A Fox Inside

by David Stacton

  As in most beaux-arts buildings, the proportions were farcical. What should have been a large and airy place, soaring up through the balconies of the floors to the dome, merely looked like the bottom of a chute; and the stone, despite being touched up with peacock blue and gilt, was filthy with fifty years of grime. There were no spittoons, but the marble floor was stained with spilth. The grand stairs that looked as though, there not being enough room, they had been forced to back up, came down behind the catafalque, which was high and draped with a Bear Flag. Flags also stood at the corners. The memorial wreaths and floral offerings rose in a jumble up against the coffin, each flower marcelled into place, like a lacquered wig. There were four guards on duty, two from the State Guard and two from the Police Department, but they looked neither symbolic nor solemn. The whole arrangement looked as though it had been flung down from an upper story. Men with briefcases walked back and forth across the floor, ignoring it. Its ceremony had been held yesterday and this was the tired aftermath.

  They skirted the catafalque, as he held Maggie’s hand, and went up the stairs. When they reached the top and turned off into a side corridor she sighed with relief.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It won’t take more than an hour and a half. You won’t even be called, at least, I don’t think so. Everyone’s on your side this time.” He pushed open the doors and went into the hearing room.

  Lily and Senator Ford were already there. They glanced at the aisle as they heard the doors open and Luke nodded to them. Lily was strained. He went down to join them, slipping into the row with Maggie, but keeping Maggie on his other side, away from Lily and next to Ford. Ford watched this manœuvre and gave him an amiable, amused nod. But he did not look amused. So there they sat, one big happy family, stricken with grief and public responsibility.

  It was all most politely done. They were all nice, well-bred, honourable people who, if they didn’t know each other, had at least heard of one another’s husbands and schools. They owned property, so they wished no bother. They did not want to see Lily and Maggie, particularly Lily, however. There were seven women on the jury, all in good, enormous hats, and all looking prosperous and faintly but honourably puzzled, full of curiosity and an underpaid determination to do their civic duty. The men were another matter. Luke did not think, off-hand, that they had much to worry about, so he relaxed. The coroner, though, was an efficient man with a bald spot at the tack of his head. Luke watched the witnesses. So did Ford. These included the highway patrolmen, which gave the women on the jury some pleasure, since they turned out to be handsome ones; the local sheriff; and Foster, who had to testify to Charles’s lack of financial or emotional strain.

  The testimony was magnificently suborned.

  “In your opinion did the deceased drink heavily?”

  Foster hesitated, glancing at Lily and Maggie. “He drank a good deal,” he said slowly.

  “How much?”

  “He could hold his liquor.”

  Wrong answer, thought Luke. Apparently the coroner thought the same thing. Ford reached across Maggie. “Friend of mine,” he explained. “Used to work for Jerome.” He meant the coroner.

  The coroner frowned. “Did you ever see him so drunk that he lost control of himself?”

  Again Foster looked at Maggie. “I’ve seen him pass out,” he said. “He would sit there and then he would sort of just keel over.”

  The coroner dismissed Foster and called a Dr. James. Luke didn’t know him from Adam. Neither, apparently, did Maggie. She looked surprised. James was Charles’s doctor, it seemed.

  “Did the deceased have any physical peculiarities?”

  His blood pressure was a trifle high. He drank a good deal. He was otherwise in good health.

  “Anything else?”

  Dr. James thought it over. Luke saw pass over his face a look of startled comprehension mixed with ethical confusion. The doctor hesitated. It seemed to Luke that Ford was waiting.

  “He had bad depth perception,” said the doctor unwillingly.

  Ford relaxed.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “He had one far-sighted and one near-sighted eye and they did not co-ordinate properly without glasses.”

  “What did that mean?”

  “It meant that for driving and precision work he was supposed to wear glasses. Otherwise he was apt to misjudge the length and height and placement of objects.”

  Dr. James had been attending Mr. Shannon for a number of years, had he not?

  Yes, he had.

  Had, in his opinion, this condition been worsening?

  He had not attended Mr. Shannon for two years. Mr. Shannon had had an operation on his left eye ten years before, to bring the muscles into alignment. Another operation might eventually be necessary, depending upon whether or not the muscles slackened.

  Had they slackened?

  It was difficult to tell. When people with that imperfection grew overtired or had too much to drink, they sometimes forgot where things were, or forgot to correct for the displacement of their vision, and then minor accidents sometimes happened.

  “Thank you.”

  Very neat and tidy, thought Luke. He knew about that operation. It had nothing to do with far-or longsighted eyesight, or its worsening. He glanced at the jury.

  He felt Maggie tighten her fingers on his arm and turned to see her looking across the empty seats. There was a woman on the other side of the room. She was, or looked to be, about sixty, with a round, well made-up face and a head of tight white curls. She was clutching a cane. The only unusual thing about her was that she had in her lap a small chocolate-brown Siamese cat.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “The cat,” said Maggie. “It’s Charles’s cat.” She looked terrified. The woman nodded towards them and smiled.

  “Ever seen her before?”

  Maggie shook her head, staring at the cat.

  “Mrs. Shannon,” called the coroner, and she looked to the front of the court again. Luke watched her as she rose and went to the witness-box. She moved a little too fast, spasmodically, which bothered him. He glanced rapidly at Ford and saw that Ford had also noticed the woman.

  Luke kept his eyes on Maggie. She seemed hesitant, but she was doing all right. She was pale.

  They only wanted to ask her routine questions. And then the coroner sighed and straightened up.

  “Was your husband a meticulous man?” he asked.

  “Very. He liked everything to be exactly where it was first put. He didn’t like anything moved. Not even an ashtray.”

  “Would you call him domestic?”

  Maggie half smiled. “No,” she said. “He let the servants do all that.”

  “Who instructed them?”

  “We both did.”

  “That will be all, Mrs. Shannon.” Sorry to bother you, and other appropriate remarks. Without looking either at the coroner or the jury, and with her eyes down, Maggie came back to her seat. Luke made room for her and then turned round. But she was not looking at him. She was looking beyond him.

  “She’s gone,” she said. Her voice was barely audible.

  Luke got up and told Ford he would be back in a minute for the sake of appearances. Then he walked slowly to the door, a man on his way to the lavatory; and when he was in the corridor sprinted down the hall as fast as he could run. When he reached the elevators they were on their way down. The elevators ran through an open wire cage. He could see the right one just coming to rest on the bottom floor. There was no point in trying to follow.

  He walked slowly back to the courtroom. For a woman with a cane she had got out damn fast. Unless she had only come to be seen. And who had let her bring a cat into the courtroom?

  When he got back everyone was standing up, jabbering away, and Maggie, Lily and Ford stood in an uncertain group. Though he was stooped Ford was taller than any of them. Luke went down the aisle to them.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Ford shrugged.
He was keeping an eye on Maggie and seemed to turn her over to Luke now. “Death by misadventure,” he said. “All very tricky and medical. But the case could be reopened if more evidence turned

  Lily wandered up the aisle, apparently eager to get away from them. Perhaps she was disappointed in the verdict. They watched her go out through the swinging doors alone.

  “She had Charles’s cat,” said Maggie. She began to shiver.

  Ford glanced at her sharply. “Let’s get her out of here,” he said. “Fast.” They went out into the corridor, one on either side of her. Lily was ahead of them. They both talked over Maggie’s head.

  “Did you recognize her?” asked Luke.

  “No,” said Maggie. “I never saw her. But Luke, if she had the cat….”

  “Don’t think about it,” said Luke. “Ford?”

  “I’ve seen her. I think Charles knew her once. I don’t know who she is.”

  They went down in the elevator and got out in the hall. Mercifully the elevator debouched at the side and not near the catafalque. Ford and Luke got Maggie outside, still following Lily. There was a cabstand below the main steps and Ford blinked at it in the sudden light. Then he hailed a cab, rushed Maggie down to it, and shoved her in.

  “It’s okay, kid,” he said. “Everything will be okay. But we’ve got some talking to do. Go home and take an aspirin or something. We’ll be along later.” He seemed amazingly energetic. He slammed the cab door on her. Luke had a glimpse of her white, scared face; and then Ford took his arm and galloped after Lily.

  She had just reached her car and was unlocking the door.

  “That’s fine. We’ll all get in,” said Ford.

  “You have your own car.”

  “Shut up, Lily.” He piled into the car. “We’ve got some talking to do.”

  Lily put both hands on the steering wheel. She was wearing grey suede gloves. “Not now,” she said. “Do you think I enjoyed that farce?”

  “Who was she?”

  “Who was who?”

  “You know,” said Ford.

  “I don’t know,” said Lily. “I’ve never seen her.”

  “She had Charles’s cat.”

  “I know.” Lily looked stubborn.

  “Then you know what that means….”

  “It doesn’t mean anything. Charles is dead,” said Lily. She looked in the rear-view mirror. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

  Ford leaned forward and put his hands on the back of the front seat. His grip was surprisingly strong. “Lily,” he said, “what did you and Charles really do to Jerome?” His voice was soft. “What did Maggie find out?”

  Lily squirmed round in the seat. Her face was livid, but she looked scared stiff. “Get out of this car,” she said. “Get out or I’ll call the police.” She jammed her hand down on the horn and pressed it as hard as she could. The noise was deafening. Luke leaned over and pulled her hand away. She hit him on the side of the face, scratching him with the edge of those diamond rings.

  Ford leaned back and looked at her. His eyes were small, tight, and angry; and his face was rubbery. “He was my best friend, Lily,” he said. “I went to Napa yesterday.”

  Lily was breathing hard. Suddenly, appallingly, she began to sob. It was much worse than that night in the house, when she had screamed, for it was low and controlled and trapped.

  “Charles made me,” she said. “I didn’t want to.”

  “No, he didn’t,” said Ford quietly. “He didn’t have to. How did Maggie find out?”

  “I don’t know. Charles kept the papers. I gave him money.” She broke off.

  “What did you really do?” asked Ford again. But Lily just stared at him. “Very well,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. There’s plenty of time. There’s all the rest of your life.”

  “Let go of me,” said Lily quietly. Luke did so and she closed her eyes.

  “Shell tell me some time,” said Ford. “You’d better go, boy. Give me her car keys first.”

  Luke pulled out the ignition keys and handed them to Ford, who put them in his pocket and sat judicially in the rear seat. Luke got out and closed the door.

  “It’s all right, Lily,” said Ford. “I can wait. But you’re going to tell me just the same. I’m going to save the girl. I’m going to do it because that’s the last thing you want.”

  Luke saw them sitting there, behind glass, the one in front, the other behind with the keys. He walked away.

  XVIII

  SHE THOUGHT SHE KNEW EVERYthing about Jerome when she married him; and she was amused that it had been so easy to do so. He wasn’t what girls of her own age, but then she didn’t know many girls of her own age, would have called a good catch. He was a better catch than that, for not only was he wealthy, he was important; and except for an old aunt who died a couple of years later, there were no relatives to bother her.

  It was exactly what she had wanted. Her parents did not have much money. They lived on earned income, though there was always enough of it. And at finishing school, which she had hated, when they found out about the earned income they had snubbed her. She made up her mind early, watching them, what she wanted to do; and she was always smiling and polite. Her day would come.

  Then she brought it off, she could put them where they belonged: not yet, because Jerome was older than she and not handsome, but later, when money and power would count for more than romance.

  In those days Jerome had still helped to run, once he had completely run, the North California political machine; and though that meant that he had to mix a lot with the Irish, his family had been there as long as anybody else’s family; and she had seen, with him, the insides of more houses and dining-rooms than she had seen before, and had faced the girls on equal terms in the powder-room, or upstairs before the men came up. She enjoyed that. She had always thought that that was all she wanted.

  Her father was dead and her mother approved of her. Her mother at last had something to talk about while she played whist. She now got the real inside dope.

  Then her mother died in the same hotel she had lived in for ten years. It was the longest she had ever spent in one hotel, but after her husband died she could not bring herself any longer to move. She did think of taking a trip to Mexico, but when the war came she decided that that would have been disloyal.

  Lily did not miss her. Of course Jerome was much older than she was. His friends were older, for the most part, even than he was. In a way that pleased her. She felt more secure with older men and they made a lot of fuss over her. But Jerome refused to cultivate the young, and that meant that, as time went on and his associates died off, he would lose his grip on the party machine. The trouble with them was that they had no sense of continuity. They wanted absolute power in their lifetime but they were content to let it go at that. But Lily would have to outlive them. She did her best about that, but Jerome simply did not like younger people. Some of the younger people did not know who the Barnes were.

  What she did not know was what was wrong with him. Neither did he. When it began to show up he moved down to the Atherton place and secluded himself there. He would not listen to her advice. He never did. He told her it was incommunicable and to shut up.

  “But you can’t shut me up down there,” she said. “You’ll lose everything.”

  He had looked at her very quietly. He had just got back from the clinic and he knew what was ahead of him. “You married me for one thing and you got another,” he said. “You simply made a mistake, that’s all.”

  “But I’m a young woman.”

  He smiled. “Not so young,” he said. “And I’m an old man. You’ll just have to make the best of it.” He had gone out of the room and up the stairs to dress for dinner. She looked after him, hoping that he would never come down. She never forgave him for speaking to her like that. It was the only thing of the sort he ever had said to her and she knew it was true. That was what made it so unforgivable.

  He did not come down very often.
He stopped talking too. He saved his words for Maggie. He was fond of Maggie. It was he who insisted that she be sent away to school. And he did that quietly, too. One day, she hoped that it would not be too long, he would not be able to speak at all.

  She spent ten years that way in Atherton. Their friends melted away. They were his friends, not hers, and he didn’t seem to want to see them. She put up with Senator Ford, and then even he stopped coming round. She hated card games. She hated everything she had that she had always wanted. She could remember the first time the dining-room table had been set for only two. Even so Jerome had not come down to dinner. He refused to see her.

  On the way to the dining-room, that first time of dinner alone, she had seen Ethel going upstairs with a tray. Ethel was younger then. They did not talk very much, but she saw that Ethel knew why Jerome did not wish to come downstairs. She wasn’t going to justify herself to the servant, but she had to talk to someone. She said she would take the tray upstairs herself.

  Jerome was sitting propped up in bed, surrounded by newspapers. He did not say anything to her and she did not say anything to him. She was going to, but instead she put the tray down on the table beside the bed.

  “I wish you would come down,” she said, after looking at him. “It isn’t pleasant for me to eat alone.”

  He stirred slightly in the bed, looking at her foggily. “I know,” he said happily. He got gaga sometimes, but not often. She went downstairs and ate alone.

  When Ford got her to give the parties Jerome seemed to enjoy it. He would lie in bed waiting. The night of the first one, when she was trying to put on her ear clips and wondering if they didn’t perhaps make her ears look too large, Ethel came in and said he wanted to speak to her. She frowned into her mirror, wondering if she really did still look pretty and wishing there was someone to tell her she was. Jerome was the only person who ever did and she did not care for the way he said it. And she saw, in the mirror, that Ethel had caught the look of irritation on her face. Ethel could be trusted, but she couldn’t be fooled. That was what made her unfireable. She has a sinecure for life, thought Lily, just like me, and how she must hate it. With a nervous giggle she got up and went down the corridor to Jerome’s room.