Undertow

by Warren Adler

  We filled Don in on the results of our meeting. He listened thoughtfully. The brief sleep seemed to have refreshed him. He even managed a thin smile. He had good recovery powers. They say it’s all in the genes, and Don must have had good genes. Karen went to work in the kitchen to scrounge up some sandwiches. Barnstable kept the telephone busy, and Christine was at his side taking notes.

  There were two details which dominated our minds. One was in the hands of fate; the other had a more human controllability. There was, first, the question of the body. Apparently, it hadn’t arrived on the morning tide as expected; at least that was the information we managed to squeeze out of the state trooper lieutenant, who nervously came in and out of the house, probably out of curiosity. Every time he came out, the press would hammer at him, as if by the act of coming inside, he had received some magic piece of earth-shattering communication. The second thing that concerned us deeply was our attempt to get in touch with Marlena’s father. Apparently, he had been told of the tragedy, had been given time off from his mail rounds, and had disappeared. He was probably on his way to Rehoboth, a distance of about three hours by car from Philadelphia. Barnstable had put some of our staff people on the job of tracking him, but it was like looking for a needle in the haystack. Naturally, we wanted to intercept him before anyone else did.

  There was surprisingly little communication between our besieged command post and the outside world. Our one link, the single telephone, was in constant use. Don sat slumped in a rattan easy chair, his legs crossed, lost in thought. He was never a man to sit silently for any length of time. We had to make some move shortly. It was simply unthinkable to go through another day and night stuck out here, literally trapped in space and time.

  Davis finished the statement and brought it in for us to read. I was surprised at its brevity.

  “The loss by drowning of one of our most dedicated staff members comes as a profound shock to me. Marlena Jackson was a woman of towering intelligence, perception, wit and charm. Her contribution to our cause will be sorely missed.

  “Her people will, however, suffer the severest loss by her untimely death, for she was destined for leadership, marked for great things in the timeless battle to undo injustice and right wrongs. We do not question the motives of Divine Providence in taking her so soon. We can only mourn her loss and hope that there will be others to take her place.

  “On behalf of myself and her fellow staff members, I extend to the bereaved family our heartfelt condolences.”

  “Don’t you think that ‘Divine Providence’ stuff is a little too purple?” Barnstable asked. “What do you think, Don?”

  He looked the statement over thoughtfully.

  “Divine Providence,” he repeated. “You know, that may be just the right touch. Divine Providence. It may be true, you know.”

  “I thought it would be bigger,” Davis said, “than simply ‘God.’ ‘Divine Providence’ takes in the whole psychic universe, so to speak. The words convey an image of tremendous spirituality.”

  “I think it’s corn,” Barnstable said. “Pure corn.”

  “What’s wrong with corn?” Davis said.

  “No, Jack,” Don said. “I rather like the connotation. I also like the wit and charm touch. She had that. She had those qualities and more. You know, seeing this in print is so damned incongruous. And yet, I think I can sincerely say these things. I believe them to be true. Marlena was a most unusual personality.”

  “Well, I’ll buy the ‘Divine Providence’ bit,” Barnstable said. “But this ‘contribution to our cause’ material leaves something to be desired. Cause? What cause?”

  “The implication is the cause of the good as opposed to the bad,” Davis argued.

  “How about the cause of the presidency?”

  “I see what you mean, ‘cause’ is weak here.”

  “I think you’re right, Jack,” Don said. “There is a political implication here that detracts from the integrity of the statement.”

  “You mean we have no cause?” Davis said. But he was overstepping. Like all stubborn minds, criticism was tough for him to take. Sarcasm was a good defense, but it was only halfhearted and he beat a quick retreat. We, of course, had created our so-called “cause,” definable as a better world, more things for people, no disease, no poverty, no pain. That was “our cause.” Only, all of us knew better. The “cause” was getting the presidency. That was the long and short of it.

  “Let’s dump ‘cause,’ Davis,” Barnstable said. “You really don’t need the phrase ‘to our cause.’ Her contribution will be sorely missed.” He crossed out the words.

  “Do you think we should say ‘black people’?” Barnstable asked.

  “Here I’ll stand my ground,” Davis said. “Black is a polarizing word. Why use it? Everybody understands a sense of peoplehood, even the worst bigot. If we say black, I think we’d sound like we’re pandering.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that,” Jack said. “Now let’s read it over again.”

  Don read the statement again, over Davis’s shoulder.

  “You don’t think we should say anything like ‘accident’? ‘Drowning’ seems so cold, somehow.”

  “You mean like ‘accidental death’?” I said.

  “Yes,” Don agreed. “I think ‘drowning’ leaves something indefinite about the how of it. I’m really concerned about that. So was Chief Bernhard. It’s too inconclusive. How did she drown? You know, there are going to be lots of people who will believe in their hearts that I caused her to drown. Let’s not have any illusions here. No, I insist upon ‘accidental death.’ We don’t have to mention drowning. Put in ‘accidental death.’ ”

  Davis made the change.

  “Now how do we get it out mechanically?” Davis asked.

  “Christine will type a number of copies, and I’ll phone it in to the office for massive distribution,” Barnstable said. He looked at his watch and then out the window. “Here come the TV boys. I can’t imagine what they’ll be expecting.”

  “I hope there’s no sign of a body until later,” I said.

  “Frankly,” Davis said, “I hope they don’t find it until after the deadlines. As a matter of fact, I don’t care if they never find it.”

  “I don’t agree, Jack,” Don said. “There’s got to be some finality to this thing. We’ve got to get this thing behind us.”

  “We sure do,” I said.

  We were all silent for a moment. Barnstable broke the silence.

  “There’s one other thing that bothers me about that statement.”

  Davis looked up.

  “Towering intelligence,” Barnstable said. “The word ‘towering.’ It’s too much of a build-up, too big a word.”

  “She was very, very bright,” Don said.

  “But towering?”

  “People expect superlatives in eulogies,” Davis said. “It’s part of the ritual.”

  “Maybe ‘towering’ is too heavy,” Don said.

  Davis, obviously piqued, struck ‘towering’ and handed the statement to Christine.

  “Let ’er rip,” he said. She called it in to the senate office for reproduction and began to beat out a quick tattoo on the typewriter. The statement was a good one. It left just the right gaps to be filled in by the information consumer out there in the ether.

  XIX

  There was a sudden burst of activity outside of the house. We heard the last gasp of a siren. Chief Bernhard pushed himself through the crowd of television cameramen and reporters and worked his way to the door. Flashbulbs popped. The television men were shouting for people to get out of the way. Chief Bernhard’s face as it approached was a mask of stone, lined and immobile. I opened the door for him to pass, and then quickly shut it. He walked into the living room and made straight for Don. He looked around at the little crowd that had gathered in the living room. We all searched his face for some sign. He simply could not be read. He moved to where Don was sitting, faced him squarely, legs spread slightly, firml
y planted.

  “We found her,” he said flatly.

  Don swallowed hard. I could see him fighting for control again. Another hurdle to be jumped.

  “She came up where we had expected, only a little late. Brought her to the hospital. The doctor at the hospital made the preliminary report. Death by drowning.” He hesitated and took a little book out of his inside jacket pocket.

  “She’s lying in a ground floor room of the Rehoboth General Hospital, ready to be claimed by the next of kin. A black female, early twenties, she was dressed in white panties and sweatshirt. No marks on the body indicating a struggle, except against the sea. Classic drowning, the doctor said.” He paused.

  “That it?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” Chief Bernhard said.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Chief Bernhard looked at me, his watery blue eyes encased, alert and cryptic, in their wrinkled pouches.

  “Well, I’ve got to make a report,” he said. “We have to satisfy ourselves and the district attorney that there are no grounds for prosecution.”

  “Prosecution?” Barnstable shouted, standing up.

  “Take it easy, Jack,” Don said. He turned to the chief. “I really would like some better explanation.”

  “Well, when a woman is drowned in mysterious circumstances, you simply would have to have some kind of an investigation. Let’s face it, Senator, girls don’t just go swimming in their underwear this time of year with the temperature of the water at forty degrees. The circumstances are unusual.”

  “Don’t you buy our explanation?” I asked.

  “Would you buy it if you were me?”

  I was annoyed at my own hesitation.

  “Yes,” I said, conscious of my own foolishness. “Considering the source. Yes, I would buy it.”

  “We can’t look at it quite from that angle,” he said. He had bested me and he knew it. “Without casting aspersions, there is a certain equality under the law, at least in this jurisdiction. Even the victims have rights.” He was needlessly sarcastic.

  He was a challenge, this Chief Bernhard. Davis was right. Each new situation required a new set of options. Here was a golden opportunity for an obscure police chief to make himself a national figure. I looked at his lined and sphinxlike face. As usual, it told me nothing. Who knows what dreams such a man might harbor. A giant killer. Here was that once-in-a-millenium opportunity to be a giant killer. Was it time to bring in a lawyer?

  “I need,” Chief Bernhard said, “an explanation of how or why she got into that water. That’s the problem.”

  “We gave you one,” I said.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “And you don’t believe us?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Chief Bernhard said. “You know, I’m just a country cop—” There it was, the eternal hatred of the rural for the urban, the simple for the complicated, the bumpkin for the slicker. It lay there exposed now, revealed, the perennial little man who suddenly finds himself holding the tiger’s tail. He was our most dangerous threat. None of us could have failed to see it.

  “—Lots of things don’t make sense to me. I don’t consider myself any smarter than the next guy. And I’m well into my fifties; so I’ve lived a while. But it simply is not plausible for a girl to have gotten herself drowned under the alleged circumstances. She was tall and athletic. She had strength—”

  “Well, then, Chief,” Don said suddenly, his voice strong. “What is your implication?”

  “She wasn’t in full control.”

  “What does that mean? Just stop talking in riddles,” Don’s short fuse was functioning again, a good sign.

  “I’m not talking in riddles, Senator. She could have been under an outside influence—drink, drugs, despair. Or—she could have been helped.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Don said. “You’re implying that I murdered the girl.”

  “Look, I’m a cop, gentlemen. I’m not a politician.”

  There it was again, the hatred of the public servant for the politician. This fellow was dangerous.

  Silence, at times, seems far more eloquent than speech. It hung in the air, eloquent as hell. The four of us, Barnstable, Davis, Don and myself, were of one mind, confirmed as we traded looks, locking our eyes briefly with understanding. The one mind fixed itself on the one immediacy. What strategy do we now adopt? Where are our options now? The chief was displaying no more than understandable curiosity. It was hard to see him as a stereotype because he was so expressionless. He could be that wise old fox, Maigret, lurking there behind the marvelously wrinkled skin, soaking in what was coming through the electric air, understanding through his pores. Or that has-been, inarticulate cynic, Lou Archer—worldly and sad, all illusions dead or dying. But, whatever he was, he had a curiosity that was not going to be put down. He wanted to know. Then, suddenly, Don was speaking, and we all knew what strategy he had opted for.

  “I think you’re entitled to have all doubts erased from your mind, Chief. I’m fully prepared to be interrogated.”

  He looked toward Barnstable and Davis, who, understanding, got up and left the room. I stayed. I sensed that Don wanted me to stay.

  “Fire away, Chief,” Don said. He straightened in his chair, antenna up, eyes alert. He had fully recovered his faculties. He was strong again.

  Chief Bernhard kept his eyes on Don as the strength, from Lord knows what hidden inner resource, flowed into him. There was a barely perceptible bracing of his back, a tightening of his hands around his notebook, a narrowing of his eyes. It was as if both men were getting ready for an impending duel—which, indeed, was true.

  “Was the Jackson girl your mistress?”

  “That’s an irrelevant question,” Don responded quickly.

  “Why?”

  “Because it won’t explain what you’re looking for.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Motive.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’ve got to establish motive before you can proceed logically to the next step, the criminal act.”

  “Standard police procedure.”

  “All right, suppose she was my mistress. Mistresses, from what I have read, can use threat of exposure as a weapon. In my case, that of a national political figure, it would be a powerful weapon.”

  “Logical.”

  “She threatens this exposure. It is obviously a damaging, even a possibly fatal prospect to both my family and career. I cannot abide this. I kill her. I drag her screaming to the ocean and push her in.”

  “Such a possibility crossed my mind.”

  “Reject it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is fantasy. If I did kill her, I would be exactly where I am now. In the uncomfortable eye of suspicion. This would be the least logical method of removal. Hell, the whole world will think she was my mistress, anyway. For a man in my position, drowning, especially under these circumstances, would be the least logical of my moves to eliminate her.”

  “It could have been a crime of passion.”

  “There would be evidence of that.”

  “Probably so. There was no sign of a struggle. Even the doctor didn’t suggest the possibility.”

  “Aha! But there are other possibilities. Like suicide.”

  “This has always been prospect one. In my business, though, murder is a commonplace, typical situation.”

  “Not in my business.”

  “It does strike in the strangest places. At this point, though, I see no evidence to suggest it. We do develop a sixth sense about it. No, I think murder is a long shot.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There are other ways of dying.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s work on the suicide. From your point of view, that is.”

  “You know my point of view then?”

  “I am assuming that if you are viewing the suicide possibility with interest, it would have to follow that you believe she was my mistress.”


  “You’re correct, Senator.”

  “She chooses to take her revenge through suicide, drowning. She is going to expose me to the world as a philanderer, an adulterer. By her death, she attempts to destroy me. Correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “You’ve got to admit that her drowning has had a profound effect on my career. The whole world is as curious as you.”

  “I’ll admit that.”

  “In fact, the blow is so severe that I’ll be lucky if by morning I find myself a viable political commodity.”

  “Yes. Yes, to all of that.”

  “Then you’ve established motive? She wanted to do me in. She committed suicide. She did me in. Logical?”

  “Not as logical as you think, Senator. We policemen do know a little bit about the patterns of suicide. Taking one’s life for a cause is serious business. It is normally preceded by some rationale—a note, a recording, a sign of some sort. We found nothing.”

  “So what you have is only theory, speculation.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So write off suicide. Is it back to murder then?”

  “You’re harping on that unduly, Senator.”

  “I know it. There’s a mystique about this whole episode that suggests murder. Murder by manipulation. The athletics was my idea.”

  “Your thoughts have no legal bearing on the case, Senator.”

  “Well, then, how do you read it, Chief?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes. I do. Here we are sparring around like two fighters in the preliminaries. Let’s get to the main bout. If I’m under suspicion, I’d like to know. I’ve never quite been in a situation like this before.”

  Chief Bernhard suddenly grimaced as if he were in pain. It was the first tremor of expression that I had noted during their discussion.