The Hanging Tree

by Bryan Gruley

  Haskell threw up his hands. “So what are we doing here? Did you come here to torture me? Or to ask questions? If it’s not—”

  “I’m working on a follow-up story,” I said. “A more detailed look at the relationship between you and Vend. Who was the real mastermind behind it all? Who called the shots? Who was whose bitch?”

  “You’ll never get that in your little rag.”

  “Sure I will. Suddenly, this place can’t get enough stories that shit on Laird Haskell. Did you know the Pilot’s circulation is up thirteen percent in the last month? And funny, but nobody seems to give a damn about the guy downstate. He didn’t screw them over on a hockey rink.”

  Haskell shifted in his chair and looked out at the lake, idly rapping the fingers of one hand on the table. I watched him calculate. He turned back to me, the red washed out of his face for the moment.

  “I can help you with that story,” he said. “I have documents. All sorts of documents. Boxes of them.” He leaned into the table. “Copies of handwritten ledgers. Credit card slips. Photographs. Voice mails. E-mails, even. We could put away some of the biggest names in Michigan. And Vend—we could put that twisted pervert in prison for the rest of his life.”

  “You’re one of the biggest names in Michigan, Mr. Haskell.”

  “Not even close. These are big. You can’t imagine. Dangerous big.”

  I smiled. “I’ll take whatever you want to give me. On the record.”

  “On the record?” Haskell said. “No. Be reasonable. I give you the papers, you quote from the papers. No need to say where you got it.”

  “Sorry.” I stood to leave. “This is not a negotiation.”

  “Are you crazy? Are you fucking crazy? Some of these people—they would—fucking Jarek Vend is—you don’t realize.” He was halfway out of his chair, sputtering, spittle whitening the corners of his mouth.

  Gilbert lifted his head to watch. He looked fascinated, as if he’d never seen this particular client before.

  “If I see Vend, I’ll be sure to tell him you said hello. Maybe he’ll give me the documents. What do you think?”

  “Wait.” Haskell rushed around the table. He took me by an arm. I could smell the sweat on him. “Wait. Please, Gus, think about this.”

  “You already offered all that stuff to the cops. Right? But they’re not playing, are they?” I pulled my arm away. “They’re taking you down, Mr. Haskell. Or Vend will take you down. Either way’s fine with me.”

  “What—what did I ever do to you? I didn’t return your fucking phone calls, so you just hang me out to dry?”

  I turned to Gilbert. “Thanks, Parm.”

  “Feel free to call if you have follow-up questions,” he said.

  “Follow-up questions?” Haskell said. “You don’t even have a story.”

  “Well,” I said, “you did say you have all these ledgers and credit card slips that could bring down the biggest names in Michigan. Including Vend. What did you call him? A twisted pervert? I mean, I’d love to have the documents, but the quotes I got are pretty good.”

  “We were off the record.”

  “I never agreed to that.”

  Haskell turned to Gilbert. The attorney looked at me, then at his client.

  “It is customary,” Gilbert said, “to make those sorts of agreements explicit at the beginning of an interview.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Haskell said. He turned back to me. “Come on, Gus. For old times’ sake. There must be some middle ground here.”

  I looked at him. His silver hair was mussed. The second-to-last button on his shirt was undone. His eyes were sunken with fear and weariness. I could have put him in front of a mirror and he never would have seen it. He would never see anything but smiling Laird Haskell, scourge of the auto industry, friend of the victim, doting husband, father of a future NHL goaltender.

  “Yeah, sure, Laird,” I said. “The middle ground is like this: You could have hung Gracie in that tree yourself. But you didn’t. That’s all.”

  I could still hear him shouting, What in God’s good heaven does that mean? as I trudged up his driveway, ignored Kepsel and Sally and Mrs. Ford begging me to tell them what was going on, climbed into my pickup, and pulled away.

  I never did write a story on that conversation.

  Two days later, Parmelee Gilbert resigned as Laird Haskell’s attorney. By the end of the week, he had closed his office, put his house up for sale, and left Starvation Lake for good.

  twenty-seven

  We took Mrs. B’s rowboat about fifty yards out from Mom’s beach. A Clorox bottle chained to an old sump pump on the lake bottom marked the spot. Our dive raft would float there once the water warmed up enough for me to paddle the thing out from shore.

  My mother slowly stood between the bench seats in the bow of the boat.

  “Careful, Bea,” Mrs. B said.

  “I’m all right.”

  Mom removed the lid from the tin containing Gracie’s ashes. Mrs. B and I watched as Mom stood waiting for the boat to drift around until it was pointing downwind. Streaks of lavender and pink glimmered on the water, mirroring the early evening clouds.

  Mom lifted the tin. “This was Gracie’s favorite place,” she said. “That I have not forgotten.” She wanted to cry but she made herself smile. “May it give her peace for all eternity.”

  “Amen,” Mrs. B said.

  “Amen,” I said.

  Mom shook the tin. The spring breeze floated Gracie over the lake. She disappeared on the silver ripples.

  “Stay here,” Mom said. “I’ll make tea.”

  I was pulling the boat up onto the damp sand. Mrs. B stood on a section of dock stacked on the beach, pulling her sweater close against the twilight chill. I dropped the bow rope and waited for Mom to go into the house.

  “Darlene couldn’t make it?” I said.

  Mrs. B kept her gaze on the lake. “She had to work.”

  “Really?”

  I didn’t mention that I had seen Darlene’s car outside Audrey’s, but the look on my face must have given me away.

  “She’s going to need some time, Gussy. You’ll have to trust her.”

  “Is the divorce going through?”

  “Ask Jason. Now that he’s in jail, he has even more reasons to procrastinate.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “No. No, I’m sorry.”

  “Cream? Sugar? Lemon?” my mother called out.

  “Please be patient, son,” Mrs. B said.

  I looked up at my mother. The wail of a loon came from somewhere out on the lake. I remembered I had to get the swing out of the garage that weekend.

  “Nothing for me, Mom,” I said. “Got to get somewhere.”

  I hugged Mrs. B as I left. “Tell Darl I said hi.”

  “Of course.”

  The violet stripes were fading in the western sky by the time I ascended to the highest branch that would bear my weight.

  It wasn’t as high as Gracie had climbed all those years ago while her boyfriend gaped from below. But it would have to do.

  From where I stood with my left arm hugging the trunk of the shoe tree, I could see all the way to Main Street. A light came on in Darlene’s apartment window. I watched it for a few seconds, then looked away, past town to the lakeshore. I turned and saw the steel frame of the rink bathed in the yellow glow of safety lights. I looked up into the tree, and I thought of Gracie perched up there as a girl, asking the sheriff’s deputy, “Didn’t you ever do anything for love?”

  I reached into my coat pocket. I tied the shoes together and looped them over a bough as high over my head as I could reach: A high-top sneaker dyed again to a brilliant pink, and a white baby shoe laced with blue satin ribbon.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First, thank you to all of the people who read Starvation Lake. I hope you liked it, but even if you didn’t, I’m grateful that you gave Gus a chance.

  Thanks to my indefatigable agents, Erin Malone and Suzanne Gluck o
f William Morris Endeavor. I’m deeply grateful to my editor, Stacy Creamer; her assistant, Lauren Spiegel; and to all the enormously helpful folks at Touchstone: Marcia Burch, Renata Di Biase, Josh Karpf, Stacy Lasner, Cherlynne Li, Meredith Kernan, Jessica Roth, Alessandra Preziosi, David Falk, Ellen Silberman, and Trish Todd. Also to my meticulous copy editor, Amy Ryan; my T-shirt guy, Mike Manion; and my brilliant Web designers, Sunya Hintz, Todd Kneedy, and Justin Muggleton. For their advice, encouragement, patience, and party-organizing skills, thanks to Janet Adamy, John Anderson, Joe Barrett, Pete Bookless at the Hide-A-Way Bar, John Campbell, John Carreyrou, Helene Cooper, Kimi Crova, Sam Enriquez, John Galligan, Tony Gray, David Gruley, Michael Gruley, Terry Gruley, Michael Harvey, Bill Hayes, Julie Jargon, Dan Kelly, David Kocieniewski, Alan Murray, Bruce Orwall, Dan Radovich, Marcus Sakey, John Schroeder, Sean Sherman, Glenn Simpson, Doug Stanton, Andrew Stoutenburgh, Del Tinsley, Jeff Trachtenberg, Rich Turner, Ken Wells, and especially Jonathan Eig. Thanks always to Trish Grader and Shana Kelly, who gave Starvation Lake its start. And to my most important readers: my wife, Pamela; and children, Joel, Kaitlin, and Danielle. Last but not least, a deep and heartfelt bow to the Shamrocks, the Flames, the YANKS, the Hawks alums, and all the boys of Thursday hockey.

  FOR DISCUSSION

  1. The first line of the book is, “I have learned that you can be too grateful for love.” Do you think this statement refers to the relationship between Gus and Darlene, or is the author highlighting a larger theme? Think about the various relationships in the novel in light of this sentence. Does it change your perspective on them, or on the book as a whole?

  2. Gus has proven himself to be a reporter of persistence and talent. Is Gus wasting that talent by staying in Starvation Lake? Do you think he is hiding in Starvation Lake, still ashamed of what he did at the Detroit Times? Or are his reasons for living there—his mother, Darlene, his history with the town—genuine? Do you think he aspires to work for a big paper again?

  3. Many people in Starvation Lake are annoyed by Gus’s negative stories about the new hockey rink. Why does the new rink mean so much to the town? How do the prospective new rink and the existing old one function as symbols for Starvation Lake?

  4. Gus and Gracie had a very troubled relationship, with tensions that seem to go beyond normal “sibling rivalry” (or, in their case, cousin rivalry). Do you think Gus’s appraisal of Gracie’s character is fair? How does his understanding change of who she was? Is it easier, or more appealing, to forgive someone who is dead?

  5. Gus’s mother withholds a lot of information about Gracie that could potentially help the investigation. If she weren’t in a declining mental state, would she have let things slip at all? Or does she hide behind her forgetfulness as an excuse to withhold information at will? How would Gus’s investigation have changed if she had kept her silence?

  6. Is Gracie’s slide into prostitution understandable? Do women truly have no other option at times or, as Trixie says, do they enjoy playing that role on a certain level? If prostitution were legalized and controlled, do you think stories like Gracie’s would be less likely?

  7. Gracie sacrifices her life for her child. Given Gracie’s limited resources and options, do you agree this was the best way for her to help her son, or could it prove to be intensely damaging to him in the long run?

  8. Gus tells Philo, “Just like hockey. It’s all about two-on-ones.” There are many “two-on-one” relationships throughout The Hanging Tree. Besides that of Gus-Darlene-Jason, can you think of any other love triangles? Or triangles that involve nonromantic relationships? Do you think these triangles were intentional on Gruley’s part?

  9. Felicia Haskell is, at first, a minor character, but she is central to Gracie’s death and the unfolding of the plot. Is she a sympathetic character, forced to make difficult decisions, or a selfish manipulator?

  A CONVERSATION WITH BRYAN GRULEY

  Tell us about the process of plotting a mystery novel. Do you have the story mapped out before you sit down to write, or do you discover it along with your characters?

  So far, I’m not much of an advance plotter. I know where the story begins and I have a vague idea of how it ends. Then I start writing and, yes, I discover the story along with my characters. As I go, I jot notes to myself about story arcs I need to follow through on and loose ends I have to tie up, and these become a sort of rough, moving outline for what’s to come in the next few scenes.

  How is writing a sequel different from writing a debut novel? Does your writing process change at all?

  Writing my first novel was hard because I had no idea how to go about writing a novel. Writing the sequel was hard because I had no idea how to go about writing

  a sequel.

  I don’t mean to be glib. In a sequel, you have to be mindful both of readers who have not read your previous book and readers who have. You have to give the former enough backstory to appreciate the setting and characters without giving so much that you either bore repeat readers or reveal so much of the first book that new readers won’t go back and give it a try.

  At least for me, another challenge on the sequel was quieting the echoes of reviewers, bloggers, readers, and others who had opined about my writing. Writing my debut, all I had to worry about were my own instincts and the suggestions of the few friends who read the manuscript. This time around, it was impossible at times not to recall the critics, professional or not, who’d complained about the hockey or the dialogue or the prologue or the way my hair was done in the author photo. It made for some second-guessing, but I tried to remind myself what my friend, the novelist John Galligan, told me: Write what’s in your heart.

  When you first conceived of this series, how did you decide which point of view to tell the story from? Did you ever consider using a character other than Gus to narrate, or telling the story from a third-person perspective?

  In truth, I didn’t conceive of a series; I just wrote one story, Starvation Lake, and my friends at Touchstone told me it would be a series.

  I never gave serious thought to telling the story in anything but the first person. It just felt natural, and it really helped me to get to know at least one character, Augustus Carpenter. I sometimes feel envious reading stories told in third-person omniscient, because the narrator can honestly know things that the main character cannot know. I do not have that luxury with Gus, of course, but for now at least, I feel that it’s his voice more than anything that connects with certain readers.

  While you don’t write from a female perspective, there are several strong female characters at the heart of The Hanging Tree (particularly Gracie, Felicia, Darlene, and Michele). Do any of the women in your life inform your female characters?

  Absolutely. While none of these fictional characters are modeled on particular women in my life, I assume that virtually every girl or woman I’ve ever known has influenced the way in which I’ve drawn them—and the way Gus perceives them. The latter is most important because it tells us as much about Gus as it does about them.

  Felicia and Laird Haskell put a lot of pressure on Taylor. Throughout the novel, Gus describes the dashed dreams of parents who believed that their sons were bound for the NHL. Do you think that this kind of pressure from parents is more intense in small towns like Starvation Lake?

  I doubt it. Remember that the Haskells originally hail from the Detroit suburbs. The pressure there—and in Chicago, Toronto, Minneapolis, Montreal, Boston, and other hockey towns—can be intense. The best parents understand that the odds of their kid playing pro hockey are infinitesimal. They instead encourage a love of the game that the kid can embrace for the rest of his or her life.

  Philo’s belief in the potential of the Web to change journalism is pivotal to the story. You have experienced the changes affecting journalism firsthand. Do you think that the essential role of reporters has shifted in the information age, or is their basic purpose and process the same? Are you optimistic about the future for newspapers in America?r />
  The reporter’s missions is as ever: tell people things they didn’t know five seconds ago, and tell them stories that make them think, laugh, debate, cry, act. Today, a young reporter is likely to be as adept with a video camera as she is with a pen and notebook, and he’s likely to deliver information in shorter, faster blasts than before. But the essentials remain unchanged: What’s new? What’s interesting? How does it affect me and my world?

  I’m not optimistic about the future for print newspapers, per se, because the business model is broken beyond repair. But the demand for news, compelling tales, and insightful analysis in an increasingly connected, increasingly complex world is greater than ever. The challenge is finding ways to deliver that material in ways that people will actually pay for it.

  Tell us about your plans for Gus and Starvation Lake. Will the series continue? Any thoughts on how many books there might be?

  At least one more, according to the folks at Touchstone. I can envision more beyond that, because I enjoy the characters so much. I’m dying to know what will happen to Soupy and Bea and Darlene and the River Rats. The only way to find out is to sit down and write it.

  ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB

  1. Gruley shared in a Pulitzer Prize for the Wall Street Journal’s coverage of the September 11 attacks. You can read some of his articles online at his website, www.bryangruley.com. Pick a piece to read together and note the differences in his style as a journalist and as a fiction writer.

  2. Hockey, and the position of goalie in particular, are important to the storyline of The Hanging Tree. Watch some of a hockey game on TV or online (or attend a local hockey game!) and try to imagine it from a goalie’s point of view.

  3. The Hanging Tree takes place in 1999, before Internet news had become popular. Philo, Gus’s boss at the Pilot, expresses a belief that it’s the wave of the future for reporters. Discuss among the group where and how you get your news, and how that has changed in the past ten years.