Russell paused again, and in the silence he realized they were both holding their breaths.
‘I have reason to believe that, for some reason I can’t explain, the two men’s dogtags got mixed up. Matt Corey was declared dead and everyone thought the survivor was Wendell Johnson. And when he recovered, he accepted this change of identity. There were no photos or prints to contradict him. His face was completely deformed and it’s quite likely he didn’t have any prints left.’
Silence fell in the room. A silence evoking memories and provoking the appearance of ghosts. Ben Shepard allowed a tear held back for years to roll from his eyes and drip onto the photograph.
‘Mr Shepard—’
The old man interrupted him, looking at him with eyes uncorrupted by age or men. ‘Ben.’
In the light of this unexpected bond, Russell asked his next question in a calm voice.
‘Ben, when did you last see Matt Corey?’
The old man took an eternity to answer. ‘In the summer of 1972, just after he left the military hospital.’
After this admission, the old man decided at last to pour himself some coffee. He picked up the cup and took a long sip.
‘He came to see me and told me the same story you just told me. Then he took the cat and left. I never saw him again.’
Russell decided that Ben Shepard wasn’t a good liar, and that what he had just told him, even if not a lie, was only a half-truth. But at the same time he realized that if he got something wrong, the old man would clam up and he wouldn’t get anything more out of him.
‘Did you know Matt had a son?’
‘No.’
The way Ben Shepard lifted the cup to his mouth again immediately after uttering that monosyllable struck Russell as a little too hurried. He realized that he had no alternative but to let the old man know how important any information he had was.
And there was only one way to do that.
‘Ben, I know you’re a man of honour, in the best sense of that word. And I want to give you credit for that. I’m going to tell you something I’d never dream of revealing if you weren’t the man I think you are.’
Ben made a gesture with the cup to thank him and invite him to continue.
‘It’s a hard story to tell, because it’s a hard story to believe.’
He said that for Ben’s sake, but at the same time to confirm to himself the absurdity of the whole story. And the absolute necessity to bring it to an end as soon as possible.
‘Have you been following the news of the attacks in New York?’
Ben nodded. ‘Terrible business.’
Russell took a deep breath before continuing. He couldn’t do it physically, but in his mind he had his fingers crossed. He looked Ben straight in the eyes. ‘Matt Corey moved to New York after the last time you saw him, and spent the rest of his life working in the construction industry.’
Instinctively, the old man was pleased. ‘He was very good. It was the thing he was born for. He understood more at his age than many people who’d studied.’
There was both affection and regret on Ben Shepard’s face. But Russell felt his own face drawn with anxiety. He took care that what he was about to say should seem an expression of compassion and not an insult.
‘Matt was a very sick person, Ben. And after what had happened to him, the solitary life he led all those years made his mental state even worse. During his career, he planted bombs in many of the buildings he worked on. New York is full of them. Six months after he died, they started exploding.’
Abruptly, the old man’s face turned pale.
Russell gave him time to absorb what he had said. Then, with all the conviction he could muster, he said, ‘If we don’t find Matt Corey’s son, those explosions will continue.’
Ben Shepard put the cup down on the little table next to him, then stood up and went to the window. He stood there for a few moments. He might have been listening to the song of the birds or the beating of his heart or maybe the wind in the branches. Or else something that didn’t come from outside but from inside. Maybe the last words he and Matt Corey had said to each other, many years earlier, were echoing in his mind.
Russell thought it best at this point to clarify his own role. ‘I’m here because I’m working in collaboration with the New York Police Department. It’s a privilege I was given because I had some information they thought would help them. If you talk about it to me, you have my word that I’ll tell them only what’s absolutely necessary to stop the attacks, without involving you.’
Ben said nothing, and still did not turn around. Russell decided to insist on the gravity of the situation.
‘More than a hundred people have died, Ben. And others will die. I can’t say how many, but next time the death toll could be even higher.’
The old man started speaking without turning around. ‘When I met him, Matt was in a reformatory up north, near the state border. I’d won the contract to renovate the building. When we got there and started putting up the scaffolding, the other kids looked at us suspiciously. Some of them made fun of us. But Matt was interested – he liked the way things kept changing in front of his eyes. He asked me questions, wanted to know what we were doing and how we were doing it. In the end I was convinced, and I asked the warden if he could work with us. The warden wasn’t too crazy about the idea at first, but he agreed in the end, though he warned me the boy was a difficult character. His family background was enough to make anyone shudder.’
Russell realized that Ben was reliving an important moment of his life. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling he was the first person to hear any of this.
‘I became fond of the boy. He was quiet and touchy, but he was a quick learner. When he left reformatory, I took him to work for me permanently and gave him that room to live in. There was a gleam in his eyes when he went in there for the first time. It was the first place he’d ever lived in that was really his.’
The old man moved away from the window and came and sat down again facing Russell.
‘Matt soon became the son I never had. And my right-hand man. It was the other workers who gave him the nickname Little Boss, because of how he ran things whenever I was away. If he’d stayed, I’d have left him the business, instead of selling it to the asshole who bought it. But one day he told me he’d volunteered for Vietnam.’
‘He volunteered? I didn’t know that.’
‘This is the really lousy part of the story. The kind of story that makes you ashamed to be a man.’
Russell said nothing, but waited. Ben had decided to share with him a bitter pill he’d never, in all that time, managed to swallow alone.
‘One day we were called in to work on an extension to the house of the county judge. Herbert Lewis Swanson, God curse him wherever he is. That was when Matt met Karen, the judge’s daughter. I was there the first time they met. I knew right away that something had happened between them. And I also realized it’d lead to nothing but trouble.’
The old man smiled at the memory of that love.
‘They started seeing each other in secret. It may have been the only happy time in Matt’s life. Sometimes I like to kid myself that the time he spent with me was happy, too.’
‘I’m sure it was.’
The old man shrugged, as if to say: what’s the point in remembering the past? Look at me now.
‘Anyway, it was no use. Chillicothe’s a small town, and not an easy place to hide in. Sooner or later, everyone notices everything. The judge soon found out his only daughter was seeing a boy. Then he found out who the boy was. Karen’s life was all mapped out. She was beautiful, rich, intelligent. A guy like Matt wasn’t quite what her father had planned for her. And her father was a very, very powerful man at the time. He practically owned the town.’
Ben allowed himself a few more sips of his coffee. He seemed reluctant to turn that memory into words, as if doing so meant being hurt a second time.
‘Around about that time there was a
double murder, down by the river. A couple of hippies camping out in the open were found dead. Both stabbed. They never found the killer, and they never found the murder weapon. The sheriff at the time was a man named Duane Westlake and he had a deputy named Will Farland. Both of them were tied hand and foot to Swanson, who’d bought them with privileges and money. A few nights after the bodies had been discovered, these two burst into Matt’s room with a search warrant signed by the judge himself. Among his things they found marijuana, and they also found a big hunting knife, which could have been the murder weapon. Matt told me later that he’d been forced to put his fingerprints on the handle of that knife.’
The old man’s voice was full of anger.
‘I’m sure Matt had never sold an ounce of that stuff to anyone. And he’d never owned a knife.’
Russell had no reason to do so, but he was inclined to believe him.
‘They dragged him to jail. And there they told him what could happen to him. A charge of using and dealing narcotics, and the much more serious charge of homicide. They were the ones who put the grass in Matt’s room. As for the knife, I can’t quite bring myself to believe the two of them killed the hippies on purpose. But the sheriff had been the first person at the scene of the crime, and getting rid of the weapon would have been child’s play for someone like him. In addition, seeing that Matt was living at my place, those two sons of bitches told him they could charge me with being an accessory. Then they offered him an alternative to being tried and sentenced. He could volunteer for Vietnam.’
Ben finished his coffee.
‘And he agreed. The rest you know.’
‘A story as old as the world.’
Ben Shepard looked at him with his blue eyes, in which the pain was now fully accepted. ‘The world’s still too young to make sure stories like that never happen again.’
‘What happened to Karen?’
‘She couldn’t believe it when he made that decision. She was incredulous at first, then desperate. But one of the conditions of the agreement he made with the sheriff was that he couldn’t tell anyone. Not her, not me.’
Without asking, his host poured some more coffee into Russell’s empty cup.
‘After a period of training at Fort Polk, in Louisiana, Matt was granted leave, like everyone before they left for Nam. He snuck back here, and spent a month practically shut up at my place. Karen would come and join him there. They spent all the time they could in that room and I hope every one of those minutes lasted years, although that’s not usually how it is. A month and a half after he left, Karen came to see me and told me she was pregnant. She also wrote him about it. We never got a reply, because soon after that we heard that he’d died.’
‘What became of her?’
‘Karen was a strong woman. When her father found out she was pregnant, he tried every way he could to persuade her to have an abortion. But she held out, threatened to tell everyone who the father of the child was and that the judge wanted her to have an abortion. That wouldn’t have looked good for his political career, so the bastard chose the lesser of two evils, the scandal of his daughter becoming an unmarried mother.’
‘But then Matt came back.’
‘Yes. In the state you know.’
There was a pause, during which Russell saw images of that encounter in Ben’s eyes.
‘When I saw him and recognized him, I felt a grief inside me that’s taken years to pass. That boy must have suffered tremendously. He must have gone through things it isn’t right for a human being to go through.’
Ben took a handkerchief from the pocket of his old cardigan and wiped the corners of his mouth with it. Without realizing it, he had used almost the same words he had spoken to Matt the night he had found him hiding out on his premises.
‘Because of what he’d become, he didn’t want Karen to know he was still alive. He made me swear I wouldn’t tell her.’
‘And then?’
‘He asked me if he could stay there for a few hours, because he had something to do. As soon as he’d finished, he’d come back to pick up the cat and leave. I saw him walking into town. That was the last I ever saw of him.’
Another pause. Russell knew Ben was about to tell him something important.
‘The next day, the bodies of Duane Westlake and Will Farland were taken from the burned-out remains of the sheriffs house. And I hope they’re still burning in hell.’
In Ben Shepard’s eyes there was an open challenge to anyone who might not care to agree with what he had just said. By this point, Russell had lost the ability to judge. He only wanted to know.
Ben sat back in his armchair. ‘About ten years later, Judge Swanson joined his cronies.’
‘What became of the child?’
‘While he was still small, Karen would bring him to see me from time to time. Then we kind of lost touch. I don’t know who was more to blame, her or me.’
Russell realized that, in his honesty, he was assuming a share of the responsibility, although he did not really think he had any.
‘And then what happened?’
‘A while later, I went through a difficult time, financial problems, that kind of thing. To solve them, I rented the business out to someone and spent three years working on an oil rig as an explosives expert. When I came back, I found out Karen had sold everything and gone away. I never saw her again.’
Russell felt disappointment burn his throat. ‘You don’t know where she moved to?’
‘No. If I did, I’d tell you.’
The old man allowed himself a few moments to take stock. ‘I realize how important it is that you find the person you’re looking for. I feel enough remorse already – why should I add more?’
Russell looked out the window. At least it was a lead, he told himself.
It wouldn’t be difficult for the police to find Karen Swanson, which meant it shouldn’t be too difficult to trace his son as well. What they didn’t have was time. If he was right, the next explosion would happen at night. He turned back to Ben, who, realizing how disappointed he was, had been waiting to speak again.
‘Russell, there’s one more thing I can tell you, though it seems such a long shot, I really don’t know if it amounts to anything.’
‘In a case like this, anything could amount to something.’
The old man looked for a moment at his age-stained hands, and the palm that contained all the familiar lines of his life. ‘For years,’ he said, ‘my cousin managed the Wonder Theatre, here in Chillicothe. It was nothing special, mostly local shows, concerts by small groups and half-known singers. With a few touring companies every now and again to bring us a bit of novelty and an illusion of culture.’
Russell waited, hoping that what he suspected turned out to be true.
‘One day, some years after Karen and her son left, a variety show came to town. Magicians, comedians, acrobats, that kind of thing. My cousin is willing to swear that one of the performers was Manuel Swanson. Now remember, quite a few years had passed – he was using a stage name – but that was what my cousin thought. And he’d have bet any money on it. He told me he actually asked the boy if they’d met before, and the boy said no, this was the first time he’d ever been to Chillicothe in his life.’
Russell stood up, nervously smoothing his pants. ‘That’s certainly something, but it’s going to take a while to find him. I’m afraid we don’t have all that time.’
‘Would a photograph help?’
At those words, Russell turned abruptly. ‘That’d be the best thing of all.’
‘Wait.’
Ben Shepard got up from his armchair and went and picked up a cordless phone lying on a cabinet. He dialled a number and waited for the reply.
‘Hi, Homer, Ben here.’
A few moments listening. A few anxieties at the other end.
‘No, don’t worry. I’ll be going bowling tonight. I called you about something else.’
He waited for the person at the other end to cal
m down.
‘Homer, you remember what you told me once about young Swanson and that variety show?’
Russell had no idea what the other man was saying, but waited for Ben’s next words.
‘Among all your stuff, did you keep theirs?’
The answer must have been a short one, because Ben immediately replied, ‘Great, I’m sending someone to see you. His name’s Russell Wade. Do whatever he asks you. If you don’t trust him, trust me.’
There must have been protests, a demand for an explanation. Ben Shepard cut him short.
‘Just do it. Bye, Homer.’
He hung up and turned to Russell.
‘In all those years, my cousin kept copies of posters of all the artists who performed in his theatre. A kind of collection. I think he plans to write a book about it, one of these days. He has a poster with a photograph of the person you’re looking for.’
He took a notepad and a ballpoint pen from next to the telephone and wrote down a name and an address. He handed the paper to Russell.
‘This is his address. It’s all I can do.’
Russell followed his instinct. He took the paper and immediately hugged Ben Shepard. The sincerity and emotion of the gesture wiped out any surprise the old man might have. Russell hoped it would also wipe out any regret he might feel when he was alone.
‘Ben, I have to go. You don’t know how grateful I am.’
‘But I do. And I also know you’re a good person. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’
Ben Shepard’s eyes were moist again, but his handshake was firm and quick. Russell was already crossing the garden, on his way to the car. A few moments later, as he entered the address Ben had given him in the GPS, he told himself that he couldn’t handle the information he now had all by himself. He would need the resources of the police. He had to get back to New York as soon as possible, once he’d obtained the material he needed from Homer. As he started the car and headed back to town, he wasn’t sure if the excitement he felt inside him came from the discovery he had just made or the thought that he would soon see Vivien again.