Thoreau at Devil's Perch (19 page)

Wednesday, August 19th

 

C
an it be that I shall discover Peck's killer this evening? Perhaps I already have.

I interviewed Edwin Vail at the Provident Bank on Tremont this morning. For such an unremarkable little man, he has a rather grand office, with tall windows and an enormous ornate desk. Behind the desk, built right into the wall, is some sort of vault, the steel door of which was shut tight.

As Vail was greeting me with cool civility, a nervous young man carrying a metal case hurried in. “You were due here twenty minutes ago,” Vail told him in a severe tone. “I came near to sending a guard after you.”

The young man winced. “Please forgive my being tardy, sir.” He hefted the case onto a solid side table. “I left the printer posthaste, but my hack got held up in traffic.”

“Why did you not disembark from the conveyance and continue on foot?”

“These bank plates are heavy, sir! And I feared I would be too vulnerable to thieves.”

“You are chock-full of excuses, aren't you? If you are so much as five minutes late in future, I will see you never work at this bank or any other as long as you live. Now get back to work.”

The browbeaten bank clerk slinked out, closing the door behind him. Vail turned his glare toward me, as if seeking another target upon which to further vent his anger. But he must have thought better of it, for he only motioned for me to sit and took his own seat behind his desk. Its massiveness dwarfed him. “So what is it you want, Dr. Walker?” he asked with impatient bluntness.

Here I admit to being caught inexcusably unprepared. I had thought we would exchange pleasantries and eventually get around to Peck's demise, but I saw that would not wash. Thought fast and saved my bacon by pulling my gold watch out of my waistcoat pocket.

“This timepiece,” I said,“was found in the front yard of my grandfather's house the evening you were there, Mr. Vail. Given its quality, I presumed it yours.You left Plumford before I had opportunity to return it to you, and I came here to do so now.”

Vail's eyes lit up at the sight of the embossed gold watch-case. “Let me see it.”

He extended his hand, rising slightly to reach across the broad expanse of his desk, and I had no choice but to unhitch the chain and drop my timepiece into his soft, open palm. My heart also dropped as I watched him examine it with a covetous eye. He nodded and smiled as if recognizing it and grasped it in his hand as if it had found its way home again. Then he looked hard at me and frowned. “No, no, it is not mine.” He handed my watch back to me. The case felt oily from his touch. “No doubt its owner will soon enough claim it.”

“Well, neither Mr. Thoreau nor Mr. Upson has done so. And the only other guests in the yard that evening were you and Captain Peck.”

“Do not forget the Indian was also present. Perhaps the watch is his.” He smiled at his own ludicrous suggestion. “Though it is doubtful such a savage as he can even tell time.”

“Mr. Trump is no more a savage than I am,” I replied.

Vail widened his eyes to feign fear. “Then I beseech you not to scalp me the way Trump scalped Peck!” He smiled again.

“You do not seem much distressed over your friend's demise.”

“Peck was not my friend. Why, I barely knew the man.”

“Oh? You were not his business partner?” I voiced this in perhaps too inquisitorial a manner, but snooping into the affairs of others is all new to me.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Vail said, looking at me as if I were insane. “I cannot imagine how you made such a preposterous assumption.”

I considered telling Vail that Peck himself had told me but thought better of it. It was obvious that if I confronted him further in such a direct manner I would get nowhere. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Vail. I did not mean to offend you by that question.”

“Your offence, sir, is that you are wasting my time.” His stood abruptly. “Good day.”

Such a rude dismissal left me far less inclined to be polite. I reckoned I had nothing to lose (and perhaps something to gain) if I riled him again.

So I remained seated and said, “Then it was only your wife who had a close friendship with the captain.”

I had not forgotten the way Mrs. Vail had looked so intensely at Peck upon her arrival. And I hoped my impertinence might trigger an outburst from Vail that would reveal more than he wanted me to know.

His face grew red, and his eyes bulged like a rabbit's. Unfortunately, his anger left him speechless.

Tried again. “I came to that conclusion because she brought him a volume of poetry when you visited. And I heard you yourself proclaim to Captain Peck that your wife—Lucy, is it?—insisted on accompanying you to Plumford.”

“How dare you presume to call my wife by her Christian name?” he sputtered.

I had clearly presumed far worse than that, yet he was calling me on a point of etiquette. That made me think he had plenty to hide. “Again I apologize,” I said.“I was only trying to remind you of what you said when—”

“Enough!” He straightened his waistcoat over the bulge of his belly. “Only to stifle your ill-mannered prying do I tell you my wife suggested we take up Peck's offer to visit him for the simple reason that she wanted to get some fresh country air. As for the book Mrs. Vail brought him, it was merely a formal gift a guest gives a host. She went to no great trouble to obtain it, for we reside directly across the street from a fine bookseller. Now that I think upon it, I recall that it was my idea to bring Captain Peck a book. Mrs. Vail did not
know
the man well, and for you to imply she did comes perilously close to a brazen insult.”

I declared I wished to cause no offence. However, I remained firmly ensconced in my chair, ignoring his movements toward the door. He waited by it, and I waited him out until he reluctantly spoke again.

“Such a dreadful business it was,” he muttered, eyeing me closely as though to gauge the effect of his words on me. “All my dear wife and I want to do is forget our perilous proximity to such a heinous crime as that. Why, that wild Indian could have slaughtered us as well as Peck as we lay asleep and defenseless in our bed! It is all too horrible to contemplate, and I do not wish to speak of it further.”

I could hardly force him to. Nor could I come right out and call him a liar for denying he had any business dealings with Peck. I would have to find out about them from another. How relieved he looked when I rose from my seat and made my way to the door. Before I left I asked him if he knew of Lt. Finch's whereabouts. I was not surprised when he replied that he knew nothing of the man and had barely exchanged two words altogether with him during their brief acquaintanceship. Vail and I did not shake hands in parting.

As I stood outside the bank wondering how to go about finding Finch, I recalled the man's newfound devotion to town ball. With no other avenue of inquiry open to me, I walked to the Common where he had told me he played.

Once there I abandoned the promenades and struck out across the rolling grass. As I passed the Great Elm I paused to regard it. That this fine specimen, over two hundred years old, is still standing never fails to inspire me. When its very core started rotting away a century ago, the large cavity was filled with clay and the exterior swathed with a canvas bandage. The tree healed! And when four limbs were torn from it in a gale ten years ago, they were bolted back in place with iron bands and appear to have knitted back to the trunk! My hope is that advancements in medical science will some day make it possible for doctors to perform such curative feats upon humans.

This morning, however, I had less uplifting thoughts concerning the Great Elm. My first recollection was that the son of an Indian sachem had been hanged from it. Like Trump, he had been accused of murdering a white man, and although there were no witnesses to the crime, the young brave's insolent manner toward the governing body of Puritans was considered proof enough of his guilt. I fear that will be Trump's fate too if I fail to find Peck's true murderer.

I had yet another dark recollection regarding the Great Elm's history as a gallows. Two centuries ago brave Mary Dyer was also hanged from a stout bough for daring to preach her Quaker faith. That she had given birth to a deformed stillborn child was considered confirmation of her union with the Devil. Governor Winthrop went so far as to have the infant corpse exhumed and gives a detailed description of it in his journal of 1638. Among other grotesqueries it had four horns over the eyes, and instead of toes, claws with sharp talons. Today I could not help but wonder if my ancestor Hezekiah Walker had attended the public exhumation to see if the babe looked like the one he had sired with his cousin back in England.

Thoughts of my own cousin filled my mind. The letter I had written Julia last night was tucked in my waistcoat and lay heavy on my heart. I could not decide whether to burn it or send it to her.

Strode on toward the Smoker's Circle over the knoll. As always, there were a dozen or so men gathered there, puffing away on their pipes and cigars in the only area of the Common where such indulgence is allowed. Pulled my short clay traveling pipe from my coat pocket and offered around my tobacco pouch of the latest blend. That earned me a seat on the bench betwixt two old-timers, and as we smoked I steered the subject away from the weather to that of town ball. Turns out both oldsters were keen spectators of the sport, and when I described the lanky Finch to them they well knew the fellow I meant. But they had no idea where he resided. They suggested I return that evening, when men came to the Common to form teams and play. Perhaps Finch would be amongst them. Or others would know how to locate him.

I noticed a group of rough urchins playing catch nearby. Boys such as they were always hanging about the men who played town ball, begging for the honor of carrying their sticks and bags. Some of those I approached might well have performed this service for me in games past, but now they all eyed me warily. No doubt my high silk hat put them in mind of the day watchmen. Fearing they might bolt rather than deal with me, I scooped up a ball that had bounced near and began a game of catch and toss with them. One boy had a glove, so I smoked a few overhand tosses at him, which he failed to catch, and they all gathered around to see how I gripped the ball to make it curve so. There is nothing better to form trust between members of the male species than a shared sport, and I confess I threw myself into the impromptu fun of pitching and catching. Perhaps I have too much boy in me yet but no matter. Would regret losing the simple joy of play. And if one day I should be blessed with fine, healthy boys of my own to play ball with, it would fill my heart to its full measure.

Remembered my purpose, stopped tossing the ball, and called the boys around me again. But rather than give them more pointers, I inquired about Lt. Finch. They not only knew who he was, but could appraise his strengths and weaknesses as a striker and runner in exacting detail. One boy mentioned he had seen the lieutenant just an hour ago, marching alone on the Mill Dam roadway. So there I went.

Halfway across the long dam I spotted Finch staring at the boats bringing goods downriver. I strode toward him, and upon my approach he greeted me forthrightly. He told me he walked across the dam to Brookline and back most days as he had little else to do in his present state of unemployment. And it helped him stay fit.

Fit the man certainly is. He is also trained as a soldier in the ways of killing and even knows the particulars of Indian scalping. If I had not been so prejudiced against Badger, I might have considered the lieutenant the prime suspect of Peck's murder right off.Yet I liked the lieutenant and was still reluctant to see him as a murderer.

He marveled over the chance occurrence of us meeting on the dam roadway, and I told him I often walked there for I had rooms nearby. He inquired if I could suggest places in the area where a single man could get cheap but wholesome meals, for he couldn't stomach the slop served up at his boardinghouse and was near close to starving. I recommended an oyster house on Union Street, but he said he could not afford it. So I offered to treat him to dinner there forthwith. I too was near starving.

In less than ten minutes we were being greeted by one of the establishment's proprietors, Mr. Atwood, who ushered us toward the bar where I recognized Daniel Webster gulping down oysters. But I wished to engage Finch in private conversation and suggested a table in a quiet corner instead. We started off with a mound of raw oysters the size of plates, come direct from the harbor mudflats. I went at them with the shucking knife the waiter supplied, but Finch tossed his aside, declaring it too dull.

“Request another,” I said.

“No need.” He took from the inside of his coat sleeve what looked like a flat piece of horn. He snapped his wrist and a long, thin blade sprang out of it. “My flick knife shall do the job handily.”

He proceeded to slip the blade between top and bottom shell and run it around the mollusk hemispheres with practiced precision. I could not help but imagine such a blade running around the top of poor Peck's skull with the same smooth skill and ease. This did not dampen my appetite, however, and I did my best to match Finch oyster for oyster. But my shucking utensil was no match for his killer knife, which made his work so quick he beat me at least three to one. He really was a marvel to watch, slipping his blade into each oyster, slitting it open, severing the flesh from the shell, scooping it up with the tip of the knife and popping it into his mouth, all with the swiftness of a bird on the wing gulping an insect. After dispatching with heaps of oysters in the raw we went on to consume piles of them fried in batter, along with bowls of steamed Ipswich clams and roasted quahogs. All this washed down with sarsaparilla by me and with tumblers of brandy and water by Finch. 'Twas the brandy that loosened his tongue.