by Greg Iles
“A safety-deposit box.”
My fear ratchets up three notches. “Not here in Bienville!”
Nadine smiles. “Not a chance. I’ll bet there’s not a safety-deposit box in this town that Claude Buckman couldn’t get opened one way or another. No, it’s in Monroe, Louisiana, in a bank with no ties to the Buckman empire.”
Monroe is seventy miles across the river. “Okay, good thinking. How long have you had the cache?”
“Eleven days.”
We’ve come to the point where things are going to get personal. But before I can ask my first question about Sally’s motive, Nadine says, “What did they do to you in the jail? Come on. I see petechiae under your eyes.”
I might as well tell her. “Officer Obie and a black-hooded buddy waterboarded me.”
“Shit, they didn’t.”
“And Beau Holland was asking the questions.”
Nadine’s eyes narrow, but I can see hatred burning in them. “It’s guys like Beau Holland who make me want to use the cache to blow the Poker Club to hell and gone, no matter what it costs the town. How bad was the waterboarding?”
If I were in her place, I’d probably ask the same absurd question. “Worse than it sounds. The name sounds vaguely related to wakeboarding. They need to rebrand that little technique.”
She lifts a finger to her mouth and shakes her head. “I should have gotten you out of there faster.”
“You did fine. I survived.”
We both jump when her iPhone rings. She checks the screen, then answers and puts the phone in speaker mode.
“It’s me,” she says.
“Sorry it took so long,” Tim Hayden says. “I drove out toward Marsh—toward his house—and a police car followed me. It peeled off at the county line, and a sheriff’s deputy picked me up. When I turned back toward town, he stopped me. Searched my car, made me open my trunk. He was furious not to find anybody hiding in back. As if Marshall would fit in that shoebox.”
“But he let you go?”
“After he made two cell phone calls. Are you guys okay?”
“Yes. You get home. And thanks. I owe you a big one.”
“Glad to help. Even though I don’t know exactly what this is about, I feel like I just stuck it to the Man.”
“You did, Tim,” I tell him. “In a big way. Adam would be proud.”
“Then I’m glad.”
After Nadine hangs up, we regard each other over the worn table.
“What now?” she asks.
“We’ve come to the heart of it. Sally’s motive. What you know about her plan, and her death.”
She looks anything but pleased at this prospect. “You have to meet the Poker Club at eight a.m. You look wiped out. Are you sure you want to go into that now? You could grab some sleep on that couch.” She points at a broken-backed relic against the far wall.
“I’m too wired to sleep. And I need to know the rest.”
“I know. I’m not avoiding. But I don’t think you realize how exhausted you are. You need to be on top of your game when you face Buckman. The future of this town’s on the line. Not to mention our lives.”
My mind goes to Ben Tate and the Terrell brothers, who are working to produce an edition of the paper that—if everything goes well—will hit the unsuspecting Poker Club like a laser-guided bomb. “Have you been out to the fishing camp?”
Nadine nods. “I took them a bunch of stuff from Walmart. Rubbing alcohol, small paintbrushes. Aaron Terrell texted me a long list.”
“How about we make a run out there? Talk on the way.”
She sits back in her chair, clearly surprised by my suggestion. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“If we can get across town to Cemetery Road without trouble, we should be all right. Besides, what can they really do to us?”
“Cave in our heads and dump us in the river?”
She hasn’t forgotten Buck. “No. For all they know, if we die, the cache automatically hits the internet. They just let me out of jail, didn’t they?”
She doesn’t look convinced. “They didn’t have control of both of us. And just because Buckman says he’s willing to cut another deal doesn’t mean some other guys in that club wouldn’t kill us if they got the chance. Man, I wish I had set up something like that. An insurance policy.”
“If the cache wasn’t in your safe-deposit box, we’d do it now. But we can’t help that. Where’s your car?”
“My Acura’s parked just up the alley, behind a friend’s shop. Why do you want to do this?”
“Honestly? This may be the last edition of the Bienville Watchman ever printed. If my father can’t be there to see it, then I will. I want to be able to tell him about it tomorrow.”
Nadine looks at me for a long time. Then she says, “What the hell. What did Tim say? Let’s go stick it to the Man.”
“Now you’re talking!” I slap the table. “Let’s go. And don’t forget your gun.”
She gets up and retrieves her purse from the floor. “Wouldn’t dream of it. It’s my new essential accessory.”
Chapter 44
Nadine got us to Cemetery Road without incident. We hardly spoke until she turned east, away from the river. Even then, I sat silent as we rolled over the gully where Jet dumped Max’s hammer and gun. Two miles farther on, we passed the turn for my parents’ neighborhood, then the overgrown path that leads to the Weldon barn, which is probably buried under a jungle of kudzu by now. When we’re almost out of the city limits, I switch on my burner phone in my pocket.
“Think I should cut over to the Little Trace for a few minutes?” Nadine asks. “Less chance of passing a sheriff’s car?”
“Nah. We’re only five miles from the turn to Dad’s camp. I say go for it. Just don’t speed.”
We’ve left the only streetlights along Cemetery Road behind us. After we pass a lighted self-storage facility and a small-engine repair shop, full dark closes around the car.
“What do you want to ask me?” Nadine says.
“Do you believe Sally killed herself? Was she trying to frame Max?”
“I think that was her plan. I’m not sure she didn’t try to kill him at the last minute instead, forcing him to kill her in self-defense. Or that Max didn’t murder her outright, before she could try her plan.”
“So when you and I were dancing to Jerry Lee Lewis at the Aurora Hotel, you knew she planned to commit suicide later that night?”
Nadine’s head snaps around. “God, no! I had no idea of her real intentions or her timeline. I had to drag what I know out of her over the course of ten days. We had three private meetings in person. At first she told me she was having marital problems and didn’t trust Max. She wanted me to hold something for her. She asked me to get a safe-deposit box. I figured she was preparing to divorce him.”
“You didn’t question her further at your first meeting?”
“Sure, but she wouldn’t open up. She seemed afraid, or deeply disturbed. They’d been married so long, I didn’t think Max was beating her, but I didn’t know. I worried about sexual abuse—of Kevin, I mean—but I didn’t bring it up at that meeting.”
“She gave you the cache then? At your first meeting?”
“No, the second. And she was a lot more upset at that meeting. I got the feeling she was conflicted about whatever she was thinking of doing. That’s when she told me that the cache could destroy not only Max, but all the men in the Poker Club. When I questioned her motive, she told me she’d discovered that Max was a truly evil man. Not merely weak, like most men, but evil. Her word. She’d always known that he cheated with other women. This was different. But she wouldn’t tell me how.”
“Do you know more than you originally told me about the affair between your mother and Max?”
“No. We never discussed that directly. Sally and I drank a lot of wine at that second meeting. At one point she said all human beings make terrible mistakes, and that she was no exception. When I asked what she’d done, she sai
d she hadn’t paid attention to what was right in front of her. She’d taken things for granted.”
“Oh, man. Still, that’s pretty vague. She didn’t confide that she was terminally ill?”
“No. I could see she was deeply depressed, and I did wonder if she might be ill. But she never let on. Sally wasn’t one for self-pity. She didn’t want anybody thinking she was mortal. A hard road, but that was her generation, you know? Like my mom.”
“When did she tell you about Max being Kevin’s father?”
“Third meeting. Two nights before she died.”
“Where were you?”
“My house. That time, she didn’t seem upset at all. In fact, she was eerily calm. Looking back, everything seems as clear as day, of course. She’d made her peace with death. I was the one who was upset that night.”
“Did you suspect she was considering suicide?”
“I don’t know. All three times we met, I begged her to see someone. A professional. I really tried. But Sally said she was past that kind of help. She said she was in the kind of situation where nobody could help you but yourself.”
“Shit. So how did she tell you about Kevin’s paternity?”
“I’ll get to that. First she told me her plan. What I should do if anything happened to her. This made me think she was afraid of being killed, rather than thinking of suicide. And her plan was so detailed and masterful that I realized she must have been working on it for some time.”
“Ever since she figured out Max was Kevin’s father. But I’ve assumed that was only a few months ago, at most.”
Nadine nods. “She got suspicious about three months ago. Which is pretty strange, really. Because Tallulah, their maid, had suspected it from the time Kevin was an infant.”
“What do you think accounts for that?”
“Knowing what I know now? I think Sally had willfully blinded herself to something she didn’t want to see. Something that would have destroyed her family. But when a doctor told her she was going to die, her denial crumbled. Her protective instinct for her grandchild burned through it. She saw things as they really were. And it terrified her.”
I ask the question that has haunted me since last night. “Did Sally talk to Jet about the paternity issue?”
“What did Jet tell you about that?”
“She said they never talked about it. She thinks Sally died not knowing.”
Nadine looks incredulous. “Jet really believes that?”
“She did until last night. I think I probably cracked her faith in that notion. She’s out on the edge now, just like Paul.”
“And you’re in the middle.” Nadine shakes her head in the dashboard light. “Sally told me she never confronted Jet about the paternity issue. She worried that might trigger Jet to do something desperate, like leave town with Kevin.”
“Why did you say ‘confronted’ her? Jet was the victim in this.”
Nadine hesitates before answering. “You’re right. I don’t know why I said that.”
“You must have had a reason.”
She cuts her eyes at me. “This is dangerous ground, Marshall. You said Max tried to rape Jet tonight. So I’m probably full of shit.”
“Full of shit for what?”
Two pairs of headlights round a curve ahead and move toward us.
Apropos of nothing, Nadine says, “It’s weird owning a bookstore like I do.”
“What?”
“I’m there all day every day, alone a lot of the time. Men know where to find me. They have the right to come in and look at me, unless I bar them, which as a practical matter is tough. They can sit in my café for hours, even have me wait on them. It can make for uncomfortable situations.”
I’ve never thought about it that way. I’m guilty of exactly that. “And . . . ?”
“I’ve learned a lot about men during that time. A lot of guys have hit on me in that shop. I’ve seen every type. Beau Holland is one of the worst. Vain, arrogant, pushy, no concern for anyone but himself. He can’t imagine any woman saying no to him—or meaning no, rather.”
“And Max? You told me he hit on you more than once.”
“He has, absolutely. But not like Beau. Max has a sense of humor about it. He’ll make a remark or whatever, some double entendre, but he knows when to back off. With me, anyway.” Nadine turns to me as she drives, letting me see her eyes. “All my instinct tells me he’s not the guy to try to take it when he’s not wanted.”
Something in her voice frightens me, but it also triggers anger. “You should have seen him trying to rip Jet’s shirt off earlier tonight.”
“You saw that happen?”
“I was across the Parnassus pool from them. He attacked her. That’s when she hit him with the hammer.”
“See? I’m an asshole. I’ve just been trying to make sense of why Jet never left that marriage.”
“That bothered me, too,” I admit. “I don’t mean after Kevin was born, or even after she discovered she was pregnant. But right after the rape.”
“Exactly. Jet wasn’t a teenager. She was, what, thirty-three? And an attorney.”
“I asked her about it. She couldn’t give me an answer. Only that she wasn’t as strong as she’d thought she was.”
“I’m not criticizing her,” Nadine says quickly. “And I’m not speaking lightly of this. I’ve been assaulted twice, almost raped both times. I managed to get out of those situations, but not unscathed.”
“Did you report it?”
“The first time, no. Second time, yes. But we’re not talking about me tonight.”
“Jet has serious issues because of her father abandoning her. She was also worried that Paul would kill himself if she left. He was suicidally depressed. And remember what Sally told you: Max is a truly evil man. Jet discovered that fact thirteen years before Sally did. She told me he takes trips to Vietnam to have sex with young prostitutes. Who knows what really kept her in that family?”
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Nadine says, sounding genuinely upset.
“No, I understand. I’ve listened to a lot of stories in my life, and there’s something that doesn’t feel quite right about Jet’s narrative. I hate saying that.”
“Why did Sally give the cache to me?” Nadine asks. “That’s the nub of it. Jet was the natural choice. She’s a practicing attorney. She’s Sally’s daughter-in-law. She’d crusaded against the Poker Club. She seemed unafraid of Max. Why didn’t Sally talk to Jet as soon as she suspected the truth? Unless . . .”
“She was afraid to,” I finish. “That’s what you’re thinking. And not just because she might scare Jet into running with Kevin.”
“Yes,” Nadine says quietly. “I don’t want to go any further than that. If you want to know more, you should go talk to Tallulah in the morning. She knows more than any of us.”
“You spoke to her today, right? About your mom and Max?”
“I did. But let’s leave it there. All this gets about as personal as anything can. And when you’re dealing with human beings, everyone has their own agenda. You can’t be sure you’re getting pure truth from anybody. You know that. I’m not even sure I want to get to the bottom of this.”
“Jesus,” I whisper. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not suggesting anything weird, okay? Just . . . you need to go down that road on your own. I can’t get between you and Jet. I don’t want to.”
Two semi trucks traveling in tandem blow past us, and the Acura shudders.
The implications of Nadine’s reasoning have left me cold, almost disoriented. Maybe it’s just sleep deprivation. For a few seconds I wonder if Jet is with Paul right now and, if so, if she’s all right. After that scene at the hospital, there’s no telling how he might treat her. For now, I have to trust that she’d text me if she were in trouble.
To distract myself from these thoughts, I say, “Did Sally ever consider killing Max? I mean, straight-up murder. Talk about having a good motive . . .”
; “I know, right? She not only considered it, she planned it. But when the moment came, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Sally didn’t go to church much, but she was deeply religious.”
“That’s too bad. Because the world would be a lot better for a lot of people right now if Max had died instead of Sally.”
A darkened service station drifts past on the right.
“We’re going to be at the barn soon,” I tell her. “Tell me this: How did Sally compile such a damning data cache in only a few months? I mean, she was a housewife, not a private detective.”
Nadine pops my chest with a stinging blow.
“Damn! That hurt.”
“I should have smacked you in the face. Sally was sharp as a razor, and one of my best customers. Since 1865, the Poker Club has rotated meetings between the members’ houses. The Mathesons’ hacienda was better suited to a big group than most houses, so they hosted more than their share of meetings. As a first step, Sally started recording them. The last few months have been especially busy because of the paper mill. In no time she had enough damaging information to put most of the members behind bars. And that was before she cracked Max’s password and started copying his emails. She even installed a keystroke recording program.”
I laugh in amazement. “If Max had known that, he’d have died of a stroke weeks ago.”
“Or murdered Sally,” Nadine says in a cold voice.
“True. Look, I know you said Sally was sharp, but all this sounds pretty high-tech. Are you sure she didn’t have the help of a tech-savvy young attorney?”
Nadine nods. “Positive. Sally had read mysteries and true crime for fifty years. She also watched a lot of TV. That may sound quaint to you, but while her friends were watching Downton Abbey, she was bingeing on The Wire and The Americans. It was actually The Americans that inspired her plan.”
“How so?”
“Do you know the show? It’s a Cold War setting. And one episode involved the so-called Dead Hand system. Are you familiar with that?”
“I did a paper on it when I was at UVA. It’s a system that fires nuclear missiles even after your country has been destroyed. It’s put in place to deter a first strike by the other side. Even if your whole population has been wiped out, the Dead Hand fires every missile you have left, destroying the ‘victorious’ opponent.”