Falls The Shadow

45

With my search for Tanya Rose stymied by Madam Anna’s milky-white eye, I turned my attention back to the François Dubé case. Which explains why I was sitting next to Beth in my car in the salubrious environs of the Peaceful Valley Memorial Park.

“There’s something almost cheerful about a cemetery on a shining day, isn’t there?” I said. “The bright grass, the gleaming stones.”

“I find it morbid,” said Beth.

“Or maybe I just enjoy the peace and serenity, as if a manifestation of the promised sweet kiss of death.”

She leaned back, looked at me. “The sweet kiss of death?”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to just be finished with all the striving, the hopes, the jarring needs, the raging disappointments? Wouldn’t it be nice to just be done with it all and to fall into the arms of that final, gentle sleep?”

“You don’t have to die for that, Victor, just retire to Boca.”

“I can’t eat dinner at four.”

“I think you like cemeteries because it’s the one place in the world where you’re surrounded by people with less promising futures than your own.”

“That must be it. You’ve been cheery lately.”

“Have I?”

“Oh, yes. Smiling at your desk, dancing in alleyways.”

“Maybe anyone who doesn’t look forward to the sweet kiss of death seems cheery to you.”

“No. It’s something else. You’re glowing.”

“As promised by that infomercial for this year’s revolutionary new skin-care treatment.”

“Is that it? Did you make that call to change your life?”

“No. I still haven’t used up last year’s revolutionary new skin-care treatment. Where is she?”

“She should be here soon.”

“You couldn’t have just called her?”

“Where’s the impact in that? Our intrepid investigator, Phil Skink, left us a schedule of her regular visits around the town. Today it’s the Peaceful Valley Memorial Park before she heads to her upscale nail salon.”

“And you don’t think it’s rude to intercept her here?”

“Perfectly appropriate, if you ask me.”

“How’s Carol?”

“Fine.”

“I agree, mighty fine. But how are things with her?”

“Progressing.”

“You don’t sound so excited.”

“She’s rather assertive.”

“And that’s a problem how?”

“I don’t know, Beth. I sort of like to dress myself in the morning. Wait, over there. Is that a hearse or a limo?”

“A limo.”

“Bingo,” I said.

The long black car eased to a stop at Row U. The driver hopped out, opened the back door, and out slid Velma Takahashi. She was dressed for the part of the grieving friend with a terrible secret: white scarf around the hair, dark glasses over the eyes, deep red lipstick on her puffy lips, a single white rose in her hand. She walked slowly down the row and then stopped at a granite marker and stared for a moment before kneeling in front of it. We gave her some minutes to perform her ministrations, smoothing the grass, tossing off the seedpods from the maple overhead, we gave her some minutes to wallow in her guilt before we stepped out of the car.

Her head rose at the sound of our doors closing. She aimed her dark, round glasses our way, stared for a few seconds, and then turned back to the gravestone as if she had been waiting for us all along.

We walked slowly toward Velma until we were standing behind her. In front of us was a marker that spread across three sites. CULLEN. And carved over the site to the right, where Velma kneeled, was the name LEESA SARA, and beneath that the words BELOVED DAUGHTER AND MOTHER. Her parents had scrubbed her married name and wifely status from Leesa’s gravestone, and you couldn’t really blame them.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“Uh-oh,” she said without turning around or rising at the sound of my voice. “Does that mean we’re breaking up?”

“Something like that. We need to talk about Clem.”

“What is there to talk about?” she said. “He is nothing, a figment of a bad dream from a different life.”

“But you think he might have killed Leesa.”

“Since when does what I think matter? I think people mourning their friends at a cemetery should be left in peace, and yet here you are.”

“What is Clem’s full name?”

“Clem.”

“Where is he now, do you know?”

“He’s nowhere. He’s a phantom. He appeared as if by magic, did his damage, and now he’s gone.”

“We’re going to need you to testify about him. About how you met him, how you gave him to Leesa, how they fought, how after she was brutally murdered, he disappeared. We’re going to need you to tell the jury everything.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why the hell not?” said Beth with a snap of anger in her voice. “What kind of witch will pay for François’s defense but not tell the truth to save him?”

Velma Takahashi turned toward Beth and stared at her through the dark glasses. “He’s quite charming, isn’t he?” she said, a spider’s bite in her voice. “So much the gallant. But maybe, dear one, he’s not as gallant as he seems.”

“He needs your help,” said Beth.

“Why does he need mine when he already has yours?”

I didn’t like the tone of Velma’s voice, the way the two women had squared off. I didn’t like any of this. She was playing with us, was Velma Takahashi, tossing us about like balls of catnip placed here for her amusement. But I knew how to shut off the game. I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out a legal document stapled on a blue backing, dropped it onto Leesa Dubé’s grave, right in front of the still-kneeling Velma Takahashi.

“You’ve been served,” I said.

“What is this?” she said, scooping up the subpoena and rising angrily to her feet. “What the hell are you doing?”

“The trial starts next week,” I said.

“You know that my situation is delicate.”

“Funny thing, Velma, I don’t care about your prenup. If you don’t show up when I tell you, I’ll have a bench warrant issued. And then I’ll have you arrested. A picture of you in the paper with your hands cuffed behind your back will be just what your husband wants to see.”

“You must leave me out of it.”

“Can’t,” I said.

“Don’t do this, Victor.” She took a step forward, reached a hand to my chest, let her expression turn dewy and moist. “Please.”

“It’s done,” I said.

“Victor?”

“This Grace Kelly, Kim Novak thing you have going on is very becoming, really. That scarf, nice touch. But I have to say I like you better in your tennis outfit.”

Her moist expression turned bitter in the blink of an eye. “Don’t forget your place, you dickless wonder,” she said.

I laughed, which only made her angrier. She threw the subpoena at my chest. As the paper slid to the ground, I laughed harder.

“You thought by controlling the money you controlled the story,” I said, “but I don’t work like that.”

“Make me testify and you won’t get another cent.”

“I’ll find a way to get paid,” I said. “Maybe your husband will cover the bill in gratitude for proving your infidelity. And if he won’t – screw it. I’ll finish the case pro bono just to make you squirm.”

“You’re an insignificant worm.”

“Yes I am,” I said cheerfully, “on a useless piece of rock hurtling through a universe devoid of rhyme or reason. And yet you’re still going to testify.”

She stood before me for another moment, swaying as if she had taken a shot, and then stormed off toward the limo.

I kneeled down, picked up the subpoena. “You forgot something, Velma.”

She didn’t slow her pace. “Screw yourself.”

“Show up, or I’ll put you in jail.”

She stopped, turned around. “You have no idea what you are getting into.”

“You’re exactly right. I move through life in a blissful state of ignorance. It’s the only way people like you and me can live with ourselves. See you in court.”

She turned away again, headed in a trot toward the limo.

“Oh, and Velma, when you come,” I called out after her, “the scarf thing would work wonderfully on the stand.”

We watched as she dived into the open limo door, watched as the driver pulled immediately away, watched the dust kick up as the limo made its exit from the Peaceful Valley Memorial Park. I had enjoyed the whole scene immensely, and yet something troubled me.

“Do you feel,” I said, “like we’ve just been in the middle of something staged for the adoring crowd?”

“She seemed angry enough,” said Beth.

“That’s exactly it. Angry enough. She comes to the cemetery to drop a flower at her best friend’s grave, we show up asking about Clem, a man who might have killed said friend, and suddenly the scene erupts. But it’s exactly everything you would expect from such a scene. First she acts all imperious, then she tries to seduce me, then she challenges my manhood, then she cuts off our fees, and then she’s rushing off as if she’s late for a manicure.”

“As usual you’re looking too hard,” said Beth. “She doesn’t want to testify. We’re a threat to everything she’s worked for.”

“Of course we are,” I said. “But still, even with all she said, it seemed the only time there was real venom in her voice was when she went after you.”

I looked at Beth, her gaze nervously danced away. “She was out of line,” said Beth.

“Was she?”

“Well, maybe not on the dickless wonder thing, but on everything else.”

I laughed and then stopped laughing. Beth and I were staring one at the other. There was something in her face just then, was it fear, maybe? Fear of what? Of what she was feeling, of what she was risking, of everything going all to hell? After a moment she turned away, looked down at Leesa Dubé’s grave.

“We need to find him,” she said, a note of desperation in her voice. “There’s no telling what Velma will say in court, and we can’t trust Sunshine. We need to find Clem.”

“We’re doing what we can.”

“I know, but it’s not enough.”

“You’re in deep, aren’t you?”

“It’s not like you think.”

“Then what is it like?”

She didn’t answer.

“I don’t trust him,” I said.

“You don’t have to.”

“You want the lecture?”

“No.”

“Okay,” I said. “But it can’t come to anything.”

“I don’t want anything except to help him every way I can.”

“We’re lawyers, Beth. We have rules.”

“Is this the lecture?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But, Beth, something isn’t right here, and that son of a bitch, I’m telling you, is in the middle of it.”