Echoes of the Fall

by Hank Early

  Once the burning had filled both eyes, he turned around and dropped the container in the river. The excess drained from his face into the water flowing away from the Fingers. He watched it go downstream, a white mess he hoped was his penitence. He watched it until it faded away, not around the bend or out of the range of his vision but gone forever, replaced by a darkness Rufus hoped would somehow save him.

  69

  When it was all said and done and the article was typed and printed, I asked Chip for a copy. He gave me one and asked me what I was going to do with it.

  I’d been worried about this part, but I just came right out with it.

  “I’m going to use it to blackmail Jeb Walsh.”

  “Good,” he said. “But we’re going to print it, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean, maybe?”

  “Well, I’ll have to see what he says.”

  “I want to come.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise. In fact, I was going to mark through your name. He’s not an enemy you want to make.”

  We were at the Wildflower, sitting in Chip’s room with Ronnie and Mindy. Still no Rufus.

  I’d been looking for him nearly night and day while Chip got the article ready, but I’d found nothing. He was gone. I wouldn’t stop looking. I knew that. I’d look for the rest of my days if I had to. But first, I had to take care of Jeb Walsh. I owed it to Harriet, to Rufus, to Eddie, and even to myself. Hell, I owed it to Mary.

  “I’m willing to take that risk,” Chip said. “For Joe.”

  Joe. Jesus, I hadn’t even gotten around to telling Chip about Joe yet. It was coming. I thought it best to do one thing at a time. First, Jeb. Then I’d deal with Joe.

  “What are the terms?” Chip said.

  I nodded. I’d been thinking about the terms a lot lately. “Well, we start big. He has to resign his run for Congress.”

  “He won’t do that.”

  I thought he was probably right. Jeb would just as soon fight a media war than do that. He could call “fake news” and hope for the best. It was the new trend for politicians these days, especially the ones of Walsh’s sniveling and selfish ilk.

  “Well, if he won’t do that, we’ll go for the next best thing.”

  “And what is the next best thing?”

  I shrugged. “Close the Harden School. Demand Sheriff Argent’s resignation. All charges against me dropped.”

  “What charges against you?”

  I paused, struggling to think of a way to cover for my mistake. Was now the time to tell him about Joe? I decided it wasn’t. I needed to keep him on board until I talked to Walsh. After that I’d come clean.

  “You know I had to break the law to find Harriet, right? Not to mention what happened on the bridge with Savanna.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Yeah, and maybe there’s some other stuff too. A lot has happened.”

  “Right.” He hesitated. “We still need to find Joe.”

  “We will,” I lied. “We will.”

  * * *

  The day felt tropical by the time we arrived at the gates of Sommerville Chase. We took Chip’s car, a late-model Taurus with a broken air conditioner. We kept the windows down, but it made little difference. The day was filled with a dank humidity that seemed to permeate everything from my clothes to my thoughts.

  A white-haired gentleman stepped out of the guard’s station at the front gate. “Hot one,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, relieved he wasn’t one of the guard’s I’d dealt with—and lied to—last fall in order to gain access to the exclusive neighborhood and film director Taggart Monroe’s massive home. “I’m heading to Jeb Walsh’s place. He’s expecting me.” It was true. I’d asked for a meeting, and he’d agreed without hesitation. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for this.

  The guard checked his clipboard. “Name?”

  I leaned over so he could see me from the driver’s side. “Earl Marcus.”

  “Got you right here, Mr. Marcus.”

  “He sent me a code,” I said. “You don’t need it?”

  “Nah. His secretary called and said to be expecting you.” He looked at Chip. “Didn’t say anything about another man coming. He your driver or something?”

  I laughed, but then realized it was a serious question. This was the kind of neighborhood where people had personal chauffeurs. “He’s with me. Jeb’s going to want to talk to him too.”

  The guard looked unsure, but ultimately he looked more like he just didn’t want to deal with it.

  “Great.”

  The gate swung open, and we drove inside, following the directions from the robotic voice on Chip’s phone. The voice led us through what had become one of the most desirable neighborhoods in the entire Southeast, at least according to the Southern Living article Mary had shown me in the spring. We’d both spent a few minutes marveling at the incongruence of such an award going to a neighborhood in the same county where people literally couldn’t afford to buy shoes for their kids. Driving through the neighborhood now in broad daylight made it clear to me there were two Coulee Counties. The one I’d grown up in where wealth was a distant star that had burned out a long time ago, and the other one that was separate, fenced off, and filled with (mostly) white men who demonstrated a special kind of willful privilege. Walsh was one of those men, and Sommerville Chase was the perfect place for him. It existed within Coulee County, but most of the citizens of the county would never see it. You had to have an appointment or you had to have money. Everybody else was shit out of luck.

  I was surprised when we took a sharp right that led us away from the neighborhood along a ridgeline covered with dandelions. We drove for about a mile on the ridge before descending into a ravine. The land eventually flattened out and a large wooden fence emerged, so high I couldn’t even see over the top.

  A few hundred yards later, I saw a side road that led up to yet another guard’s station. This guard was young, fit, and appeared to be put off by my presence. “License,” he said.

  “What would cause a man to need a fence inside a fence?” I said as Chip handed him his license.

  He ignored my question and studied Chip’s license like he was a criminal. He kept glancing at him and then down at the photo. Finally, he nodded and handed the license back.

  “Follow the road all the way to the house and then go around back. Mr. Walsh is on the porch.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Have a good one, bud.”

  He just looked at me as if I was a fool. Perhaps he was right.

  * * *

  Walsh’s home was the kind you see in magazines but rarely in real life. His expansive yard was lined with well-groomed hedges and flower beds and studded with live oaks. The driveway was clean of any debris and paved with gleaming red bricks. A porch began in front of the large home and wrapped around the right side. The brick drive opened up into a parking area close to the white three-story home. The place screamed wholesome privilege, the kind of house where you’d expect to find a well-heeled couple with two kids grilling out and eating watermelon on the back porch while a friendly golden retriever lay respectably nearby.

  Chip parked next to an expensive-looking European sedan, and we had no more exited the vehicle when a woman appeared in the driveway. She was in her thirties and wore a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She beamed at me as if we were long-lost friends.

  “Mr. Marcus. Thank you for coming. And who did you bring?” She sounded slightly put out by Chip’s presence.

  “A friend. He actually wrote the article we’re going to be sharing with Jeb today.”

  “Mr. Walsh is on the back porch. This way.”

  We followed her onto the front porch, and my boot heels echoed loudly on the wooden planks as we made our way toward the side of the house, where the porch continued. Before we could make the turn, we were accosted by two large men wearing dark suits. Both men
wore oversized sunglasses and had the same crew cut style hair. Neither spoke. The woman put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for the bother, but Mr. Walsh requires his visitors be searched. Do you mind? Mr. Walsh has a thing about guns.”

  “Is it absolutely necessary?” I asked.

  “Mr. Walsh won’t see you if you don’t submit to the search.”

  Chip spoke softly. “Just let them. Get it over with.”

  “Fuck’s sake,” I said, and held my hands up. One man stepped forward and patted me down. When he felt the .45 in my waistband, he withdrew it and stepped away. The other man continued where the first had left off. Luckily, neither man found the small mini recorder I’d taped behind my knee. They turned to Chip next. I grimaced as the two goons put their hands all over him. When neither found anything, one of them pulled out a two-way radio and pressed the call button. “One forty-five-caliber hand- gun. That’s it.”

  A voice on the other end said, “Send him on.”

  “You’ll be able to retrieve your weapon when you leave,” the woman said.

  The two men walked away quickly. I watched them, trying to determine which one had my gun, but he’d obviously already tucked it away somewhere.

  “Assholes,” I said to the men’s backs, but neither one acknowledged I’d spoken. As pissed off as they made me, I couldn’t help but admit they seemed professional, which had to be setting Walsh back a pretty penny. That he had that kind of wealth made him even more dangerous than I’d previously thought.

  “This way,” the woman said, smiling again, as if there was nothing more pleasant than being patted down before paying someone a visit.

  When we finally reached the back porch, I saw the pond first. It was a good-size fishing pond with a small dock and a rowboat, which someone had out in the middle of the water. Walsh sat in a rocking chair, looking out at the pond, at the rowboat with its single occupant, who appeared to be fishing.

  Walsh didn’t stand when he saw me approach. He didn’t even speak. Nor did he look in my direction. Not at first. Instead, he kept his attention on the boat in the little pond. The woman who’d led me to Walsh nodded to the rocking chair next to her boss. I motioned for Chip to sit, but he shook his head as if to say, this is your show. I sat down.

  “Drinks, Mr. Walsh?” the secretary said.

  “No, this won’t take long. Give us complete privacy. Don’t let anyone outside the house. If Donna asks where I am, tell her I’m not here. But like I said, this shouldn’t take long.”

  I didn’t like this already. He was asserting his authority by establishing parameters on the meeting. I needed to do something or this would get out of hand quickly.

  “Yes, sir,” the woman said, and walked to the back doors. She closed them behind her and we were alone, save for the solitary figure on the pond. I thought the person in the boat was male, but I couldn’t even be sure of that from this distance.

  “I’m glad,” I said.

  “Glad of what?” He still hadn’t looked at me.

  “That this is going to be quick. I’m afraid if I spend too much time alone with a man like you, I might resort to violence.”

  He laughed. It was a genuine laugh, as if he was actually taking joy in what I’d said, and this caught me off guard a little bit. “You don’t seem like a man who ever has to ‘resort’ to violence. It seems as if it comes rather easily to you, Mr. Marcus. And my guess is you’re the one behind some of the bodies of my friends that have been showing up lately.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Besides, I don’t really believe you have friends.”

  He laughed again. “Everyone wants to be friends with a man like me.”

  “Well, almost everyone. Your son isn’t a fan of yours.”

  He nodded at the boat on the pond. “You mean Eddie? We get along great. We understand each other. It took a while, but he came around. He’s sixteen tomorrow. You don’t have children, do you, Mr. Marcus?”

  “No. I figure some people aren’t cut out for kids.”

  “Some people like me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Fair enough. You’re right. But what may surprise you is that I love him.”

  “I don’t think you’re capable of love.”

  Walsh turned to look at me for the first time then. He nodded in what appeared to be agreement. “I didn’t think I was either. But then he came along, and I realized I was capable of the emotion in certain situations. And when those situations arise, I can be downright vicious about protecting those I love.”

  “That’s not love. It’s possession,” Chip said.

  He looked at Chip. “And you must be the reporter who is going to bring me down.”

  Chip scowled at him. “You brought yourself down.”

  “Call it what you want. Here’s the point. Earl knows things about me no one else does. He’s witnessed things. And you’ve even written them down, whatever your name is. I’m not going to insult your intelligence and try to defend them, though I think if you’d walked in my shoes, you might not be so different than me. Nevertheless, I am what I am. A bad man? Maybe so. But I’m still a man. And as a man, I will protect the sanctity of my family and my campaign with every fiber of my being. I never quit. I never stop. Consider that a warning.”

  “You talk as if you think we’re here to blackmail you,” I said.

  “Oh, of that I have no damned doubt.”

  “Tell him,” Chip said.

  “Yeah, tell me, Earl. What do you have?”

  “We know you had Weston Reynolds killed. That you put Savanna Duncan up to it.”

  He shrugged, neither denying nor admitting anything. “Can you prove it?”

  “Chip lays it all out. Quotes from your wife and from Savanna.”

  “Savanna would have never admitted that.”

  I handed him the article. “People tend to talk when they’re hanging on for dear life. You should read this.”

  He pushed it away. “What else?”

  “You’re not going to read it?”

  He waved me off. “I’ll take your word for it. Either way, it’s just hearsay. You don’t have any hard evidence.”

  Here it was. The moment I’d been waiting for. I let his words linger long enough to make him do a double take, long enough for him to suspect something was up.

  I rolled my blue jeans up enough to reach the recorder. I ripped it away from my leg, wincing as the duct tape snatched the hair from my skin. I held it up. “This belonged to your girl, Savanna.”

  He stared at it for a moment. I thought I saw something like fear on his face. It was, quite honestly, a terrible thing. It wasn’t like an ordinary person’s fear. Walsh’s fear was tinged with indignation, anger, violence. It was a reactive fear, the kind that would always wound others. He simply could not bear the fear alone, and I realized in that moment what he was: a frightened, small man. Nothing more. But with his privilege and the force of his personality, it was enough to wreak havoc on the world.

  I clicked play.

  His face grew red when he recognized Savanna’s voice, and redder still when she said Jeb had instructed her to kill the boy.

  “Turn it off,” he said, his voice trembling.

  I ignored him, letting it play until the part where I asked about Joe. I didn’t want Chip to find out about his boyfriend like this, so I fast-forwarded a little and hit play again. There was a near silence as the tape squeaked. Then the sound of gunfire made the soundtrack explode in a clatter of distortion.

  “Your son,” I said. “He missed me completely. And I’m beginning to think I know why.”

  “My son?” Jeb looked offended. “What do you mean?”

  I nodded out at the boat on the lake. “I heard Eddie’s a good boy. Andy? Not so much. But this is one of your other boys.”

  “You’re a liar. I don’t have any other children.”

  I held the recorder up, hitting fast-forward again.

  My timing was nearly perfect. Jeb J
unior’s voice was the first thing we heard. “Jeb Junior,” he said. “My name is Jeb Junior.”

  Jeb Sr opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He coughed, seemingly choking on his own words.

  I clicked stop.

  “No one will believe him. He’s a Neanderthal, a damned wild animal.”

  “He’s your wild animal. And I was surprised at how eloquent he was. And the best part is he’s still out there somewhere. I think he’s sort of pissed about his brother, and since his mother’s gone, the only other person who ever showed him attention, no matter how pitiful … well, since she’s gone, he’s somewhat of a wild card.”

  I’d found a sore spot, and I wasn’t about to let it go, especially if he wasn’t even going to read the damned thing.

  “What do you want?” he said.

  “End your campaign,” Chip said.

  Jeb said nothing, and for a brief and wonderful instant, I believed he was considering his request. Then he shook his head, perhaps realizing he was nothing without his campaign, without his constant quest for power.

  “Fuck that. I’ll fight you before doing that. I’ll fight all of you.”

  I looked at Chip. We’d expected this. And truthfully, we could have fought him. But I didn’t think we’d win. We had all the evidence. We were on the side of good. But none of that mattered against Walsh. He had proven himself to be a slippery man, capable of wiggling out of the most precarious traps.

  “We figured you’d say that. We have some other requests, however,” I said though gritted teeth. I hated giving even the smallest amount of power to this asshole. But what choice did I have?

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Preston Argent steps down.”

  “Let me guess, you’re installed as sheriff?”

  “Nope. I can do more good outside the law.”

  He grinned. “What else?”

  This was good. He’d breezed right by Argent stepping down.

  “The Harden School closes.”

  “I have nothing to do with that school.” He nodded at Eddie out on the boat. “As you can see, Edward is home with us now. He’ll be returning to Coulee High next fall.”