The men sat silently, looking at the opened books on the desk. They picked at their hands and refused to look at one another. For his part, Doyle Francis sat back in his chair watching them.
At last Arch Withers said: “All right. If what you say is true, who did it? Who’s them?”
“What?”
“You said them. Who do you mean by that?”
“Who do you think I mean?”
“How the hell do I know? Do you mean Charlie Soames?”
“Why not? Charlie did the books, didn’t he? He did the books when I was here before and I assume you boys kept him on after I left.”
“That son of a bitch,” Bob Wilcox said. Wilcox was the young man on the board. “Goddamn that old—”
“And Burdette?” Withers said, interrupting him. “What about him? Was he in on this too?”
“Of course he was. Don’t you think he had to be? Why else was he going to charge those new clothes on Main Street and then disappear and not come back home again?”
“By god,” Wilcox said. “He’s another son of a bitch. We ought to—”
“Shut up,” Withers said. “It’s too late for any of your hysterics.”
“That’s right,” Doyle said. “It’s too late for a lot of things. Except I believe that Charlie’s still in town, isn’t he?”
“He’s still in town.”
“Then I’ll go get him, if none of you will. I’ll bring that—”
“Damn it,” Withers said. “I already told you to shut up. Now do it.” Young Bob Wilcox started to say something more, but Withers turned and stared at him. Then Wilcox closed his mouth tight and Withers turned back to Doyle Francis. “So what do you suggest we do about this? You seem to of thought about it.”
“Oh yes. I’ve thought about it,” Doyle said. “It’s about all I have thought about for the last two weeks.”
“So? Are you going to tell us what to do or not?”
“There’s only one thing to do. We let the sheriff’s office handle it now. We call Bud Sealy and tell him to go over to Charlie Soames’s house and arrest him and lock him up and then we wait for the trial. What else is there?”
“But there’s still the money, isn’t there? What about the money?”
“What about it?”
“Well goddamn it. It was our money. It was all us shareholders’ money.”
“Sure it was,” Doyle said. “And you can tell that to the judge too, when you get the chance. But I don’t suppose that will get it back for you. Jack Burdette’s been gone for a month a half and god only knows where he’s gone to. But wherever he is, he’s already begun to spend it. You can count on that.”
There was silence again while this new thought sank in. The men stared hatefully at the accountant’s books on Doyle’s desk. After a time, Arch Withers roused himself once more.
“Go on, then.” he said. “What are you waiting on? Make your goddamn call. Call Bud Sealy.”
“No,” Doyle Francis said. “I don’t think I will. I think one of you boys ought to be able to call him. It’s your funeral. I’ve been thinking about this mess for too long already.”
So Arch Withers, as president of the Farmers’ Co-op Elevator’s board of directors, called Bud Sealy from the manager’s office that Tuesday afternoon, with the books still spread out on the desk before him and while Doyle Francis and the other men watched him.
And subsequently that same afternoon Bud Sealy arrested Charlie Soames at his home in the six hundred block on Cedar Street, where Soames had a small office at the back of the house. Sealy drove over to the house, parked and knocked on the door. He was let in by Mrs. Soames. She was an excitable old woman with heavy breasts and meaty arms. She led the sheriff back to Charlie’s little office and stood in the doorway.
When Sealy entered the room — it was all neat and tidy as ever — Charlie Soames seemed to be waiting for him. He was sitting at his desk with his hands folded and he seemed to have everything in order. It was as though he had prepared himself for Sealy’s arrival, as if he were glad that it was over now. “So you know,” Soames said.
“Yeah. I just got a call from Arch Withers.”
“It took them long enough. I expected you a month ago.”
“I’m here now. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Ready?” Mrs. Soames said. “Ready for what?” She was still standing in the doorway, displacing air. Her hair stood out from her pink head. “Where are you taking him?”
“Your husband’s got himself into trouble.”
“My husband? What do you mean? What could he do?”
“Enough,” the sheriff said. “Now maybe you’d better go into the other room for a minute.”
“I’m not going into the other room. So he has done something. The old fool! He’s done something and now what am I supposed to do?”
“For one thing,” Sealy said, “you’re going to be quiet.”
“I didn’t do anything. You can’t tell me in my own house to—”
“Yes. You’re going to be quiet. Or I’m going to gag you.”
Mrs. Soames glared at the sheriff. “You wouldn’t touch me. You wouldn’t dare touch a lady.”
“Try me,” he said. He took a step toward her and she backed up.
“Oh!”
Then she began to shriek. Sealy shut the door on her. They could hear her excited noises. But after a moment the noises stopped.
“That’s better,” he said. He turned back to her husband.
Charlie Soames was still seated silently at his clean desk. It was as if he had been waiting for this too. Now he stood up and Sealy told him he had the right to remain silent. Then he put handcuffs around Soames’s thin wrists. Afterward they walked out of the tidy little office and on through the house. Mrs. Soames was waiting for them in the dining room; she followed the two men toward the front hallway. When they stopped at the door so the sheriff could open it, Mrs. Soames began to shriek again. She rushed her husband and began to slap at him, at his face and neck. Soames fell down under her hands. She slapped at his head. Finally Bud Sealy shoved in between them, pushing Mrs. Soames away.
“Quit that,” he said. “What do you think you’re doing? Goddamn it, stop that now.”
He lifted the old man by the arm and they went outside. Mrs. Soames followed them out onto the front porch. She stood watching angrily as the car drove away.
When they arrived at the courthouse Sealy walked Charlie Soames down to the basement to the sheriff’s office and booked him for the suspected embezzlement of Co-op funds. Afterward he fingerprinted him and then he led Soames back to a cell. He stood over him while the old man sat down on the cot. Soames looked very small and tired. But he wasn’t quite defeated yet.
“Well,” the sheriff said. “You want to tell me about this?”
“What’s there to tell?
“Oh there ought to be something.”
“Do you mean you want a formal confession?”
“Something like that.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Well. For starters — I’m just curious — why in hell didn’t you take off too? You had your chances, didn’t you?”
“You mean why didn’t I leave?”
“Sure. Like Jack Burdette did. You and Burdette were in this together, weren’t you? Why didn’t you jump up and leave when he did? You could of left with him.”