The Last Virginia Gentleman

by Michael Kilian

  “Strategy? You’re going to let ratification go through, and then shitcan the enabling bill. A good old one, two. The president ends up on the floor.”

  Reidy hunched forward, pouring himself some coffee. “The treaty never had a chance from the beginning, you must have known that.”

  “No, I didn’t know that. But you begin to make that clear. The way you’ve opened up people’s pockets, it’s probably inevitable.”

  “So what do you want?”

  “First off, I’d like to know just how inevitable it is. What’s the real nose count? How many members of the honorable body do you own now? On this issue anyway?”

  “We got seven,” Bloch said. “Seven in the bag.”

  “Seven? Seven makes this inevitable?”

  “That’s seven on the buy. For the U.S. Senate, that’s a hell of a lot. There’s another couple dozen, say, who now clearly understand our point of view. And maybe another couple dozen who would have opposed you on the implementing legislation no matter what.”

  “It’s a done deal, Bobby,” Reidy said. “Are you going to live with it, or what?”

  “I’ll have some of that coffee, now,” Moody said. Bernie went to pour it for him.

  “I’ll ask you again,” Reidy said. “Are you going to make it hard for us, or are you going to grease the skids?”

  “I guess that would depend.”

  “On what? I’ve guaranteed your confirmation. It wasn’t easy. The career types are raising holy hell. Think you’re a bumpkin. Don’t like your style at all. If you weren’t so popular with the Japanese these days, I would have really had to break some arms.”

  “Are the Japanese in on this, on your buy?”

  Bloch smiled. “Nobody asked them. But they have a few investments in this country. American corporations, right?”

  “You ought to be happy, where you’re sitting these days,” Reidy said. “I could have made you very unhappy. I still can.”

  “I understand that,” Moody said. The coffee was hot. He sipped it gingerly. “But secretaries of state come and go. We have an election coming up. I like to think in longer terms than that. This is a very serious matter, Senator. I’m shouldering an enormous burden for you, just by keeping my mouth shut. And my ‘friend’ Mr. Bloch here has made some very unpleasant threats concerning my daughter. I don’t like that at all. Seems to me you’ve got a long way to go before you’ve earned my goodwill. A real long way.”

  “What do you want, Bobby?”

  “What are you offering?”

  Bloch lighted a cigar. “If the treaty implementing bill comes up DOA, a lot of stocks are going to take off for the roof. That chemical company of mine closed at fourteen and a quarter, yesterday—down nine points from the year high. If the vote’s what we think it’s going to be, I can see it doubling, in a hell of a hurry.”

  “I don’t play the market, Bernie. I signed a conflict of interest agreement.”

  “You don’t play the market, but the people handling your trust do. I can offer them a lot of guidance. Hell, I can make the purchase for them. No money down. We’ll just postdate the papers. When you leave the government, you’ll be fucking amazed at what a wealthy man you’ve become.”

  “Talk figures.”

  “Seven figures? Eight? It’s possible.”

  “This is all right with you?” Moody asked Reidy.

  “It’ll be my pleasure, Bobby, to have you in my pocket.”

  “Well, that’s very nice.” He sipped more coffee. “What else?”

  “What else?”

  “I’m just asking.”

  “How fucking greedy a hillbilly are you?”

  “I just want to know how far you’re willing to go. How much putting the screws to the president means to you.”

  Reidy sighed. “I’m not doing this just to be a prick, Bobby. If the treaty goes belly up, so does your boss. He’s got nothing else. He doesn’t have a lot of friends, outside of the Harvard Club. The party will be looking for a new candidate to save its ass.”

  “You?”

  “I finished second.”

  “A distant second.”

  “I’ll need a non-Catholic running mate, an easterner, to balance the ticket. I don’t much give a shit who it is, but I wouldn’t mind carrying the West Virginia and Maryland primaries.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “You don’t guarantee anything, not in presidential politics. But let me put it this way. Jim Baker didn’t get a guarantee of anything from the Reagan guys, when he got George Bush out of the primaries in 1980. But he ended up with what he wanted, because Bush was the strongest guy. You’re a strong guy, Bobby. I’ll grant you that much.”

  Moody finished his coffee.

  “So now are you happy?” Bloch asked.

  “No, I’m not happy, Bernie. I’m not going to be happy until I see May. When’s that going to happen?”

  “It’ll happen. I told you, nothing to worry about, now that we’re all in agreement here.”

  “When is it going to happen? This afternoon? This morning? Make me happy, Bernie.”

  “I’ve got calls out. I haven’t heard back yet.”

  “Make your calls again. I want an answer before I leave.”

  “All right, all right.”

  Moody stood up. “I’ve got to take a leak. Mind if I use the John?”

  “It’s through the bedroom,” Reidy said.

  “I know.” Moody went to the door and turned the knob. It didn’t yield. “Shit. The damn thing’s locked.”

  “We only took the suite for an hour,” Bloch said. “I guess they didn’t think we’d need the bathroom. Not that kind of get-together.”

  “I’ll go find a maid,” Moody said.

  “Can’t you hold it?” Reidy said. “We’re almost done.”

  “What do you want me to do, use a tree in LaFayette Park? I’ll be right back.” He left the door to the suite open behind him.

  There was a maid in the hallway, taking towels from a cart. Several room doors nearby were standing ajar.

  “Excuse me,” Moody said loudly. “We can’t get into our bathroom. The bedroom door’s locked. Do you have a key?”

  “Sorry, sir?” she said, in a thick Spanish accent. “What you say?”

  “Bathroom. I need a bathroom. Can I use one of these?”

  The maid shrugged.

  Moody entered the nearest open room, closing the door behind him. There were more than a dozen men inside, several of them wearing vests with the letters “FBI” on them.

  “You got it all?” Moody asked.

  The agent in charge indicated a television monitor, set atop a video recording unit. On the screen, in black and white, he could see Bloch on the phone. Reidy was on his feet, pacing back and forth by a window. Superimposed numbers in the right-hand corner showed the elapsing time and date.

  “And my daughter?”

  “She’s clear. Just got the word.”

  “Well, go get ’em, then.”

  The chief agent nodded to the others, and most of the men hurried from the room. Moody stood in front of the screen, watching as Bloch’s expression went from one of surprise to horror, as Reidy turned and punched the wall. The agents had guns and handcuffs out. There’d be no dignity in this at all. It would make for wonderful television viewing, on the evening news, for weeks and months to come.

  Moody hoped Bloch understood.

  Twenty-Three

  An unlikely procession entered Dandytown that afternoon—a West Virginia State Police car, three U.S. government sedans, and a refrigerated beer truck with the name of a West Virginia distributorship printed on the side. Mars lights twirling, they proceeded up the main street to the county courthouse, where a small group of men was waiting for them on the steps—Jack Spencer, Wayne Bensinger, and several sheriff’s deputies among them. Sheriff Cooke remained inside his office, though he’d been informed by radio that the FBI party was coming.

  Spencer stood up, s
tartled by Showers’ and May’s appearance when they got out of one of the sedans. Their clothes were covered with coal dust. Showers had bloodstains on his shirt and the girl’s long, dark hair looked as though a hay rake had gone through it. She clung to Showers, looking uncertainly about her. He went up to them, gripping his cousin’s hand.

  “Damned close run thing,” he said. “You’re all right?”

  “We’re fine. There are some people back there I’m never going to forget. I don’t ever want to hear an unkind word about West Virginia again.”

  “Your horseman friend from British Columbia will be here tomorrow. He said he’s certain the horse in the pictures is his, but he wants to see for himself.”

  “He won’t like what he finds,” Showers said. He pointed to the beer truck. “The stallion’s in there. Dead. Very badly shot up, I’m afraid. But identifiable. It was horrible, what they did to it.”

  “They ended up the same way.”

  “Yes.”

  “They said you killed one of them.”

  “I think it’s three.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Showers,” Bensinger said. “I’m afraid there are some formalities to attend to.”

  “I know. I’m prepared for them.”

  The presiding judge’s name was on a placard attached to the courtroom door: THE HON. THOMAS H. MERRICK. Bensinger showed Showers and May to seats in the courtroom, then went down the hall to the chief prosecutor’s office. His boss was at his desk, his tie undone, looking tired.

  “They’re here,” Bensinger said.

  “I know.”

  “Do you still want to go through with this?”

  “Gotta go through the motions. The sheriff won’t drop the charges, not until he hears from Lynwood Fairbrother.”

  “And where is he?”

  The prosecutor shrugged. “In Washington. Some kind of trouble.”

  “You want to handle this?”

  “You do it, Wayne. You’re familiar with the case. I’m sick of the whole thing. I think I’m going to take the rest of the day off.”

  The arraignment hearing, which had been scheduled on a rush basis immediately after the FBI had informed Banastre County authorities that Showers and the girl were returning, was the only matter on the docket. Showers went to stand calmly before the bench as a bailiff read the charge. When the man was done, Bensinger rose from behind his table.

  “If it please the court,” he said, “the commonwealth would like to introduce two documents into the record, both pertinent to the criminal charge.”

  “Proceed,” said the judge. He was in his eighties, but his voice was sharp and full of vigor. He looked extremely displeased.

  “The first is a sworn statement taken this morning from Miss May Moody. It concerns the particulars of the charge of murder against David Spencer Showers, to wit, the alleged defendant’s whereabouts on the day of the crime. She states he was with her for all the time in question.”

  “Accepted for the record,” the judge said. He took the transcript from Bensinger, but instead of passing it on to the clerk, began looking through it.

  “The second document, Your Honor, is a statement from Special agent Charles Anderson of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It concerns an explosive device recovered from third parties during a criminal investigation in West Virginia this morning, an explosive device that bears similarity to the one used in the murder of Rebecca Bonning, and the injuries caused to Miss Alixe Percy.”

  The judge snatched it up. “Accepted for the record.” He glanced over its paragraphs, then set it aside. Sheriff Cooke was sitting in the front row of spectator seats, arms folded, staring down at his boots.

  “Has the commonwealth anything further to add?” the judge asked.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “No recommendation in this case?”

  “I’ve no instructions, your Honor.”

  “Good God.” The judge looked at Showers. “Have you defense counsel?”

  “No sir,” Showers said.

  “You don’t need any. The court is prepared to rule.” He slammed down his gavel. “Case dismissed! Insufficient evidence! Damned insufficient evidence! You’re free to go. Sheriff Cooke, approach the bench.”

  Sheepishly, the sheriff got to his feet. He stood before the judge looking far more a defendant than Showers.

  “Yes, Your Honor?”

  “After examining this case, I have just one word for you. And for Mr. Lynwood Fairbrother. November!”

  “November?”

  “That, I believe, is when you stand for reelection. You have tried to dishonor this good man’s name with unwarranted criminal charges, sir, and there is no more honorable name in Banastre County. I’m passing on the record of this case, with comment, to Richmond.” He stood, his black robe billowing behind him. “Court is adjourned.”

  Outside, on the steps, May turned and kissed Showers as though there were no one around for a hundred miles to see. She felt very light in his arms, as though the experience had begun to diminish her physically.

  “You know what I feel?” she said.

  “Very tired.”

  “Yes, tired. Happy. Relieved. But you know what else? I feel the future is finally beginning to happen.”

  “Very soon, May. Very, very soon.”

  “We’d better get going, Miss Moody,” said the FBI agent who had accompanied them. “I’m supposed to take you back to Washington.”

  “My father,” May said. “You’re going to take me to my father, aren’t you.”

  “My instructions are to deliver you to the Director’s office, safe and sound. That’s all they told me.”

  May looked to Showers. “I can’t face him, David. I just can’t.”

  “You’ve no legal reason to keep her in custody,” Showers said.

  “No sir. We’ve got her statement and everything.”

  “Then why don’t you just take her home and let her get some rest? I’m sure that would make her father much happier.”

  “All right, sir, if that’s what she wants.”

  “That’s what she wants.”

  Showers put his arm around her, and began to walk her to the car.

  “You’ll have to see your father sometime,” he said. “He must be very worried.”

  “It’s a little late for that.”

  “He tried to help us. Grant him that.”

  “I don’t even want to think about him, David. Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “I can’t. Not yet. I’m not done here.”

  “You just can’t tear yourself away from this place, can you?”

  There was a lot he had to tell her, but this was not the time.

  “I have to meet with the man from Canada. I’ll join you tomorrow night. You get some sleep.”

  “I’ll be terribly lonely.”

  “So will I.”

  “When you come, bring some things.”

  “Things?”

  “Clothes. Bring a lot of clothes. I want you to spend every minute you have with me.”

  She kissed him one more time.

  “On second thought,” she said, “maybe not so many clothes.”

  She tried to smile at him brightly, but her face was very pale and drawn. He could see that she’d be asleep before they reached the interstate.

  “Tomorrow, May.”

  Spencer stood next to him as the FBI cars drove off.

  “We have some business to attend to, cousin.”

  “That we do.”

  Becky’s personal things had all been gathered up and sent on to her family, but the television set and video recorder were still in the cottage, along with the rest of the furniture. Spencer had brought a briefcase with him. He set it on the coffee table, snapping open the locks.

  “Do you want a drink before we start, David? This is pretty rough stuff.”

  “No thanks. Let’s just get it over with.”

 
Spencer took two videocassettes from the briefcase, putting one of them in the machine. In a moment, Vicky Clay’s nude, gyrating body appeared on the screen, another naked woman beneath her.

  “I’ve seen this before,” Showers said. “Some of it.”

  “Watch the rest.”

  Embarrassed, he stared at the television set as the sex act came to its conclusion, and Vicky rolled off to the side. The other woman sat up.

  Showers was stunned. It was Lenore.

  “I’ve seen enough,” he said.

  “No you haven’t.”

  Becky entered the picture, as naked as the others, climbing onto the bed.

  “For God’s sake, Jack. Can’t you spare me this? The girl’s dead. Who recorded this thing?”

  “No one knows. Possibly Vicky Clay’s brother. Or Becky, and she forgot to shut it off. But see it out. Listen to them.”

  Becky’s sexual play was cut short by Vicky’s taunting. She began chiding Becky for being no good with men, for never having slept with Showers in all the time she was under his roof, for being far too unattractive to ever get him into her bed. She began bragging of her own sexual experiences with Showers, prompting Lenore to relate some of her own. Each tried to outdo the other.

  Spencer hit the pause button.

  “Is this true?”

  “Please, Jack.”

  “I know about Lenore Fairbrother. Did you go to bed with Vicky Clay?”

  “Yes. Once. A long time ago.”

  “It must be something, to be lusted after by women like that.”

  “It’s just because I won a few races. You win a trophy, and you become one.”

  “Groupies.”

  “Please.”

  Spencer put the tape in motion again. Vicky, who seemed to be under the influence of drink or drugs or both, boasted she could get Showers to sleep with her that night, and challenged Lenore to try to beat her to him. Becky said nothing, looking quite miserable. Lenore responded contemptuously, making a bet of it, claiming she could have Showers anytime, anywhere, any way she wished, sneering that if he had ever made love to Vicky, it had been out of pity because she was such a pathetic creature, and that he’d not make the mistake again. Vicky began calling her vile names. Lenore got off the bed, and started getting dressed.

  “Did she win this little contest?” Spencer asked.