Summitt

Chapter Thirty-Four

The doctor’s name was Kohl. He was short and stocky with a clipped moustache and calm, brown eyes. Dr. Kohl waited for Selby at the nurses’ station in the intensive care wing of St. Anne’s Hospital. A young policeman stood outside Jennifer Easton’s room.

“She’s not conscious now,” Dr. Kohl told Selby, “but you can go in. So far we haven’t located any family. I gather she was alone when it happened. Senator Lester is in my office. I’ll tell him you’re with her.”

Jennifer lay in a narrow bed beside a shuttered window. The room was gray with early light. “If your relationship with the patient is close” — Dr. Kohl paused to study her charts — “I’m sorry to tell you her condition is very critical.”

Her eyes were closed. Strands of blond hair showed from the bandages around her head. Jennifer’s lower body was held in a cast of mesh fabric. A neck brace forced her chin up and back with rigid pressure. Tubes stretched from her slack arms to bottles of liquid suspended from an IV frame.

Selby watched her features for any flicker of recognition. She looked like an old child now, her skin smooth and taut but her face tiny between the neck brace and head bandages. Only her full, somehow defiant lower lip suggested a remnant of stubbornness and will.

A tall nurse came in and out of the room several times to check the intravenous tubes and mark the charts. In the corridor metallic voices paged doctors and floor nurses over an intercom. The sun was glazing and warming the tall windows.

Court would be in session now, Selby knew, and Ace Taggart would be on the stand to swear to whatever lies were wanted from him...

Her lids fluttered, but Jennifer didn’t open her eyes. “Harry Selby?” She barely moved her dry lips.

“Yes, I’m right here.”

Her eyes opened, tried to find him; the neck brace held her head as fixed as an ornament on a pedestal.

“Harry Selby?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t play tricks... please. Are you Jarrell Selby’s brother... I can’t see you too well.”

“I’m Jarrell’s brother, Jennifer. I’m Harry Selby. You and I spent some time together at the edge of a lake. There was a baseball game.” Her eyes seemed to clear some and focus on him. “Yes, you’re his brother. I lied to you, Harry, lied... it bothers me... he was so frightened...”

“What did you lie about, Jennifer?”

“There were no horses to ride... no sailboats on the Sound... no flags. It was all different. I lied about all that...”

“You said he was frightened. You mean Jarrell?”

“Yes. I knew him... one night, two. He was afraid... I didn’t want them to hurt him, you know that...”

Jennifer’s curved fingers opened, her hand turned toward him. Tears were in her eyes.

“What, Jennifer? What is it?”

“He’s dead... your brother, Jarrell’s dead.”

“What? When...?” Selby’s voice sounded in unison with the stroke of his heart. “Jesus... how?”

“It was—” she stopped.

“It was what? Who, for God’s sake?”

“All of them... they all killed him—”

“Who?”

“And I couldn’t stop it. I saw it but it was too late—”

“You saw them kill my brother?”

“Yes.”

“When, Jennifer? Where?”

“You wanted to help him, talk with him.”

“Who killed him?”

Her eyes were glazing over. “You listened to me, you were kind... you wanted to find me. You called the convent at Mount Olivet...”

Apparently she was confused... she had to be thinking of Goldbirn’s call to Mount Olivet... “Jennifer, do you know why Earl Thomson hurt my daughter? Do you know what they’re afraid of now?”

For several moments she didn’t answer. Then she said, “I couldn’t reach Jarrell, I had to sit and watch...” She closed her eyes. Selby held her hand gently and felt the desperation in the grip of her fingers.

Later Dr. Kohl came in and said, “We can’t do much more for her, Mr. Selby. She may regain consciousness again, but it’s hard to say. Harder to say for how long.” The doctor made a note on her chart. “The senator would like you to join him, Mr. Selby.”

But as they left Jennifer’s room a nurse stopped Selby. “There’s a call for you, sir. It’s a Dorcas Brett from East Chester. You can take it at the nurses’ counter if you like.”

“Thank you.”

Brett’s tone was flat.

“The officer they flew in from Germany, Captain Taggart, has given his testimony and I’ve finished my cross.” (Selby checked his watch, surprised how long he had been with the dying girl.) “Taggart,” Brett said, “swore under oath that he and Earl were together at Vinegar Hill in September, just before Taggart was shipped overseas...”

In the elevator going down to Dr. Kohl’s office, Selby realized from what Brett had told him that Derek Taggart had blown away one of the last remaining props of the case against Thomson. No past resentments had deterred the general’s son from doing his lying duty. Not the humiliating time he’d spent upstairs in Emma Green’s room shuddering with fear and impotence, of being stripped naked with a whore’s blood on his face. They had all been overlooked or forgotten in the service of the greater cause of saving fellow-soldier-in-arms Earl Thomson’s ass. And in the promise that if he didn’t it would be his ass...

Brett had described the scene. In a dress uniform with the theater ribbons and a Good Conduct Medal, Captain Taggart testified that he and Earl Thomson had been at his father’s farm in mid-September, which, of course, explained the presence of Thomson’s fingerprints in the garage.

Taggart’s story was a simple one. He had been on leave from his last post in Boston, had decided to look up his old friend and classmate. Furlough papers and motel bills and rental car receipts were introduced by Davic to support this.

The captain made a plausible witness, Brett told Selby. Polite, he had impressed the court with his sincerity.

The “old boys” from Rockland had talked the night away at Vinegar Hill, drinking wine and broiling steaks. Earl had dug around in the garage for the barbecue grill and charcoal. What emerged without embarrassment, with a certain indulgent good humor, in fact, was that Earl had got drunk on that occasion, overstimulated by the warmth of friendship and wine.

The night had receded completely from his thoughts, and resurfaced only under the pressure of false accusations and the ordeal of the trial.

Brett’s last words were: “I couldn’t budge his story, Harry. Furlough papers, expense vouchers for gas and motels, they all checked out, dates, amounts, everything.”

“Where’s Taggart now?”

“I’m not sure. He left immediately after he testified.”

“Can you get Burt Wilger to call me here, Brett? Can you do that?”

“Yes, I’ll find him.”

“He can reach me in Dr. Kohl’s office or Jennifer Easton s room. She’s unconscious now, Brett, but she knows something, she tried to tell me. I want to give her that chance. Tell Shana, will you? How is she?”

“Sick of their lies, of listening to them. We all are, goddammit. But she’s okay, Harry. At least I think she is.”

“All right... well, tell Wilger to call me as soon as he can.”

Victoria Kim stood at a receptionist’s desk looking through her briefcase. She smiled impersonally at Selby. “Did the Cadle dossier help?”

“The health club in particular. Thanks.”

She nodded toward the inner office, where Senator Lester was pacing. “Selby,” Lester said, “what did the Easton girl tell you? What did she want to talk to you about?”

“She told me, Senator, that my brother is dead.”

“How? When did it happen?”

“She couldn’t say.”

“Understandable, her confusion, I mean. She’s sedated, must be in pain. But what else did she say?”

“Not much more than that, Senator.”

“According to the police,” Lester said, “she jumped from her terrace, or stumbled and fell. Kohl tells me her blood shows an alcohol content of .14. Did she say whether she was alone up there?”

“No.”

“Somebody could have been with her. The police checked the whole place, the lobby guards and so forth, but there’s a self-service elevator in the rear of the building that goes from the penthouse down to the garage.” Lester stopped pacing and stared at Selby. “You’re the only person she’s talked to, only person she would talk to. What’s your guess? Was it a suicide attempt, a drunken accident, or does someone want her dead?”

Selby said evenly, “She’s not a model, she’s not a photographer and she wasn’t a close friend of my brother’s. But she is Simon Correll’s mistress. You didn’t mention that when we were chatting on about jet lag and Deep Throat and my father’s diaries.”

Lester shrugged. “I could tell you I don’t know who the hell she is, but you wouldn’t believe that, of course.”

“Why should I?”

“Now, goddammit, Selby, hear me out.” Wrinkled grooves scored the sides of Lester’s mouth, adding to the appearance of tension. He was pacing again. “Order us up some coffee, okay, Vickie? I haven’t lied to you, Selby. I also haven’t told you everything. There’s a difference... all right, here’s how I got into the picture. The Harlequin investigation was dumped in my lap when Mark Rowan died. I was the senior member of the committee. I’d wanted to get my hands on those files for a long time. I’ve been on national television telling not very interested audiences that it’s in the national interest. Well, in a way, I suppose that’s an exaggeration. Unless you believe that oil and steel and billion-dollar lines of credit grow under cabbage leaves, you know that conglomerates are a fact of life. The Correll Group is no exception. Anyway, when they acquired Harlequin that became part of our files. The Correll buy-out of Harlequin was preceded by a fraudulent inflation of company s stock, a run-up accomplished by forged receipts from the Correll people for synthetics, epoxies, drilling components, other products delivered — but only on paper. Harlequin’s cash position escalated at a cyclical rate. George Thomson resigned and sold off his stock before the windfall. Six months later he bought back his company, with stock options, at an enormous profit. A six-month hiatus satisfied the Securities and Exchange Commission but it didn’t satisfy my committee. It was a transparent insider deal. We wanted to know why. I’m being as frank as I can, Selby,” the senator went on. “We’ve got a lot of links, but no chains. We do know now somebody didn’t want me to talk to your father. The Harlequin jet flew to Oakland, California, the day he was killed. Our people found that flight plan in company records. George Thomson and a Sergeant Ledge were the passengers on that flight. Our guess is they drove to Truckee for a meeting with Jonas Selby. Maybe Jarrell was on hand. We don t know that. Your father says he was expecting someone, it could have been George Thomson and Ledge. Maybe they shot and killed him. If they did, we haven’t been able to prove it.

“But our investigators saw the tip of one iceberg after another. More links, stretching from Van Pelt in Brussels to a Mies Kraager in South Africa. And some people in Britain and the Argentine.”

Vickie Kim brought in a tray of coffee and placed it on Kohl’s desk. “Black, Selby. Right?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“That’s all I’m authorized to tell you, Selby.” Lester accepted a cup from Vickie. “My people, my investigators, turned out to be on a collision course with an ongoing inquiry by the State Department. In certain instances, State takes precedence. That means I back off. The amount of money Simon Correll represents is like a whirlpool that can suck under legislative committees, even whole countries for that matter. State’s team is headed by an old hand named Ferdinand Bittermank, who’s got his own leads to Correll. And he’s a friend of Bishop Waring. But that aside... he’s asked me for just one thing out of this meeting, something only you can help with, Selby. Bittermank wants to know whether what happened to Easton was accidental or deliberate. Did she say anything? Suicide would be the preferable alternative to murder here...”

A phone rang in the reception room. Vickie came to the door. “It’s for you, Selby,” she said. “He wouldn’t give his name.”

Selby took the call on Kohl’s phone.

“Harry?” It was Burt Wilger. “What’s up?”

“Do you know where Derek Taggart is?”

“No, not right now.”

“Can you find him?”

“I heard at the Division he’s scheduled to fly out of Philadelphia on Lufthansa around two-thirty.”

Selby looked at his watch. Almost noon. “Can’t we stop him, Burt? If Taggart leaves today, it’s doubtful he’ll ever be brought back. He’s the linchpin of Thomson’s defense, right?”

“In a way, yes,” Wilger said. “Santos perjured himself on the time and the pick-up. Thomson’s mother supported those lies. But Ace Taggart explained away the fingerprints at the scene. And I don’t have to remind you they’ve got Goldie Boy in the wings, Harry. They’ll still want to discount Shana’s positive identification of Thomson.”

“Burt, given the risk Taggart’s taking, his whole career, doesn’t it make sense that he had to be shown exactly how Thomson can and will protect him?”

“I suppose...”

“But you can’t stop Taggart from leaving for Germany this afternoon?”

“You said that, I didn’t. I’ll be at the airport when he gets there, Harry. It’s a question of holding a suspect for interfering with an officer and resisting arrest. It’s also a question of me losing a pension. But don’t worry, Ace Taggart won’t be flying off to any Teutonic blow job, pal. I’ll be in touch.”

As Selby hung up, Dr. Kohl appeared in the doorway. “Miss Easton is conscious, and she’s asking for Mr. Selby. We don’t have much time, I’m afraid.”

In Superior Court Nine, Oliver Jessup sat in the witness chair, his strange, milky eyes focused on an invisible spot above Shana’s head. The preacher, also known as Goldie Boy, answered Davic’s questions in measured tones, but his controlled voice threatened to soar at any moment toward more accustomed evangelical notes. His impassive face, the blank eyes, the controlled voice, were like the steel buckle and canvas straps of a self-imposed straitjacket.

He was pure trouble, Brett knew.

“I was in my church, on the occasion you ask me to give witness to,” Goldie Boy was now saying in response to Davic’s invitation to relate events in his own words. “I was collecting hymn books. The Tabernacle was dark. Suddenly a light played on the ceiling. I knew it was the light of man, not the light of the Lord. In the street, in front of my Tabernacle of the Golden Flame, a car had stopped. Its lights touched the church.”

“And what action did you take then, Reverend Jessup?”

“I went to the front window and looked out. I thought perhaps some lone soul wished to pray with me. That isn’t uncommon. A church closed to those in need is as unfeeling as a mother’s arms closed to a hungry or lonely child... I saw it was a red automobile, flashing and glittering in the street light. A girl, no, a woman, stepped from that car. She was laughing, her head flung back, hair loose, light shining on her lips.”

“Is that girl, that person, in this room, Reverend Jessup?”

Ollie Jessup nodded and pointed to the prosecution table. “She is sitting there, next to the lawyer lady.”

“I’d like the stenographer’s record to show that the witness has identified Shana Selby,” Davic said... “All right, Reverend Jessup did you observe the man who was driving the red automobile?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that person in this courtroom?”

“I don’t see him, sir.”

“In that case, would you describe the driver of the red car?”

“Yes, sir. He rolled down his window, the street light was full in his face. The man was middle-aged, around forty, I’d say. His hair was gray, face fleshy, high colored. He wore glasses and he blew a kiss and threw it with his fingers to the girl. She laughed, a harlot’s laugh—”

“Objection.”

“Sustained.”

“You say the girl was laughing, Reverend Jessup?”

“Yes, sir. She laughed and blew a kiss back to the man. She started to walk away, and the car drove off. I knew they were sinners and—”

“You are sure of the time, Reverend Jessup?”

“Yes, sir. It was a few minutes before ten o’clock in the evening.”

“Your Honor, I have no further questions.”

Judge Flood made a note on his pad and looked to the People’s table. “Your witness, Miss Brett. Will you inquire?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I surely will.”

A chill afternoon light streaked the windows of Jennifer’s hospital room. The day was overcast and the winds rose with gusting sounds against the building. A delicate, keening tremor shook the windowpanes.

“Harry...?”

She had spoken his name several times since he had sat down beside her bed, but when he leaned closer to tell her he was there her eyes became confused, vacant, and her words dissolved into murmuring fragments.

And then she said his name again. “Harry... listen to me, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“I lied...”

“Yes, Jennifer, I understand.”

“You must know—” Her voice was abruptly clear, even resonant, and Selby thought with a chill of Casper Gideen and his talk about death crops... gnarled, ancient trees sucking their last harvest of blooms and flowers from the earth before fading, withering and dying. An act of defiance. Or life itself, and its instinctive drive to go on... Jennifer’s voice was like that now, strong and full inside her broken, dying body.

“I lied to so many people,” she said. “I shouldn’t have lied to Simon. I loved him. Can you understand? Lies on one side, lies on the other... That’s why I understood your brother...”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing with difficulty. Her forehead looked fragile as an eggshell.

“Jennifer... you saw someone kill my brother?”

“Yes.”

“How was he killed? Where?”

“They shot him... they shot all the little mice. I saw it...”

“You watched it?”

“You don’t understand... it was over then, it was over when I saw it...”

“When did you lie to Simon Correll?”

She laughed softly, a strange sound under the circumstances... “I didn’t lie to him, but I let her listen to him. His Excellency told me to do it...”

“Jennifer, you said it was over when you saw it... did you see my brother’s death in a picture. Is that what you’re telling me? Some kind of... film?”

Her fingers went slack in Selby’s hand, she began to breathe with an effort. A monitor at the nurses’ station in the hallway recorded her responses. Within moments an intern and nurse came in.

“I don’t think she’ll regain consciousness,” the intern said after checking her pulse and eyes. “Nurse, page Dr. Kohl.”

When the intern went out Selby looked at his watch; it was three-fifteen. He tightened his grip on her hand, there was no response in her chill, thin fingers.

“Jennifer? Can you hear me?”

Her face was like a small mask, so white that her lips seemed unnaturally vivid. Even her blond eyebrows looked dark against her pale skin.

A figure shadowed the doorway, and Selby looked up to see Wilger standing there, hat in his hands. The cold afternoon light from the windows seemed to splinter against his glasses.

He looked at Jennifer. “Can she hear us?”

“I doubt it...”

“I got done like a Christmas goose, Harry. Taggart wasn’t on Lufthansa like Slocum let me find out. Taggart left on a MATS flight from Dover a couple of hours ago. It’s airborne, and the little faggot’s gone, on his way nonstop to Frankfurt... Well, I talked to Brett from the airport. I checked again on my car phone coming here.” He gave Selby the substance of Ollie Jessup’s testimony. “In her cross,” Wilger said, “Brett pounded at why he waited so long to come forward to tell his story. Jessup rolled those weird eyes of his and swore he’d never heard of the trial, never saw anything on TV, never looked at the newspapers. The good Lord told him about it a couple of nights ago, the Lord fixed it so he’d hear some talk on the radio. So preacher did his Christian duty and went to the police, direct to Slocum. He swore he’d witnessed it right in front of his church. Saw Shana get out of a red Porsche, the guy was middle-aged, they were laughing, blowing kisses. Brett couldn’t shake him. Ollie got wild-eyed and crazy, said he was exposing evil, doing the Lord’s holy work...”

Wilger looked down at Jennifer’s small, white face. “Anything from this little lady?”

“I think she’s been trying to tell me she saw Jarrell’s death on a film... she said she watched it and at first I didn’t understand...”

“Doesn’t do Jarrell much good. Or Shana.” Wilger put on his hat. “It’s guesswork, and we need more... And now Davic re-calls Shana. He can hit her with any damn thing he wants. The only way Brett can keep her off the stand is to drop the charges... But I hear Shana won’t have any of that, even if Brett wanted to give up, which she doesn’t. She’s taking the stand. Gutsy girl... You going back with me?”

“I’ll be there. And thanks.”

“For nothing, I’m sorry to say.” Wilger fumbled through his pockets and brought out a sealed envelope. “Almost forgot. Shana asked me to give you this. See you back in East Chester.” Selby took the envelope, Wilger left the room.

Well, there it was... a dead brother... a murdered brother?... and a daughter who would have to be subjected to disgusting abuse on the stand... Selby looked down at the slim body on the hospital bed... motionless... then at the cold, glazed windows dividing them from rows of cheerless gray buildings. His thoughts became like a Kaddish to the dying girl, the brother he’d never known, and the lonely figure common to them both... the father he’d glimpsed beyond the shadows of the hills and the streams all crossed—

He felt a pressure against his hand, put Shana s note in his inner pocket. Jennifer, surprisingly, had tightened her grip, like the appeal of a child being left alone, scared of the dark.

“Harry...?”

“Yes, I’m here, Jennifer...”

“I heard, I’m sorry.” Her voice became momentarily stronger. Her eyes opened, clearing for what would be the last time. “A master print... it’s still at Summitt. Correll, Thomson, they knew Earl got a copy. It’s what he’s got over them... I’m not lying now, I promise you... I only really lied about the sailboats...”

She had turned her head toward the windows, and she had stopped breathing when Dr. Kohl and the senator came in.

As the doctor made his final check and a nurse began to detach the IV tubes from Jennifer’s arms, Selby and the senator waited outside in the corridor. A uniformed police sergeant had joined the patrolman at the door to Jennifer’s room.

“Patient’s in pretty bad shape, I hear.” The sergeant nodded respectfully to Senator Lester and raised his hand in an awkward salute. “Kiley, Senator. Central district.”

The young patrolman said, “Beautiful young girl, you’d think everything to live for...”

The senator took Selby’s arm and led him into a small office adjoining the nurse’s station. Closing the door, he listened to Selby for a moment, trying to take in what Jennifer had said in her last moments.

“Well, dammit, Selby, I can’t send in the Marines on the basis of that. She could have been hallucinating. There’s no justification for search warrants or any other legal action because a dying girl mutters something about a murder. If I acted on what she told you the State Department could and would nail my ass to the floor... but then, you don’t much give a good goddamn about such matters—”

“No,” Selby said, “and I’m not interested in epoxies and phony stock deals and the icebergs your committee s running into. If Earl Thomson goes free, my daughter is marked for life as an hysterical, perverted liar.”

“Give me credit for understanding that,” Senator Lester said. “I sympathize with you, Selby, but the problem’s got to be handled realistically—”

“I’m going to act on what the Easton girl told me. There’s a master print at Summitt. She said that and I believe it. She knew she was dying, she told me the truth,” Selby said. “And, if it matters, I don’t think she was murdered... she seemed to be sick of her life, of the lies—”

“Then you’re going to Summitt City, is that what you’re telling me?”

“I’m telling you I don’t have any options. If the judge instructs that jury to return a directed verdict of not guilty the rest of it’s academic. Earl Thomson is home free for life. I’m not going to let them do that to my daughter. And this is my last chance to stop it.”

Lester rubbed his chin. “All right, dammit, you’re not even a constituent and I’m going out on a limb for you... we can’t justify it officially, but I guess we can at least be silent partners. Our man down there is Lee Crowley...”

Selby remembered Crowley, a square-faced Irisher, first at the baseball diamond with the black youngsters and Stoltzer, then discussing local fishing conditions that same day at the commissary.

They were still talking when a light tap sounded on the door and Victoria Kim looked in. “Senator, I’ve got two wire services on hold. They know Miss Easton was admitted here. They want to know if her accident has anything to do with your presence here, and your investigation.”

“Just tell them...” The senator opened the door and walked into the corridor, where the patrolman and sergeant were still on hand. Dr. Kohl and two orderlies were in the late Jennifer Easton’s room. “Tell them, Vicki, that we don’t have any statement to make. The condition of the patient will have to come from hospital authorities. And after that book Mr. Selby on the next available flight to Memphis, and send a coded message to our Summitt contact to expect him. Like I told you, Selby, I can’t send in the Marines, but I’ll back you up as best as I can.”

Victoria Kim glanced at Selby. “I’ll make your reservations immediately. The senator’s car will be waiting for you downstairs at the lobby entrance in five minutes.”

“Thanks,” Selby said. “I’ve got just one call to make first.”

From a pay phone in the corridor Selby dialed his home and through the smudged glass door of the booth saw the patrolman step aside, watched the orderlies wheeling a stretcher from the room Jennifer had occupied. A question surfaced, and nagged at him. What had made Jennifer, even in her confused state, think he had tried to call her at Mount Olivet? Jerry Goldbirn had made that call. Jerry had told Selby that when he called him at the farm from Vegas. Who else could have known about it? Only someone who had overheard the conversation...

A click sounded and Mrs. Cranston answered. Selby told her he had a message for Shana.

“All right, I’ll get a pencil, I don’t trust my memory anymore—”

“Never mind, tell her I’ll call her later, okay?”

“Sure, Mr. Selby.”

Selby waited a moment, then dialed his home again. He heard it clearly this time as the phone began to ring — a tiny metallic click, barely audible but rhythmic and steady.

“Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you again, Mrs. Cranston, but I’d like to leave a message after all. Just tell Shana I’m all right and that I love her.”

Selby put the receiver back on the hook. There was a tap on his line, he was sure of it now, someone was monitoring the calls. And he suspected it wouldn’t be smart to trust Brett’s phone either. Now he couldn’t tell Shana or Brett where he was going or what he intended to do.

He took an elevator down to the lobby of the hospital. Senator Lester’s limousine, as promised, was parked waiting for him in the circular driveway...