Bellows Falls

Chapter 25

Greg Davis stopped near the entrance to the railroad trestle. It had been two days since my swim in the Connecticut River-and an overnight stay in the hospital for observation-and the water level had dropped back to where the hydroelectric plant could take everything the river had. The Tainter gates were closed, and only a thin film of water coated the downstream side of the dam.

Davis pointed to where Norm Bouch and I fell in that night. “That’s where we found him. Looks like a fun place to swim right now-under a small waterfall-but we couldn’t grab hold of him till they lowered the gates a few minutes, and then we had to move fast. Before that, he just kept bobbing out of sight… I don’t know how you made it.”

I stared at the placid scene, no more dangerous now than a backyard pool. Sensitive as always, Davis didn’t say any more but stared off with affection in the other direction, across the canal at the gritty, timeworn, ugly backside of his home town.

I broke away from my daydreaming and followed his gaze. A small group of carpenters was working on one of the buildings overlooking the canal, reinforcing a balcony the length of a city block. “I hear congratulations are in order,” I said.

He turned to me and smiled, embarrassment mixed with pride. “The Chief thing? Thanks. It’s only a recommendation. The powers-that-be have still got to rule on it.”

“Latour’s backing can’t hurt, especially now that he’s the hero of the hour.”

Davis went back to the view. “Yeah… He had that coming, though. He put his whole life into this town, and he did a good job. It wasn’t his fault he got tired. Not that he’s taking off… He told me yesterday he’ll stick around to help the town rebuild itself, and that Shippee’ll be his first project. He thinks he has enough on him to encourage him to go job hunting. So there may be light at the end of the tunnel.”

“How’s Emily doing?”

He laughed. “There’s someone who learned a lot in a short time. You don’t speak ill of the chief around her.” He looked at his watch. “You want a ride back? I gotta get to work.”

I shook my head. “It’s a pretty day. I’ll walk. Thanks.”

I watched him drive slowly across the tracks and down the yard toward the road. Emily Doyle had been an easy fix. She was a young enthusiast, dealing with the world in black-and-white terms, unconcerned with such inconsistencies as a contradictory alliance with Emile Latour.

Brian Padget was another matter. I’d started today’s pilgrimage to Bellows Falls with a visit to his home, to formally let him know that all charges had been dropped, and that the papers would be running a full explanation of the circumstances in a few days.

Not surprisingly, this had not affected him like the wave of a magic wand, eradicating the past and healing all wounds. He’d merely moved to the window and stood there, sightlessly staring out, fingering a curtain in one hand.

“What are you going to do now?” I’d asked. “Latour said you can pick up where you left off with the department, if you want, once you’ve paid the piper for playing maverick. Probably not a bad idea, at least for the short run. Give you time to think things over.”

He hadn’t answered, and I’d been forced to think of the differences between us. Despite the despair and the growing sense of futility that had nagged me early on, unconsciously I’d been bolstered throughout by stalwarts like Greg Davis and Jonathon Michael and even Emile Latour, who’d finally risen to the task at hand. I’d also had a lifetime of experience to call upon, and in Gail the backing of a friend on whose support I could count.

Padget had benefited from nothing like this. Manipulated into disgrace, he’d been just as passively extracted from it, and like any piece of manhandled baggage, while he’d survived the trip physically, he’d been forever scarred by the process. Watching him stare out into space, his options unknown, I’d mourned my inability to be of much use. I hoped he’d stay in law enforcement, but I knew that might be expecting too much.

I turned away from the river and walked toward the village, my reborn optimism attracted by the repair work being done on that old building.

Ignoring the clearly written sign not to do so, I crossed the canal using the short railroad trestle, and cut left along the opposite bank until I was standing at water’s edge, in the grass, looking up at the imposing structure. From this side, it reached four stories to the sky-stained, rusting, disfigured by an ugly fire escape, and yet oddly regal. Beneath the grime were ornate cornices and fancy moldings-details of an ancient attention to care and pride-the murmurings of the old Bellows Falls.

One of the carpenters paused in his work to look down at me from the balcony. “How’re you doin’?”

“Okay. Fixing the place up?”

“Yeah. Been empty longer than I been alive. Still in good shape, though. They want to turn it into a teen center, a restaurant, who the hell knows?”

“That’s a good thing, though, right-instead of letting it rot?”

He shrugged and turned to peer at it again. “I guess. They might pull it off this time-God knows the town’s due for some good luck. But if I had the money, I’d spend it somewhere else.”

“You from around here?” I asked. He looked down at me for a long time, his face finally breaking into a smile. “Yeah-probably die here, too… I see your point. Guess I better get back to work.”