Memphis settled in at the Fairfax Motel. Having failed at his initial plan to worm his way into Angus Haynes’s world by persuading him to give him a job, he accepted the inevitability of having to be there for the long haul. His venture hadn’t been a waste, however. The brief visit to Haynes’s home had given him insight into how the old man lived, who he trusted, and how he made things work. More importantly, he had eyes and ears now. Rufus could keep him informed of the old man’s activities.
The ensuing weeks had brought complications, however — Lena. Lena was there — in his bed, and more disconcertingly, in his heart. He would have to ask things of her, and he dreaded it. No matter what she said, Angus Haynes was still her father, and there was a price to pay when blood was crossed. That price could mean the end of them.
“Is this what you wanted all along? Is this what brought you here?” she asked repeatedly.
Memphis didn’t want to answer, because any answer he gave would be damning, even if it was a lie.
“Ray, me... you sought us out,” she continued.
“What difference does it make?” he finally countered. “I want what I want, and so do you. If you get what you need, why concern yourself with the process. If I didn’t care about you, I’d be doing this without you.”
Her spirit calmed. It seemed to be the nature of those who are damned by insecurity. They grasp any fiber that will hold their psyches together until the next challenge drags them down again. When her desperation demanded to know what he wanted of her, he told her — bank records, safe deposit key, whatever it took to find the money, he wanted it.
“He don’t do nothin’, Memphis. I think he crazy. This whole thing ain’t nothin’ but a waste of time,” Rufus complained. “He hangs around the house all day. He sends me on little dumb errands. Carl goes to the bank for him once a week. He’s on the phone a lot — sounds like out-of-town business, but I couldn’t hear none of it. You know something else? He goes and prays over his dead wife’s grave every Sunday evening.”
Memphis frowned in disbelief.
“Maybe his conscience is bothering him,” Lena speculated. “I hear people do that when they think they can see the end of their lives. You know he buried her on the property. The grave is just inside the treeline behind the house.”
“What?” Memphis exclaimed.
“This is the country, city boy,” Rufus laughed. “You can do whatever you want to do on your property, including burying your relatives.”
“He’s got fifty thousand dollars in his savings account, and ten thousand in checking. His safe deposit box just has legal papers in it — deeds, insurance,” Lena explained.
“Then it’s in the house,” Memphis said.
It made sense. You couldn’t put a quarter million dollars in cash in the bank without drawing attention. He could have spread it out in a lot of different places, but when a man kills for money, he covets it. He wants to keep it close to him. Angus Haynes was sitting on that money. He was sure of it.
It was Friday, and Carl had gone into town to the bank as he did every Friday morning. Angus Haynes sat on his back porch watching Rufus manicure his lawn and hedges while offering liberal suggestions, as if none of Rufus’s efforts would ever be adequate.
Lena let Memphis into the house, and he went immediately to the old man’s study. Various papers were scattered over the desk as if being victimized by unwelcome eyes had never occurred to Angus Haynes.
Memphis was learning nothing new. He was simply confirming what Lena had already told him. He was about to chalk the little escapade up as a waste when a small silver object on the mantel caught his eye. It was a key and an odd one at that. It was cylindrical with an octagonal hole in the center and large flanges on the proximal end. He had seen one like it a long time ago and found it curious that Angus Haynes would keep this one so handy. Maybe he had a reason, but it damn sure wasn’t love.
Everything he knew about Haynes was paradoxical. He was a racist criminal who had settled into a reclusive small town lifestyle while orchestrating capers hundreds of miles away. He was a respected landowner who had killed his wife in public without a soul willing to acknowledge it. Worst of all, he had lied about her accidental death for so long that he probably believed it himself, and he made a weekly pilgrimage to her grave to give it credence.
Memphis hesitated briefly before taking the key. It was in such a prominent place, it would surely be missed. This was an opportunity, however, that was unlikely to recur. He stuffed the key in his pocket and left before the old man returned.
Memphis waited until dark and entered the Haynes property through the forest at the rear of the home. There was a small clearing separated and hidden from the house by a thin line of trees. A full moon illuminated the area, revealing carefully manicured grass and flower beds. In the center was a long concave slab of gray concrete. If he was right, by the time Angus made his Sunday pilgrimage, he would be long gone and a helluva lot more content than at any other time in his life.
The slab was heavy but movable. His fingers ran across the name engraved on the top. He didn’t bother to read it. It was a name, but it wasn’t important. What was important was what was inside.
He slid the slab to the side, revealing a white metal casket that reflected the moonlight with an eerie glow. Memphis slipped the key out of his pocket. The dead can’t hurt you, he told himself. If they could, Angus Haynes’s wife would have surely found a way out of that casket by now.
The key slid into the opening on the side of the casket perfectly. He turned it slowly with his heart pounding in his throat in anticipation.
Why would a man who hated his wife enough to kill her keep her casket key so close at hand? Why would he visit her grave every Sunday? Nothing in the man’s past indicated that he had the slightest remorse for anything he ever did.
He lifted the casket’s lid and got his answer immediately. He could barely see the desiccated remains of Angus Haynes’s wife. Stuffed throughout the casket were plastic bags filled with money.
Memphis waited with more patience than he was accustomed to having. It was Saturday morning, and Lena should have been there two hours ago. There was a time when he would have simply left. He had a trunk full of money and a fast car. With that kind of leverage, women were generally no problem, but times had changed. He had changed. He seemed to need something to hold on to no matter how tenuous it was.
Lena pulled into the narrow lane behind him. She was driving one of her father’s cars and left it to join him in his. She moved with a nervous, tight-lipped clumsiness as she threw a few sparse possessions into the back seat.
“I’m sorry,” she began to explain. “I had trouble getting away. All hell broke loose. He discovered that the key was missing.”
“Too damned late,” Memphis laughed. “I’ve got to meet Rufus and give him his cut, then we’re out of here.”
“Rufus isn’t coming,” Lena said hesitantly.
Memphis jammed the brakes abruptly.
“Why? What are you talking about?”
“They caught Rufus. They think he stole the key. I was able to sneak away while they were busy with him.”