The Burden of Proof (46 page)

Brace's Cabin. She described it as a glamorized shack.

As he jotted this down, she pointed at him.

"Sandy, I'm not kidding. Maybe I don't agree with everything Stan's done, but it's his show. Don't think I'll get out in the sunshine and do something I wouldn,t do "Of course not. I shall speak. You need only listen. If you wish, you may take notes and repeat every word I say to Sennett."

"It's a long trip for nothing."

"Perhaps not." Most unexpectedly, he had found again a trace of whimsy.

He spoke in the greedy whisper of a child.

He was, he said, so very fond of strawberries.

On the phone, Stern could hear Silvia's voice resounding down the long, stone corridors of Dixon's home as she went to summon her husband.

Lately, whenever he spoke to his sister, he detected a note of apprehension. But by their long understanding, she would never discuss Dixon's business with Stern. And Silvia, if the truth were told, was one of those women, come of age in a bygone era, who would never willingly set foot in the sphere they saw reserved to men.

"What's up?" Dixon was not reluctant to be brusque. "I'm on the social fast track. Your sister's got us entertaining half the Museum Board in fifteen minutes." Silvia, her mother's daughter, never tired of the involvements of a high-toned social life: women's auxiliaries, charity committees, the Country club. Dixon mocked her rather than admit out loud that he loved doing what he imagined rich people did, but their nights were absorbed with charity balls and fund-raising occasions, gallery openings, exclusive parties. Stern often caught their picture in the papers, a remarkably handsome couple, looking smooth, stately, carefree. Silvia over the years had become preoccupied-- as Dixon wished her to he--with acting her part, adjourning by limousine to the city for a luncheon, a trunk show at a tony ladies' shop, the typical fleshtouching exercises with the wives of other very wealthy men who had welcomed the Harmells into ointed at him.

"Sandy, I'm not kidding. Maybe I don't agree with everything Stan's done, but it's his show. Don't think I'll get out in the sunshine and do something I wouldn,t do "Of course not. I shall speak. You need only listen. If you wish, you may take notes and repeat every word I say to Sennett."

"It's a long trip for nothing."

"Perhaps not." Most unexpectedly, he had found again a trace of whimsy.

He spoke in the greedy whisper of a child.

He was, he said, so very fond of strawberries.

On the phone, Stern could hear Silvia's voice resounding down the long, stone corridors of Dixon's home as she went to summon her husband.

Lately, whenever he spoke to his sister, he detected a note of apprehension. But by their long understanding, she would never discuss Dixon's business with Stern. And Silvia, if the truth were told, was one of those women, come of age in a bygone era, who would never willingly set foot in the sphere they saw reserved to men.

"What's up?" Dixon was not reluctant to be brusque. "I'm on the social fast track. Your sister's got us entertaining half the Museum Board in fifteen minutes." Silvia, her mother's daughter, never tired of the involvements of a high-toned social life: women's auxiliaries, charity committees, the Country club. Dixon mocked her rather than admit out loud that he loved doing what he imagined rich people did, but their nights were absorbed with charity balls and fund-raising occasions, gallery openings, exclusive parties. Stern often caught their picture in the papers, a remarkably handsome couple, looking smooth, stately, carefree. Silvia over the years had become preoccupied-- as Dixon wished her to he--with acting her part, adjourning by limousine to the city for a luncheon, a trunk show at a tony ladies' shop, the typical fleshtouching exercises with the wives of other very wealthy men who had welcomed the Harmells into their company. Other days, she played golf or tennis, or even rode.

Were it someone else, Stern would have been inclined to disparage the frivolity of this life-style, but there was no flaw in his sister which he had not wholeheartedly forgiven. In some ways, Silvia reminded him of Kate, with whom, in fact, she was uncommonly close--she had allowed beauty to be her fate. She had been treated to a privileged education and it had led her to Dixon. End of story. Even in the years when Dixon was out tromping in the cornfields to establish his clientele, he had commanded her not to work, and Silvia, with no apparent misgivings, complied.

Yet Silvia was graced--redeemed---by kindness. She remained an extraordinary person whose generosity far outran the customary or typical. Clara, who had little use for empty vessels, loved and valued Silvia. They talked two or three times a week, met for lunch, lectures at the County Art Museum, theater matinees. For decades, they had attended the symphony's Wednesday afternoon performances together.

And whatever motivated others, Stern could voice no complaints. Silvia, as no one else in the world, adored her brother. In certain moods, she sent him brief notes, bought him gifts. She called every day and he continued to speak to her in a way he shared with no others. Difficult to define, but there was a pitch to their exchanges as easy as humming.

He remained the moon to her, the stars--galaxies, a universe. How was Stern to describe as deficient a life in which he still played such a stellar part?

"We need to see one another," said Stern to Silvia's husband now. "The sooner, the better."

"Problems?"

"Many."

"Give me a hint."

"I would rather do this in person, Dixon. We have a great deal to discuss."

"I'm on my way to New York on the 5:45 tomorrow morning.

I'll be there the rest of the week." Dixon, again, was hoping for a breakthrough on the Consumer Price Index future, going to meetings in New York or Washington twice each week. "Then Silvia and I are going to the island over the Fourth." He was referring to another of their homes, one in the Caribbean, a serene /tffside refuge on a taxhaven island; the IRS, during its investigation a few years ago, had been driven to a frenzy by the inability to tmee so much as a penny going down there.

Stern, in his office behind his glass desk, drummed his fingers. Dixon, apparently, did not have time to be in trouble.

"I spent the day with Margy and Ms. Klonsky."

"I heard that was happening."

"Yes," said Stern. Of course, Dixon had heard. That was the point.

Stern felt at a terrible disadvantage over the phone."There were a number of disturbing developments."

"Such as?"

"The prosecutors seem to know about your safe, for one. I believe they will be looking for it shortly, if they are not right now."

On the other end of the line, Dixon did not stir. "Where the fuck do they find out about that?"

Where, indeed? Stern had not needed Dixon for that question. There was a certain obvious, if disquieting logic: Margy goes into the grand jury and the records are missing; Margy comes out and the government mentions the safe. In her anger, Margy could have disclosed anything.

Perhaps Dixon had been prudent enough never to mention the safe or its movements to her, but that was doubtful. In his present mood of dark suspicion it had even struck Stern that Margy might have been the govemment's source of information all along. A ridiculous thought, really, but one that continued to teemerge. In that scenario, everything today and for many -days--and nights--before had been no more than wellacted melodrama. Highly unlikely, of course. But such chacades had occurred in the past. There were cases where the government had indicted their informants to maintain their cover. Stern at this point ruled out nothing.

"I was hoping, Dixon, you could shed some light."

"Hardly," said Dixon. "Would John--"

"John? John's still lookin for the men's room, Stern. Come on."

Both men breathed into the phone.

"There are also some records, Dixon, that seem to have disappeared."

"Records?" asked Dixon, far less impulsively.

"Concerning the Wunderkind account. Are you aware of that?"

'SAware of what?"

"The account. The documents. Their disappearance?"

"I'm not sure I'm following you. We'll have to talk about this next week."

"Dixon, it is quite clearly the disappearafice of these records that is inspffing the government's interest in the safe."

"So?"

"If the records could be located--"

"No chance," Dixon said harshly. For an instant again, both men were silent, equally set back, it seemed, by the many implications of this remark and its tone. Theft Dixon went on, making a token effort to be more ambiguous. "I don't think there's much hope that'll happen."

"Dixon, this will go very badly for you. Very badly. I have told you before, it is the absolute zenith of stupidity."

With Dixon's lapse, Stern found himself able to be more direct; he imagined a certain air of affront on the other end, but he continued.

"In the current atmosphere, Dixon, if this safe is accurately traced, it will provoke many difficulties. Not to mention that it would be sorely embarrassing to me."

"Embarrassing?"

"Damaging to my Credibility. You understand. And the blame will be laid to you, nevertheless. The prosecutors will know the safe did not fall to its present location from the sky." On the phone, Sterh felt obliged to exercise some circumspection. Even with a wiretap, the government was prohibited from overhearing this kind of conversation between an attorney and his client. But you could never tell, particularly in a house as large as Dixon's, who might inadvertenfly pick up an extension.

"You mean, after telling me to hand the thing over, you want to give it back?"

"Not at ail. I am telling you that you are exercising poor judgment and creating a perilous circumstance."

"I'll take it. Send it back."

"Dixon,."

"Listen, I have to put on my flicking tuxedo. I'll be back on the sixth,"

"Dixon, this is not an opportune time for a vacation. I must ask you to return as soon as your business is concluded in New York."

"Come on. To me it sounds like a great time to get away.

It's a few days. This'll hold. Law things always do."

"Dixon, I have many questions and I expect plain an-swers.

' '

"Sure," said Dixon. "Right. Coming," he yelled, as if Silvia was calling, though Stern heard not the faintest echo of his sister's voice.

ARRIVING home late Friday night, Stern stood in the foyer of his empty home. Helen was' out of town, i. jetted off to someplace in Texas to inspect a con,a, . I, vention site; she would not be back until Sunday.

With a certain resolve, Stern prepared to undergo the weekend by himself. While a leftover chop warmed, he wandered about the house, read the mail, and hung in the eddies of various dissatisfactions. A trying week.

Before the huge windows of the solarium, he paused. By grace of prior work and fortuitous rain, Clara's garden had flourished. The bulbs that had gone into the ground last fall now rose in glorymround peonies, lilies expressly6 as hands. Stern, utterly oblivious all these months, was suddenly struck by the perfect rows and stepped out into the mild evening air. Then in the fading light and rainsweet breeze, he froze, lurching a bit as he came to a complete halt. Across the hedgerow, he caught sight of Fiona Cawley stooping in her yard.

To say that he had avoided Fiona was not correct. He had hidden from her; he sneaked in and out of his own home like a commando. To his present mind, that incident had absolutely not occurred. Only with the prospect of confrontafion did it recur to him with a harrowing pang.

What had he done? What grand figure of macho revenge had he thought to imitate? Now, a week later, he was unwilling to accept the image of Alejandro Stern as a reprobate, a bounder making unwelcome passes at the neighborhood wives.

Other men might have been more casual with their honor, but since a few hoUrs afterwards, everything surrounding the episode seemed to have been smashed into storage. He had never phoned Cal. He had stopped searching for Nate, and even felt somewhat relieved of his urge, so great a week ago, to grind Dr. Cawley like pumice. No doubt, he'd have it out with Nate sooner or later. But only when Stern had accepted his own conduct, when he was ready to chat, one cad to another; only, frankly, when he had a better grip on himself and the mysterious world of his intentions.

Now he stood stock-still, like some creature in the wild, but something, the scent of fear perhaps, gave him away.

Fiona reared her head, saw him, and with the creel curl of a powerful unpleasant expression advanced on the horny row of privet that marked the property line between the Cawleys' and the Sterns'. She had huge rusty garden shears in hand and was dressed in what she took to be gardening clothes, a monochrome outfit that was the green of an avocado, slacks and a clingy top. Her hair, usually smooth as a helmet, was windblown and hung in clumps, holding a few small brown leaves and twigs. She leaned across the privet, gesturing, hissing actually: Come here.

"Sandy, I need to talk to you." She advanced along the row.

"I don't want you avoiding me."