Scandal in the Secret City (21 page)

O
n Sunday morning, I went through my house, straightening up clutter and dusting off surfaces in preparation for my guest. When Sally arrived, she was more than impressed with the space.

‘Well, isn’t this the cat’s meow. Almost like living in a doll house, Libby. And it’s all yours. I can’t tell you how green I am. I only had one roommate when I got here, but two weeks ago, I got a second one. I hope the three of us have enough patience to last through the war – the only thing that saves us from driving each other completely wacky is that we all work different shifts. But this,’ she said spreading her arms wide, ‘this is heaven.’

‘Thank you, Sally. I’m very fortunate but sometimes I forget my good luck on a cold and windy night. It’s draftier than the chicken coop at my dad’s farm. Make yourself at home, I need to get back into the kitchen and finish fixing our dinner.’

‘Can I set the table?’

‘As you can see the table’s tiny. We’ll have to serve up the food on the plates and carry them out here, but you could lay out the utensils.’

After doing that, Sally stayed in the kitchen with me, chatting about the mud, dances and the poor quality of the cafeteria food. Sitting down to eat, we both cut a piece of lamb chop and popped it in our mouths, relishing the flavor as we chewed. After swallowing, Sally said, ‘I forgot how good a lamb chop could be. I can’t remember when I last had one. How did you ever get them?’

‘Lots of luck and a friend at the front of the line at the market,’ I said with a laugh. ‘Glad you’re enjoying it.’

Sally started to cut off another piece then set down her knife and fork. ‘Libby, I figured you asked me over because you wanted to talk to me about Irene. You don’t have to make any more small talk. Just go right ahead, ask me anything.’

‘Thanks, Sally. I wasn’t sure how to start. But eat – don’t let your dinner get cold. We’ll have plenty of time to talk when we finish.’

Sally said, ‘Say no more, this is the best meal I’ve had since I moved into the dorm.’ She ate another bit of chop, a mouthful of mashed potatoes and a forkful of peas. ‘I really liked Irene. There was a lot more to her than most people gave her credit. Sure, she liked to have a good time but she had a goal. She wanted to find a man she could love, who could take care of her, who could take her away from the sticks, give her a nice life in the city.’

‘You talked a lot?’ I asked.

‘Sometimes we worked like spinning tops with questions and problems from the guests. Other times, we’d go an hour or more without seeing anyone but each other. And Irene? A lot of people thought she was just looking for fun all the time. But when the war was over, she didn’t want to go back to the farm and settle down with one of the local boys. That’s why she dated a lot of different men. It wasn’t because she was wild – well, she was a bit wild – but what I’m saying is, she’d date a man two or three times but as soon as she realized he wasn’t the one, she just moved on to someone else – a bunch of someones actually. I was green as could be at times. Hardly enough men to go around and they all seemed to want to go out with Irene.’

For a few more minutes, Sally concentrated on the food on her plate. Then she said, ‘I wish I could be more like her.’

‘In what way?’

‘When we first started working together, it seemed like she was making eyes at every man who walked through the door. Then I realized that she was simply at ease with all of them, didn’t matter if it was a young private or one of the old guys working a desk job up at the castle. She just liked men – and women, too. And everybody felt that from her.’

‘The women, too?’

‘Listen, you could tell which of the married couples staying in the guest house were happy and which ones had problems just by watching how the wives acted around Irene. If they had a good marriage, they smiled and laughed with Irene every time they saw her. But if things were bad between a woman and her husband, she’d be just as bristly as a porcupine. Wives like that were suspicious of Irene. And sure enough, the husbands of those women were the ones who were a bit too bold, asking every woman that worked there to take a walk or go out somewhere.’

‘Were there any men who paid special attention to Irene?’

Sally laughed. ‘Yes, all of them. But seriously, if a man was staying at the guest house with his wife, she was friendly with them but it ended there.’

‘What about a German guy named Dr Smith? He lived in the guest house for a while back before his family came down and moved into a cemesto house. Do you remember him?’

‘Thick accent, mean eyes?’

‘That’s the one,’ I agreed.

‘Wish I could forget him,’ Sally said. ‘What an unpleasant man. No matter what problem he had, like if he ran short of towels or soap, it was as if someone did it to him deliberately. No one could stand that nasty man – not even Irene and she was everybody’s friend. I was glad to see the last of him.’

‘How about a Dr William or Bill Ottinger?’

Sally furrowed her brow. ‘Hmmm? Oh, was he married to that little woman who looked like she got her face out of a sour pickle jar every morning?’

I laughed at her imagery and answered, ‘I don’t know.’

‘I bet it is. He was a real drugstore cowboy. Had a couple of lines he used on every woman who worked there. First, he’d say she reminded him of an old flame and then he’d warn her not to trust anyone – I suppose he thought saying that would make us distrust everyone but him. He asked us all who worked there to step out with him and he could be really fresh. He made me blush almost every time he spoke to me. Got so fresh with Irene once she slapped him right in the kisser.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t remember what he said but I felt like cheering when it happened. He stormed off as if he didn’t think he deserved that kind of treatment, but I bet it wasn’t the first slap that man had gotten.’

‘When did that happen?’

‘I don’t remember exactly but it was after Thanksgiving and close to Christmas – maybe halfway between the two.’

People had been killed for lesser reasons than a slap and a bit of humiliation. Was that the motive for Irene’s murder? ‘Did he stay angry with her?’

‘For a couple of days he didn’t speak to her but then he was back to sweet-talking every time he walked by. Men like that never learn.’

‘Would she have gone out with him? Maybe just for an apology?’

‘Not that I know but I suspect it was possible. Every day she left work, there was somebody waiting to walk her back to the dorm. I suppose he could have been there one night. Irene never seemed to hold a grudge against anybody.’

‘So, Irene didn’t seem to pay anyone any special attention?’

‘Oh, I didn’t say that. There was someone special. Don’t know who he was but just before Thanksgiving she told me she was in love.’

‘You have no idea who it was?’ I asked.

Sally shook her head. ‘She never said – acted all mysterious about it. But she said he was the one. She said after the war they’d be moving out of here. Probably to California, she said.’

‘You never noticed her treating anyone special?’

‘No, like I said, Irene was friendly with everyone.’

‘Anyone treat her special?’

Sally laughed. ‘They all did – even that little Italian fella who said his name was Eugene Farmer.’

I exhaled a big sigh.

‘You’re asking all these questions for her family, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘They want to know what happened to Irene. But it would be real nice if you wouldn’t tell anyone I was asking.’

Sally mimed zipping her lips shut, locking them and throwing away the key. ‘Like the billboard says, what I see here, stays here.’

‘Thanks, Sally. If you could just think about it and let me know if anyone comes to your mind.’

We picked up our plates and carried them into the kitchen. Despite my protests, Sally insisted on helping me clean up. I washed, Sally dried and soon all was clean and put away. As she set down the towel, Sally said, ‘There was this one fella, a little older but not too old. I saw him slip her a note a couple of times. She tucked them away real quick and never talked about them even when I teased her.’

‘Who was that?’

‘I don’t know. He wasn’t a guest at the house. He just showed up a lot. He brought people there who had just arrived on the train. He picked them up sometimes in the morning and whisked them off somewhere or another. Always the men who were here for a short time. I figured they were important visitors. He treated them like they were. But he never introduced himself – not to me, anyway. Irene did look at him a little differently. Now that I think about it, she was a little quieter around him, not quite as brassy and forward as she could be. I didn’t think anything about it then, but now that I’m talking about it … well, it makes me wonder.’

It made me wonder, too. Ottinger was still a possibility. But who was the mystery man? And did Irene’s behavior toward him mean anything at all? The questions and speculation kept me tossing and turning in bed for hours.

O
n Monday, all morning long, I tried to find a few minutes to chat with Charlie. I hoped he would tell me who typically met the visiting scientists at the train station. However, work kept me extremely busy as the morning went by in a blur of frenzied testing. I didn’t even notice as one chemist after another left for lunch. Charlie startled me when he approached from behind and said, ‘Libby, you’ve got to get something to eat.’

‘I haven’t reached a stopping point, Charlie. When I do, I will.’

‘How about if I run to the canteen and grab a couple of sandwiches? You can bite and chew while you work, can’t you?’

‘Sure, Charlie.’ I never noticed him leave and was not at all aware of the passage of time, making his return with food feel like magic.

‘C’mon, Libby. You’ve got at least fifteen minutes before you need to intervene in the process. Sit in my office and eat lunch with me.’

‘I don’t know, Charlie. I don’t like to walk away in the middle of—’

‘Libby, honestly, at this stage, you don’t need to hover over it. You know that.’

He was right, I couldn’t argue. I followed him back to his office, realizing how hungry I was the moment I took the first bite. The question I wanted to ask popped back into my mind. ‘Charlie, when I first got to Knoxville, you met me at the train station and drove me inside the fence. Did you do that with everyone here?’

‘Oh mercy no.’

‘Who brought them to the labs?’

‘They had to get here on their own in those army cattle cars they call buses. You’ve gone to Knoxville in one, haven’t you?’

‘No. My old roommate was always asking me to go into town with her on Monday night but I never managed to get around to it.’

‘They’re really primitive, Libby. Plywood seats and usually not enough of them. You want it to stop and you pull a chain that’s supposed to ring a bell in the cab of the truck but it usually doesn’t work. Some of the guys here said everyone would pound on the sides but often still couldn’t be heard. Sometimes, the riders have gotten so frustrated that they start deconstructing the thing from the inside, pulling out slats around the locked door just to get out.’

‘We don’t make visitors come here that way, do we? I mean, important scientists, General Groves, people like that?’

‘Oh no. The general and other high ranking officers get met by a military driver. The scientists have a car pick them up. I’ve done that a couple of times, filling in for Dr Bishop when he couldn’t get away.’

‘Dr Bishop?’ I struggled to hide the feeling of alarm his comment induced.

‘Yes. He’s usually the one to escort them to the guest house and to the lab but occasionally he’s not available.’

‘Well, I’d better get back to my lab bench.’ I walked away very disturbed. Not Dr Bishop. He couldn’t have been having an affair with Irene, could he? No, I needed to put that thought out of my mind. Impossible.

That afternoon, I didn’t dare allow my mind to wander away from the work at hand until around four o’clock, when I was interrupted by Ann. I looked up to see her standing stock-still, staring at me. I blushed, embarrassed that she might have read my thoughts about her father.

‘Dad said you have to come to dinner tonight,’ Ann whispered. ‘Mom’s not too happy because she was just planning on leftovers. Told Dad the only other thing she had was a couple of cans of spam and it was too late in the day to go find anything else. I’ve been listening to Dad insisting in one ear and Mom complaining on the phone in my other ear. All I know is that you’d better be there even if Mom is serving cardboard.’

‘If I can get this done in time, Ann.’

‘You’d better. Be there at six. You and Dad are driving me crazy, Libby!’ Ann spun around and flounced out of the room.

At 5:45, I wanted to start another test but relented and headed out the door and up the hill to the Bishop residence. When I arrived a few minutes after the hour, Mrs Bishop seemed a bit put out. No warm welcome that day. Was she irritated that I was late? Or simply annoyed that I was there? Conversation at the dinner table was stilted and focused completely on practical matters, like ‘please pass the salt’ and ‘thank you’. I hadn’t felt so relieved to push away from a table since I was a child.

I wanted to help Ann and Mrs Bishop clean up but Dr Bishop insisted that we go into the other room to talk.

‘I think Bill Ottinger is your man,’ he began.

I looked into his eyes but the moment I did, his darted away from mine. My suspicions from earlier that day returned, etching on my nerves like acid on glass. ‘What made you reach that conclusion, sir?’

‘I’ve asked around and it seems he left Columbia University after a bit of a scandal. It involved affairs with several of his students. One I heard was carrying his child. He left town as quickly as he could, deserting that poor girl. And, now, tucked away here, no one can come after him.’

‘That does raise some suspicions,’ I conceded.

‘You said Irene was pregnant when she died, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Yes she was.’

‘You see, this time he couldn’t run away. He knows too much. He’s involved in something top secret at K-25 and he’s pivotal to the work. Not only would they hunt him down if he ran off and either bring him back here or charge him with treason, but if he stayed put, they’d protect him at all costs even if he had killed Irene.’

I came close to telling him about Ottinger’s unpleasant inter-action with Irene at the guest house, but an intuitive impulse urged caution so I listened without making any objection. What he said was certainly plausible but what if it was all a lie – a fabrication to divert attention from himself? I felt like I was treading water in a murky swamp of uncertainty. In a lab, there are tests for that; in real life, it was hard to know what to do. To Dr Bishop, I simply nodded and said, ‘You make good points. So what do we do now?’

‘I’ve already spoken to Lieutenant Colonel Crenshaw. And to the chief administrator at Roane-Anderson. They have promised me they will look into it.’

‘But I thought you said they would protect him at any cost?’

‘Yes and they will. I asked them what they would do when they found out I was right. Crenshaw said, “We can’t lose him but we will keep him closely contained.”’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means nothing will happen to him now – maybe he’ll be charged after we win the war. But right now, they’ll have military personnel following him everywhere. He won’t be able to engage in adulterous activity. If he can’t do that, he can’t kill anyone else.’

‘That’s not exactly what I would call justice,’ I objected.

‘It’s the most you can expect right now, Libby. We are at war and Ottinger is indispensible – winning the war is more important than some little girl from the country. I know that sounds unfair, but that is the way it is.’

‘And what if the military decides you’re right? And what if both of you are wrong? Does that mean someone, somewhere, is free to take another girl’s life?’

‘Just hope I’m right, Libby. Get your coat, I’ll give you a lift home.’

That invitation made me nervous. Something felt wrong. Concerns about Ottinger’s possible involvement made sense but Dr Bishop’s certainty seemed out of proportion with the evidence. ‘No, no thank you. I’d like to walk tonight.’

He objected but I brushed away his concerns. Once again, the thought of being alone with him made me very uncomfortable. I thanked Mrs Bishop for supper and she snapped back, ‘Sarcasm is not becoming in a young lady, Miss Clark.’

I started to object – admittedly the spam and baked beans were a bit boring, but the homed-canned applesauce Mrs Bishop had pulled out of her pantry made the meal a treat. However, seeing the look in the other woman’s eyes I simply said, ‘Goodnight, ma’am.’

Walking home I tried to figure out the meaning of what had happened that night. Ann had hardly spoken to me. Mrs Bishop, the most welcoming hostess I’d ever known, was now hostile and unfriendly. And Dr Bishop? He was the most puzzling of all. He was jumping – leaping – to conclusions. He was a scientist. Scientists don’t do that. We always want definitive proof. By the time, I reached home, things made even less sense to me …