The Gray Drake

by Charles Cutter

  Burr drove back to the lodge. He found Lizzie in the kitchen.

  “Did you find the trust document?” he said.

  “No, and I looked everywhere. Thompson must have it.”

  “Of course, he has it, but he won’t produce it, and Skinner won’t make him.”

  “Why is that so important?”

  “I’m not sure it is, but I’d like to know that it isn’t.”

  “This is all so terrible,” she said.

  “We’re not done, yet.” Burr followed his nose again and found Jacob smoking in his room.

  “What did you find?”

  Jacob sucked on a joint and held his breath.

  “This is no time to hold your breath.”

  Jacob exhaled, in a hiss, like a snake. “People’s State Bank is in financial trouble.”

  “Bless you, Jacob. There’s just one more thing.”

  “No.”

  “Please…back to the trust. I need a copy of the trust.”

  “I haven’t been able to find the trust.”

  “I need you to look again. Maybe it was misfiled.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Give it one more try.”

  Burr went to Wes’s office and rifled through all of the books and drawers. Nothing. “There must be a copy somewhere.” He went outside and around to the fly shop. He found Billy standing over a vise.

  “Billy, do you have any idea where I could find a copy of the trust?”

  “Don’t talk to me. This is an Adam’s Parachute. It ain’t that hard to tie, but I have to concentrate.”

  “I have to find a copy of the trust.”

  “The Shepherd Trust?”

  “Do you know anything about it?”

  “Quinn thought it was important.” Billy picked up a feather and set it on the fly. Then he wrapped thread around the quill and the body of the fly.

  “Why?”

  “He was fighting over it. With the oil men.” The old guide picked up a tube of glue and dabbed a drop on the fly.

  “What did they want?”

  Billy looked up. “They wanted him to sign something, but he said no.”

  “What did they want him to sign?”

  “Hell, if I know.” Billy looked down at the fly in the vise. “The glue just set, and now it’s ruined.”

  “Do you know where I could find a copy of the trust?”

  The old guide studied the fly in the vise. “It just ain’t that hard to tie an Adam’s Parachute.”

  “Did Quinn have a place here where he kept his valuables? Rods, reels, important papers?”

  “Back there.” Billy pointed to a row of lockers at the back of the workshop. There was a locker with Quinn’s name on it. Burr opened the door. Empty. The locker was empty.

  * * *

  The courtroom was packed. They were here for the last day of the trial and the verdict. They waited and waited. And waited. At last Skinner made his entrance. Chairs scraped the floor, clothes rustled, throats cleared. Still no Jacob.

  The bailiff called them to order.

  “Mr. Cullen, you may begin your closing argument,” the judge said.

  Burr stood quickly. “Your Honor, the defense has one more witness,” then softly, “perhaps two.”

  “I thought you finished yesterday.”

  “Your Honor, this is most urgent.”

  Burr desperately needed a copy of the trust, but Jacob was nowhere to be found. He’d have to stall for time and hope Jacob showed up with something, anything.

  “Mr. Lafayette, it was most urgent yesterday.” The judge wagged his finger at Burr. “You may call two witnesses.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. The defense calls Thompson Shepherd.”

  Thompson Shepherd walked slowly to the witness box, a picture of the upper crust. The bailiff swore in Shepherd the Elder, and he sat down in the witness box.

  Burr looked behind him at the door to the courtroom. Still no Jacob. He walked ever so slowly to Shepherd.

  “Mr. Shepherd, are you a trustee of the Alexander Thompson Shepherd Trust?”

  “I am,” he said with an air of authority and superiority.

  “And what is the purpose of the trust?”

  “To hold certain real estate here in Crawford County.”

  “And what are you, the trust, to do with the real estate?”

  “We are to own it.”

  “Mr. Shepherd, I thought the purpose of the trust was to preserve the Au Sable watershed’s woods, meadows and swamps in their natural condition.”

  “In part.”

  Without a copy of the trust, Burr knew he was on thin ice. He couldn’t force Shepherd to admit to anything.

  “Yet you signed oil and gas leases with Reef Energy that will despoil the very land you are required by the trust to protect.”

  “Oil and gas exploration is within the purview of the trust.” Shepherd looked down his nose at Burr.

  He’s got me and he knows it.

  “Mr. Shepherd, how many trustees are there?”

  Shepherd stopped smiling. “Two,” he said. “There were two of us.”

  “And they are. . .”

  “Myself and my son.”

  “And what provision does the trust make in the case of the death of a trustee?”

  Shepherd bit his lip. “The matters of the trust are confidential.”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Objection, Your Honor. This has nothing to do with the murder of Quinn Shepherd,” Cullen said.

  “Your Honor, this has everything to do with the murder of Quinn Shepherd.”

  “You need not answer the question, Mr. Shepherd,” Skinner said.

  Shepherd smiled at Skinner, the way a master might smile at his servant.

  “Mr. Shepherd, you are chairman of Peoples State Bank. Is that right?” Burr said.

  “I am.”

  “And your bank is having financial difficulties. Is that right?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Cullen said.

  “Mr. Lafayette, neither the Shepherd Trust nor Peoples State Bank is on trial here. I suggest you move on,” Skinner said.

  “Your Honor,” Burr said in his most pleading voice.

  “All I wanted was a simple murder trial. And I have this.” Skinner sighed. “I said, move on.”

  Burr walked back to his table. He broke his last pencil. Now what do I do? Then the door in the back of the courtroom opened. Jacob rushed in with a file under his arm.

  “Your Honor, may I have ten minutes with my co-counsel?” Burr said.

  “You may have two minutes.”

  Jacob hurried up the aisle to Burr, coat on, out of breath. “Did you find it?”

  “No,” Jacob said.

  “No, what?”

  “I couldn’t find it. The trust instrument is not on file anywhere in Crawford County. All the law requires is the filing of the trust certificate.”

  “What’s in that file?”

  “The trust certificate.”

  Burr looked at the file. “There’s more in that file than a trust certificate.”

  Jacob passed him the file. The trust certificate was on top. Burr flipped the certificate aside. Underneath, a thirty-page document titled “The Life Cycle of Hexagenia limbata.”

  “This will do.” Burr started back toward Shepherd.

  “You’re mad,” Jacob said.

  “Quite,” Burr said.

  Back in front of Shepherd, Burr dropped the trust certificate on the floor and made sure Shepherd could see it. He put it back in the folder, on top of the treatise on the Hex.

  “Mr. Shepherd, I now have a copy of the trust. I can introduce this into evidence, and the entire
world will learn all there is to know about the trust.” Burr flipped through the pages of Jacob’s file. “Or . . . you can answer a few questions, and we’ll be done with it.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “The Crawford County Register of Deeds.”

  “It’s not supposed to be there.”

  “An overzealous lawyer, no doubt,” Burr said. “Mr. Shepherd, how many trustees does it take to enter into an oil-and-gas lease?”

  Thompson Shepherd looked at Burr, but this time without the disdain.

  “Mr. Shepherd?”

  “Two.”

  “How many trustee signatures were on the oil-and-gas leases with Reef Oil and Gas?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Burr walked to the evidence table and picked up the leases with Reef Exploration he had introduced yesterday. He returned to the witness. “Mr. Shepherd, I have the oil- and-gas leases the Alexander Thompson Shepherd Trust entered into with Reef Oil and Gas. Do you recognize them?”

  “No.”

  “Let me refresh your memory.” Burr turned to the signature page of the first lease. He showed it to Shepherd. “Mr. Shepherd, is this your signature?” He pointed to the signature line.

  Shepherd looked at the signature page, but didn’t say anything.

  “Mr. Shepherd, is this your signature?”

  Shepherd still didn’t answer.

  “Your Honor, please compel the witness to answer the question.”

  Shepherd looked at Skinner. This time the servant was the master. “Answer the question, Mr. Shepherd.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” Burr said.

  “Yes, that is my signature.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Shepherd.” Burr pointed at the second lease. “Is this your signature?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” Burr said.

  “Yes, that is my signature.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Shepherd.” Burr pointed at the third lease. “Is this your signature?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Shepherd, are there any other signatures on behalf of the trust, besides yours, on any of the leases?

  “I have full authority to sign by myself.”

  “That was not my question. Let me repeat the question. Are there any other signatures on behalf of the trust, other than yours, on the leases?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Shepherd. That will be all.” Burr walked back to his table. “Your witness.”

  Cullen looked like he was in the wrong courtroom. This is a first. The prosecutor rose slowly behind his table. “Mr. Shepherd, did you believe you had the authority to enter into the leases with Reef Oil and Gas?”

  “Yes,” Shepherd said. “I most certainly did.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Shepherd.”

  “Now, we’ll begin the arguments,” Skinner said.

  “If it please the court,” Burr said, “the defense has one more witness.”

  “No, it does not please the court.” Skinner drummed his fingers.

  “Thank you, Your Honor. The defense calls Harley Hawken.”

  Cullen jumped up. “Objection, Your Honor. The defense already examined Mr. Hawken.”

  “Sit down, Jack. Let’s get this over with.”

  Hawken was not happy to be back on the witness stand, especially after Burr had produced what Hawken thought was the trust document.

  “Mr. Hawken, I remind you that you are still under oath.” The oil man nodded. Now if I can just keep “The Life Cycle of the Hexagenia limbata” out of evidence.

  “Mr. Hawken, did you sign the oil-and-gas leases on behalf of your company, Reef Oil and Gas?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were aware that the trust required two signatures.”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Hawken, surely your attorney, Mr. Osterman, reviewed the trust document.”

  Hawken squirmed.

  That’s a first.

  “I assume he did.”

  “And he told you that two signatures were required.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Mr. Hawken, I think you know full well that those leases required two signatures. Thompson Shepherd desperately needed money for his failing bank. He signed those leases. Quinn never signed the leases. You tried to persuade him to sign the leases, but he refused. Isn’t that right?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “When Quinn found out what happened, he told you the leases weren’t valid and the trust wouldn’t honor them.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “That’s why you bid twelve thousand dollars for a three-hundred-dollar trip. So you could buy off Quinn. Isn’t that right? But Quinn said no. And then you and Osterman paid Quinn a visit on the river. That’s why Kathryn Kennedy saw you in the parking lot. Those leases were worth a fortune to you. Was it you who struck Quinn with the paddle?”

  Hawken had finally lost his composure. “No,” he said. “No, it wasn’t me.”

  Skinner had no idea what was going on. Cullen still looked like he was in the wrong courtroom. Burr put the file back on the defense table, out of harm’s way. Then he walked back to Hawken.

  “What did happen that night?”

  Hawken rubbed his beard, his composure restored. “I don’t remember.”

  “You are about to be indicted for murder, Mr. Hawken.”

  Hawken looked at Burr like this was the first time he had ever seen him, then he looked out to the gallery. “After the auction, Mr. Osterman and I drove out to Thompson Shepherd’s home on the river.”

  “What time was it?”

  “About two in the morning.”

  “Why would you go to Mr. Shepherd’s house at two in the morning?”

  “We wanted to start drilling, and we needed to make sure the leases were valid with one signature.”

  “And what happened?”

  “When we got there, he wasn’t home.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We waited.”

  “Mr. Hawken, how long did you wait?”

  “About two hours.”

  “Then what happened?

  “We saw Mr. Shepherd coming down the river.”

  “Thompson Shepherd?”

  “Yes,” Hawken said.

  “You saw Thompson Shepherd coming down the river?” Burr said.

  “Yes.”

  “From Dead Man’s Hole?”

  “Yes.” Hawken squirmed in his chair.

  “Was he in an Au Sable riverboat?”

  “Yes.”

  There wasn’t a sound in the courtroom. Cullen looked down at the files on his table. Then he straightened them and stacked them, one on top of the other. His smile faded, and his lips formed a circle as if he was blowing smoke rings. Skinner looked at Cullen, then he turned to the gallery. His trunk turned, his neck still bent. His eyes locked on Shepherd.

  Shepherd sat, stone-faced. Then he buried his head in his hands.

  Lizzie started to cry.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Burr bent and opened the oven door. He peered in and touched the roasting pan. “Damn it all,” he said. He sucked on his finger.

  Lizzie handed him a potholder. “Let me do that.”

  “Just this one time, your place is not in the kitchen.” Burr took the potholder and pulled the oven rack toward him. Ever so carefully, he slid the aluminum foil off one of the ducks, the skin crispy and the color of an acorn. “Almost done.” He stood up and drank from his glass of cabernet.

  Half an hour later, he had Lizzie, Jacob and Eve seated in the dining room. Zeke and Cassie were under the table. Josh had had dinner earlier and was in bed. Wes was nowhere to be found, which was just as well. Lizzie had sa
id she didn’t want to have anything to do with her father, at least for now.

  The jury had deliberated for an hour and found Lizzie not guilty. Burr had insisted on making the farewell dinner. Roast duck stuffed with canned peaches, the syrup poured over the skin. Wild rice with mushrooms. Squash with ginger and plenty of butter. A spinach salad. Mincemeat pie and as much wine as they could drink.

  “Burr, this is actually quite good,” Jacob said. He fiddled with the napkin he had tucked into his collar.

  “The peaches take out the gaminess,” Burr said.

  “How did you figure it out?” Eve said. “Not that I ever doubted you.”

  “It started with Cassie. When she barked at Thompson. I didn’t think anything of it. Because she barked at me, too. But later, I wondered about it. I was a stranger to her, but Thompson wasn’t.” Burr reached under the table and scratched Cassie behind the ear. “She knew all along.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “But it was the money that got me going, and then the oil-and-gas leases. Charlie Cox was a dead end. Except for Wes.”

  “But how did you figure it out?” Eve said.

  “It was Peoples State Bank. When I found out about Thompson’s money problems, that’s what got me thinking. Then, when there was only one signature on the lease but two on the trust certificate, I took a chance.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Eve said.

  “The oil-and-gas leases needed two signatures from the trust to be valid. Quinn refused to sign, so they were no good. When he found out what his father was trying to do, he put his foot down.

  “But Thompson was desperate for money.” Burr sliced a piece of duck from the breast and stabbed it with his fork. He put it in his mouth and chewed it slowly. “After the auction, Thompson trailered his boat down the two-track, where Finn found the paddle. He hid his boat and took the trailer back to the cottage. Then he walked back upriver to his boat and waited for Quinn. When Thompson saw Quinn on the river, he waved him over. He had to have Quinn’s signature. Quinn refused, and they fought. Thompson hit him with the canoe paddle. Quinn fell and hit his head on a rock. I’m not sure he meant to kill him.

  “But it was what Traker said about the rock. I thought all the other bumps and bruises occurred when Quinn was at the bottom of the river, but that’s not what happened. There were no rocks on the shore at Dead Man’s Hole. If someone hit Quinn with the canoe paddle, and Quinn fell and hit his head on a rock, it wasn’t at Dead Man’s Hole. But there were rocks where Thompson hit Quinn.