The Last Virginia Gentleman

by Michael Kilian

  He’d heard that May had once driven a car into the Pacific Ocean after a wild party. Maybe she was back to her old ways.

  “I’ve not been in touch with my daughter. I’ve been out of the country.”

  “Yes sir. The California Highway Patrol got us a residence address for her in Washington. The District police attempted to contact her, both at the residence and at her place of employment, the Shakespeare Theatre? They haven’t seen her for several days.”

  “Isn’t this a lot of trouble to go to over an abandoned car?”

  “Yes sir, but I’m afraid that, well, the county police recovered a body in some woods a few miles away. Shallow grave. Hunters found her. It’s a white female, in her late twenties. Dark hair. A homicide victim, sir.”

  Moody didn’t know what to say. He was terrified by what he was beginning to think.

  “Is it her?”

  “We don’t know, sir.”

  “You don’t know? She’s a movie star, goddamn it! Go get a copy of People magazine.”

  He was overdoing it. May hadn’t been getting much press in recent years.

  “It’s been pretty hot, sir, and the body’s in pretty bad shape. What we’d like you to do, Mr. Moody, is come out and see if you can identify her.”

  Moody calmed himself. It had to be a mistake. Someone must have stolen May’s car. She had no reason to be out there in the boonies.

  “I can’t come this afternoon.” A National Security Council directive on his desk said there had been more fighting in Belize. U.S. forces had not yet been engaged. “It’ll have to be tonight.”

  “Whenever it’s convenient, sir.” The man sounded a little testy. “We’d sure appreciate it.”

  Spencer’s bureau chief was vastly amused that the steeplechase feature had become a murder case, but unsure how a car bombing at some country horse farm could translate into anything of interest for the national wire. The bureau chief was one of those too-long-in-Washington veterans who thought that nothing could be news unless some politician’s name was pinned on it. Spencer reminded him of the Jayne brothers saga back in the 1970s—two Illinois horsemen who’d tried for years to kill each other, and eventually succeeded. A young woman rider had been killed in the process, blown up by a car bomb intended for one of the Jaynes.

  “That was Chicago,” the bureau chief said. “This thing is out in the sticks. Maybe moonshiners or something.”

  Moonshiners. On some of the priciest real estate on the East Coast.

  “The car belonged to my cousin,” Spencer said. “He was my source for the Napier memo column.”

  Napier. Politics. The Japanese. News.

  “Say no more, Jack. Get the hell out there. And keep in touch.”

  There were sheriff’s deputies at Showers’ farm, and they refused to let Spencer on the premises. At the small hospital near Dandytown, he was stopped at the front desk—told that Alixe Percy was still in intensive care and no visitors were permitted. Absolutely none. Spencer drove on into Dandytown, recalling how much he’d liked the woman, how much he had enjoyed their having a couple of drinks together, how refreshingly different her breezy, unaffected candor was after all the well-educated whores and hustlers he’d dealt with for so many years in the capital. He hoped his cousin could provide some understandable reason for what had happened.

  Wayne Bensinger was in his little office, still wearing the same rumpled suit. He was much more guarded than before.

  “You heard what’s happened?” he asked, wiping his glasses on his tie.

  “The Washington Post had a story. In its Metro section.”

  “Yeah. They called. Wouldn’t even come out.” He looked at Spencer somewhat dubiously. “Do you have any idea where we can find Captain Showers?”

  “I’ve been trying to get hold of him myself.”

  “Sheriff Cooke has a warrant out for his arrest.”

  “What?”

  “My boss went along with it. They’re real serious.”

  “But it was his car.”

  “That’s right. And he was the last one to drive it before the bomb went off. Also, he stopped off at a weapons shed at Fort A. P. Hill and drew pistol ammunition before coming home. They haven’t found any explosives missing, but who knows?”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “He’s got a woman with him. That actress who was out at the Dragoon Chase. May Moody? You know anything about her?”

  Spencer shrugged. “Not what you’d call my cousin’s type. A Hollywood brat turned has-been. Trying to make a comeback.”

  “Her father’s a very important man. I’m surprised he hasn’t called us.”

  “Busy man.”

  “The worst thing for your cousin is Miss Percy’s will. A copy’s on file in county records. She named him as her sole beneficiary. Seven million dollars and counting. The captain’s money troubles are well known.”

  “How is she? Is she going to make it?”

  Bensinger shrugged. “She lost part of a leg. Some burns. Lost a lot of blood. Concussion.” He paused. “She’s been conscious, though. She asked for you. She asked for Captain Showers, first. Then you.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “No sir.”

  “The girl? Becky?”

  “Died instantly. I didn’t see the body. Didn’t want to. I’m still getting over Vicky Clay.”

  “Did you get the computer analysis I sent you?”

  “Yes. The letters B-E-C. Very interesting. I showed it to my boss. He wasn’t interested. Doesn’t see how anything like that can be introduced as evidence.”

  They sat a moment without speaking. A large fly buzzed against the grimy window, then settled on the edge of the bookcase, as if contemplating the titles.

  “Mr. Bensinger, do you believe for a minute that my cousin had anything to do with this?”

  The prosecutor looked pained. “No sir, I don’t. I don’t think my boss does, either. But the sheriff is hell-bent on it. A lot of the horsemen are upset about what’s been going on. Lynwood Fairbrother has been raising all sorts of hell. Thinks this is very damaging to Dandy town and steeplechasing.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think this is a damned nightmare and I wish we’d get to the end of it. It’s really beyond our competence, but the sheriff won’t call the state police in. I wish a federal crime was involved, so we could turn it over to the FBI or somebody. That’s why I hoped we’d hear from Mr. Moody.”

  He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Miss Percy mumbled something about her safety deposit box, about something in there she wants Showers to have.”

  “Can we take a look at it?”

  Bensinger shook his head. “Only someone with her power of attorney. That’s a pretty short list: a big law firm in Washington, and Captain David Spencer Showers. I tried the law firm. They want to talk to Miss Percy first, and the hospital won’t allow that.” He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Excuse me. Hay fever.”

  “You live in the wrong place.”

  “That’s sure enough the truth since all this started.” He paused. “About the safety deposit box. There’s a chance we could get a court order. There’s a Judge Merrick. He’d help us, maybe. He’d do it for your cousin.”

  “Will you ask him?”

  “I’d have to check with my boss.”

  “Will you?”

  “Okay. But you can’t be involved.”

  “I don’t want to be involved, but I’d appreciate being informed.”

  Bensinger moved out from behind his desk, an indication he wanted Spencer to go.

  “I wouldn’t hang around here too long,” he said. “The way things are going, Sheriff Cooke’ll probably arrest you as an accomplice.”

  The Maryland county had no morgue. The body of the girl they’d found in the woods had been taken to a local hospital and put in a freezer in the pathology section. It was still in a body bag.

  “I’m afraid this won’t be very plea
sant,” the lieutenant said.

  “I’ve seen it before,” said Moody.

  “What?”

  “In Vietnam.”

  “Oh yes. Well, I was there, too, but I never saw anything like this.”

  The hospital attendant opened the bag, spreading apart the seam. Large dead dark eyes bulged out in a bloated face, the swollen tissue colored a greenish yellow, where it wasn’t blackened. The darkest tissue was along a jagged cut that ran deep across the girl’s throat. Her long dark hair was matted, here and there still containing little bits of dirt and leaves.

  Moody had seen men die with their intestines strung out. He leaned closer, wanting to make absolutely sure—though he was almost dizzy with incipient sickness and relief.

  “That’s not May,” he said. “It’s not my daughter. I don’t know who that is.”

  “You’re sure, sir? With all the discoloration and—”

  “I’m sure.” He glanced along the length of the bag. “If nothing else, my daughter’s much taller.”

  Outside, he stood a moment on the rain-moist pavement. His car and driver were waiting, engine running. Above him, the clouds were breaking, slivers of night sky with a star or two showing. The horizon was near, a bumpy line of hills, all black in the night. Just beyond them was West Virginia. Its nearness was troubling to him.

  He got into the car wearily. Deena had seemed more startled than overjoyed by his news about the State Department appointment. She’d said no to going out for a celebratory dinner, pleading exhaustion from the trip. Of course she’d refused to come out with him to look at this body. He was at a loss to understand what had happened to his marriage, how it could so suddenly go swirling down the toilet. His first wife had never changed. She was the same person at their divorce hearing that she had been as a young girl in the hollows.

  “Back to Washington, sir?” said the driver.

  “No. I want to go to Baltimore. Make it fast.”

  The doorman was impressed by Moody’s official car and rang up the Blochs’ penthouse immediately. Bernie took a long time answering, and said something to the doorman that made the man uncomfortable.

  “You can go right up, sir,” he said finally, and buzzed Moody in.

  Bloch admitted him wearing a bathrobe and slippers. For a fat man, he had very skinny legs.

  “Come on in, Bobby. You know what time it is?”

  Moody, teeth clenched, said nothing. He followed Bloch into the huge living room. The lights of Baltimore Harbor glittered outside the window.

  “You want a drink, Bobby?”

  “No.”

  “You sure? I’m gonna have one.”

  “All right. A little bourbon.”

  Bloch went to a bar set up in a corner. “Welcome back. I hear congratulations are in order. Secretary of state. That’s something. Who would have thought it, back in the old days.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  Bloch’s back was to him. “I guess Sherrie was talking to Deena. A little while ago. You were out.”

  “I was out in western Maryland, looking at the body of a dead girl. Very dead. Throat cut. They were afraid it was May. Her car was found not far away.”

  Bernie’s face was white when he turned around. “It wasn’t May, though, right?” He set down their glasses.

  “May’s missing. Showers is missing. That goddamn horse of yours is missing. There’s a dead girl with her head half cut off. Showers’ car was blown up with a bomb—one woman dead and another in the hospital. What the fuck is going on, Bernie?”

  “I don’t know. I have nothing to do with it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Bobby, come on. We’re friends, friends for life, remember?”

  “Vicky Clay’s dead. Her husband’s dead. Four dead bodies, Bernie, and I don’t know where my daughter is.”

  Bloch took a gulp of his drink, then sighed. “Okay, there’s been some trouble, but I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

  “Keep talking. I want to hear everything you know. Tell me about your friends in New Jersey, Bernie. They’re mixed up in this, right?”

  “No, no. They’re businessmen, like me. Like you. They do everything with lawyers.”

  “They want that horse.”

  “They want the horse. Showers wants the horse. Who knows who else wants the fucking horse? Only it’s Showers who’s got it. And from what I hear, he’s got May.”

  “What are you trying to tell me, that the son of a bitch kidnapped her? That he’s holding her hostage? That he killed all those people? What kind of fairy tale is that? The guy’s a Boy Scout, remember?”

  “Those people out there in Virginia are crazy. They live like it was two hundred years ago. Those are the people who started the Civil War, you know?” He took more of his drink, glancing nervously out the window, as though there was something threatening him out there in the dark sky. “Look, what I think it is, is this kid Billy Bonning. They’ve got some kind of blood feud going. You know what that’s like. You grew up in West Virginia. Showers threw him off his farm. Bonning’s sister got whacked, maybe by her husband, maybe not. Bonning came back and beat up his ex-wife, and Showers threatened to kill him. That’s what all this is about. I’m sorry I ever hired that kid. I canned him, though. Like I told you. I’ve got nothing to do with this.”

  He was sweating.

  “I’m calling in the FBI, Bernie. I’m going to get the director out of bed and I’m going to have those hills out there crawling with agents by morning.”

  Bloch sat up, blinking. “No, no, Bobby. No need for that. God’s sake. The feds? Shit.”

  “I’m a fucking fed, Bernie. And my daughter’s missing. I want her back!”

  “She hasn’t talked to you in years. She could be anywhere. You know what’s she’s like. Didn’t she walk off a movie once? Turned up in Mexico.”

  “You told me she was with Showers. How the hell do you know that? If you’re not going to give me some answers, Bernie, I’m going to get them myself.”

  He stood up, starting for the door. Bloch leapt after him, grabbing his arm.

  “Hold on, Bobby. Wait up. You got me out of a deep sleep. I’m not thinking straight. Sit down. Let’s work this out.”

  “Work it out? What’re you saying? This isn’t some deal.”

  “Sit down, Bobby. I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Reluctantly Moody waited, wondering what words were going to come out next. Bloch went to pour himself another drink. Moody stared at his own, then sipped some. His nerves were like a battery charge.

  “Look, Bobby,” said his “friend for life,” seating himself again. “Showers and this Bonning kid are trying to kill each other, all right? The horse is just caught up in the middle. I guess May is caught in the middle, too. But Showers is a Boy Scout, right? I don’t know what I was saying. I’m sure he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. I’m sure he’s trying to protect her. And if he can’t, my friends will.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re trying to get the horse back, okay? It’s very, very important to them. I think I made that clear. But they’re sure as hell not out to hurt anybody. They got their reputation. All right, something may happen to Billy Bonning. I hope to hell it does. But for God’s sake, the daughter of the White House chief of staff? If anything, they’ll be looking out for her. Deliver her safe and sound. Believe me. They know what they’re doing.”

  “Every word you’ve said scares the hell out of me, Bernie. I’m getting help. I’m getting her back whatever it takes.”

  Bloch suddenly got very cold and serious. There was a look in his eyes Moody had never seen before—certainly not ever directed at him.

  “You don’t want to call in the FBI, Bobby. You don’t want to talk to anyone about this.”

  Moody fought to control himself, then said, “I’m not going to pull any punches to protect you or any of your friends. I told you that the day I took this job.”

  “Just liste
n to me,” Bloch said. “You go off crazy like this and you could pull the whole roof down.”

  “What roof?”

  “The horse is stolen. It’s hot. I don’t know how my friends ended up with it, but they were stuck with a stolen horse. They couldn’t race it unless they gave it a new identity.”

  “They could have returned it.”

  “What, and take a rap? No way. That’s what all that screwing around with the auction was about. I’ve got connections with these guys, connections that could become public.” He leaned back. He had Moody sitting perfectly still. “I’ve got connections with you, Bobby. I’ve carried a lot of water for you. You know the stuff I’ve done. I’ve got connections with the party. I’m one of the biggest fund-raisers. I’m chairman of a committee working for the Earth Treaty. I’ve got money down—campaign contributions—trying to get it ratified. How’s it going to look if I end up taking a fall in this? What happens if this gets into the papers? What’s it going to do to the treaty? You know what a prissy sonofabitch your president is. Do you think he’s going to want you as secretary of state if there’s a big scandal? Do you think he’ll even want you around the White House?”

  Moody leaned back in his chair. All the fatigue he’d been holding back had suddenly collapsed on him.

  “Let me and my friends take care of this, Bobby. Things happen, you know. They get taken care of. Nobody ever hears anything about it. Happens all the time. Jack Kennedy was screwing Marilyn Monroe and nobody knew a thing about it. It would have stayed that way if someone hadn’t blown his head off. That Vicki Morgan stuff with Alfred Bloomingdale. It never touched the Reagan administration. We all know there was a hell of a lot more to Watergate than that fucking crummy break-in. Millions of dollars worth. There are a lot of guys walking around Washington who ought to be in jail but never will be.”

  He sipped his drink, very confident now.

  “All it takes is money, and knowing what you’re doing. I’ve got a lot of money. My friends know what they’re doing. We’ll take care of this. We’ll take care of Billy Bonning and we’ll take care of Showers. We’ll get your daughter back. No one will muss a hair of her pretty head.”