“Come on in,” I say. “You hungry?”
“Yuh,” he says. Now we’re getting somewhere.
I put Marcus in the kitchen and invite him to have whatever he’d like. It turns out that what he’d like is every single edible item he sees, including pistachio nuts with the shells intact.
Marcus is about ten minutes into the carnage when the doorbell rings. I go to answer it, hoping that it’s someone with a stomach pump, but it turns out it’s Laurie.
“I assume Marcus is here?” she asks.
“How did you know that?”
“We got four 911 calls from people who saw him on your porch,” she says.
“Was he doing anything wrong?”
“He was looking like Marcus.”
No more explanation is needed, and Laurie goes into the kitchen. She gets there just in time, as Marcus is preparing to eat the dead woman’s dinette set.
What follows is a transformation that I’ve seen a few times but still find hard to believe. The moment Marcus sees Laurie he breaks into a humanlike grin, moves to her, and hugs her. “Hey, Laurie,” he says.
“Marcus, it’s great to see you. How have you been?”
“Good.”
They wax eloquently like this for a few minutes, and then we all sit down and discuss what Marcus’s responsibilities will be here in Findlay. Laurie suggests that we make it a short list: that all he should have to do is protect my ass. I describe the situation in Center City, with the various servants ranging from burly to enormous, and he just takes it all in without responding or showing any concern. I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think Marcus was born with a “concern” gene.
What Marcus does have is a significant amount of ability as an investigator and an amazing talent to get people to tell him things. I wouldn’t describe it as cajoling or persuading; it’s more like scaring into submission. But it works, and I’m bottom-line-oriented enough to want to use these talents.
What we decide on is that we will use Marcus as an investigator, and as a protector when I think I’m going to be in a situation that could be dangerous. Laurie thinks so highly of my physical prowess that her view is that I’m in danger every time I cross the street, so she’s not thrilled with this resolution. But this time I’m calling the shots, and that’s how we leave it.
“Where’s Marcus going to live?” Calvin asks.
I hadn’t given it much thought, and now that I do, I’m not thrilled with the possibilities. “Do you have room at your place?” I ask.
Calvin shakes his head, as if he deeply regrets that he has to say what he’s going to say. “Damn… I wish I did. My aunt and uncle are in from Milwaukee, and they brought the twins.”
“Is that right?” I ask. “You never mentioned them.”
“I don’t talk about them much; they’re on my mother’s side.”
“I think Marcus should stay here,” Laurie says. “You’ve got three spare bedrooms upstairs, and it’s you he’s going to protect. Staying at Calvin’s house wouldn’t make much sense, even if he didn’t have his aunt and uncle and the twins on his mother’s side in town.”
I stare daggers at Laurie, but she fends them off. “What a wonderful idea,” I say through clenched teeth.
While I would never let on to Laurie, I’m relieved that Marcus has arrived, even if I’m less than thrilled that we’ll be rooming together. Physical courage has never been one of my defining qualities, and Marcus’s presence makes me feel much more secure. Now, if Clarence Darrow would show up and help us win the case, the team would be complete.
Having been protected by Marcus before, I know how to proceed. I rent him a car, get him a cell phone, and then forget about him. I don’t even have to tell him where I am going to be or when I am going to be there; he is just somehow always there when I need him. And I somehow always need him.
During the meeting, Calvin gets a phone call from one of the kids at the university who Calvin has been cultivating as possible information sources. It seems that one of Liz’s friends at school overheard phone conversations she had with someone named Eddie, and it was her sense that he was her ex-boyfriend from back home. This is a potentially important development for our side, and Calvin is quite pleased with himself that he has come up with it. At the very least, it gives us a much-needed avenue to explore.
Tonight is going to be a night that Laurie sleeps over. I know this, because after Calvin leaves and Marcus goes upstairs to choose a bedroom, I say, “You want to stay over tonight?” and she says, “Absolutely.” I am Andy the All-Powerful.
I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing by keeping her so close, even though she’s leaving it up to me. It’s feeling a little like those bad old movies where the girl says to the guy as they lie on the beach, “Is this just a summer thing, or will I see you in the city?” Well, this is just a winter thing, and I sure as hell am not going to see Laurie in the city.
On the other hand, I love her, and I love being with her, and it’s counterintuitive to not want her to stay over. I just have to discipline myself to understand what it is and what it isn’t, as well as where it’s going and where it isn’t.
I’m pretty much a master of mental self-discipline, but this is a tough one.
Laurie gives me a list, and I go to the market and buy food, since Marcus has consumed everything, and he’s going to have to continue to be fed. I have my cart full when I get stuck behind two women on the cashier line. I don’t know why it is, but I find that many women stand and watch their items being rung up, and only when that process is done do they open their purse and start taking out their means of payment. Do they think they are not going to be asked to pay?
When I finally get back home, Laurie starts to cook dinner. “You should ask Marcus if he wants to eat with us.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, though it sounds more like a whine than I intended.
“Andy, you can’t not invite him to dinner. He’s living here.”
“He didn’t sign up for the meal plan.”
“Andy…”
I nod with resignation and go upstairs. Marcus is not at home, which is good news and bad news. I can be alone with Laurie for dinner, but it means that Marcus is loose on the streets of Findlay. So it’s good for me, bad for Findlay. I can live with that.
After dinner we spend the kind of evening that I’ve missed even more than I realized. We open a bottle of wine and sit on the couch, with Tara between us. Golden retrievers are a master of positioning, and Tara arranges things so that I scratch her stomach while Laurie pets her head.
We watch a tape of one of our favorite movies, A Beautiful Mind, and I can see Laurie’s eyes tear up as Jennifer Connelly says, “I need to believe that something extraordinary is possible.” Well, extraordinary things can come in all shapes and sizes, and this is an extraordinary moment.
It is all so comfortable, all so wonderful, that I almost resist when Laurie asks if I’m ready to go to bed. Almost, but not quite.
Moments later we are making love, and while we are doing so, Laurie says, “Andy, I don’t want this to end. We have to figure out a way that this doesn’t have to end.”
I don’t know if she is talking about our lovemaking or about us, but either way it’s got my vote.
• • • • •
MRS. BARLOW HAS agreed to talk with you” is the first thing Stephen Drummond says after he says hello.
It’s a surprise to me, but I’m pleased at this first invitation to meet the good citizens of Center City. Maybe that ridiculous wheel okayed the interview. “Good,” I say. “When can that happen?”
“I’m available at three this afternoon,” he says.
“And why would that be significant?”
I can almost feel his smug smile through the phone. “Mrs. Barlow insists that I be there.”
This is likely to cut down on the chances of my actually learning anything, but I know there is no possibility I can get this reversed. I agree to meet at three at the Barlow residence. H
e asks that I not get there early, probably to spare Mrs. Barlow the nightmare of being alone without her Harvard-educated lawyer for protection.
Actually, protection is a serious consideration for me. It would be paranoid of me to think I’m being led into a trap, but that town and its people make me more than a little uncomfortable.
Marcus is not home, so I call him on his cell phone and invite him to the meeting. Based on his reaction, he’s either thrilled or asleep, but I think I get him to understand that I want him at the house at two-thirty so we can drive to Center City.
The culture shock of Marcus entering Center City will be such that I almost feel I should call ahead and warn them. It’s akin to when Tokyo woke up one morning and there was Godzilla strolling out of the water onto the beach. The townspeople are going to be running to the Keeper asking him what the hell is going on, because they’ve never experienced anything like Marcus before.
Marcus shows up promptly at two-thirty, and since he’s in his car already, I get in the passenger seat and let him drive. We’re about thirty seconds into the trip when I realize that classical music is coming out of the radio.
At least I think it’s classical music; I’m not an expert. But there are no lyrics, and it sounds like a large orchestra, and I feel like I should be dressed up to hear it, so that fits my definition pretty well.
It’s a rental car, so probably the radio was set to this when Marcus got it, and he was simply too oblivious to notice. There is as much chance that Marcus is intentionally playing classical music as there is that I’m playing center field for the New York Yankees.
“You listening to that?” I ask.
He nods. “Yuh.”
“You like classical music?”
“Yuh.”
“NOW PLAYING CENTER FIELD FOR THE YANKEES, NUMBER SEVEN, ANDY CARPENTER… CARPENTER… CARPENTER… CARPENTER.”
The twenty-minute drive feels like it takes about four hours. For the first fifteen minutes I try to make small talk, though I have no idea why. I say absolutely nothing interesting, and Marcus says nothing at all. I guess he’s enraptured by the music.
I use the last five minutes to explain to Marcus what i know about Center City, its inhabitants, and its religion. He not only does not ask any questions, he doesn’t nod or even blink. Yet for all his lack of inquisitiveness, Marcus has proven to be a smart guy, at least in a street sense kind of way. He’s a terrific investigator, and that is a job for which morons need not apply.
We get to Center City, and I point out the few landmarks that I know. When he sees the town hall, towering above the rest of the buildings, he says, “That the church?”
“And city hall,” I say. “Or both. They don’t like strangers inside.”
We drive on to the address we have for the Barlows, which is like pretty much every other house on every street in the town. The strange thing is that it is a farming community, yet there are no farmhouses. The farms are on the outskirts of town, while the farmers are most definitely on the “inskirts.” And speaking of skirts, every woman I have seen here has been wearing one; jeans or slacks are clearly not the clothing of choice for the fashionable women of Center City.
We park in front of the Barlow house; I would know it even if i didn’t see the number. That’s because two of the larger servants in the town are standing on the porch, awaiting our arrival. “Those are the local tough guys,” I say, but Marcus doesn’t seem to look at them.
We get out of the car and walk toward the house. One of the servants says, “Good afternoon, Mr. Carpenter.”
“Good afternoon,” I say. “We’re here to see Mrs. Barlow.”
“Yes, sir. The meeting will begin shortly.” He’s talking to me, but he and his partner are staring straight at Marcus.
I look at my watch and see that we’re five minutes early, and at that moment a car pulls up and Keeper Wallace gets out of the backseat, and the driver gets out as well. He is Drummond’s son, who seems to be the servant assigned to taking the Keeper around. Drummond told me that his son is also a pilot, so maybe Wallace does more than travel around town.
Wallace has obviously taken Drummond’s place as Mrs. Barlow’s protector during this interview. It won’t make any difference, despite the fact that they dress rather differently. Drummond is a suit-and-tie guy, while Wallace is clad in full robes and looks semi-ridiculous. I glance at Marcus to see if he has any reaction, but, of course, he does not.
Wallace walks toward the house. He greets me with a smile and a nod, and I introduce Marcus as my investigator.
He takes one look at Marcus and somehow avoids the temptation to hug him hello. Instead he turns to me. “The agreement with Mrs. Barlow was that she would speak with only you. I’m afraid Mr. Clark will have to leave.”
“Nunh,” says Marcus with a slight shake of the head. As an experienced and very capable bodyguard, he’s not letting me out of his sight.
What happens next is almost imperceptible, but I am Andy the Great Perceiver, so I pick up all of it. The two large guys on the porch start to move toward Marcus, who, even though he’s not looking at them, senses it and turns slightly toward them. He does so with an understated intensity that literally stops them in their tracks, as if somebody yelled, “Freeze.”
Wallace, apparently in my class as a perceiver of subtlety, observes it too. He’s smart enough to know that Marcus is not going to obey a guy standing on the street in a dress, so he decides to speak to the only people there who will listen to him.
“It is just a misunderstanding,” he says to the servants. “Please confirm with Mrs. Barlow that Mr. Clark’s presence will be welcomed.”
“Yes, Keeper,” says one of them, and he goes inside to do just that. The other one stays behind and stares ominously at Marcus, who seems to avoid shaking in fear. When the first guy comes back with the shocking news that Mrs. Barlow is okay with Marcus, we go in.
Mrs. Barlow and her seventeen-year-old daughter, Madeline, are waiting for us in the foyer. Jeremy mentioned that he met Madeline at school. There is no Mr. Barlow around, and I know from the discovery documents that he died a few years ago.
Both greet us very politely, and each makes a practiced bow to Wallace, accompanied by a “Good afternoon, Keeper.” Madeline is then sent off to her room, but I think I detect a slight rolling of her eyes, a move common to teenagers everywhere. It’s the first spontaneous sign of humanity I have seen in this town.
The interior of the house is perfectly kept. Everything is meticulously maintained, and although nothing in the house seems to be of any real financial value, the feeling is that each possession is cherished and appreciated by Mrs. Barlow. On some level it makes it even more painful to think that she has lost a daughter to a horrific murder.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” I say.
“The Keeper asked me to,” she says, leaving no doubt that there could be no request from the Keeper that she would not rush to grant. This guy has an extraordinary hold over his parishioners.
“I’m representing Jeremy Davidson, the young man accused of the murders. Do you know him?”
She gives a half-nod. “I’ve spoken with him on the phone… I believe twice. We’ve never met.”
“But you know he was your daughter’s boyfriend? That they talked of being married?”
“I don’t believe that. They were simply friends.”
She’s either lying or did not exactly have the kind of relationship in which her daughter shared her secrets. “So your daughter never referred to Jeremy as her boyfriend?”
She shakes her head. “No, and Liz was very open with me. If that was the case, I certainly would have known it.”
“Did she tell you about Eddie?” I ask.
I see something in her eyes, only for a moment. It isn’t a flash quite of fear, but maybe one of concern. She covers it up quickly, but asking her about Eddie, the name that Liz’s friends at school said she had mentioned, has definitely gotten a reaction.<
br />
“I’m not familiar with anyone named… with anyone by that name.”
She seems unwilling to even say the name, so I say it for her. “Eddie.”
She nods. “Yes.”
“Can you tell me the names of any boyfriends Liz ever had?”
Mrs. barlow glances quickly at Wallace, then looks back at me. “Not really. There was never anyone serious. She was so young.” Her last sentence may well be the first honest one she’s said to me, and the simple truth that her daughter died so young causes her eyes to fill with tears.
Keeper Wallace sees this and intervenes. “Must you maintain such a focus on this innocent young girl’s private life?”
“Did she have a public life?” I ask, perhaps too harshly because I’m annoyed. I’m trying to find out why this girl was hacked to death, and this guy thinks I should be asking about her favorite color.
The interview continues, but I get absolutely nowhere. At one point Madeline walks by the open door, and I request permission to speak with her, but Mrs. Barlow and Wallace rebuff me simultaneously. It’s a shame, because Madeline looks like the type to say what she thinks.
I thank Mrs. Barlow, and Marcus and I leave. He hasn’t said a word the entire time we were in there, but he got as much helpful information out of the session as I did. Zero.
I say good-bye to Wallace, who no doubt assumes I’m leaving his precious town for good. Instead we follow him in our car to the town hall. We all get out of our cars, me holding a manila envelope Calvin gave me, and I can feel Wallace staring at us as Marcus and I enter the building next door, in which I met Drummond.
I head to the office of the town clerk, which I saw on my previous visit. Marcus and I walk in without knocking, and the woman behind the desk seems about to have a stroke when she sees us enter.
“Good afternoon,” I say.
“I’m afraid that we don’t-,” she says, and since it doesn’t seem like the rest of the sentence is going to be terribly helpful, I interrupt her.
“We’re going to need some records,” I say, opening the envelope for her. “This request should speak for itself. We’ll need voter rolls, school enrollments, property tax lists… things like that. It’s all listed here.”
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