by Martin Clark
“I wonder if there is any way to establish the time as well as the day?” Pauletta said. “Did you pay at the pump? Did you talk to anyone? Buying beer and doughnuts before lunch isn’t all that common, so maybe someone will recall seeing you and when you made the charge. Is the store open twenty-four hours? We need to check.”
“I hope so,” Evers said. “The drug dealer doesn’t sound like a good witness.”
“He’s a CPA, Evers. He doesn’t have to tell everyone exactly why we were there. And Dr. Rudy was with me the whole time.”
Evers rolled his eyes. “I’d probably prefer to count on the drug-dealing CPA.”
Pascal waited for Pauletta to look at him. “We paid inside. And they used one of those metal things they put your card on and then a slip and then run over the top of everything. I don’t remember much about the clerk. I think it was fairly busy, though.”
“We’ll look into it.”
“Whatever.”
She put down her pencil and squinted at Pascal. “So what’s going on? Why in the world did you do all this?”
“All things given, it was the best I could do.”
“What the fuck does that mean, Pascal?” Evers felt his neck get hot.
Pauletta was perplexed. “Did you shoot her, Pascal?”
“Does it matter?”
“It would be helpful to know, yes.” Her speech was paced and controlled. “I would like to know.”
“But does it matter?”
“Pascal—”
“If I told you I did it, it would really limit your options, wouldn’t it? Ethically, I mean. If I confessed to you, you couldn’t let me testify to something different. I’m right about that, aren’t I? Aren’t I, Evers? You told me—”
“How did you figure out the confession stuff?” Evers interrupted.
“Read about it. Went to the Supreme Court Library in Raleigh and read Strong’s North Carolina Index and a couple books on criminal procedure. It’s pretty basic stuff, Evers, and I did graduate from college. Then I got Rudy to call legal aid from a pay phone and run it by them. He told them his name was Hector and used this great Spanish accent, sounded like Ricardo Montalban.”
“What about Rudy?” Pauletta asked Pascal.
“Completely trustworthy.”
“So are you going to tell us what’s going on?”
“Whatever.”
“We need you to help us, Pascal. Obviously, there’s something you’re not telling us.” Pauletta slid her seat toward Pascal while she was speaking.
“I’ve told you everything you need to know.”
“I’ll have you bonded soon, and we’ll drive you to your house before we go back. We need to get you a local lawyer, too. And before we leave, I’ll have Pauletta get the lab reports, a copy of your confession and the credit card information.”
“What do the reports say, exactly?” Pascal’s voice lifted; he seemed uncertain for the first time.
“Evidently, a hair was found at the scene that isn’t consistent with Falstaf’s or the college kid she was running around with, and they claim the carpet fibers in your car match some rug at Jo Miller’s.”
“What does that mean? Do they completely match? I mean, can they tell if they’re the same ones?”
Evers shook his head. “They can’t say they’re the same ones, that they came from her rug, but they can say that they are just like the ones in her rug. Same origin, same weave, same material.”
“What kind of rug?” Pauletta asked.
“Fairly rare Kermanshah,” Evers answered.
“Certainly there’s more than one, though. And who knows when they got in there? They could’ve come off me when I was there months before. Or off Evers after he’d been at Jo Miller’s. That doesn’t seem like much.” Pascal shrugged. “That’s not much at all. What about the hair?”
“They can be pretty definite on that, I’m afraid. Have they asked you for a sample yet?”
“Yeah. I gave them one a while ago. They came about two weeks ago and searched the car and took a bag full of hair clippings.”
“Did they have a warrant?” Pauletta was writing again.
“No, I gave them permission. They wanted to search the house, but I wouldn’t let them. Rudy told me that after I was arrested, the police were at my trailer and went through everything anyway.” Pascal looked at Evers. “I meant to tell you that. I know it’s important, and I meant to tell you when it happened.”
“Any problem with the search?” Pauletta asked.
“Probably find some pot and a few bongs.”
She laughed.
Evers stood up. “I’ll post the bond, Pascal. We’ll be back in an hour or so, I guess.”
“Thanks. And thank you, Pauletta.”
“You’re welcome. It was nice to see you.”
She and Evers walked out of the jail without speaking. When they got outside, it had started to rain again, a steady, mean, messy wetness that had already made small pools in the parking lot and on the sidewalk.
“What do you think’s going on, Judge Wheeling?” Pauletta wondered.
Evers shook his head.
“Is Pascal normal? Is he all here?”
“Yes.”
“Did any of that make sense to you?” she asked.
“No.” Evers was looking at the ground. “Don’t try to make sense of it. That would be like playing a Beatles album backwards or something.”
“It’s very possible that he did it, and when the police came to search the car, he got the message and decided to sabotage their case with the clever confession. He keeps the DWI quiet until the confession is introduced at trial, then gets it punted, and he’s home free. Can’t be tried again, and without the confession the case against him is shit. Even if they turn up the DWI before trial, or if his lawyer raises the issue before trial, he’s still in good shape. They’d either dismiss the case or plea bargain. He might be very guilty.”
“It’s possible that she killed herself or that Falstaf shot the bitch. We need to hire an investigator to check into that. Falstaf was there. He was pissed off, and he threatened her. He had a reason to kill her. Her name was misspelled. Pascal wouldn’t do that. Plus, Falstaf’s alibi doesn’t seem too great to me. Oh—there’s something else. She was virtually dead anyway. The autopsy showed horrible cancer, and maybe she knew. That’s got to be to our advantage. We need to get her medical records.”
“How do you know, and why are you just now telling me?”
“The cops told me.”
“Do you think the police have been accurate, that they’ve been telling you the truth? Why would they tell you all this about their case and what they know?”
“Why not? I don’t think they really thought Pascal was involved to begin with.”
“Why didn’t they arrest him right away?”
“Because they’re stupid? Or knew they had a weak case? And he said he’d been gone; I guess they couldn’t find him. Who knows?” He put his hands in his pockets and started through the rain to his car. “Let’s go find the magistrate and see about getting him out.”
Evers and Pauletta picked Pascal up from the jail and drove to a convenience store. They bought a carton of Corona, and each of them opened one in the car.
“How long is it to your house, Pascal?” Pauletta was in the front seat.
Pascal was folded and cramped into the car’s small rear, the hatchback pressing down against him. “Hour and a half or so. We’ll need to stop again for beer.” He raised up and put his hand on Evers’ shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of me, Evers.”
“I’m glad to do it,” Evers said, glancing back at his brother.
“Maybe we should let Pauletta visit the smiling white shrine before she leaves,” Pascal said.
“What’s that?” asked Pauletta.
Evers shook his head. “It’s too foolish, Pascal. Too foolish and not a good idea.”
“Tell me about it, Pascal.”
Evers turned
and looked at his brother. “Pascal, why? Why bring that up? I thought you didn’t want anyone to know about it anyway.” Evers was irate and frustrated again.
Pascal raised his voice. “Pauletta’s a good person; she—”
“You’ve known her for a few weeks, Pascal, and been with her for three days or so in Salt Lake City. How would you know?”
“I can tell. I want her to check it out. Besides, she’s my lawyer.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Tell me what you are talking about,” Pauletta said again.
Pascal wedged his beer bottle between his legs. “The shrine is this white talisman. An albino charm that seems to grant wishes.”
Pauletta pivoted all the way around in her seat. “Let me ask you what I asked your brother. Are you okay? Sane, that sort of thing?”
Pascal laughed. “Ask Evers. He’s seen it, too.”
“He’s not reliable. The first time I encountered him he was babbling and crawling around my office. Seriously, do you think you’re okay?”
“Sure. I’m fine.”
“The confession plan is great. You’re not trying to convince me you’re crazy, are you? It won’t do any good to persuade me—you’ll need to convince a psychiatrist and a judge.”
“Ask Evers. He’s seen the thing work.”
Pauletta turned back in her seat, toward Evers. “Have you?”
Evers kept driving, didn’t speak.
“Are you pouting, Judge Wheeling? There’s no need to be sullen. What do you know about the shrine?”
“You and Pascal figure it out,” Evers said.
“It’s lucky, right?”
“Right,” Pascal answered.
“It’s difficult for me to make much sense out of a lot you say, Pascal. You want me to visit this charm?” Pauletta asked.
“Right.”
“What is it, a statue or relic or some kind of icon? A photograph? What? And what sort of wishes do you get?”
Pascal tapped Pauletta on the shoulder and handed her an empty bottle. She opened another beer and handed it back to him. “Well, my friend Henry won the lottery. Rudy got a classic car.”
“Come on, now. A real good-luck charm? You’re pulling my leg. Really? It’s hard to get a grip on you two. Is this a prelude to something else? A parable? Nonsense for my entertainment … travel talk? What?”
“It’s true,” said Pascal. “Hard to believe, but true.”
“What did you and Evers request?”
“I wanted to be beatific,” Pascal said. “And Evers wanted his wife dead.”
“Four for four, right?” Pauletta took a sip of beer.
“Whatever.”
“Is this religious or spiritual or something?”
“I think so,” Pascal said.
“I think so, too,” said Evers.
“Are you religious, Pauletta?” Pascal asked.
“Not really.”
“An infidel, are you?”
“An independent. We backed John Anderson for god.” Pauletta looked up, and she and Pascal met each other in the rearview mirror.
“You know,” Pascal said, “when I was in high school, I had this scheme to test the patience of the divinity. You’re probably aware the book of Revelation holds that if you alter the word of god, then you’ll suffer all sorts of horrific plagues. I figured that if you wanted to test the limits and validity of your religion, you could rewrite a few pages, spread them around and see what happens.”
“I don’t think that I want to take the chance, Pascal.” Pauletta was amused.
An old, long car passed by Evers, Pauletta and Pascal. Evers saw a CB antenna stuck to the trunk, bending in the wind like an animal’s tail as the car traveled down the highway.
“I wish we had some smoke,” Pascal said. “Especially since we’re going to thaw the shrine. I’m sure the jackbooted fuzz took the last bit I had at my house.”
“Your brother has some, Pascal.”
“Where’d you get dope, Evers?”
“You gave it to me about a month ago.”
“And you still have it?”
Pauletta laughed.
Evers grinned, then laughed. “Hard to believe, huh, Pascal?”
“Yeah.”
Evers slowed down the car. “What’s all this about the creek, going to the river or something like that, whatever it was on your machine that replaced the Star Trek message?”
“Huh?” Pascal stuck his head between the seats. “What are you talking about?”
“On your answering machine. The spiel about going to the creek or stream with the shrine.”
“Oh, right. We’ve been taking the albino shrine down to the little stream behind my trailer. We started going down there because it has been so hot, and it’s cooler by the water. And it’s in the woods, too, so you have lots of shade. Best of all, the water seems to enhance the smiling white charm, seems to cause it to work better, to do different things, to look different.”
“I’m sure that it’s a real special-effects wonderland,” said Evers. He pushed the gas, and the car began to pick up speed.
The rain was coming down hard when the brothers and Pauletta got out and started walking through the woods to the stream. They had changed cars at Pascal’s trailer, gotten into Pascal’s banged-up Lincoln and driven through a field behind the mobile home and then down a hill. Big, heavy drops tapped and bounced off everything outside, so clear that they seemed bright and lit when they were falling.
“What a storm, what a storm!” Pascal was high and held his hands, palms up, toward the sky, and let the rain fall on his face. “This is great.”
“It is a hellacious rain,” agreed Pauletta, cutting her eyes at Evers. All three had on raincoats and hats, and Evers was carrying a couple of blankets.
Pascal had brought three cheap lawn chairs to a clearing at the stream. Evers and Pauletta sat in two of the chairs, and Pascal sat down on the ground beside his brother, left the last chair folded up and propped against a stump. The rain made a rattling sound in the trees above their heads. The stream was rising, picking up pace and swallowing stones, and rivulets the color of old copper were pouring in from the banks.
“What now?” Pauletta asked.
“We just wish and think. Talk. That’s about it,” Pascal said. “Isn’t this great?” He put the liquor decanter holding the albino tears on the ground in front of them.
“What’s in there? And why is it frozen?” Pauletta held her hand above her eyes to block the rain.
“I don’t know if we can tell you. It might undercut the magic or somehow gum up the shrine or, I don’t know, cause a crimp or change or problem.” Pascal bit his lip. “I’m not sure.”
“Then why did you bring me out here?” Pauletta asked.
“So … I guess so you could see it. And make a wish. Maybe … make a wish if you wanted to.”
Pauletta reached down and picked up the glass decanter. “It looks like a frozen thimble. Or the top off something.” She rotated the container in her hands and looked in from a different side. “Is it a cocoon, some sort of chrysalis? Are you hatching something?”
Evers looked straight ahead at the creek and didn’t say anything. Rain was dripping off the bill of his hat, his nose and his chin.
“Whatever.” Pascal shrugged.
“Why won’t you tell me what it is?”
“Why are we out here in the rain?” Evers complained. “Why?”
“It adds atmosphere, Evers,” Pascal answered.
“I’m fucking drenched.” Evers hunkered down in his chair.
“If I tell you, Pauletta, you have to promise you won’t mention it to anyone else, okay?” Pascal pointed his finger at her.
“Sure. I promise. You have my word.”
“It’s full of white tears. And they really do seem to affect things. In a good way.”
“White tears?” Pauletta repeated.
“Yes.”
“You’re serious?”
“I’m totally serious,” Pascal answered.
“Where did you get them?”
“Guess.”
She laughed. “How would I know? How could I possibly know?”
“Guess,” Pascal said again.
“I have no idea. It’s a bunch of tears, right?”
“Yes,” Pascal said.
“So tell me.” Pauletta reached down and pushed on Pascal’s shoulder.
“Ruth Esther,” Pascal said excitedly. “Ruth Esther is the mother of the albino tears shrine. How about that?”
“How did that happen? How do you happen to end up with … you know … how did you get them?”
“Evers got them. He knows the story. Tell her, Evers.”
“This isn’t a gag, right?” Pauletta quizzed Pascal.
“Absolutely not. Give her the yarn, Evers.”
Evers watched the hard rain, listened to it hitting the ground.
“Come on, Judge, tell me. I’m really curious.”
“Why do you care?” Evers asked.
“It sounds like a good story. And because it’s important to Pascal.”
“All right.” Evers pulled the edge of a blanket over his head and told Pauletta the entire tale, starting with the scrambled, spinning, hungover first meeting he had with Ruth Esther. “So now you know,” he said when he finished talking. “That’s how we got the shrine.”
“Wow.” Pauletta had listened the whole time Evers spoke without interrupting him. “You’d almost like to believe there’s something to it.”
The three of them sat in the woods for another fifteen minutes, thinking and fighting the weather and watching the white shrine shed its frozen sparkles. The rain started to fall faster, and Pauletta suddenly began to feel uncomfortable. They’d all smoked some of the joint while they were in the Datsun, and her mouth was dry and she started shivering. The brothers were making her uneasy; they were crazy, odd and elusive without meaning to be, tangled up in each other, blurred together, sitting around her rapt and intense, waiting for something impossible and haunting to happen. Pauletta wondered what was about to start, what in the world the two of them were expecting. She looked at them and worried about herself, thought about Jo Miller. The dope, the rain and the woods were making her paranoid.
