In truth, Hardy wasn’t sure. But. ‘My guess is that Canetta originally – and marginally, I might add – was willing to buy the idea that the killer had been Ron. When it became clear to him that it hadn’t been, from his perspective there was only one suspect left, and he happened to have deep pockets.’ He shook his head sadly – Canetta might have been crooked and confused, but Hardy had liked him. ‘He picked the wrong guy- ’
Glitsky chewed his cheek for a while. ‘Griffin had the watch when he went to talk to Pierce,’ he said. ‘He showed it to him.’
Hardy nodded. ‘Right. And Pierce thought Griffin himself and not the cleaning people had found the watch. Only Griffin knew about nine oh two and the watch was the only evidence. So Pierce somehow got a hold of his gun and shot him and took the watch back and it almost worked. Except for the Heritage note.’
Glitsky could have gone on and on about the note that Hardy hadn’t shown him, but he realized that he’d just be whining. His friend had done what he thought he had to do and nothing Glitsky said was going to change that. Or influence his future behavior, for that matter. But there was one last issue. ‘So Frannie never had to tell Ron’s big secret, did she?’
A sideways glance. ‘Now that you mention it, I guess not.’
‘And there’s no chance you know what it was, is there?’
‘What?’ Hardy pulled at his ear.
Glitsky started to repeat the question, but Hardy held up a hand, stopping him. ‘I can’t hear you,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a banana in my ear.’
EPILOGUE
On Friday, 26 March, Governor Damon Kerry signed into law a bill outlawing the use of MTBE in California. The bill – nicknamed ‘Bree’s law’ by the media – was the culmination of the governor’s main legislative effort of his first three months in office, and was popularly viewed as a political and moral victory against the powers of big oil and special-interest lobbyists. Kerry was cleaning up the state house, cleaning the state’s water supply. There was already talk of a national campaign in his future.
Al Valens saw to it that the results of Bree Beaumont’s report blasting ethanol and all other oxygenates never made it to the governor’s desk. In fact, the law’s preamble praised the EPA for mandating the use of oxygenates in reformulated gasoline. The state’s air had improved under the oxygenated formulas, and was now at its cleanest in decades. Oxygenates, such as ethanol and MTBE, had proven effective in reducing air pollutants. Unfortunately, the petroleum additive MTBE had been shown to be carcinogenic. Other oxygenates, notably ethanol, were available in sufficient quantity to supply the state’s needs. MTBE’s ever-increasing presence in the ground-water of California constituted a considerable and ongoing health hazard, and from this date forward, its use would be aggressively phased out.
Two weeks later, at the Spader Krutch Ohio shareholders’ meeting, held in Cincinnati, CEO Ellis Jackson proudly read aloud from the annual report, embellishing for his audience where it seemed appropriate.
‘Regarding ethanol production, I am delighted to report that the latest battle in the war between the Middle East and the Midwest has turned for the moment in our favor. The increased demand for ethanol as a gasoline additive in many states, but particularly in the huge California market, has spurred the US government to continue its exemption of the federal fuel tax on ethanol. In addition, the government has guaranteed to buy every barrel of surplus corn-ethanol produced in this country well into the next millenium.’
This brought a huge round of applause.
‘… of course has not come without its costs. The corporation’s state and federal lobbying and education efforts on behalf of the ethanol subsidies during the fiscal year amounted to eight point six million dollars. Of course, last year was an election year. We supported political campaigns in all twenty-three states that held elections, and it is a great pleasure to report that seventy-two per cent of our candidates succeeded to elective office.
‘As our political influence increases, so inevitably will our lobbying costs. But this figure pales in comparison to the forty-five million dollars profit - I repeat, this is a profit figure – generated by sales of ethanol last year in the United States. With its recent banning of MTBE, California’s use of ethanol is expected to multiply exponentially in the short term. And we are seeing similar campaigns in many other regions of the country.’
Jackson refrained from reading the next sentences aloud. They read: ‘Unfortunately, the markets in California and other states remain undersupplied because of our continued inability to provide ethanol in sufficient quantity and, without the government subsidy program, at a profitable cost. However, research on this problem is ongoing. Currently, without government assistance, real costs of producing ethanol – wages, refinery costs, tractor fuel to plant and harvest the corn – average about one dollar per gallon, or roughly twice as much as gasoline. Fortunately, governmental tax credits keep us competitive, but clearly, this is an area that needs improvement.’
But it was as though these lines had never been written. Jackson continued smoothly, his voice ringing with confidence.
‘Ethanol profits next year will be in the range of a hundred million dollars, and if we can increase our production to meet the needs of the market, in the not-too-distant future, we can predict profits that may well reach half a billion dollars per year!’
Ellis Jackson waited as applause rocked the room. Finally, grinning broadly, he held up his hands and the noise subsided. The CEO leaned into the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he crowed triumphantly, ‘it’s been one hell of a year!’
On the following Saturday, 17 April, the Hardy kids were spending one last day at their grandparents’ house.
Now, an hour before dusk, Dismas and Frannie were working mostly in silence, finishing up the last of the unpacking in their newly designed kitchen. Skylights, white cabinets, and fifty additional square feet they’d borrowed from the rooms at the back of the house gave the space an airy, open feel.
They had finally come around to accepting the Chinese position that disaster and opportunity derive from the same symbol. And so, retaining the original home’s footprint, they’d gone up. Over the first floor, they’d added a new master bedroom and bath. This freed up enough space to convert their old bedroom into a family room. This meant no more television in the living room, a long-awaited goal – now rational and uninterrupted conversation might have a chance to transpire there.
Hardy had installed a new, enlarged fish tank – sixty gallons – into the wall between the kitchen and the family room behind it, so that it could be enjoyed from either side. He’d bolted an old marlin fishhook into the wall above the new stove and on it – in easy reach – hung his cast-iron pan, which glistened black with reseasoning and a fresh rub with olive oil.
They’d stored as much as they could in the back rooms during the construction and over the past three days had done most of the heavy moving. Now, the new furniture graced the living and dining rooms. Three new ones and the one surviving Venetian glass elephant caravaned again on the mantel. The new bed upstairs sported a wedding-ring quilt they’d discovered together in an antiques shop on a family trip to Mendocino one weekend.
Tapped out, even with the insurance money, they were broke as newlyweds after the honeymoon.
Hardy finished stacking a load of dishes into one of the cupboards and turned around, surprised to find himself suddenly alone. He pushed open the door to the dining room and walked through it, passing the sturdy and graceful Shaker table and chairs. A dozen coats of lemon oil still hadn’t completely eradicated the smell of carbon from the old sideboard, but the old piece was a comforting presence, some connection to what had been before.