First Lady

by Michael Malone

  Carl began by suggesting that everybody had now had a chance to cool down and think about what was best for North Carolina. Cuddy interrupted. “How about what’s best for those old tattered banners, Truth and Justice?”

  Brookside smiled with his radiant easy equanimity. “Surely, Captain, the two aren’t incompatible.”

  Cuddy shrugged. “Well, I guess that’s what we’re here to find out.”

  Carl offered us all cigars out of an impulse similar I suppose to passing the peace pipe, but no one accepted, though it did make me want to take the Luckies out of my pocket and I would have if Cuddy hadn’t been there. The mayor advised us to relax, predicting that if we did, we’d see that we were all on the same side. I say “we,” but actually Carl was talking only to Cuddy and the governor. I was there in the way that soldiers, bodyguards, butlers, and drivers are there but not there. It was a curious sensation and it made me realize that no one had done a thorough interview of the driver of the limousine who’d brought Lucy Griggs and Mavis to The Fifth Season. Was there more that he had heard on that drive, seen near the bungalow before he’d left to rush Andy to the Governor’s Gala?

  Through the circling shade trees, shafts of sunlight criss-crossed into the clearing. Carl gestured around him. “We don’t have to worry. There’re no lawyers here, no media, no political opponents, just us.”

  Everyone was quiet a moment as if to make sure we couldn’t hear a guerrilla band of lawyers and reporters creeping up on us through the forest. Then Andy motioned to Cuddy. “Go ahead.”

  Cuddy nodded. “Okay. First of all, I will not resign. If I am fired or the homicide commander here is fired,” he pointed over at me and it was the first I’d known that the city council had planned to boot me along with him, “my last act as Hillston’s police chief will be to issue arrests for the six individuals on the list I’ve given Carl.”

  Brookside said that he’d seen the list. He ran tanned fingers through his famous hair. “All right, let’s start with your list since I’m on it. I’ll quote you. First of all, I will not resign either. And it’s pretty ludicrous even to suggest that I should.”

  The more easily the governor smiled—it wasn’t a snide or sardonic or insincere smile, just a pleasant one—the more tightly Cuddy squeezed his folded arms to his chest, until the sinews on his bare forearms were rigid. He tapped the insignia on his shirt. “I’ve taken an oath to stop people from committing crimes and arrest them if they do. No matter who they are.”

  “We’ve all taken oaths,” Carl mildly interjected.

  “Well hey,” Cuddy threw out his arms. “Then I don’t know how some of you sleep.”

  “Hold on—”

  Cuddy interrupted Carl. “A young woman was murdered. Under the stupid assumption that she was Mavis Mahar, people who should know better altered a crime scene. They did it,” he pointed at Brookside, “to conceal your presence in her hotel room the night of her death. Her body was moved and she was shot in the face postmortem by or at the behest of the attorney general of this state in an effort to convince a moron of a coroner that her death was a suicide.”

  Andy opened his hands as if to demonstrate he was hiding nothing. “Ward tells me that either Bubba was just mistaken about where and how he’d seen the woman’s body earlier—he was certainly mistaken about whose body it was—or it was the murderer himself who moved the corpse and fired the second shot at her face.”

  Cuddy snorted. “Four hours after the first shot?”

  Andy shrugged. “People do strange things.”

  “They sure do. Ward Trasker organized and carried out a conspiracy to obstruct justice, aided by Sheriff Homer Louge and others.”

  Andy shrugged again. “Ward denies that he did any such thing. Or that anyone with him did any such thing.”

  “It’s not true and you know it. A young woman’s dead, goddamn it.”

  Carl gently interjected. “Cuddy, we know that.”

  “Somebody killed her. What people did to protect this man,” he pointed again at Andy, “has messed up that crime scene so much it’s going to be harder to find out who killed her and a hell of a lot harder to convict him even if we do.”

  The governor turned to his running mate. “I think we need to—”

  Cuddy exploded. “And you just don’t care, do you, you son of a bitch!”

  Andy’s face flushed. He held up his hand to stop the mayor and moved himself directly in front of Cuddy. “I’ve told you I haven’t committed a crime and I won’t tolerate the continued implication that I’m lying about it. I did not participate in a cover up of anything criminal at The Fifth Season. I did not ask anyone to cover up anything criminal for me. Yes, I asked Percy to bring me my car and my raincoat. It was an awkward situation. I wanted to minimize the awkwardness. Why not? I had no idea that the raincoat had been used to cover her body and was therefore evidence.”

  Cuddy was fighting hard to keep his voice quiet. “You didn’t know what Ward Trasker was doing in that bungalow? Bubba didn’t call and tell you? Ward didn’t tell you?”

  “The first person who told me a cover-up took place in that bungalow was you.”

  So angry he was trembling, Cuddy snarled, “Bullshit! Ward fucking believed you’d killed Mavis Mahar yourself to shut her up and save your so-called marriage and your election!”

  Livid, Brookside jabbed Cuddy in the breastbone with his stiffened fingers. “You talk to me about my marriage, you sanctimonious bastard?”

  Cuddy lunged at him. I jumped between them and pushed them both backwards. “Okay, both of you step back here. Step back right now.” I pushed them again.

  Carl looked first confused, as if he wasn’t sure what was going on, and then he focused his look elsewhere, as if he’d quickly made the decision that he didn’t care to know what was going on. Then he stepped into the space I’d cleared between the opponents and urged Cuddy to face him. “Can we talk about ways to work this out, Cuddy? You’re in the middle of an investigation that we’ve got to close fast, the press is all over us. You say you think this man’s already killed maybe three women. That’s what matters.”

  He turned to the governor. “Andy, only a few days ago you gave Captain Mangum the highest honor for service to the state it’s in your power to give. How’s it going to look for you, for him, for Hillston, for North Carolina, if one week after you hand him the Raleigh Medal, all this blows up in our faces?” He moved back to Cuddy. “Andy has an election to deal with. Can we agree we need to move on now or nobody wins? Can we agree the best thing for this state is for you to catch this madman and for Andy to get back to the business of governing?”

  Cuddy turned and walked away, his back to us. He stared a long silent while out at Haver Forest. The trees, the land, the university all gifts from the family of the woman he loved. Gifts to the state she wanted her husband to serve. I know that’s what Cuddy was thinking because when he turned around to look at us he nodded slowly. Carl then looked questioningly at Andy, who nodded too. Carl solemnly pulled the wrapper off a long cigar. “Good. So now let’s take it point by point, all right, gentleman?”

  Thirty minutes later they had a deal. And I had the deal-making on tape, although the governor and the mayor didn’t know it. Or who knows? Maybe they had tapes of their own.

  —Ward Trasker would resign as State’s Attorney General tomorrow and would plead nolo contendere to a single charge of obstruction of justice. The hearing and the verdict would be sealed.

  —The former A.G. Ken Moize would be asked to step in as Acting A.G.

  —Acting A.G. Ken Moize would instruct D.A. Mitchell Bazemore to remove the Haver County sheriff’s department from any involvement whatsoever in the Guess Who homicide investigation.

  —Mayor Yarborough would instruct the Hillston city council to inform Police Chief C.R. Mangum that he enjoyed their full and enthusiastic support.

/>   —Police Chief C.R. Mangum would be in sole charge of the Guess Who homicide investigation.

  —If on July 4 the mayor and council of Hillston were not satisfied with the progress Captain Mangum had made on the investigation, he would voluntarily resign his office. If they were satisfied, his contract would be renewed (six months early) for a period of four years.

  —Osmond Bingley would retire at the end of next month as Haver County coroner.

  —N.C. Bureau of Investigation agent Ted Bingley, Osmond’s nephew, would be reassigned to a field office in the western part of the state.

  —The governor would immediately ask the Haver County Commissioners to appoint an external review to investigate the competence and the character of Sheriff Homer Louge. Until its findings were concluded, Sheriff Louge would take an involuntary leave of absence.

  —Other than the misdemeanor to which Ward Trasker would plead nolo contendere, the Hillston police would file no charges against anyone for what happened at The Fifth Season on June 25 in connection with the murder of Lucy Griggs. Any HPD files containing evidence of possible illegal acts committed at that time (such as evidence tampering, felonious assault on the victim’s body, and so forth) would be closed and sealed.

  —All parties to this agreement today pledged themselves never to discuss its terms with anyone, nor ever to make public any of the events surrounding the alleged “cover up” at The Fifth Season, nor to comment on any alleged relationship between the governor and Mavis Mahar.

  —Oh, and discretionary funds in the state budget would be transferred Monday into an undisclosed supplement to the Hillston town budget. These funds would enable the city council to agree to the pay raise that the striking sanitation workers demanded, and frankly, admitted the mayor, had long deserved.

  Although Carl cheerfully suggested at the end of the bargaining that we all stroll back together to the hotel bar for a friendly cocktail, I was the only one interested. Andy and Cuddy shook hands as we stood there in that clearing, but it was chillingly clear that they would be just as glad if they never laid eyes on each other again.

  Andy then shook hands affably with me. “Good to see you, Justin.”

  “You too, Andy.”

  “Tell Alice to come see me. I’d love to get her back in the campaign. She still in the mountains?”

  “Still in the mountains.”

  He was good at that personal touch. Then with a last smile he turned and briskly strode through the crossed shafts of sunlight toward the shadowed forest where I supposed there was a limousine waiting. Like always, the light shimmered around him until he took on a glow—like one of the old pagan gods come down to earth to find a mortal girl and convince her that one moment of love with a swan or a bull or a shower of gold was worth a lifetime of regret.

  After the governor left, Carl gave Cuddy a quick hard but heartfelt hug. “Thank the Lord,” he said.

  Cuddy tilted his head in that bluejay wink. “Well, I think it’s Dina we probably need to thank. She always was the best thing that ever happened to you, Carl.”

  Carl smiled at us as he held a match to the long cigar. “That is for damn sure, my friend.”

  Cuddy waved away the smoke. “So you ever going to tell me how close you came to trading me in before she stopped you?”

  Carl shook his head affectionately. “Cuddy, you’re one of the smartest men I know, you’re a great administrator, you’re a great cop, you may even be a great man, but you’re a lousy politician. You don’t ask questions like that.”

  I said, “That’s a lesson you better teach Dina then.”

  “Don’t I know it,” smiled the mayor. “She’s worse than Cuddy.” He puffed away on the cigar, sending blue swirls of smoke into the slanted light. “Now let’s get clear. You got your investigation back and you got Homer and Mitch off your back. Listen to me, everything stays as squeaky clean as my daddy’s Cadillac on a Saturday night. Cuddy, you go by the book like it was the Holy Bible. I spent a lot of capital holding this thing together. I got three guys on that council bent out of shape over the Tyler Norris arrest because they are pals of his daddy. This Guess Who mess has got Homer bending their ear and them bending my ear how you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. They are drooling to chew your ass. And you know who they are.”

  Cuddy nodded yes. “I know who they are.”

  “Well, don’t pull your pants down and stick your fanny in their teeth. I’ll see you back downtown. Take it easy, Justin.” Then Carl followed the path Brookside had taken into the forest.

  Cuddy stood staring after him until finally I said, “Like a beer?”

  “No.” He started back across the golf course toward the hotel parking lot, his long legs stretching in fast strides over the grass. “I’d like Guess Who locked up before he kills somebody else.”

  I caught up with him. “By July 4. That’s six days.” For it had been Cuddy who’d volunteered to resign if he hadn’t arrested Guess Who by the Fourth. “What is it with you?”

  He turned toward me, his bony face earnest, his thick nut-brown hair twisted oddly by the afternoon breeze. “I don’t think people ought to get away with doing wrong. That’s all.” We walked out of the beautiful pines of Haver Forest.

  • • •

  As I was driving him back to the Cadmean Building, Cuddy handed me the little spiral notepad he’d carried when we’d walked in on Ward Trasker and friends at The Fifth Season. “Take this, take the tape you’re wearing, take any notes you have on the bungalow scene. Lock them up and leave them alone. And, Justin, you don’t talk about this to anybody. Not anybody.”

  “Except Alice. I tell her everything.”

  He swiveled toward me on the car seat. “Oh really?”

  I looked over at him and felt such a flush of heat move up my neck that I quickly turned away.

  “I’m real glad to hear it,” he said.

  • • •

  Waiting at my door was a Federal Express deliveryman with large boxes sent from a gourmet store in Manhattan. Inside one box was a case of Dom Perignon champagne. Inside the other, packed in ice, was a fourteen-ounce tin of Beluga caviar. The note said, “Champagne and caviar. Sorry it’s not apples and whiskey.” It was signed “The Queen of the Night.” A quick calculation suggested that Dermott Quinn or Bernadette Davey or whoever had been sent to buy my presents had paid around three thousand dollars for them. But then, as Mavis had said, she had much more money than time. When I turned on my television, ironically enough there she was on the screen, singing joyfully about imported ale that she’d no doubt been paid millions to kiss the can of.

  I put the case down beside the untouched pile of mostly junk mail lying on the hall floor and noticed a postcard of scarlet rhododendrons blazing over a slope of Carolina mountains. The card said, “Please remember my plants. I love you always, Alice.”

  I put one bottle of the champagne in the freezer. It was cold when I finished watering all the palms and ferns and fig trees and jasmine and azaleas that Alice had kept alive year after year. Their pots were dry, the leaves wilting. I was just in time.

  Chapter 24

  Main Street

  The Norris jury was out all that night. Cuddy began to hope we’d get a conviction after all. Friday morning he and I met with Dr. Isabel Sonora, an assistant dean of Haver Medical School. She took us past a dissecting arena where two young men in white coats, presumably students, were cheerfully laughing about something as they fiddled with a long human leg on a table. The dean was tall and thin with a bony look to her rather like the row of skeletons hanging around the walls. A large fan blew through the room and the skeletons trembled as if they were hearing a musical cue to start a medieval dance of death.

  As Dr. Sonora pushed open the door to a huge freezer room labeled Cadaver Storage, she sternly repeated the lecture she’d already given us in her office. “Nex
t time, if you people think you’re going to need your cadavers back, don’t donate them. You’re lucky we found as much of her as we did.”

  The dean pointed at a long counter surface where neatly arranged in a row were the dismembered skeletal remains of one full human arm, one forearm, one detached hand and a footless lower leg.

  “That’s it?” Cuddy asked, upset. “Some arms and legs?”

  Dr. Sonora opened a cadaver drawer. “I said you were lucky. This was going into a classroom next week.” The dean showed us a female torso with no arms or legs. But the flesh was still on it and the head was still attached. I knew who it was. Having been embalmed, stored in freezers, first at the city morgue, then here at Haver Medical School, Kristin Stiller had decomposed not all that much more since I’d first seen her lying in a ditch of rotted leaves and raw red earth where her murderer had left her. But eerily enough, her eyes were now missing (having been used in a class), giving her a macabre resemblance to her fellow victim Lucy Griggs.

  We presented Dr. Sonora with the court order to release what was left of Kristin Stiller’s body to Dr. Samuel Chang, the forensic pathologist, when he arrived here this afternoon. She accepted the legal papers rather grumpily and on the way out of the building couldn’t stop herself from scolding us again not to expect to be able to show up two months after donating an anonymous cadaver and find it waiting for us. “These things are expensive. You’re very lucky.”

  “Luckier than Kristin Stiller,” I agreed.

  She looked at me then at an oil painting on the paneled wall of the reception room. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Justin Savile.”

  She gestured at the oil painting. “Dr. Justin Savile was head of this medical school.” I nodded. “Your father?” I nodded again. “Good man, people around here say.” I kept nodding. “Died in a car crash?”