Mr. X (64 page)

Creech was impervious to Rowley’s contempt. He would be impervious to most things. Far past shock or surprise, Creech existed in a state of neutral readiness for whatever might come his way. You could not show him anything he had not already witnessed so often that it was incapable of provoking anything but ironic recognition. He was so far beyond conventional human responses that he might as well have been from another planet. Under the circumstances, his presence made me feel more relaxed than I would have thought possible.

“This is your lawyer?” Mullan asked.

“He is.”

Rowley made a disgusted noise and pushed his way through
the crowd of uniformed policemen. Officer Nelson looked uncertainly at Oster and said, “I was about to question him.”

“Do that,” Oster said.

As if inquiring about the score of a minor-league baseball game in a distant city, Creech asked, “Is my client to be taken to headquarters?”

“Your client will be invited to assist us in our investigation.” Mullan turned wearily to me. “Would you be willing to make out a statement at Police Headquarters?”

Without moving a muscle, Creech encouraged assent.

“Of course,” I said.

“I shall be present during the questioning,” Creech said. “If my client wishes.”

“I’d like Mr. Creech to be present,” I said.

A tired-looking man with mushroom-colored skin came in and pronounced Toby dead. The ambulance attendants carried out what looked like a giant loaf of bread hidden under a sheet.

Mullan said, “The counselor won’t mind if I tell you we found out who was responsible for last night’s fire.”

Creech’s motionless figure somehow displayed mild curiosity.

“Carl Sandburg Elementary put up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to an arrest.”

“Handsome gesture,” Creech said.

Mullan smiled. “Late yesterday afternoon, your old friend Frenchy La Chapelle and a miscreant called To Me From Me Blunt decided to unwind over a bottle of bourbon and a crack pipe.”

“Toomey Frommey?” I asked.

“
To
Me,
From
Me,” Mullan said. “Six years ago, this genius went to the post office to pick up a suitcase full of grass from Humboldt County, California. He used his own name and return address on the shipping label. Luckily for him, he was one of Mr. Creech’s clients, and he walked.”

“Lamentable negligence on the part of the arresting officers,” Creech said.

“After they got high, Frenchy started bragging about the money he got for torching a building on Chester Street. To Me From Me decided that his obligations as a citizen outweighed his loyalty to a friend. We brought Frenchy in and charged him, and he was put in a cell. Just before four o’clock this morning, a strange thing happened to Mr. La Chapelle.”

My scalp tingled.

“Frenchy had nothing on him sharper than his fingernails, but he figured out a way to cut his throat. He looked a lot like Toby back there.”

“Oh,” I said.

“You mentioned Clothhead Spelvin the other day,” Mullan said. “Might you be able to shed a little light here?”

C. Clayton Creech’s indifferent gaze at the pawnshop counter recommended silence.

“I wish I could,” I said.

Mullan rocked on his heels. “Nelson, take Mr. Dunstan to headquarters. You can give Mr. Creech a ride, too.”

“Thank you, Captain, but I believe I will take the opportunity to enjoy the fresh air.” Creech interrogated me with a glance directed at the ceiling. I looked over his shoulder in the direction of the storeroom and the hidden ledger.

Twenty minutes later, C. Clayton Creech padded into the interrogation room and communicated by his usual mysterious means that all was well. The stolid Nelson opened his notebook and began asking questions. Creech folded into the chair to my left and stayed there for the next three hours. Now and then he uttered a gentle reproof to whoever was grilling me at the moment. He seemed about as involved in the procedure as a lizard stretched out on a warm rock. Just before 12:30
P.M.,
the Edgerton Police Department released me with instructions to keep in touch.

Creech and I went past the desk sergeant, who conspicuously ignored him. “All is copacetic,” Creech said. When we came to the top of the steps down to Grace Street and Town Square, Creech said, “My office at two o’clock?”

“I’ll be there,” I said, and Creech was gone.

91

In an anteroom lined with hunting prints, a woman with the face of a hanging judge looked at me from behind a desk the size of a coffin. “We are Mr. Dunstan?”

“We are,” I said.

She picked up a stenographer’s notebook and a pen and opened the door to the inner office.

Seated in wooden chairs with high, narrow backs, Clark, Nettie, and May turned their heads when I entered. Hats trimmed with black lace perched on top of the aunts’ white hair. A scuffed leather couch stood in front of a wall of law books, and brown threads showed here and there through the pattern of the faded Oriental rug. The high windows looking onto the bright park at Creech’s back admitted a weak light that died as soon as it entered. In the tenebrous gloom, the lawyer was a faceless outline.

Creech took a paper from a folder on his desk and positioned it in front of him. He placed a fountain pen on top of the paper. “Before you get seated, Mr. Dunstan, please sign this agreement formalizing our relationship in the terms we discussed this morning and give me the sum of one dollar in fulfillment of its terms.” To the others, he said, “Mr. Dunstan is merely signing an authorization engaging me in the capacity of legal counsel. This authorization is necessitated by his discovery of the deceased’s body and has no bearing on the matter before us now.”

I signed the one-paragraph statement and unfolded a dollar bill onto the paper. The dollar disappeared before he put the paper in a drawer, but I never saw him touch it. I went past the chairs and sat on the near end of the leather couch. The secretary perched at the other end. Creech said, “Miss Wick will be taking notes during this conference.”

She opened the notebook and held the nib of her pen over an empty page.

“Mr. Dunstan, I have informed your great-aunts and great-uncle of this morning’s events on Lanyard Street. I offer my heartfelt condolences. I knew Mr. Kraft only in my capacity as his legal adviser, but I filled that capacity for many years, and Mr. Kraft’s personality made a great impression on me.”

“Scoundrels will do that,” Nettie said. “But I can’t say that Toby didn’t have his good points. He visited our niece on her deathbed.”

“My client had a great fondness for his stepdaughter,” Creech said. “However, now that Mr. Dunstan has joined us, we may turn to the business at hand. It was my client’s instruction that the contents of his last will and testament be made known in timely fashion upon the occasion of his death, if possible within
twenty-four hours of that event, and be it noted that we have assembled in observation of that instruction.”

“So noted,” said Miss Wick.

“Be it further noted that the parties desired by my client to be present at the reading of said last will and testament are assembled, with the exceptions of Mrs. Joy Dunstan Crothers, who is absent of her own volition, and Mr. Clarence Aaron Crothers, who is absent by reason of ill health.”

“So noted,” said Miss Wick.

Creech looked up from the folder before him. “My client also instructed that his mortal remains be given a swift burial. Of course, Mr. Kraft did not anticipate that his demise should be the result of homicide. The procedures of the County Coroner’s Office and our Police Department may render it impossible to observe the letter of his instructions. Therefore, let it be noted that the spirit of the instructions shall be honored and the aforesaid remains given burial within twenty-four hours of release to the Spaulding Heavenly Rest Funeral Home.”

“So noted.”

Mr. Creech appeared almost to smile at his audience, although the dim light and the character of his face made it difficult to tell. “I am instructed to inform those present of several matters. My client provided for all arrangements necessary to the disposition of his remains, including the purchases of coffin, headstone with inscription, and burial plot adjacent to that of his late wife. Furthermore, he desired no memorial or funerary service in a house of worship, whether Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, or any other faith or creed. Said burial is to be conducted without benefit of clergy, and may be attended by any persons who wish to be present. My client stipulated that any mourners in attendance shall be free to speak in a spontaneous fashion. Let it be noted that these instructions have been read and understood.”

“So noted,” said Miss Wick.

“Did I hear the word ‘inscription’?” Clark asked.

“Let me find the exact wording.” Creech turned a few pages. “The inscription on my client’s headstone is to read as follows: first line,
TOBIAS KRAFT,
in capital letters; second line, the dates of his birth and death; third line,
TRUST IN THE UNEXPECTED,
in smaller capital letters, followed by an italicized attribution to Emily Dickinson.”

“ ‘Trust in the unexpected’?” Clark said. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

“I gather that my client found it a helpful sentiment.” Creech turned the page and looked back up. “We have now reached the reading of Mr. Kraft’s last will and testament. May I assume that the parties assembled here are willing to forgo a reading of the introductory paragraphs and move directly to section C, his bequests?”

Nettie leaned over to whisper to May, and Creech said, “I assure you that nothing relevant to your concerns shall be neglected by moving to section C. In any case, copies of the entire document will be distributed at the conclusion of this meeting.”

“Skip the mumbo jumbo,” Nettie said.

“Be it noted that it has been agreed to begin the reading of the will at section C, Bequests.”

Miss Wick uttered her echo.

Creech began reading in his flat, emotionless voice. “I, Tobias Kraft, therefore direct that upon the occasion of my death the entire contents of my estate be distributed in the following manner. (1) The sum of five thousand dollars is to be given anonymously to the Red Cross. (2) The sum of five thousand dollars is to be given anonymously to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, located in Washington, D.C. (3) All clothing in my possession at the time of my demise is to be donated to Goodwill Industries. (4) The remainder of my estate, including all funds in checking accounts, money market accounts, stocks and bonds, mutual funds, and real estate held either by me personally or by the legal entity T.K. Holding Corporation, I hereby bequeath to Valerie Dunstan, known as Star Dunstan. Should Valerie Dunstan predecease me, the bequest shall be made to her son, Ned Dunstan.”

He looked up from the will. “Let it be noted that Mr. Tobias Kraft’s bequests have been read and understood.”

Nettie drowned out Miss Wick’s response. “Either you left something out, or I didn’t hear you right.”

“Let me explain it clearly, then, so that there will no misunderstandings. The terms of my client’s last will and testament donate ten thousand dollars to charitable causes. His clothing goes to Goodwill. The majority of his estate has been inherited by the young man seated on the couch behind you.”

In varying degrees of shock, they swiveled their heads and gaped at me.

Clark looked back at Creech. “What kind of estate are we talking about here?”

“If you will give me a moment …” He took another bundle of papers from the folder, scanned the top page, put it aside, and glanced at the second. “In liquid funds, the estate consists of five hundred and twenty-five thousand, four hundred and twenty dollars, not counting interest earned since the last statements. Mr. Kraft also owned the building in which he resided and conducted his business, as well as one multiresidential unit on Chester Street and two commercial properties in downtown Edgerton. Their accumulated value would be approximately eight hundred thousand dollars, taking into account the insurance settlement due on the property recently destroyed by arson.”