The Vanishing Point (14 page)

“Ada Vail's heart is made out of concrete. What does her husband think?”

“There's no way of telling. He's had a stroke, and he doesn't speak anymore.”

“I think if Jonathan were here, his choice would be to publish it as is, don't you? It's an
expression
of what he saw and felt at the time. He'd want you to do everything you could to keep the journal intact.”

“There isn't much I can do.”

“You're his archivist, aren't you? The person responsible for preserving his legend?”

“Yes, but I'm not his publisher, and I don't own the rights to his work.”

“Sometimes people can do more than they think they can,” Lou said.

“I'll try,” Claire told him, “but I can't make any promises.”

“Well, it has been great to meet you.” Lou stood up and gave her a firm handshake with a palm that felt rough and calloused. “Thanks a lot for your time.”

“You're welcome to come to the center and look at the Vail papers whenever you like.”

“I may just take you up on that,” Lou said.

They walked out to the parking lot together. Lou put on his helmet, got on his motorcycle, and drove away while Claire was still inserting her key in her ignition. By the time he reached Central, she was wishing she'd asked how she could reach him.

******

The next morning she called August Stevenson and reported what Lou had told her about the briefcase.

“That's consistent with what I've discovered so far,” he replied. “I consulted a leather expert and determined that the hide is elephant. Considering when the journal was written, the likely source would be southeast Asia, in particular, Vietnam. Elephants are endangered now, and the hide can no longer be legally sold, but that wasn't the case in the sixties. Briefcases like this one were common. GI's bought them on Tu Do Street as souvenirs. I haven't had a chance to do it yet, but a pollen analysis would date it and establish for certain where it came from.”

“I don't think it will be necessary,” Claire said, mindful of how tight Harrison was with the center's money. “I think you have enough information to submit your report now.”

“I'll get it in the mail this afternoon,” August replied.

Claire thanked him and hung up. Knowing Harrison would be out of the library all day at a conference, she went to his office, opened the safe, put on a pair of white gloves, and took out the briefcase. It made sense that the weathered gray hide was elephant. She wondered why she hadn't thought of that herself. She unzipped the zipper and slid her hand inside the pouch that Lou had described. She had once held a Ladysmith .38 that her friend Madelyn kept for protection; it would have fit comfortably in this pouch. Saigon had been an elegant city. She could imagine a younger, smoother Lou Bastiann strolling the streets, clutching the elephant-hide briefcase with his weapon inside.

Chapter
Ten

H
ARRISON RECEIVED
A
UGUST
'
S REPORT
and set up a meeting with Claire and Ada Vail in the food court to discuss it. Claire arrived at twelve-fifteen, the appointed time, but when she got to the cafeteria, Harrison and Ada were already sitting at a table in the window eating. She felt a flash of annoyance. Had he done this to embarrass her or because he wanted to talk about her to Ada before she arrived? Ada was jabbing her fork at Harrison to make a point when Claire walked up to the table. He noticed her approach and stood up, a courtesy Claire could not remember having received before. She attributed this display of good manners to the presence of Ada Vail. Harrison's and Ada's plates were full, but Claire had lost her appetite.

“Good of you to join us,” Harrison said.

Ada remained seated, but extended her hand. Claire took it, said hello, and sat down at the table.

“Do you plan to get something to eat?” Harrison asked.

“I'm not hungry,” Claire replied.

Ada wore a black dress and a red-and-black scarf knotted around her neck. Her hair was pulled straight back. There were bright dots of rouge on each cheek, the sign of an older woman whose eyesight is failing.

“Don't let me interrupt you,” Claire said, knowing full well that her own courtesy to Ada was being graded by Harrison. One would think that well-educated people would learn good manners somewhere along the way, but Claire knew the opposite was often the case. The more advanced the degree, the ruder the person was likely to be. Rudeness from someone who should know better came with a capital
R.

Ada had sliced her chicken breast into tiny pieces. She speared one with her fork and held it in suspension between her plate and her mouth. “Harrison said your handwriting expert has confirmed that the notebook is Jonathan's.”

“Based on a handwriting analysis, he believes it's Jonathan's,” Claire said. It was a slight correction, but would Harrison consider it a discourtesy? She resisted the temptation to look for his reaction and kept her eyes focused on Ada. “August could do some tests on the paper to date it, but that would mean taking the notebook out of the library.”

Ada put her chicken down on her plate. “Is that necessary?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Harrison said, soothing her.

“Anything
could happen to the notebook if it leaves the center.”

“August has impeccable credentials,” Claire replied. “I have full confidence in him.”

“We all believe the manuscript to be authentic,” Ada insisted.

“True,” Claire said. “August has established that the briefcase came from Vietnam and is made out of elephant hide. I met with Lou Bastiann.”

“He's the Lou who is mentioned in the journal?”

“Yes.”

“Was he one of Jonathan's antiwar friends?” The piece of chicken had made its way to Ada's mouth, and she began chewing on it.

“No. He's a fan of Jonathan's who served in Vietnam. He told me he sent the briefcase to Jonathan from Saigon. When he came back he looked Jennie up. They've stayed in touch over the years.”

“Many of Jonathan's fans looked
me
up after he disappeared,” Ada said.

“Of course they would. You're his mother,” Harrison said in a soothing-as-Pablum voice. Claire was glad she hadn't gotten any food. Anything chewed on at this table would taste like mush. “Ada is concerned about the death of Tim Sansevera,” he told Claire.

“We all are,” Claire said. “I wrote to his mother and expressed the center's deepest sympathy. I'm hoping we can get together when she feels up to it.”

“Curt Devereux got to Slickrock Canyon before you?” Ada asked, fixing her sharp black eyes on Claire.

“Yes.”

“Do you know when?”

“Not exactly.”

“He should have gone back for that duffel bag the minute he heard it was there. Has it occurred to you that he may have had something to do with the young man's death? Curt bungled the investigation of Jonathan's disappearance. Perhaps the duffel bag contained a clue that would prove his incompetence and connect him to Jennie Dell.”

It was a thought that continued to occur to Claire, coming out of the night like a moth and disappearing back into it again. “Ellen Frank, the ranger who is investigating Tim's death, seems to know what she is doing,” she said.

“I wouldn't trust the rangers to investigate one of their own,” Ada declared. When she got angry, the red spots on her cheeks turned redder, making the rest of her skin appear powdery white. “I've asked Nick Lorenz, my private investigator, to look into it. He'll get in touch with you.”

Claire was intrigued by the prospect of meeting Nick, another character who seemed to be popping out of the pages of the Jonathan Vail history book. “In all the reported sightings of Jonathan, did
Nick
ever find any proof that he was still alive?”

“No,” Ada said. “Which is why I came to believe my son died in Slickrock Canyon, that Jennie Dell was responsible, and that Curt Devereux is protecting her.”

“Did Nick find any evidence that Jonathan left an heir?”

“No,” Ada said again.

Claire intended to ask Nick Lorenz the very same questions, wondering if his answers would be so unequivocal. With any luck, Harrison wouldn't be present and she wouldn't be constrained by his notions of politeness. Coaxing money and cooperation from a benefactor resembled walking on eggs. She could do it when she had to, but she'd rather be doing something else. She hoped to meet Nick as far away from Ada, Harrison, and the university as possible.

“Ada and I have been discussing publication of the journal,” Harrison said, tearing at a piece of bread with his long fingers. His eyes turned into warning lights across the table, and Claire understood why he had arranged for her to arrive late. “Now that it has been authenticated, Ada has agreed to allow UNM Press to publish it. The university, of course, is extremely pleased. Ada will act as an adviser.”

Adviser, Claire wondered, or hatchet woman? “Will Avery be the editor?” she asked.

“The committee hasn't decided yet.” Harrison's position as head of the center automatically gave him a spot on the UNM Press Review Committee and the power to approve or veto any project. Claire doubted that Avery would want the job under Ada Vail's conditions. “Since you are a Vail expert, we would like you to contribute in some way,” Harrison said to Claire. “To write an introduction, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” said Claire. “If you will excuse me, I'm going to get something to eat.” If there was anything she didn't want to do at the moment, it was eat, but a trip through the cafeteria line would take her away from the table.

“Certainly,” said Harrison.

Claire walked to the other end of the cafeteria and made her way through the food line, dawdling in front of the salads, weighing the worth of vinegar and oil versus Thousand Island, hesitating before the main course (chicken breast? beefsteak?), considering and reconsidering what she would drink. By the time she returned to the table, Ada and Harrison had finished their lunch and were preparing to leave. She said good-bye, sat down at the table, stared out the window, and picked at her salad.

She was tempted to call Avery when she got back to her office, but she didn't feel she'd been authorized to pass on what she'd heard. She knew it was only a matter of time before he would call her. Later that afternoon, Nick Lorenz phoned to set up an appointment.

“Where is your office?” she asked him.

“I'm semi-retired,” he said. “I live in Rio Rancho. I don't go into the office as much now, but I still keep one across the river in the North Valley.”

“I'll
meet you there,” Claire said.

“All right,” Nick replied in a brusque voice that left Claire wondering whether he wanted to meet with her at all. They set up a time for later in the week.

The following morning Avery called. “Could you meet me beside the duck pond?” he asked in a whispery, conspiratorial voice. “Say in fifteen minutes?”

“I'll be there,” Claire said.

She left the center, walked around the corner of the library, and sat down on a bench that faced the pond. It was one of those crisp fall days that felt more like the beginning of a season than the end of one to Claire. The leaves on the trees around the pond had changed color. A breeze brushed the surface of the water and turned the reflection to liquid gold. Her sense of having an assignation with Avery was diminished by the fact that they were meeting in plain sight—not only in plain sight but under the brilliant New Mexico sun. There were shadows and lies in New Mexico, but secrets seemed to prefer a murkier climate.

Claire watched as Avery came up the sidewalk, taking giant steps. He wore black jeans that made his legs seem even longer. His blue windbreaker flapped while he walked, as if it were an outer manifestation of an inner agitation.

“Claire,” he said, taking her hand and pecking her cheek without actually looking at her. “Have you heard what the committee is planning to do with the journal? They're going to let Ada Vail decimate it.”

“Harrison implied that would happen, but I didn't feel I could tell you until it became a fact.”

“It's a fact,” Avery said. “The committee announced their plans this morning.”

“In all fairness to them, Avery, if they didn't follow Ada's wishes, she'd take the manuscript elsewhere.”

“Let her,” he said. “This could be the most important publication you or I will ever have a chance to be involved with, but it will have no significance whatsoever after Ada wields her scissors. A censored book is not a book the press ought to publish. They're asking me to edit it, but that's nothing more than being a production editor. Good grief!”

“Harrison mentioned my writing an introduction.” It would be publishing points for Claire, but not the kind of points she wanted.

“Don't do it,” Avery said.

“Do I have a choice?”

“I'd quit first,” Avery said. Claire couldn't help noticing that he hadn't offered to quit
his
job. That was the control the committee had over both of them—they'd have a hard time finding jobs they liked better anywhere, much less in New Mexico. “Have you spoken to Tim Sansevera's mother yet?”

“Not
yet,” Claire said. “She hasn't answered my letter.”

“Call her, please,” Avery said, taking her hand, tilting his head, and looking into her eyes.

“It's a very long shot, Avery.”

“It's all we have.”

Claire and Avery walked to where the sidewalk divided and went their separate ways. She called Vivian Sansevera when she got back to her office and was rather relieved to get an answering machine. She left a message saying they needed to talk.