I Am God (33 page)

Russell said nothing, but waited. Ben had decided to share with him a bitter pill he’d never, in all that time, managed to swallow alone.

‘One day we were called in to work on an extension to the house of the county judge. Herbert Lewis Swanson, God curse him wherever he is. That was when Matt met Karen, the judge’s daughter. I was there the first time they met. I knew right away that something had happened between them. And I also realized it’d lead to nothing but trouble.’

The old man smiled at the memory of that love.

‘They started seeing each other in secret. It may have been the only happy time in Matt’s life. Sometimes I like to kid myself that the time he spent with me was happy, too.’

‘I’m sure it was.’

The old man shrugged, as if to say: what’s the point in remembering the past? Look at me now.

‘Anyway, it was no use. Chillicothe’s a small town, and not an easy place to hide in. Sooner or later, everyone notices everything. The judge soon found out his only daughter was seeing a boy. Then he found out who the boy was. Karen’s life was all mapped out. She was beautiful, rich, intelligent. A guy like Matt wasn’t quite what her father had planned for her. And her father was a very, very powerful man at the time. He practically owned the town.’

Ben allowed himself a few more sips of his coffee. He seemed reluctant to turn that memory into words, as if doing so meant being hurt a second time.

‘Around about that time there was a double murder, down by the river. A couple of hippies camping out in the open were found dead. Both stabbed. They never found the killer, and they never found the murder weapon. The sheriff at the time was a man named Duane Westlake and he had a deputy
named Will Farland. Both of them were tied hand and foot to Swanson, who’d bought them with privileges and money. A few nights after the bodies had been discovered, these two burst into Matt’s room with a search warrant signed by the judge himself. Among his things they found marijuana, and they also found a big hunting knife, which could have been the murder weapon. Matt told me later that he’d been forced to put his fingerprints on the handle of that knife.’

The old man’s voice was full of anger.

‘I’m sure Matt had never sold an ounce of that stuff to anyone. And he’d never owned a knife.’

Russell had no reason to do so, but he was inclined to believe him.

‘They dragged him to jail. And there they told him what could happen to him. A charge of using and dealing narcotics, and the much more serious charge of homicide. They were the ones who put the grass in Matt’s room. As for the knife, I can’t quite bring myself to believe the two of them killed the hippies on purpose. But the sheriff had been the first person at the scene of the crime, and getting rid of the weapon would have been child’s play for someone like him. In addition, seeing that Matt was living at my place, those two sons of bitches told him they could charge me with being an accessory. Then they offered him an alternative to being tried and sentenced. He could volunteer for Vietnam.’

Ben finished his coffee.

‘And he agreed. The rest you know.’

‘A story as old as the world.’

Ben Shepard looked at him with his blue eyes, in which the pain was now fully accepted. ‘The world’s still too young to make sure stories like that never happen again.’

‘What happened to Karen?’

‘She couldn’t believe it when he made that decision. She was incredulous at first, then desperate. But one of the conditions of the agreement he made with the sheriff was that he couldn’t tell anyone. Not her, not me.’

Without asking, his host poured some more coffee into Russell’s empty cup.

‘After a period of training at Fort Polk, in Louisiana, Matt was granted leave, like everyone before they left for Nam. He snuck back here, and spent a month practically shut up at my place. Karen would come and join him there. They spent all the time they could in that room and I hope every one of those minutes lasted years, although that’s not usually how it is. A month and a half after he left, Karen came to see me and told me she was pregnant. She also wrote him about it. We never got a reply, because soon after that we heard that he’d died.’

‘What became of her?’

‘Karen was a strong woman. When her father found out she was pregnant, he tried every way he could to persuade her to have an abortion. But she held out, threatened to tell everyone who the father of the child was and that the judge wanted her to have an abortion. That wouldn’t have looked good for his political career, so the bastard chose the lesser of two evils, the scandal of his daughter becoming an unmarried mother.’

‘But then Matt came back.’

‘Yes. In the state you know.’

There was a pause, during which Russell saw images of that encounter in Ben’s eyes.

‘When I saw him and recognized him, I felt a grief inside me that’s taken years to pass. That boy must have suffered tremendously. He must have gone through things it isn’t right for a human being to go through.’

Ben took a handkerchief from the pocket of his old
cardigan and wiped the corners of his mouth with it. Without realizing it, he had used almost the same words he had spoken to Matt the night he had found him hiding out on his premises.

‘Because of what he’d become, he didn’t want Karen to know he was still alive. He made me swear I wouldn’t tell her.’

‘And then?’

‘He asked me if he could stay there for a few hours, because he had something to do. As soon as he’d finished, he’d come back to pick up the cat and leave. I saw him walking into town. That was the last I ever saw of him.’

Another pause. Russell knew Ben was about to tell him something important.

‘The next day, the bodies of Duane Westlake and Will Farland were taken from the burned-out remains of the sheriffs house. And I hope they’re still burning in hell.’

In Ben Shepard’s eyes there was an open challenge to anyone who might not care to agree with what he had just said. By this point, Russell had lost the ability to judge. He only wanted to know.

Ben sat back in his armchair. ‘About ten years later, Judge Swanson joined his cronies.’

‘What became of the child?’

‘While he was still small, Karen would bring him to see me from time to time. Then we kind of lost touch. I don’t know who was more to blame, her or me.’

Russell realized that, in his honesty, he was assuming a share of the responsibility, although he did not really think he had any.

‘And then what happened?’

‘A while later, I went through a difficult time, financial
problems
, that kind of thing. To solve them, I rented the business
out to someone and spent three years working on an oil rig as an explosives expert. When I came back, I found out Karen had sold everything and gone away. I never saw her again.’

Russell felt disappointment burn his throat. ‘You don’t know where she moved to?’

‘No. If I did, I’d tell you.’

The old man allowed himself a few moments to take stock. ‘I realize how important it is that you find the person you’re looking for. I feel enough remorse already – why should I add more?’

Russell looked out the window. At least it was a lead, he told himself.

It wouldn’t be difficult for the police to find Karen Swanson, which meant it shouldn’t be too difficult to trace his son as well. What they didn’t have was time. If he was right, the next explosion would happen at night. He turned back to Ben, who, realizing how disappointed he was, had been waiting to speak again.

‘Russell, there’s one more thing I can tell you, though it seems such a long shot, I really don’t know if it amounts to anything.’

‘In a case like this, anything could amount to something.’

The old man looked for a moment at his age-stained hands, and the palm that contained all the familiar lines of his life. ‘For years,’ he said, ‘my cousin managed the Wonder Theatre, here in Chillicothe. It was nothing special, mostly local shows, concerts by small groups and half-known singers. With a few touring companies every now and again to bring us a bit of novelty and an illusion of culture.’

Russell waited, hoping that what he suspected turned out to be true.

‘One day, some years after Karen and her son left, a variety
show came to town. Magicians, comedians, acrobats, that kind of thing. My cousin is willing to swear that one of the performers was Manuel Swanson. Now remember, quite a few years had passed – he was using a stage name – but that was what my cousin thought. And he’d have bet any money on it. He told me he actually asked the boy if they’d met before, and the boy said no, this was the first time he’d ever been to Chillicothe in his life.’

Russell stood up, nervously smoothing his pants. ‘That’s certainly something, but it’s going to take a while to find him. I’m afraid we don’t have all that time.’

‘Would a photograph help?’

At those words, Russell turned abruptly. ‘That’d be the best thing of all.’

‘Wait.’

Ben Shepard got up from his armchair and went and picked up a cordless phone lying on a cabinet. He dialled a number and waited for the reply.

‘Hi, Homer, Ben here.’

A few moments listening. A few anxieties at the other end.

‘No, don’t worry. I’ll be going bowling tonight. I called you about something else.’

He waited for the person at the other end to calm down.

‘Homer, you remember what you told me once about young Swanson and that variety show?’

Russell had no idea what the other man was saying, but waited for Ben’s next words.

‘Among all your stuff, did you keep theirs?’

The answer must have been a short one, because Ben immediately replied, ‘Great, I’m sending someone to see you. His name’s Russell Wade. Do whatever he asks you. If you don’t trust him, trust me.’

There must have been protests, a demand for an explanation. Ben Shepard cut him short.

‘Just do it. Bye, Homer.’

He hung up and turned to Russell.

‘In all those years, my cousin kept copies of posters of all the artists who performed in his theatre. A kind of collection. I think he plans to write a book about it, one of these days. He has a poster with a photograph of the person you’re looking for.’

He took a notepad and a ballpoint pen from next to the telephone and wrote down a name and an address. He handed the paper to Russell.

‘This is his address. It’s all I can do.’

Russell followed his instinct. He took the paper and immediately hugged Ben Shepard. The sincerity and emotion of the gesture wiped out any surprise the old man might have. Russell hoped it would also wipe out any regret he might feel when he was alone.

‘Ben, I have to go. You don’t know how grateful I am.’

‘But I do. And I also know you’re a good person. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

Ben Shepard’s eyes were moist again, but his handshake was firm and quick. Russell was already crossing the garden, on his way to the car. A few moments later, as he entered the address Ben had given him in the GPS, he told himself that he couldn’t handle the information he now had all by himself. He would need the resources of the police. He had to get back to New York as soon as possible, once he’d obtained the material he needed from Homer. As he started the car and headed back to town, he wasn’t sure if the excitement he felt inside him came from the discovery he had just made or the thought that he would soon see Vivien again.

From the window of the clinic, Vivien had seen the sun come up. For Greta, there wouldn’t be any new day. There wouldn’t be any more dawns or sunsets, until the day came for a resurrection she had always found it difficult to believe in. She put her forehead against the window pane and felt the damp coldness of the surface on her skin. She closed her eyes, and dreamed of waking up in a time and place where none of this had happened and she and her sister were children, happy as only children can be. Earlier, as she had held Greta’s hand and heard the beep-beep-beep of the monitor getting slower and slower until it was just a straight green line that came from nothing and led towards nothing.

In the past she had always supposed this was a privilege reserved for the dying, allowing them to become aware of the duration of their own lives. In this case, it had seemed absurdly short. Maybe because she was the one left behind and everything seemed fragile and vain, with that sense of emptiness that would remain with her for a very long time.

She went back to the bed and placed her lips on Greta’s forehead. The skin was smooth and soft and Vivien’s tears slid down her sister’s temple onto the pillow. She reached out a hand and pressed a button next to the bedhead. She heard a buzzing sound. The door opened and a nurse appeared.

A quick glance at the monitor, and the woman immediately grasped the situation. She took an internal telephone from her pocket and sent a signal. ‘Doctor, can you come to Room 28, please?’

Before long Dr Savine entered the room, preceded by the sound of his rapid footsteps in the corridor. He was a balding man, of medium height and middle age, with a capable air and a patient, professional manner. He approached the bed, pulling his stethoscope from the pocket of his white coat. He moved the sheet down and put the stethoscope to Greta’s frail chest. It took him a moment to register the truth, and another moment to turn to Vivien with an expression that seemed to encompass all the similar situations he had experienced in his medical career.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Light.’

The voice and the words were not merely formal. Vivien knew that the doctors and staff of the Mariposa had taken Greta’s case to heart. And their powerlessness to halt the progress of the disease had been accompanied day after day by a sense of defeat, which they had shared with her. She turned away from the bed, so as not to see the sheet being pulled up to cover Greta’s face.

The grief and fatigue made her feel dizzy. She swayed and put a hand against the wall to stop herself falling. Dr Savine immediately went to her to support her. He led her to a small armchair and helped her to sit down. Vivien felt his expert fingers looking for her pulse.

‘Miss Light, you’re exhausted. Don’t you think you should rest a little?’

‘I’d like to, doctor. But I can’t. Not now.’

‘If I remember correctly, you’re a police officer. Am I right?’

Vivien looked up at the doctor, her face full of effort and urgency. ‘Yes. And I absolutely have to get back to New York. It’s a matter of life and death.’

‘There’s nothing more you can do here. If you believe in prayer, it can reach its destination from wherever you send it. In case you don’t already have one, the clinic can supply you with the names of some undertakers who are very capable and very discreet. They’ll see to everything.’ Savine turned to the nurse. ‘Meg, prepare the papers for the death certificate. I’ll come and sign them.’

As soon as they were alone, Vivian rose from the armchair. Her legs felt stiff and wooden.

‘Doctor, I have a big day ahead of me. And I can’t afford to fall asleep.’ She paused to overcome her embarrassment. ‘It’s a strange thing for a police officer to ask you, but I need something to keep me awake.’

The doctor gave her a strange knowing smile. ‘Is this a trap? Am I going to end up in handcuffs?’

Vivien shook her head. ‘No. But you will be in my prayers.’

Savine thought it over for a moment. ‘Wait here.’

He went out, leaving Vivien alone. Before long, he returned with a white plastic container. He shook it to indicate that there was one pill inside.

‘Here. Take this pill if and when you need it. But make sure you don’t drink alcohol.’

‘There’s no danger of that. Thank you, doctor.’

‘Good luck, Miss Light. And once again, my condolences.’

Again, Vivien was alone. She tried to convince herself that her sister was no longer in that room, that what was lying on the bed under the sheet was only an envelope that for years had contained her beautiful soul, a borrowed
envelope that would soon be surrendered to the earth. In spite of this, she couldn’t help giving Greta a final kiss and a final look.

On the night table there was a half-full bottle of water. She opened the container the doctor had just given her and tipped the pill straight out onto her tongue. She swallowed it with a sip of water that, to her, tasted like tears. Then she moved away from the bed, took her jacket from the coat stand, and left the room.

She walked along the corridor, her eyes stinging. She got in the elevator and glided smoothly and noiselessly down to the lobby, where she found a couple of young women in uniforms behind the reception desk. Within a few moments she had made arrangements for Greta’s body with an undertaker whose number had been supplied by one of the two women.

Then she looked around at this place where there was now nothing more for her to do, but above all where there was nothing more she could do. When she had first brought Greta to the Mariposa, she had appreciated its elegance and sobriety. Now it was only a place where people didn’t always get better.

She went outside and walked to the parking lot to get her car. It might be just the placebo effect – surely it was too soon for the pill to take effect – but she felt the tiredness wear off and her body gradually free itself of all the dross it had accumulated.

As she joined the stream of traffic leaving the city headed towards Palisades Parkway, she went over the events that had brought her to this point in the investigation and in her life.

The previous day, when Father McKean had told her his secret, contravening one of the strictest rules of his ministry,
she had felt both anxious and excited. On the one hand, there was her responsibility towards all those innocent people who were in imminent danger, the same responsibility that had finally convinced the priest to turn to her. On the other hand there was the desire to spare him the consequences of a decision that must have caused him enormous pain.

Michael McKean’s work was too important. The young people he took care of loved him and they, and all those who might come to Joy in the future, needed to know that he would always be there for them.

It was after lunch with the kids, during which she had laughed and joked with Sundance, who seemed completely new in body and mind, that the call had come from the clinic. Dr Savine had informed her, with all the tact the news demanded, that Greta’s condition was changing rapidly and that they must be prepared for the worst at any moment. She had gone back to the table, trying not to let any of the anguish she felt inside show, but she hadn’t been able to deceive Sundance’s acute and sensitive eye.

‘What’s the matter, Vunny? Is something wrong?’

‘Nothing, darling. A few problems at work. You know what those rascals are like, they just don’t like getting arrested.’

She had deliberately used the word rascals because it was a word that had always made Sundance laugh when she was little. But in spite of Vivien’s attempts to downplay things, her niece hadn’t been completely convinced, and for the rest of lunch she had continued looking at her, aware of her grim expression and watery eyes.

Before leaving, she had taken Father McKean aside and told him that Sundance’s mother was getting worse, and that once she left there she would go up to Cresskill, to the clinic. They agreed that he would put up a notice in church that
afternoon, announcing an unscheduled confession for Thursday: he would be in the confessional from early the following afternoon. If the man did not show up then, they would speak again on the phone on Friday, the day when he usually heard confession at the church of Saint John the Baptist in Manhattan, and work out a new plan of action.

During the journey, Vivien confronted the hardest test. She had to talk to Bellew and get as much as she could from him without giving anything away. She hoped that the esteem her chief had for her was great enough to allow her what she asked.

The captain picked up after the second ring. His voice sounded tired. ‘Bellew.’

‘Hi, Alan, it’s Vivien.’

‘Did you go to Williamsburg?’

Frank and direct as always. Now with an added anxiety that wouldn’t take much to turn to neurosis.

‘Yes. But I didn’t get anything from the apartment. Our fake Wendell Johnson really was like a phantom, even at home.’

The captain didn’t need to curse. His silence was eloquent enough.

‘But I have another lead,’ Vivien went on, ‘and I think this is the big one, if we’re lucky.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think it’ll get us the man who’s detonating the bombs.’

An incredulous voice in her ear. ‘Do you mean that? How did you find it?’

‘Alan, you have to trust me on this. I can’t tell you anything else.’

The captain changed the subject. Vivian knew him well. She knew it was only to give him time to think.

‘Is Wade still with you?’

If he had expected to hear a greeting from Russell over the speakerphone, Vivien’s reply took him by surprise. ‘No, he decided to give up.’

‘Are you sure he won’t say anything?’

‘Yes.’

I’m
not
sure
of
anything,
when
it
comes
to
that
man.
More
than
that,
he’s
not
sure
about
me
any
more
…

But now wasn’t the time to talk about him, let alone think about him. The captain had taken Russell’s bowing out as a good sign. And his batteries seemed newly recharged at the thought of an impending arrest.

‘So what do I have to do? Above all, what do you want to do?’

‘You have to put the police in the Bronx on alert. They need to be ready on a coded wavelength from two o’clock tomorrow afternoon, waiting for my orders.’

The captain’s reply was blunt. ‘You know a request like that is a one-way ticket, don’t you? The commissioner’s on my back, and I can’t get him off. If we move on this and don’t get a result, I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do. And heads are sure to roll. Our heads.’

‘I’m aware of that. But it’s the only thing we can do. The only chance we have to stop him.’

‘All right. I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘So do I. Thanks, Alan.’

The captain hung up and she was alone.

And now she was returning to New York with a presence in the car that would gradually fade with time.

She crossed the George Washington Bridge and drove on until she got to Webster Avenue. Here she turned left,
heading for Laconia Street, where the 47th Precinct was situated. She parked her car outside the building. All around her uniformed officers sat in their cars, waiting. As soon as she got out of the Volvo, the glass-fronted door of the precinct house opened and the captain came out with a man she didn’t know in plain clothes. She and Bellew had agreed to meet here the previous evening, when she had called him before turning off—

The telephone, dammit.

It hadn’t been on since then. She hadn’t wanted it to ring while she was in the clinic. She knew she wouldn’t get any important calls during the night. If anything happened, it would happen the following day. She had wanted to be alone with her sister, isolated from the rest of the world, for what had in fact turned out to be their last night together. And this morning, overwhelmed by Greta’s death, she had forgotten to turn it on when she left Cresskill. She searched in the pockets of her jacket and took it out. She frantically turned it on, hoping there hadn’t been any calls. Her hope was short lived. A number of messages about missed calls came up.

Russell
.

Later, I don’t have time now.

Sundance
.

Later, sweetie. I don’t know what to say right now, or how to say it.

Bellew
.

Holy Christ, why didn’t I switch on this damned phone?

Father
McKean
.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

The call from Father McKean had come at noon. Vivien looked at her watch. 2.15. She didn’t know the reason for that call, but there was no way she could call him back: he must
be in the confessional by now. If he had a penitent with him and the cellphone rang, it could be quite embarrassing. And if by some twist of fate the man they were chasing was already there, he was bound to get suspicious.

In the meantime Bellew and the other man had joined her in the parking lot. He was a fleshy man, and his physique could hardly be described as athletic, but the way he moved demonstrated that he was strong and agile.

‘Vivien,’ the captain said, ‘where have you been hiding yourself?’ Then he saw the expression on her face and his tone changed abruptly. ‘I’m sorry. How’s your sister?’

Vivien said nothing, hoping Doctor Savine’s pill would help her, not only to stay awake, but also to hold back her tears. Her unsaid words were clearer than any speech.

Bellew put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I really am.’

Vivien pulled herself together. She noticed the other man’s embarrassment. He had realized that something unpleasant had happened, that much was obvious, but he had no idea how to react to it. Vivien removed the awkwardness by holding out her hand.

‘Detective Vivien Light. Thank you for your help.’

‘Commander William Codner. It’s a pleasure. I hope—’

Vivien would never know what Codner hoped, because at that moment the cellphone she was still clutching in her hand started ringing. The screen lit up, and there was Father McKean’s name on the display. Vivien felt heat rise in a wave from her stomach and spread all over her body. She replied immediately, then covered the microphone of the cellphone with her finger.