“But I don’t drive a car, Sherman. And this forest, it’s mine. I mean, it’s where I live. You know…”
“Yeah, I know where you live, Holden. Remember, you let me come and visit you there, once? But I was thinking, how would you like to live in a house? A real house. A little one, you could build yourself. In your own forest?”
“I couldn’t do that, Sherman. If anybody found out-”
“It wouldn’t matter,” the big detective said. “Because it wouldn’t be out here, it would be where I live. On my land. We could put up a dandy little house, you and me. It wouldn’t be much, but it’d be a house, Holden. A real one.”
“But what would I do? I mean, I have my job…”
“You could watch the forest for me, Holden. And, in the daytime, you could be clearing the land, working on the house. I always wanted to breed dogs. Maybe we could-”
“I don’t like those hounds, Sherman. They go after-”
“Not hunting dogs, Holden. Dobermans. Do you like them?”
“I… guess so.”
“Sure you do!” Sherman Layne said, patting Holden’s shoulder. “And you could take care of animals that get hurt, same way you do now, only it would be easier if you had a stove and a refrigerator, right?”
“I… I think I could. But, Sherman…”
“What?”
“How come things have to change?”
“Because we’re friends, Holden. And I’m changing, so I thought you might like to come along with me.”
“You’re moving away, Sherman?”
“No,” the big detective said. “I’m getting married.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 22:49
“Uriah got shot,” Kitty said. “But he didn’t get hurt.”
“I know.”
“He wouldn’t tell me how it happened. But I know, if you hadn’t told me about the gun, he couldn’t have done… whatever he did to protect himself, Harley.”
“I wouldn’t let anything happen to your family, Kitty.”
“When I talked to Uriah, it was just for a few minutes. But he’s different now. Like he aged a lifetime.”
“Scared?”
“No. Not at all. It’s like he’s got a… purpose now. I could tell, from the way he was talking. He might even make up with my father. But you know what?” she said, sadly. “You saved his life, and he hates you.”
“Me?”
“Not you yourself, Harley. All white people. That’s what he was going on about. How the whole gang thing was something the white man tricked them into doing, and he wasn’t going to be tricked anymore.”
“Yeah.”
“Locke City will never be the place for us, Harley.”
“Never’s a long time, baby.”
“I know you have plans,” Kitty said. “Big plans. And I know you’re smart. You’re so smart, Harley. I wish you’d go away with me.”
“To college, huh?”
“Yes!”
“Give me another year, honey. One more year. If I can’t… if we can’t be together then, right here in Locke City, I’ll come and be with you, Kitty, wherever you are. I swear.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 23:16
“Compass. Procter speaking.”
“If I get you something so hot it could turn this country upside down, could you get it into the paper?”
“Ah, you again. Yeah, sure. If it’s newsworthy. I mean, really newsworthy, not just some gossip about a politician’s wife, do we understand each other?”
“Yeah, that was just to- Look, this is a guaranteed blockbuster, a bigger story than the Rosenbergs. If I deliver, can you do the same?”
“Absolutely,” Procter said.
“You’re lying,” the voice on the phone said. “You’re not the boss of that place. Your editor would kill it in a minute.”
“This isn’t the only paper in the world,” Procter said. “And there’s magazines, too. More every day. I can-”
“You promise, you swear, that if what I hand over to you is genuine dynamite, and I have all the proof, you’ll get it published somewhere? So people can see it?”
“That’s what I live for,” Procter said. “And if you did as much checking up on me as you seem to have, you already know that.”
“I don’t have much time. There isn’t much time left. You’re my last hope. The next time I call, I’ll have everything for you.”
1959 October 09 Friday 00:01
“I need my car,” Dett said into the phone.
“Name a time,” a man’s voice replied. “You know what you got to bring, and where you got to bring it to.”
1959 October 09 Friday 14:02
A decorous dark-blue Cadillac sedan pulled up to the guardhouse. Seth emerged, empty-handed.
The Cadillac’s front window slid down. The driver said, “I’ve got Mr. Dioguardi in the back. He’s supposed to see-”
“You’re expected,” Seth said, half-saluting toward the back seat, noting the two men sitting there. “I’ll get someone to come and walk you over, just be a minute.”
Seth walked back into the guardhouse.
“Last time, he searched my car like I was bringing a bomb with me,” Dioguardi said to the man seated next to him.
“Things are different now, right, boss?”
“They are so far,” Dioguardi replied. “Hey, look. See that guy walking toward us? I remember him from the last time I was out here. He’s a retard.”
“Beaumont’s got retards working for him?”
“Why not?” Dioguardi shrugged. “They got to be at least as smart as a dog. And probably just as loyal.”
Seeing Luther approach, Seth stepped from the guardhouse and joined him alongside the Cadillac.
“Mr. Beaumont says you can all go in, if you want. Or just Mr. Dioguardi.”
“You guys stay with the car,” Dioguardi ordered.
“But, boss,” the man next to him said, “I don’t feel right letting you just walk in by yourself.”
“It’s the right play,” Dioguardi said, self-possessed. “If he brought me out here to hit me, he could do it just as easy with you in the room. That’s not Beaumont’s style. Only thing I’m worried about is maybe someone putting something in the car, so it’s better you stay with it.”
Dioguardi got out, took the cashmere topcoat the other man in the back seat handed over, and slipped into it.
“Lead on,” he said to Luther.
The slack-mouthed man walked off, Dioguardi in his wake.
“This isn’t where I went the last time,” Dioguardi said, as they approached the weathered wood outbuilding.
Luther opened the door without answering, and ushered Dioguardi inside.
“What is this, a garage?”
“Come on,” Luther told him.
Dioguardi entered the meeting room. Beaumont wheeled himself over to the door, offering his hand. Dioguardi grasped it firmly, eager to test his strength against the man everyone said had once been the best arm-wrestler in the whole county. But Beaumont’s grip wasn’t a challenge.
“Thanks for coming,” the man in the wheelchair said. “Sorry, we’re in the middle of remodeling the whole place…” His gesture took in the entire room. The sawhorse-supported desk was covered with a large sheet of white butcher paper, as were a side table and the broad wooden arms on three identical lounge chairs. “Take his coat, Luther.”
Dioguardi did not hesitate, shrugging out of his cashmere overcoat as casually as if he were in a nightclub. Wants to see if I’m packing, he thought, not realizing that Luther had already registered his lack of a weapon.
“We’re fixing the place up,” Beaumont said, as he wheeled himself behind the makeshift desk. “When it’s done, it’s going to be connected to the main house. Like an extension. Only it’s going to be just for me. My den, like. Will you have something to eat?” he said, pointing to the side table, heavily laden with a selection of cold cuts and breads. “Luther can make you any sandwich you want.”
“That’s a beautiful spread there,” Dioguardi said, taking a seat. “But I had an early supper before I came out. Wouldn’t mind a drink, though.”