I nodded. “The good reverend. Well, my client seems to have discovered that he was being betrayed.”
“How did he discover that?”
“Somehow, and I’m not saying how, but somehow I got hold of a document from Prescott’s office that spelled it out.”
“And you gave it to him?”
“He’s my client.”
She smiled cautiously. “So I assume then, Victor, your future will not be taken care of by William Prescott III. What about those horrible Bishop brothers?”
“I’ve been fired,” I said. “And the Saltz settlement’s been pulled.”
Her smile widened. “My oh my. How are we ever going to make ends meet now?”
“We?”
“The news said that Moore would be on the stand tomorrow. I thought you might want help preparing your cross.”
“What about Community Legal Services?” I asked. “What about aiding the poor and disadvantaged?”
She shook her head at me and then reached around my waist, giving a crushing hug. The wet of her raincoat soaked cold through my T-shirt. “That’s what I’m doing, Victor,” she said. “And frankly, sweetheart, you can use all the aid you can get.”
She disentangled herself from me and headed up the stairs. I looked after her for a moment. So it wasn’t all bad, I thought as I watched her climb to my apartment. Even if everything else turned out wrong, it wasn’t all bad.
We worked. Beth’s mind was more analytical than mine and she helped me organize my disparate thoughts and far-flung tactics. Together we began to map out a strategy for going after the councilman, a thrust here, a trap there, questions emphasizing two facts that when brought together were blatantly inconsistent. We outlined generally the approaches I would take and then practiced on each other, framing our questions with great care to avoid the inevitable evasiveness of his answers. And where before Beth arrived I had been at a total loss, as we worked together the examination began to form itself into something more than a series of unconnected questions, to form itself into a coherent and effective assault on his credibility.
I was stretching from weariness, shaking my head at how much more we had to do, when the phone rang.
“So how do you think the old lady looked?” said Chuckie Lamb from the other end of the connection. His voice was subdued, not a bark anymore, but the sound of it still sent a shiver through me.
“I didn’t mean to bother her,” I said.
“How do you think she looked?” he said again, more insistent.
“Pretty good, Chuckie.”
“Yeah, but you should have seen her when. She was a beauty when. A real beauty.”
“I’m sorry if…”
“She was the queen of the neighborhood,” he said, cutting me off before I could finish apologizing for my visit. “And classy too. The windows in our house, they came from up and down the street to see her curtains, from blocks around. She was artistic, she loved the opera. That’s what we listened to, after my father left, all the time. It was great after my father left because he was a fuck and after he left then it was just Mommy and me. She was a beauty, I’m telling you.”
“I believe it,” I lied. I couldn’t imagine that toad-faced woman with her working gums as a bathing beauty. Beth was staring up at me, wondering what was going on. I shrugged like I had no idea, which I didn’t.
“Once in the fourth grade,” said Chuckie, “there was some kid beating the hell out of me. A Jewish kid, Levi, the school bully. Just whaling on me.”
Good for Levi, I thought.
“When Mommy finds out she comes to the playground after school and lifts this Levi by his collar, this big kid hanging in the air, and she tells him he touches me again she’d bite his nose off. He pissed himself, he was that scared. Levi never bothered me again. On her way out of the park she slugs me with the back of her hand, knocks me down, gives me a beautiful shiner. I never got razzed as a momma’s boy because of the way she hit me. How could they after that, and she knew it, too. That was her way, always taking care of me. She’s getting better every day, I can tell. She’ll be home soon. Making me her shepherd’s pie, putting Wagner or Berlioz on the record player. How do you think she looks?”
“She looks great,” I said.
“She does, doesn’t she. That was right of you to visit. Eight years with the councilman and never once did he visit.”
“What’s going on, Chuckie?” I asked.
“Not one fucking visit. He never cared, treated me like cat piss the whole time. Chet visited, but he’s like that. Brought flowers. She likes flowers.”
“What’s going on?”
“You surprised me today,” he said. “I thought you’d keep bending over for them, I was certain of it, though when I found out you visited Mommy I began to wonder. Why would he do something like that? Except maybe if he’s not going to stay bent over. But it was still a surprise. I saw you talking with Prescott.”
“A friendly chat,” I said.
“And you subpoenaed the girl.”
“Yes, I did.”
“What you did in court was bad enough,” he said. “They are very upset at you, furious. But you shouldn’t have subpoenaed the girl. It was a mistake. They have their plans. You are in far greater danger than you realize.”
“Is this another threat? Is that what this is all about?”
“You’re misunderstanding again, like you did before. All I wanted was to help Chet. I knew from the first that Jimmy would turn on him. I was certain you knew too and were going along with it. But then you surprised me. Listen, you can’t realize the depths of the councilman’s betrayal. It goes way beyond Chet, which is bad enough. It goes beyond anything imaginable.”
Suddenly it dawned on me that Chuckie Lamb was trying to help. “What happened to the missing money?” I asked.
“I have a story for you.”
“Like Jack and the beanstalk?”
“More like Faust,” he said. “But not over the phone.”
“Okay. Let’s meet. Anywhere.”
“I’m close to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, do you know it?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Ten minutes.”
“Sure,” I said and then I thought for a moment and let a wave of paranoia float over me. “I can trust you, can’t I, Chuckie? This isn’t a setup, is it?”
“You’ll understand when we talk,” he said. “It will all be enough to make you sick. Ten minutes.”
When I hung up Beth was still staring at me. “I have to go,” I told her.
“Was that Chuckie Lamb?”
“I think so,” I said. “But he was mellower than usual, like Chuckie Lamb on Quaaludes.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants to tell me a story,” I said. “I have to go. Don’t wait up for me.”
I found my sneakers, put on a white shirt over my T-shirt, grabbed my raincoat out of the closet. I had already opened the door when I turned around and asked her, “Do you know where the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is?”
“Arlington?” she said.
“No, here.”
“Is there one?”
“Dammit,” I said, realizing I had told Chuckie I’d be there without knowing where it was. “Who can I ask?” I said. “Is the tourist bureau open?”
“It’s after midnight,” she said. “How about the phone book?”
“What, under tombs?”
“The yellow pages have maps in the front,” she said and she was right.
I searched through a map of Center City historical sights and there it was, in Washington Square, off Locust between 6th and 7th, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier of the American Revolution, a soldier so unknown I hadn’t even known he had a tomb. As soon as I found it on the map I headed for the door, late already, hoping Chuckie wouldn’t leave before I got there.
Through the heavy rain I ran to my car. I soaked the seat when I sat down. I drove east on Locust, past DiLullo’s and the Academy of Music, over Broad Street, straight through the rain until the road detoured at 7th Street, routing around Washington Square. I spun around the park and snapped to a stop at an illegal spot on 7th and rushed out.