by Ray Merritt
“There’s apparently been a mass migration of heavy money—Chinese, Russian, Arab, Indian—into the art market. The way Lapin put it was the world is ‘reshuffling the goodies.’
“During most of this discussion, Lerot seemed distracted, glancing at the window ledge where two very large black birds were preening themselves.”
I interrupted, in part to give her a break. “They were probably ravens or large crows. The venery term, by the way, for a group of them is ‘an inconvenience’ or ‘a murder.’ Never liked either phrase myself. They are quite common in London. Charles II once sought to exterminate them. They reminded him of his wife Anne, who, as we all know, failed to give him a male heir. His extermination efforts were almost successful when a royal astronomer warned that if all the ravens were killed, his kingdom would fall. So he decreed that six ravens would be spared and kept in the Tower of London. Not wishing to tempt fate, English rulers have always made sure that there are a goodly number of crows in the tower.”
Drew continued. “Well, the boys weren’t paying these ravens any respect. Lerot took his spoon and chased them away, tapping on the window. That led Lapin to start up a riddle game. The question was ‘Why is Peter like an elephant?’ The two of them fired out answers. Because his skin is thick! Because he has a long memory! Because his nose is long and brown! I must say, Peter took it well.
“It then turned nasty. Peter posed a riddle. ‘Why is a raven like a gypsy?’ He was slyly but obviously referring to Kati. The answers again came out rapidly. Because their hair is black and shiny! Because they both can cast an evil eye! Because both steal shiny things!
“By this point I had had enough. ‘Gentlemen,’ I said, ‘let me solve your riddle for I have to leave. Crows and gypsies are alike because both are shrouded in mystery, both are exceptionally wise and beautiful, and both are often misunderstood and unnecessarily reviled. Thank you very much for tea. I’m late for a very important date.’
“I then left. It was all uncommon nonsense. I can only suffer fools for so long . . . and Agatha was starting at eight!”
29
“Oh, uh . . . hi, Tuck,” Terry said awkwardly as I entered the kitchen, still struggling to address me in a familiar way. She has always been unfailingly deferential and especially formal to Ben’s lawyers.
Old habits are hard to break, especially when they are tied to old memories.
“What can I get you?” she asked, fidgeting with the wire bowl of cherries she had placed next to her prized amaryllis.
“Would you like some? Ben had twenty a day when they were in season. Had a touch of the gout and was told they would ward off another attack.”
“Did they?” I asked.
“Seemed to for him . . . he loved them anyway.”
“Terry, I would like to talk to you confidentially. A number of things that are coming up in this investigation seem a bit odd. Drew and Dixie have left for the day so I thought if you have time we could just talk.”
As I settled into the chair opposite her desk, I could feel a welcoming warmth emanating from her. She was what one called ‘a good person’—always affable, never seemingly on edge, and obsessively orderly. The table testified to that. Papers stacked neatly in piles, an appointment calendar prominently displayed, and a small picture of her and Ben, off to the side in an ornate antique frame. The pens were all the same, upright in perfect harmony in a wicker holder next to her ever-present plant.
“Is everything OK, Tuck?”
“Yes, we’re making some inroads, but so many puzzles remain. It’s almost as if Ben purposely set them out to test us,” I lamented.
“Maybe, just maybe, he did.”
“Ben keeps bringing us back to his favorite books. Do you know what attracted him to them?”
An even deeper breath prepared her as she launched into her story.
“It was in 1967. Ben and I were literature buffs in high school. We would go out to the hills and read for hours. We didn’t talk much at first. We would just hide from the world up there, often reading late into the night. Now, you understand, late then was usually nine o’clock!
“Ben used some of the inheritance from his parents to buy a red Ford Cortina. Gas was around thirty cents a gallon. We considered that appalling. I chipped in for the gas. It was the least I could do. It got us to the woods.
“There was one night that I remember most distinctly—it was in the summer. Ben had somehow managed to buy a copy of a new book called The Road Goes Ever On. It was a book of Tolkien’s English and Elvish poems set to music. I remember asking him why he was so interested in Tolkien. He said he had read The Hobbit over and over and over again and also The Lord of the Rings. He couldn’t explain why. He just said he found magic in them. They made him feel like a different person. I’m a little at a loss to explain. We were used to doing lots of heavy reading—Ayn Rand, Kerouac, not to mention Harper Lee, and even some light reading, Sendak and Seuss. Most of our gang weren’t into that kind of stuff. They were more into being hip and fashionable—miniskirts and hot pants. I wasn’t the Twiggy type. I was more a granny dress girl. Both Ben and I loved bell bottoms, even if we could not quite get ourselves to adorn them with love beads. Ben was kind of straight. Some of our less kind classmates called him a nerd because he would often wear a short-sleeved white shirt and tie to school. But that was just so he could go directly to work without changing his clothes. I thought it was unfair. He was anything but, though I have to admit Ben’s idea of being hip was a turtleneck. I guess in some ways we were both on the square side,” she confessed with a smile.
“Still, Ben was in his heart and soul a rebel. He found an ally in Tolkien. Maybe that explains it. I remember him saying that the stories were bigger than the books, that they were about things that mattered. Tolkien spoke to young people in the sixties. He painted a picture of peace and natural beauty and its desecration at the hands of evil, and he did it in a way that felt real. No one had ever read anything like it. Ben would read passages to me for hours. I really believe it was meant to be read out loud. Its cadence and tone can only be really appreciated by hearing it, the same as with Dickens and Woolf. I suspect it is difficult for people today to understand that impact. Tolkien claimed us as no other writer had done before . . . or since. When Ben would read to me, that was magic. He was hooked on Tolkien and I was hooked on him.
“The truth was I was madly in love with him and it never faded.”
She paused, enjoying a private reverie.
I didn’t blink—a well-developed nonreaction, heeding one of Woolly’s most helpful words of advice: “Leave your galoshes and your emotions at the door.” Surprise, disappointment, and anger are best submerged when dealing with clients, partners, or witnesses.
But I must confess, their relationship was a bit of a stopper. And I was disappointed that I had not suspected it from the start. Prom Queen, trophy wife, voluptuous vixen. Terry was missing from my chauvinist picture.
“Well, as for the other writers. You know Oz is—was—in his blood. He once told me that it was the first word he ever spoke. For Ben and me there was never a time before Oz. I still have his battered copy. It’s like my first Teddy. When I leaf through it now, it’s like a yellow-brick roadmap back to our youth.
“As for Lewis Carroll, he read the Alice books as a child and he reread them to every one of his children many times. He thought they would give Dorothy a role model in Alice. And he found in the nonsense parts a way to connect with Leo when he was young.
“But really, it was Tolkien’s books he was most drawn to. He took them as his own. He also felt they liberated him a bit from his family’s obsession with Oz. Ben was not a religious person but he was spiritual. He felt the Book of Common Prayer got it wrong. He wanted a Lord that was not jealous and who would not visit the sins of the father on the children. For Ben, his ancestor preached vitality and happiness and Tolkien taught perseverance and humility. And he loved elves, their traditions and their fondness f
or nature, and he reveled in the idea of elfish reincarnation. He was fascinated with what he called ‘dark evil.’ He always felt that one was not born evil; rather, it was an acquired vice. Many years later, he told me that those books continued to fascinate and influence him, that they helped him find strength amid the storms that he encountered and that they kept alive the inner child in him. I remember another thing he said before he left for London: ‘I will not go gentle into that good night. I will not stop for death.’ He thought it was Tolkien but I thought it was Dylan Thomas. Both our memories are developing black holes. It happens. He said he had a mission to right some wrongs and ensure his legacy. He wouldn’t elaborate but allowed that if he let shame come to him, it could spread to his family and even to his revered great-great-uncle. Am I getting too maudlin?”
Without waiting for a response she continued.
“That summer night Ben and I stole away to read the new book of Tolkien’s poems. Ben had just bought a portable machine that let us play the music that was written to accompany the poems. It was like Gregorian chant. Just wonderful. That night we shared some mary janes—that’s what we called pot—and stayed ’til sunrise. It was a very special night. At the end we had finished off a bottle of very bad champagne and toasted JRR. That was Ben’s nickname for Tolkien. I remember his toast: ‘We will always walk together in Frodo’s footsteps.’
” Her voice and visage strengthened as she leaned forward.
“Tuck, for you to really understand Ben, I’m going to have to be very frank with you. I have in fact been trying to gather up the courage to do so. And this is as good a time as any,” she announced, wiping her hands on her apron, which she then promptly removed.
“The things you will have to know are very delicate and very personal. I never imagined myself having this conversation, but I feel it may be essential. So I’m just going to let it all hang out.”
She talked more slowly as she began a tale that grew in the telling.
They met in high school, drawn together as she had said by their common love of literature. But it was not until the long night she and Ben celebrated Tolkien’s book of poems that they became intimate. After graduation Ben went to work full-time at the local electronics store, his mother and father having died in his teens. As an only child, Ben inherited a decent-sized estate, which was administered by the town’s only lawyer. The store owner, having no children, “took a shine” to Ben. When he died later that year, Ben bought out his widow. He and Terry worked together. He was the brains; she was the organizational brawn—so to speak. Quickly they made the business quite profitable. Ben was in fact a wizard when it came to marketing electronics. Terry got pregnant, but before they could get married, she lost the child. She found out then that she could never have children.
“Both Ben and I were heartbroken,” she said. “Even though he was very supportive, I knew he was more than devastated. He absolutely revered his great-great-uncle and was hell-bent on perpetuating the Baum line. He was obsessed with having a male heir. I didn’t quite understand it, but he was everything to me.”
They were clearly more than just lovers. They had developed a true partnership, turning one store into a chain of stores. They were busy and quite happy, but Ben’s overarching drive to have a male heir drew him to Maude. She was a classmate of theirs—likable but boring. Maude came from what was called “good stock.” She had six brothers and five sisters, from which Ben divined that she was very fertile and he was right. In short order after Maude and Ben were married, they had Dorothy, Leo, and the twins. Terry wasn’t happy but was not about to leave Ben over it.
At this point, she added, “Tuck, the story gets even more delicate. I’d like a glass of sherry to help me get it out. Would you join me?”
A bottle materialized and she served us both generous portions.
I learned that Maude had grown progressively more introverted over time and detached from Ben’s life. She was very proper but pedestrian. As soon as she got pregnant, she insisted that all intimacies cease. It was during what Ben called the “dry periods” that Terry and Ben reconnected physically. She acknowledged that most people would find that unhealthy, but she and Ben did not. After Maude gave birth, they would cease their intimacies until the next dry period. They worked out what some would consider a Faustian pact.
Then a tragedy occurred.
As Terry put it, “Those wonderful twin boys somehow got themselves caught in the current of the river that ran near the house and drowned. Earlier that day, Maude, who was again pregnant, had come upon us at the wrong time. She was understandably quite upset. I was devastated. I always thought she might have suspected, but now she was sure.”
The boys dying caused Maude to miscarry, losing the baby. It was a boy. Three days later she killed herself.
At one point in her grief, Maude lambasted her daughter, Dorothy, blaming her for the drowning—for not being there with her brothers to protect them. Ben did nothing to counter that. He was fearful that Maude would blurt out something about his infidelity and Dorothy would never forgive him. Terry said it was one of the few times she didn’t respect him. She allowed that there would be others.
With the air of relief that confession can bring, she stared at me, and with the small hint of a wry smile said, “I assume by now you have figured out that I am Belladonna.”
30
I hadn’t. I don’t know how I missed it. The amaryllis, the polyamory sign, and the Tolkien rune: It is my love for belladonna that sustains me. It now seems so obvious.
She beamed, somewhat sheepishly, adding, “I’ve always had Ben’s back and I still do.”
I was nonplussed that I’d been oblivious to their relationship. I am aware that corporate executives and their private secretaries have very special bonds. Their fealty almost always is to their boss, not the company. It is often a love affair, emotionally and sometimes physically. But here, perhaps because of age and Ben’s notorious philandering, it had escaped me.
In a law firm, it is different—more like brothers and sisters. Associates often have affairs with other associates, but rarely with the secretarial staff. Fraternization with a secretary is taboo—a career killer for the associate. Less fatal for partners; sufficient billings will grant them indulgences.
“Perhaps I’m not up to this task,” I proffered.
She countered with conviction. “Yes, you are. Ben never made it easy. He had become very leery of those around him. I’m sure he would have wanted you to look into this. He was very fond of you and so am I. So let’s get to the bottom of this if we can.”
She’d just put herself on the team.
Seems we could use the help.
“OK,” I said. “Here’s our approach. Ben’s death most likely occurred from a coronary event—at least that’s what his personal doctor, the hotel doctor, and the coroner’s office surmise. I suppose the issue is whether that event was facilitated by nature, by Ben himself, or by someone else. If it’s a third party, then in all likelihood it would be one of the people who spent time with him that day—Abelard, Eloise, Kati, or Luc. The only other ones were Dorothy, Leo, Evan, the Russett people, and the maid. They don’t seem germane.
“So I would like to learn as much as we can about each of them and the issues, if any, they had with Ben at the time of his death. Let’s start with Luc. He is not a favorite of mine.”
“Nor mine—or Ben’s either,” Terry added. “Their relationship had become strained. The company has three revenue streams—electronics, its original core business and Ben’s baby, followed by Luc’s division, and the entertainment division, which Dorothy now runs. To Ben’s annoyance, Luc’s ClearAire was quickly becoming the most profitable and fastest growing, with electronics suffering from the competition. Dorothy’s division was doing well but the global economy wasn’t helping that business. Luc was getting pushy. He wanted total control over his division and Ben just didn’t trust him.”
“Do you think Ben was prep
ared to sell ClearAire to the Russett group?”
“Eventually,” Terry replied. “But he felt it was complicated and had to be sorted out. I always thought Ben was a bit afraid of Luc. Did you know we have a little surveillance group that works in the carriage house beyond the kitchen? One of its favorite targets is Luc.”
“I knew you had some staff there, but wasn’t sure what their jobs were. What do they do?” I asked, trying to temper my titillation.
“Well, it’s not part of the company. Ben installed it years ago and personally paid for all of it, expenses as well as salaries. There are three wonderful people who work there. I’m very concerned for them. I told them that they can stay on for the next six months. I’ll cover all those expenses personally.”
“Can you put Dixie in touch with them? He’s our tech mouse and could certainly make use of their data.”
“Sure. I can set that up.”
“Would you elaborate on what the surveillance team does?”
“Generally they try to spot any unusual activity at the company. They monitor all travel, disbursements, and communications, including company e-mails and telephone calls, to see if any patterns create concern. For example, they monitor communication frequency and timing to unearth possible breaches of the company’s policies or insider stock trading. They’re particularly watchful for any excessive communications with investment bankers or brokers who did not represent Ozone. Ben believed that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Now you have to understand they do not eavesdrop on actual conversations, they only analyze objective data. Ben wanted to stay within the law.”
“How was Ben handling these issues in the last few months?”
“Ben was a moral—and, as I said, a spiritual—man, even though he did not believe in a wrathful god. His beliefs were more basic. Good acts trump good intentions. There is no devil but the one that lurks within us. He would quote things like that all the time. And he believed in simple things. He said he didn’t want to inhabit a universe of ambiguity. That was where he felt Luc resides.