This Present Darkness (46 page)

She was lying on a table, attended by a doctor and two nurses who were washing her face and dressing her cuts. At the sight of her, Marshall could contain himself no longer; all the anger and frustration and terror of this whole day exploded from his lungs in one vehement expletive.

Bernice responded through swollen and bleeding lips, “I guess that about covers it.”

He hurried to the side of the table as the doctor and two nurses
gave him room. He took her hand in both of his and couldn’t believe what had happened to her. Her attacker had been merciless.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded, his blood boiling.

“We went the whole fifteen rounds, boss.”

“Don’t clown with me, Bernie. Did you see who did it?”

The doctor cautioned him, “Easy now, let’s take care of her first …”

Bernice whispered something. Marshall couldn’t make it out. He leaned closer and she whispered it again, her swollen mouth slurring her words. “He didn’t rape me.”

“Thank God,” Marshall said, straightening up.

She wasn’t satisfied with his response. She motioned to him again to lean forward and listen. “All he did was beat me up. That’s all he did.”

“Aren’t you satisfied?” Marshall whispered back rather loudly.

She was handed a glass of water to wash her mouth out. She swirled the water around in her mouth and spit into a bowl.

“Was Strachan’s house nice and neat?” she asked.

Marshall held back his answer. He asked the doctor, “When can I talk to her in private?”

The doctor thought about it. “Well, she’s going in for X-rays in just a few minutes—”

“Give me thirty seconds,” Bernice requested, “just thirty seconds.”

“It can’t wait?”

“No. Please.”

The doctor and the nurses stepped out of the room.

Marshall spoke softly. “Strachan’s place was a mess; somebody really went through it. He’s gone; I’ve no idea where he is or how he is.”

Bernice reported, “Weed’s place was the same way, and there was a threat spray-painted on the wall. He didn’t show up for work today, and Dan at The Evergreen Tavern said he was really upset about something. He’s gone, too. I didn’t find him.”

“And now they’ve got me wrapped up with Ted Harmel’s death. They found out I was there this morning. They think I did it.”

“Marshall, Susan Jacobson was right: our phone must be bugged. Remember? You called me at the
Clarion
and told me you’d been at Ted’s and where you were going next.”

“Yeah, yeah, I figured that. But that means the Windsor cops would have to be in on it too. They knew right where and when to find me at
Strachan’s.”

“Brummel and Detective Nelson are like
that
, Marshall,” Bernice said, holding two fingers together.

“They must have ears everywhere.”

“They knew I’d be at Weed’s alone … and when …” Bernice said, and then something else dawned on her. “Carmen knew it too.”

That revelation hit Marshall almost like a death sentence. “Carmen knows a
lot
of things.”

“We’ve been hit, Marshall. I think they’re trying to get a message to us.”

He straightened up. “Wait’ll I find Brummel!”

She grabbed his hand. “Be careful. I mean,
really
be careful!”

He kissed her forehead. “Happy X-rays.”

He stormed out of the room like a raging bull, and no one dared get in his way.

MARSHALL WAS SEEING
red, and was so angry that he parked crookedly across two parking places in the Courthouse Square parking lot. He thought that walking fast across the parking lot to the police department’s door might air-cool him a bit, but it didn’t. He jerked open the door and went into the reception area. Sara wasn’t at her desk. Brummel wasn’t in his office. Marshall checked his watch. It was 3 o’clock on the dot.

A woman came around the corner. He’d never seen her before.

“Hello,” he said, and then added very abruptly, “Who are you?”

She was quite taken aback by the question, and timidly answered, “Well, I’m … I’m Barbara, the receptionist.”

“The receptionist? What happened to Sara?”

She was intimidated and a little indignant. “I—I don’t know of any Sara, but can
I
help you?”

“Where’s Alf Brummel?”

“Are you Mr. Hogan?”

“That’s right.”

“Chief Brummel is waiting for you in the conference room, right down at the end of the hall.”

She hadn’t finished her sentence before Marshall was already on his way. If the door latch would have given the slightest resistance, it wouldn’t have survived Marshall’s entrance. He burst into the room
ready to wring the first neck he could get his hands around.

There were many necks to choose from. The room was full of people Marshall had not been expecting, but as he looked around at all the faces, he had no trouble guessing the meeting’s agenda. Brummel had friends with him. Big shots. Liars. Schemers.

Alf Brummel sat at the conference table surrounded by his many comrades and smiling that toothy grin. “Hello, Marshall. Please close the door.”

Marshall kicked the door shut with his foot without looking away from all these people now gathered, no doubt to have it out with him. Oliver Young was there, as was Judge Baker, County Comptroller Irving Pierce, Fire Marshall Frank Brady, Detective Spence Nelson from Windsor, a few other men Marshall didn’t recognize, and finally the mayor of Ashton, David Steen.

“Well, hello there, Mayor Steen,” Marshall said coldly. “How interesting to find you here.”

The mayor only smiled cordially and silently, like the dumb puppet Marshall always thought he was.

“Have a seat,” said Brummel, waving his hand toward an empty chair.

Marshall didn’t move. “Alf, is this the meeting you and I were going to have?”

“This is the meeting,” said Brummel. “I don’t think you know everyone in the room …” With overcooked graciousness, Brummel introduced the new or possibly new faces. “I’d like you to meet Tony Sulski, a local attorney, and I believe you’ve dealt with Ned Wesley, president of the Independent Bank. We understand you’ve had a conversation at least with Eugene Baylor, college regent. And you of course remember Jimmy Clairborne, from Commercial Printers.” Brummel showed his teeth widely, obnoxiously. “Marshall, please have a seat.”

Cusswords were going through Marshall’s mind as he told Brummel squarely, “Not while I’m outnumbered.”

Oliver Young piped up in answer to that. “Marshall, I can assure you that this will be a civil and cordial meeting.”

“So which one of you beat the ever-living daylights out of my reporter?” Marshall was hardly feeling civil.

Brummel responded, “Marshall, these things happen to people
who aren’t careful.”

Marshall smeared some descriptions on Brummel like icing from a sewer trap and then told him seethingly, “Brummel, this didn’t just happen. She was set up. She was assaulted and injured and your cops haven’t done a thing, and we all know why!” He glared at them. “You’re all in on this whole thing, and your tricks come real cheap. You vandalize homes, you make threats, you drive people out, you act like some kind of Mafia boys’ club!” He aimed an accusing finger at Brummel. “And you, buddy, are a disgrace to your profession. You’ve used your entrusted powers to silence and intimidate, and to cover up your own dirty work!”

Young tried to interject. “Marshall—”

“And you call yourself a man of God, a pastor, a pious example of what a good Christian should be. You lied to me all along, Young, hiding behind some excuse you call professional ethics, guzzling down all that mystical bull from that Langstrat witch and then acting like you knew nothing about it. How many people who trusted you have you sold out to a lie?”

The men in the room sat silent. Marshall kept unloading. “If you guys are public servants, Hitler was a great humanitarian! You schemed and manipulated and horned your way into this town like mobsters, and you silenced anybody who spoke up or got in your way. You will read about it in the paper, gentlemen! If you want to make any comments or denials I’ll be glad to hear them, I’ll even print them, but it’s press time for all of you whether you like it or not!”

Young raised his hands to get just a short moment to speak. “Marshall, all I can say is, be sure of your facts.”

“Don’t worry about that. I have my facts, all right. I have innocent people like the Carluccis, the Wrights, the Andersons, the Dombrowskis, over a hundred of them, who were driven out of their homes and businesses by intimidation and trumped-up tax delinquencies.”

Young piped in, “
Intimidation?
Marshall, it’s hardly within our control to prevent fear, foolish superstition, family break-ups. Just what will you print? That the Carluccis, for example, were convinced their store was haunted and that evil spirits, of all things, broke their small son’s hands? Come now, Marshall.”

Marshall pointed at Young straight from the shoulder. “Hey, Young,
that’s your specialty. I’ll print that you and your bunch preyed on their fears and orchestrated their superstitions, and I’ll tell all about the wild practices and philosophies you used to pull it off. I know all about Langstrat and her mind-tripping hocus-pocus, and I know that every one of you is into it.

“I’ll print that you set people up with phony raps just to get them removed from their jobs and offices so your own people could move in: you framed Lew Gregory, the former comptroller, with a phony conflict of interest charge; you pushed and pressed for that big turnover on the Whitmore College Board of Regents after Dean Strachan caught Eugene Baylor”—Marshall looked right at Baylor as he said it—“juggling the books! You put Ted Harmel out of town on his ear with that phony child-molesting rap, and I find it interesting that Adam Jarred’s poor little victim daughter now has a special fund set up for her college education. If I look far enough, I’ll probably find the money came out of your pockets!

“I’ll print that my reporter was falsely arrested by Brummel’s flunkies because she took a picture she wasn’t supposed to, a picture of Brummel, Young, and Langstrat with none other than Alexander M. Kaseph himself, the Big Boy behind a conspiracy to take over the town, aided and abetted by all of you, a bunch of power-hungry, pseudo-spiritualized neo-Fascists!”

Young smiled calmly. “Which means you plan to write about the Omni Corporation.”

Marshall couldn’t believe he was actually hearing it coming from Young’s mouth. “So now it’s tell-the-truth time?”

Young continued, very relaxed, very confident. “Well, you have been tracking down everything that Omni has bought and owns, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right.”

Young laughed a little when he asked, “And how many houses would you say were turned over to Omni because of tax delinquency?”

Marshall refused to play games. “You tell me.”

Young simply turned to Irving Pierce, the comptroller.

Pierce shuffled through some papers. “Mr. Hogan, I believe your records show that one hundred and twenty three homes were auctioned to Omni for failure to pay taxes …”

He knew. Well, so what? “I’ll stand by that.”

“You were in error.”

Let’s hear the lie, Pierce.

“The correct number is one hundred and
sixty-three.
All legally, all legitimately, over the past five years.”

Marshall hated it, but he couldn’t think of a comeback.

Young spoke on. “You
are
correct about Omni owning all these properties, plus many other commercial enterprises as well. But you also should note how these properties have been substantially improved under this new ownership. I would say that Ashton is certainly a better town for it.”

Marshall could feel the steam rising in his pipes. “Those people paid their taxes! I’ve talked to over a hundred of them!”

Pierce was unmoved. “We have substantial evidence to show that they did not.”

“In a pig’s eye!”

“And in regard to the college …” Young looked at Eugene Baylor, giving him his cue.

Baylor stood to speak. “I’ve really had quite enough of this slander and gossip about the college being in financial arrears. The college is doing just fine, thank you, and this—this smear campaign that Eldon Strachan began must stop or we will sue! Mr. Sulski has been retained for just that eventuality.”

“I have records, I have proof, Baylor, that you’ve embezzled Whitmore College out of millions.”

Brummel piped in, “You have no proof, Marshall. You have no records.”

Marshall had to smile. “Oh, you ought to just see what I have.”

Young said simply, “We have seen it. All of it.”

Marshall had the feeling deep inside that he had just stepped off a cliff.

Young continued with a progressively cooling tone. “We’ve been following your futile attempts from the very beginning. We know you talked to Ted Harmel, we know you’ve been interviewing Eldon Strachan, Joe Carlucci, Lew Gregory, and hundreds of other quacks, malcontents and doomsayers. We know you’ve been harassing our people and our businesses. We know that you’ve been snooping in all our personal
records.” Young paused for effect, and then said, “That’s all going to stop now, Marshall.”

“Hence this meeting!” Marshall said with sarcastic flair. “What’s in store for me, Young? How about it, Brummel? Got a nice morals rap to pin on me? You gonna send someone to tear up my house too?”

Young stood up, motioning for a chance to speak. “Marshall, you may never understand our true motivations, but at least give me one opportunity to try to clear the matter up for you. There is no predatory thirst for power here among us, as you probably think. We do not seek power as an end.”

“No, you just came upon it purely by accident,” Marshall said cuttingly.

“Power for us, Marshall, is only necessary as one means toward our real goal for mankind, and that is nothing other than universal peace and prosperity.”