by Gorman, Ed
"No," she said. "That's not how you knew. You have kind eyes, Mr. Payne, and can see into people's souls, and you saw into mine and that's how you knew I killed those two women."
"I'd like to come in now."
Quick sad laugh. "Are you afraid I'm going to shoot you?"
"Your husband wants me to believe he killed those two women."
"Should that make me think of him as noble, Mr. Payne?"
"No. But I thought you should know."
"He did just what my great-great-grandfather did. Disgraced the family with his whoring around. It would've all come out – how those two sisters stole the little girl, and how my husband and Bryce built this place just as The Circle of Six built theirs one hundred years ago – and then what?"
Clank of bottle-neck on glass again.
"I have a sense of propriety, Mr. Payne, of dignity."
She was pretty drunk and I felt sorry for her.
"People always say he made my family name important again, Mr. Payne – but only with money. I restored the dignity. All the work I've done over the years – and people said it was all him. And then he built this place and brought that Indian whore here and—. But I shouldn't hate her, should I?"
"I don't think so."
She hiccoughed. It wasn't funny; it was sad.
"I'd like to come in and talk to you," I said.
"I look like shit."
"So do I."
This time there was some gentleness in her laugh. "I really do like you, Payne." Then, "I have a gun. I shot Bryce with it. I wanted to shoot my husband, too, but he got away." Pause. "And I'm drinking again. Four different times at the clinic and I'm drinking again."
"You know what I'd like to do?"
"What?"
"Come in and have a drink with you."
Pause. "You want me to give you the gun, don't you?"
"I promise I won't try to take it away. If you want to give it to me, fine. If you don't, fine. We'll just have a drink."
"Oh shit, Payne, it's just all so confusing and when I wake up tomorrow—Oh God, I won't be able to face it. Any of it. They gave me electro-shock six times, did I tell you that?"
"No, I guess you didn't."
"’Riding the lightning’" is what the regulars called it. I rode the lightning. I loved it. That was the awful thing. Everybody else who got it hated it but I loved it because it made me forget."
"I'd really like to come in and have a drink."
"I was never unfaithful to him, even when I had a chance."
"You're not the kind. You're a good woman."
Then she was crying. "It's so bad when you wake up and you can't quite remember anything. That's how I'll be tomorrow – I'll be so scared . . . Can you get me help, Payne?"
"Yes. Yes, I can."
And then she did it.
Pulled the trigger. I was through the door in moments, running the length of a long den with fireplace and built-in bookcases.
She sat in an important leather chair, the sort that many generations of tycoons have favored.
The gun was still in her hand.
I raised my eyes and saw the hole she'd put in the wall behind her.
"I've never, never been able to do it, Payne. I just don't have the guts. I've tried but I just can't go through with it."
She had aged many years since the last time I'd seen her, a sorrowful aging of the eyes especially. And some madness, too. Definitely some madness.
Her left hand lay delicately on the breast of her white blouse; her right offered the gun for me to take. It was a Walther P-5, very big for her small hand. "This is Bryce's gun," she said.
As I hefted the gun in my hand and slipped it into the pocket of my sport coat, she raised her eyes to me. "It's over now, isn't it, Payne?"
"Yes, it's over now."
"I don't know why he would have done such a thing. I gave him a name that was so important to protect."
She started crying.
"I suppose it's silly, isn't it, about the name?"
"No, it isn't silly at all."
"Would you hold me, Payne? I'm so scared. I feel like I'm a little girl."
She stood up and I took her in my arms and held her. She put her warm face into my neck and sobbed. Her knees began to shake and I was afraid she might slip to the floor so I lifted her and carried her back to the important leather chair and she sat in my lap and cried in the island silence and island darkness.
I wasn't sure what she was crying about now — many, many things, I suspected — or whether I should try to talk to her or not.
She said, "I used to sit in my father's lap this way." She leaned her face away from my shoulder so I could see her. "I loved my father very much."
"Yes; you told me that once."
"I have to be strong now, don't I, Payne?"
"Very strong."
"Do you think I can handle it?"
"Yes.”
"Maybe I'll surprise myself."
"Maybe you will."
"Will you call the police now and get it all started?"
"Yes."
"I'd appreciate it."
She got up. It was an awkward moment, like high-school necking when the parents suddenly turn on a light. She made a fuss of straightening her blouse and dark slacks.
There was a wide desk. I walked to it and dialed the Cedar Rapids police.
I asked for the Detective Bureau and drew a cop named Ferguson. When I told him what had happened, and when he realized the social status of the people involved, he said, "Holy shit."
I looked back at the beautiful ruined woman.
"Yeah," I said into the phone. "Holy shit."
Colonel Richard Greaves often talked about teaching one of his Indian guides new words. When Greaves taught him "inexorable," the guide said, "The white man murdering us was inexorable." Greaves laughed but the Indian did not.
Professor David Cromwell's Indian Journal
But to no avail did Anna Tolan work to convince Chief Ryan that he should go to the Mayor with her theories. Christmas came, and went.
Three days before the execution was scheduled, the worst blizzard of the new century struck. Cedar Rapids was basically shut down. Even some trains were stopped.
On the third day of the blizzard, just as she was about to leave the police station for her morning rounds, a newspaperman, bundled up as a mummy, came in the front door and said, "Did you hear about Doug Shipman?"
Several officers, Anna included, turned to the newspaperman immediately.
"Had some kind of breakdown. They're puttin' him in the bug-house upstate. Apparently he just broke down completely."
"When did they take him?" Anna asked.
"Early this morning. The servants said they've never seen nothin' like it."
Forty minutes later, Anna was admitted into the Shipman mansion.
A servant led her into the den where Mrs. Shipman, a fetching auburn-haired lady in a silk and organdy dress stood looking out the window at the falling snow.
She turned and said to the servant, "Please close the door, Samuel."
"Yes, ma'am." Samuel closed the door.
Mrs. Shipman — Eleanor to her friends — then did a most unexpected thing. She crossed the room to where Anna stood. And slapped her hard across the face.
"I'm glad you came. You're the reason my husband had his breakdown. You and your constant pestering."
"He killed that woman."
"No," Eleanor Shipman said. "He did not."
From the pocket of her dress, she took a sheet of paper that looked familiar. "This is the letter you sent my husband, along with your "list of evidence" as you called it." She waved the letter angrily in Anna's face. "You're right, he was at the murder scene and he did drop his black moon lure but he got there too late. Somebody had already murdered the Indian girl — somebody whose reputation in this town among the respectable people would be ruined utterly and forever."
Once more, she waved Anna's letter in her
face.
"You misread your evidence, Miss Tolan. A tortoiseshell comb. A button to a woman's dress. Shoeprints from a woman's shoe. And the Indian girl's wounds were light — far less than a man would make them."
Now Anna realized what she was hearing — a confession. Eleanor Shipman smiled. "But there's nothing you can do about it, Miss Tolan. Not anything at all."
Anna tried to speak but Eleanor Shipman raised her voice and said, "Samuel!"
The servant reappeared instantly. Stayed at the door. "Show Miss Tolan out, Samuel."
"Yes, ma'am."
But Anna would not be moved without her say. "I won't let you get away with it, Mrs. Shipman. I'm going to tell the Chief and the Mayor and anybody else who'll listen to the truth — and I'll make them believe me."
But all Eleanor Shipman said was, "I told you to show her out, Samuel."
"Yes, ma'am."
Anna glared at the woman one more time and then followed the servant out.
The Chief couldn't refuse Anna. She wouldn't let him. He got the Mayor over and the County Attorney and a representative from the prison. Over the course of the next twenty-four hours, they had four meetings. Anna was at each one, telling her story over and over.
"Do you know who you're accusing of murder?" the Mayor said.
"Yes, sir, I do."
"And do you have any proof of this?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Other than this "scientific detection" of yours, I mean?"
"Well, sir, I guess not."
"Well, then, let's forget this whole damned thing. If you think I'm going to stand by and see you accuse one of the finest women in this town of—"
The County Attorney looked at the Chief and said, "I'm very busy, Chief. I need to get back to my office." He gave Anna a scornful glance. "As far as I'm concerned, this has all been a waste of time."
The Mayor, too, picked up his hat and left.
"He's innocent," Anna said when she was alone with the Chief.
"Anna, this is so preposterous. That Mrs. Shipman would—"
"She did it."
"You have no proof whatsoever."
"Her word."
"Her word? You told me yourself she said you could never prove it."
Anna didn't make a ceremony of it. Simply put her badge on the desk. "I'm resigning, Chief."
"Anna, listen, please—"
She shook her head. "I know what you're up against, Chief. And I know there's nothing you can do. I mean, I really don't have any evidence."
"Anna, I just wish you'd be sensible . . ."
In the morning, she took the train to Des Moines and visited the Governor. He was a friendly, plump man who wore a brocaded vest and a bright yellow cravat.
"Do you have any proof of your accusations?"
"Not what you'd call proof, no."
"Yet you'd expect me to call off the execution?"
"Just postpone it."
"He was found guilty, young woman. Aren't you aware of that?"
"Yes, I am."
"And he was allowed an appeal. Are you also aware of that?"
"Yes, I am."
"He's been given every opportunity."
"He's not guilty."
"You say."
"Yes, sir, I say."
"I'm sorry, young woman, there just isn't anything I can do to help you."
Anna nodded. She thought for a moment of saying something dramatic — some accusation against the justice system—but suddenly she felt very, very weary.
On the morning of January 6, at exactly 6:00 A.M., in the cold stone shadowy room where such things took place, Tall Tree was hanged by the neck until he was pronounced dead.
At the time, Anna was in the back pew of a Catholic church, attending early mass.
It was raining when she got out but she didn't notice it. She knew where she was going and what she was going to do. A little rain wasn't going to deter her.
"Why, Anna," Mrs. Wydmore said. "What're you doing out so early?"
"I just wondered if Trace was up yet."
"I think so. I mean, he should be. He's got to go to the office pretty soon."
"I wondered if I could see him a moment."
She hadn't seen Mrs. Wydmore since Trace's engagement had been officially announced.
"Of course," Mrs. Wydmore said.
She put Anna in the parlor and then went looking for her son in the vast and well-appointed house.
Trace appeared a few minutes later. His hair was slicked down, a clean white celluloid collar rode his clean white shirt, and he looked absolutely mystified as to what she was doing here.
"Hi, Anna. Nice to see you again."
"Nice to see you, Trace."
"Any special reason you're here this morning?"
"I wanted to ask you a question."
"Oh?"
"I wanted to ask you if you'd marry me."
They were married six months later. Three nights before the wedding, Anna gave herself to Trace. She never once regretted it.
Chapter 34
Two days later, on a sunny morning when the horses ran in the hills and the harvest was underway in the fields, I got the biplane fired up and ready to fly back home. There was a peace that only the sky could give me, a peace that would do for me what Claire Heston had said "riding the lightning" had done for her — made her forget. Long and sapping the months had been, from that first fight behind the casino to the impudent news coverage of Claire Heston's murders and suicide, as if truth were as simple as facts.
I was just putting on my helmet when I heard a car horn honk.
A white Ford police car was trailing rusty dust in the late-morning sunlight, coming fast on the gravel road that led to this tiny private airport.
I saw immediately who was driving and I wondered if she'd be any friendlier these days. After Perry Heston had been taken to the hospital to be treated for shock — County Attorney charges to be determined later — Cindy had acted as cold and hostile as she had after David took his life.
Then I saw the three old people in the back seat — Iron Crow and Silver Moon and their friend Lone Tree.
The Ford bumped and bounced across the grass and pulled up close to the tail of the plane.
Cindy, in crisp khaki uniform, killed the engine, hopped out, helped the three older people out and then beckoned for me to come over.
But as I started walking toward her, she left the others and walked toward me, too.
"I wanted to thank you."
"No need," I said.
"I was kind of a bitch again, wasn't I?"
I smiled. "Kind of, I guess."
"I wish I had PMS. Maybe I could explain my dark side that way."
She touched my arm lightly. "When I saw Claire Heston there . . . All I could think of was David. You know, the two of them." She squinted in the sunlight. "I wish I was better at explaining myself."
"You're doing fine."
"So you'll accept my apology?"
"Hell yes, why wouldn't I?"
Then she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.
"I had fun that night. I mean, we actually fit together pretty well, don't we?"
"You noticed that, too, huh?"
We looked at each other a long moment and then she said, "Lone Tree, their friend who's terrified of flying . . ."
"Yeah?"
"She wants to give it a try. You have time?"
"Why not?"
"You'll really have to go easy, Payne. She's more scared than Iron Crow and Silver Moon were put together."
"I'll treat her like she was my own grandmother."
She grinned and slid her arm around my waist. It felt good there, warm and strong and friendly.
I took Lone Tree up that morning, and indeed treated her very much the way I would have my own grandmother, and then I fired up the bird for myself and was off.
For a time I thought of Claire and David and the two hardscrabble Indian sisters who'd kidnapped Linda Prine.<
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But then I didn't think of any of it because the clouds were sufficient unto my needs, as was the sun and wind and sky, and the rolling land of Iowa below.