and went down to the workshop. I was going for him, even if he killed me.

  I found Chadwin struggling to free his arms. I told him all this was unnecessary if only he would abandon his hateful intentions. He responded with foul swear-words.

  I had learned my sailor’s knots well. When I tied his wrists behind his back, I did so using two separate cords. The first, placed immediately around his wrists, and involving five or six coils, had the knot placed as far up and away from his fingers as I could get it. The second cord was around the top of his forearms and elbows, and impossible to slide downwards because a loop ran around his throat. This was a trick I remembered from a crime thriller I had read years ago. Chadwin had to sever two cords to free himself, the second in an awkward position in the middle of his back.

  Chadwin had already released the first pinion. He had used an empty wine-crate as a platform to climb on to the workbench, and dislodge a hack-saw from the panel of tools which hung on studs on the wall, above the bench. Working from behind his back, he had managed to clamp the hack-saw vertically in the vice, which was screwed to the bench. With the wine crate as a footing, he was able to back on to the blade of the hack-saw, and work his arms up and down sufficiently to cut the lower cords.

  When he saw me, he bellowed, jumped down, and charged, intending to knock me over or head-butt me. But I had the space, the time and the will to swing the bat hard against him. My first blow hit his shoulder and he stopped momentarily. I swung again, and this time the bat connected with his ear. He fell on his knees; his head must have been made of iron. I hit him again on the top of his skull. At last he collapsed on the concrete floor, unconscious.

  Here, I probably made a grave mistake. I thought I had killed him although I was too repulsed to examine him closely. He was inert, his mouth bleeding, hanging open. He didn’t seem to be breathing. As I recovered my breath, I confess I felt like David must have felt about Goliath. Before apprehension and uncertainty set in, I was exultant.

  At one point in the police enquiry, Lt Cavallo had said that I could have dragged Chadwin’s body, on a sheet, to the jetty and dumped him in the water. When Cavallo said that, I had an eerie feeling that he was looking inside my head. What I had thought, in that moment in the workshop, was that I could load Chadwin’s body on one of the low trolleys we use to move the sailboats from the workshop to the lakeside. I visualised what would happen. I could cut away what was left of Chadwin’s bonds, and heft his bulk on to the chassis of the trolley inch by inch. I could open the workshop doors, and let the trolley gradually down the slope. The wind was fierce. Rain, and foam from the lake would be churning in the air. The solid part of the jetty would be easy to negotiate, but not the pontoon; it would writhe. I would have to get the trolley well out on this structure so that the tide would carry the body away. I could tip Chadwin and the trolley into the water. The trolley would sink, and the body would be carried away by the tide. Then I would go for help.

  My mind seized up when my thoughts got this far. How could I explain how Chadwin got into the lake? I was so exhausted, I wasn’t capable of reasoning beyond this mechanical task of getting Chadwin into the water.

  I turned, ran upstairs, and went out to the garage to get the Jeep out, as I’ve told. What I didn’t realise was that Chadwin was still very much alive, crazed, and that he would come after me. Chadwin chased me on to the jetty, as I’ve said, and filled in the reality of what happened in the lake.

  I was unrepentant about my deviations from the truth because I considered that I was defending not just my body, but everything dear to me. With these few final facts the real story will remain my secret.

  17

  On an evening about three months after we had moved to Buffalo, Greg and I were both home from work. We had put the girls to bed. Grace was out at a flower arranging class. We were in the lounge together talking about a vacation we were planning in Europe. The telephone rang, and Greg took the call.

  He listened for a moment, and then I saw a confused look come over his face.

  “Look, my wife has been through a lot…” he said.

  He listened again for a few seconds and became quite agitated. His arms and legs were twitching as though he wanted to spring to his feet and couldn’t, and his face was reddening. I had a feeling like a cold stone in my stomach. Although I had no idea who the caller was, the reference to me meant that it had to be about Chadwin.

  “I can’t see any point or reason for this, and if you won’t tell me…” Greg said to the caller, and then he covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “It’s Eve Chadwin, for you. She won’t say what she’s calling about.”

  I was sickened by the thought of any connection with the Chadwins, but I had done with running, and I had gone beyond the fear of confrontations on the subject.

  “I’ll tell her you’re just not going to talk to her or anybody else, that you’ve had it way up over your head, and if she won’t speak to me, then the hell with her!”

  “I’ll talk, Greg.”

  Greg relented with a little nod of admiration. “You’re very resilient, my dear.”

  I took the receiver. “Yes?”

  Eve’s tone was matter-of-fact. “I’d like to see you. I don’t want to talk on the telephone.”

  “How long will this take and where?” I said, trying to project a level voice.

  “Twenty minutes. Say the lobby of the Hilton.”

  “Why now, Mrs Chadwin?”

  “That’s part of it. Let’s meet.”

  She wasn’t pleading. She wasn’t commanding. I paused. But of course I was going to see her. “I can make the Hilton by 1pm tomorrow.”

  “Fine,” she said, ringing off.

  Greg and I speculated about what could be behind her call, and in the end fixed ourselves a stiff nightcap and went to bed, mystified, and depressed. The leaden clouds of a possible indictment had cleared away since we had been in Buffalo, but now a small grey smudge had appeared on the horizon.

  I worked at First Capital about two blocks away from the Buffalo Hilton, and I arrived there at a couple of minutes short of 1pm. I was sure Eve wasn’t amongst the scattering of people standing around, or lounging in the lobby chairs. I waited by the doors. At a few minutes past the hour, Eve drew up, driving a powder blue Bentley convertible. She abandoned the car to a bell-man, and walked proudly inside. She was wrapped in a beige camel-hair coat, and had big diamond studs in her ears. To me, she looked attractive, brittle, and a little worn. I felt anxious, but hard.

  “Let’s sit down, as privately as we can,” she said without expression when she saw me.

  We steered through the furniture to a couch in a corner. We both perched on the edge of the couch, at each end, half facing each other. Eve had an ugly designer handbag, with belts and buckles on it, which she placed in the space between us. She reached inside and pulled out a black box, which she pushed along the seat towards me.

  “It’s a tape-recorder. Switch it on, and listen. Hold it to your ear if you like. Go on.”

  She showed no particular emotion. I picked up the instrument, and started it. I heard my own voice.

  ‘This is no good. We have to talk.’

  ‘Sure we can talk honey, but where? This half-baked stuff at the club doesn’t work. We need to get together,’ Chadwin laughed.

  ‘The only reason I want to see you is to reach an understanding,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yeah, I want you to understand me, honey.’

  ‘I’ll be up at ‘Pine Hills’ on
Lake Chateaugay next Saturday.’

  ‘Hey, that’s a nice idea. Marty told me about the lake. I’ve been meaning to look it over. He has a place up there.’

  ‘You’ll come up?’

  ‘Will I what? You’ve got it, kid.’

  ‘Late morning.’

  ‘OK.’

  As I lowered the tape-recorder, Eve pushed a small diary across the space between us.

  “Take a look at that. It’s my husband’s private diary.”

  I opened the diary at the marked page. The entry for the date Chadwin visited ‘Pine Hill’ was, am: LS, Chateaugay in neat handwriting.

  “So my husband never stalked you to Chateaugay,” Eve said, “contrary to your account to the police.”

  “You only have to listen to that tape to understand what he was like…” I said, unable to refute her, and trying to order my thoughts.

  Eve gave a short, dry laugh. “I know what he was like.”

  “You didn’t hand this material to the police…”

  What confused me most of all was that I couldn’t understand Eve. Was she trying to torture me before she told the police? After all, although our physical contact had been slight, I was the woman in a revolting story that had upset her life. Eve’s manner was oddly detached. There seemed to be nothing vengeful in her attitude toward me.

  “I’ve only known about the tape and the diary for a few weeks,” she said. “The tape is from Bucky’s private line at the office. He always recorded his stuff, and kept it for a while. The tape was one of a number that came to me with his belongings, including the diary, from Hudson. I don’t know why I played the tapes. It wasn’t sentiment. Curiosity about this man who had left a space in my life. The diary – I’d never seen it before – he must have kept at the office for private commitments.”

  “The police didn’t search his possessions?”

  “When you think about it, why would they? What would they be looking for?”

  “Sure… as you say. Why are you telling me this?”

  Eve turned to me, and the taut skin on her face stretched in the infancy of a smile. “You need to know that I know.”

  “Know what? I mean, apart from who invited who to ‘Pine Hill’.”

  “That you lied to the police and in all probability murdered my husband.”

  “I’ve said everything about that in my statement to the police, and I can’t say any more.”

  “Oh, come on. If the police knew of your lie about Bucky’s visit, they would have to reopen the investigation. You’d also be charged with trying to pervert the course of justice or obstructing the police or something like that.”

  “The conclusion would be the same. No case,” I said with a boldness I didn’t feel.

  “No. You know it was a very close decision by the District Attorney. I know that. As a bereaved wife I had a full explanation from him in person. And I happen to know him. This lie, and it’s a crucial lie, could start a prosecution.”

  I tried to sound firm. “What are you going to do?”

  Eve sat quietly looking into space for perhaps thirty seconds, the longest thirty seconds of my life.

  “Nothing…nothing… nothing,” she breathed.

  “Then why…?”

  “It’s cathartic I suppose. Seeing you. Letting you know what I know. Do you have any idea, have you ever thought how I feel?”

  “I have. I felt sorry for you. Anybody married to him…”

  “I don’t want or need your sympathy. I’ve had to wade through a filthy bog, full of disgusting revelations, getting deeper and deeper. I know all the details of your story. Don’t you think I followed this thing closely? My lawyers were talking to the police and the DA’s office all the time. I happen to know you told a whole bundle of lies, including the most significant one of all, about the visit to the lake, so don’t give me any bullshit.”

  “My version of events has been accepted as true,” I said flatly.

  She scoffed, “Your version of events has prevailed so far, that’s all. It’s never been accepted by the police.”

  “But you don’t want me indicted…”

  Eve raised her voice and showed distaste for the first time. “A trial? Do you think I would want a trial? I’ve already been spread over TV stations and newspapers from here to San Francisco by the inquest. I don’t care about your lies. I want it over, finished!”

  “Well, it is.”

  Eve stood up to go. “I’ll tell you, that as a woman, I think I understand the position you were placed in. I don’t know what I would have said or done myself.”

  She pointed to the tape-recorder and the diary on the couch. “Take those with you. Burn them, or keep them amongst your souvenirs.”

  Eve clasped her coat around her, looped her bag over her arm, and walked away with her head up. She snapped her fingers at a bell-man by the door, and casually held high the parking ticket for her car.

  I sat on the couch for a while after Eve had gone, drained of strength. It happens that I had thought of her many times during my ordeal. I knew she had suffered. I had no idea how long she had been married to Chadwin, but his pursuit of me could not have been his first infidelity. I faintly admired the fact that she had remained mute about her feelings for Chadwin – but perhaps her silence said it all. She had endured the public humiliation of being married to a man whose raging sexual impulses took him to the edge of madness.

  But it was all over, and both of us were free.