A Fox Inside (20 page)

It worried him that neither Lily nor Maggie seemed to be about, but he did not want to go searching for either of them. There was a mess of newspapers on the coffee table. He picked up the phone to call his hotel but it was dead. Probably Lily had had it disconnected,
because
of the reporters.

The case had drifted back to the inside pages, which was some consolation. Another few days and Charles would be way back, in the funeral announcements, and then the matter would not interest anyone any longer. If everything went smoothly, that was. He prayed that everything did go smoothly. Maybe Lily’s influence was good for something after all.

The inquest was not until two-thirty. He wandered restlessly through the house and went into the library. The shades were down and at first he did not notice Maggie sitting at the chair behind the desk. She wasn’t doing anything. She was just sitting there. He pulled up the blinds and saw that a handkerchief was tightly squeezed into a sodden mass in her hand. He looked at her closely. But she had not slipped. For better or for worse, she was alive now.

“Oh, Luke,” she said.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Can we ever get out from under?” she asked. “Can we?” She looked at her handkerchief, uncurling her hand, and then dropped it into the waste-paper basket.

“Things should go okay,” he said. “They can’t prove a thing.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He knew it wasn’t.

“We can try,” he said. He was worried about her, so he spoke too sharply. He went over and leaned against her, burying his face in her hair, and she took his hand.

“We’ve got to, I guess.”

“He planned everything so well,” she said. “If you only knew how well. I think he even planned this,
sometimes
.”

He looked at his watch. “It’s a quarter to two,” he told her. “You’d better go upstairs and pull yourself
together
. I’ll wait down here.”

F
OR REASONS HE DID NOT ALTO
gether understand the inquest was to be held in the City Hall. Senator Ford and Lily were going to meet them there, so he drove over with Maggie, in her old
convertible
. He had never driven it himself before, and that also marked a change. She seemed to take it for granted that he would drive. She had longer legs than he, so he had to push the seat forward. At the stop signs he reached over and held her hand, on the seat, trying to pump courage into her, though he didn’t feel too confident himself. It seemed to work. He didn’t care who saw them.

“Thanks,” she said, the first time he did it, but then her hand became smaller, warmer, and more confiding. He hoped she trusted him: she had too; but it was like bringing up a child in five days all the same. And until he knew whatever it was she hadn’t told him yet, he would never be sure of anything.

The Civic Centre was far out, built on once cheap, flat land, in a section of town that had refused to boom, and that was mostly shanties and cheap lodgings and a derelict skyscraper or two. Maybe city halls everywhere are surrounded like state capitols, by the cheaper,
shoddier
, more furtive kinds of vice: they seem to attract it.

It was not a cheerful part of town and he had trouble parking the car. He thought he found a place close, but a traffic cop waved him on. A tall gangly one very new and efficient in striped breeches and black leather. So they had to walk the whole length of the square, a
distance
of about a thousand yards. The buildings were in different styles and had the inhuman, malignant
atmosphere
of all buildings that are not lived in at night. The complex, never finished, had been constructed with an idea of solemn grandeur, but it was only a
beaux-arts
copy of reality and all the details were wrong. The Federal Building was the newest, the civic auditorium the oldest, and the two forms of ostentation did not jibe. It was a sad, spittle-stained place, whose flowerbeds and low pressure fountains did nothing to help, and whose brickwork was hard to walk on. The usual
flea-bitten
bums were collected on the library steps, the dirty pigeons clamoured in the air around some bread an old woman was throwing out for them, and the city hall was dingy. It had fallen down in the earthquake and the original armatures had been suited to the replacement, with the result that it looked not like a new building, but like a reconstructed ruin, ready at any moment to topple in on itself. Seagulls roared over its golden dome, screeching pelagic on the air.

Even in sunlight the square never looked right, and to-day was overcast. He took Maggie’s arm and walked up the stairs, carrying his brief-case on his outer side. He was walking a trifle too rapidly for her.

The downstairs into which they entered was gloomy and the day had only made it the gloomier. They went to the rotunda. He had forgotten that, an Irish politician
having recently died, they had allowed him to lie in state there. He felt Maggie’s fingers tighten on his arm.

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.”