The Art of the Devil (20 page)

A distant thud as the cops put shoulders against door in the motor court behind him.

Another pair of headlights was coming down the highway. He turned again, stuck out his thumb.
Please, God—

Spraying up a curtain of cold slush, the car – a peach-over-white Nash Metropolitan – pulled over onto the gravel shoulder.

GETTYSBURG

‘Don't look now; it's him.'

Elisabeth looked. A new group of men had appeared, wearing blue jeans and chambray work shirts. ‘Which one?'

‘The tall one. Is he coming over here?'

He was – a curly-haired, cherubic man of about thirty, sporting a handlebar mustache in an effort to make himself look older. ‘Brace yourself,' Elisabeth warned.

Josette forced an enthusiastic grin onto her face. ‘Probably, it's for the best,' she said merrily. ‘Because when I get on my way, I wouldn't want to be held back by – why, speak of the devil! James, please meet my friend Elisabeth; Libby, James.'

‘Libby.' He took her hand and gave it a lingering kiss, making Josette squirm. ‘My, my. Libby.'

One of his friends pressed rudely through the crowd. ‘Jimmy, whatcha drinking?'

‘What
aren't
I drinking?' James laughed roughly. ‘The price is right, ain't it? I'll take one of everything.'

As the friend shouldered off toward the bar, another farmhand promptly materialized to take his place. ‘Like rats on a hunk a cheese, over there. Nothing like free booze to bring out the best in people, huh?' His eyes were glued to Elisabeth's décolletage. ‘Say, honey, you ready for a dance?'

‘Sorry. I got a bum ankle.'

James threw an elbow into the man's ribs. ‘Sal, I told you. You gotta work up to it. A little class works wonders.'

‘I just asked for a dance.'

‘Yeah, but look at what you're dealing with here. This here's the epitome of feminine pulchritude.'

Elisabeth turned, seeking escape, but found herself hemmed in on every side.

Soon the friend returned from the bar, bearing drinks and a joke he'd heard in line: where was Solomon's temple? On the side of his head. Josette managed a fake, tinkling little laugh. The best Elisabeth could summon was a dimple. The crowd pressed close around them, warm and smothering. On her right, a frizzy-haired scullery maid named Caroline Dreyfus fell into heated discussion with Sal about the merits of venison. (Too tough, she declared, and Sal informed her that she'd never had it cooked correctly.) On her left, Josette tried to involve James in a conversation about scotch and soda versus gin and tonic.

But he ignored her, staring hungrily at Elisabeth. ‘I could use a smoke,' he said, as if they were the only two in the room. ‘Let's sneak outside.'

He turned, heading for the side door, assuming she would follow. Falling into step behind him, Josette shot Elisabeth a beseeching look. Elisabeth said into her friend's ear, ‘I've got a headache. Think I'm just going to …'

‘Oh God, don't you dare! Don't you
dare
leave me alone with him!'

‘Josie—'

‘I mean it,' Josette hissed, and grabbed Elisabeth's hand.

Seeing their trajectory, others fell into their wake. Now the dance floor was packed; couples held each other close, the music had gotten louder, and a first Christmas ornament had been broken. Dunbarton, who should have served as the voice of reason, was nowhere to be seen. Glancing at a Waterbury clock on the mantle as they passed, Elisabeth was surprised to find it not yet eight p.m.

In the yard outside, a motley group of six – Josette and Elisabeth and Caroline Dreyfus, and James and two other farmhands whose names Elisabeth hadn't caught – moved toward the nearby oak. None had stopped for overcoats, and except for Elisabeth all shivered in the snow, for the most part grinning good-naturedly as cigarettes were handed around and then chivalrously lighted. James finished his drink, produced a flask, and swigged. He passed the flask to Josette, who although holding a scotch in her other hand drank and then passed it to Elisabeth, who had lost her Old-Fashioned somewhere. She pretended to drink and then passed the flask to the man standing beside her, a gangly fellow of about forty, drowning in a tweed jacket at least two sizes too large.

Noticing Elisabeth's bare arms, the gangly man said, ‘Cold?' He put an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her close.

‘Hey Earl,' said Josette scornfully, ‘give her your coat, why don't you, if you want to be a gentleman?'

‘Better yet,' said James, ‘let's go into the barn. It's warm, and we can smoke without worrying about Dunbarton.'

Elisabeth shook her head – but Josette was looking directly at her, significantly.

The group moved off beneath languid snowflakes, across frozen ruts of earth.

THE TREASURY BUILDING

Isherwood could hear the voice on the other end of the connection: pinched, adenoidal, strained.

Spooner covered his eyes with one hand. ‘Sergeant,' he said carefully, ‘I don't see how that's possible.'

An insectile reply.

‘Well,' said Spooner, ‘fucking
find
him,' and he slammed a fist onto the desk with enough force to make the picture of Joe DiMaggio behind it go crooked.

ROUTE 650: NORTH OF CENTREVILLE

‘Hope you got the license plate,' said the man behind the wheel, glancing over at Hart in the passenger seat.

Hart laughed. ‘Boy,' he said. ‘You don't want to get me started. You wouldn't believe the weekend I've had.'

The man driving the Nash Metropolitan was in his late sixties, heavily sideburned, with white tufts of hair sprouting from prominent ears. ‘Do tell,' he said. ‘I could use a good laugh.'

An infinitesimal pause. ‘Well,' said Hart then. ‘I'm heading up north to see my sister, coming up Route Fifteen, and this Mack truck jackknifes in front of me – yesterday morning, this is. So by yesterday afternoon, I'm in the hospital, my car's on the way to the junkheap, and I've got forty bucks in my wallet. Worse, I got this bang on the head. Confuses me. The doctors do a quick patch-up and tell me the worst is past. But I'm looking at a bill that means taking out a second mortgage, so I decide to get on my way, ride my thumb up north.' He laughed again, shaking his head ruefully. ‘May not have been the best decision,' he admitted, ‘what with the crutch and the weather. But I'm not thinking too straight. Yesterday morning, my biggest problem was what to eat for breakfast. And now …' He trailed off.

‘Where's your sister at?'

‘Boston.'

‘I can get you as far as Union Station, how's that sound?'

‘Sounds good. I appreciate the lift.'

He glanced in the side-view mirror as he spoke. No sign of sirens yet – but they would find the ruffled bed, still warm. But the snowfall was too new to hold tracks; they would not know which way he had gone. If he could reach the train station, he could give them the slip.

They passed shadowed factories and body shops and grimy little stores selling propane and auto parts, made almost pretty by a thin blanket of white. ‘Relax,' said the driver suddenly.

Hart looked over. The man was smiling at him. ‘Life's too short, son. Count your blessings. You're out of the weather, you still got your health for the most part – could've been a sight worse, that's for damned sure – and pretty soon you'll sit down at your sister's table and she'll fill you up with good hot food. Man's got to look on the bright side.'

Hart smiled back.

‘Me, I learned that the hard way. Lost both my parents to the Spanish flu. One day they're healthy as horses; next they're telling me they don't feel right. Well, I was busy, the way people get in their mid-life. I didn't have time to worry about some sniffles, a runny nose. So I told my mother to put some extra blankets on the bed and I'd check back again in a few days. But by the time I checked back, they were both gone … What I'm trying to tell you is, stop and smell the roses. It all seems so goddamned important now, whatever it is. But don't let it get away with you. Just like the song says: it's later than you think.'

Hart nodded.
A short life, this one; a pity.

Minutes later, beneath a snowfall already slackening, they passed over the city limits of Washington, DC.

GETTYSBURG

T
he Maternity Barn was the largest and, excepting the tool shed, nearest of the outbuildings to the herdsman's home.

Empty at the moment of livestock, the barn's interior was nevertheless heated, divided into pens – two large and many small – with the floor covered by loose straw and, in some places, soft animal bedding. In the center stood an office with closed doors and windows, surrounded on three sides by stacked bales of hay. The air smelled robustly of chaff, dust, and fragrant manure.

Stepping through the doors, the group of six seemed by some secret signal to have paired off: James and Elisabeth in the lead, Caroline Dreyfus and the tall gangly man called Earl behind them, and Josette, with the third man, bringing up the rear.

‘My queen,' said James cornily, and removed a bale of hay from the stacks, which he offered Elisabeth as a chair. Once she was seated, he heaved off a few more bales. As they all sat, the flask made another circuit; a bottle of rum had appeared from somewhere to join it. Elisabeth felt as if she occupied the small, sober center of an increasingly rowdy hurricane.

‘Wish I had my guitar,' said Josette thickly. She looked flushed, and her chignon was coming loose.

Disregarding her, James faced Elisabeth squarely. ‘So,
bella
,' he said. ‘How is it I never met you before?'

‘She's new,' Josette said. ‘She replaced Babs.'

Leaning forward, he brazenly put a hand on Elisabeth's knee. ‘We'll have to make up for lost time,' he said, and squeezed.

Elisabeth smiled emptily. She covered James' hand with her own, left it there for a moment, and then gently slipped both hands off her knee.

Caroline and Earl had fallen into a discussion about Daphne du Maurier, whom both had read and liked. The third man was trying to rope Josette into conversation about the lack of food at the party. ‘I don't need filet mignon or snails, you know. But a chicken sandwich might have hit the spot …'

But Josette paid him as little attention as she was receiving from James. Her eyes, wet and wounded, bored into Elisabeth. The farmhand tried a new approach. ‘Say, Josie, you ever look at the newspaper? 'Cause I was just reading about this case outside Cleveland. Real interesting thing. This guy named Sam Sheppard, this surgeon, they think he may have killed his pregnant wife. You read about that?'

‘You got classical bone structure,' James was telling Elisabeth. ‘You look like an old painting. Anybody ever tell you that?'

She dipped her head modestly.

‘You're not too good at getting compliments, are you?' Surreptitiously, he placed his hand back on her knee. ‘You oughtta work on that, baby, if you don't mind my saying.'

‘Another thing I read in the newspaper,' the third man told the back of Josette's head, ‘about this other doctor, Salk. He came up with this thing to stop polio, you hear about that? But they done a mass, whaddya call it, incalculation of schoolchildren. And I'm thinking, what if this causes an outbreak? Because I'm not sure if you know, but these incalculations, is what they call them, actually these are a sample of the disease.'

Josette turned to face him at last. ‘Sample of the disease?' she said muzzily.

‘It's a true fact, Josie. It's a little piece of polio, which they inject right into these kids' arms …'

With Josette momentarily distracted, James pressed his attack, sidling closer to Elisabeth on his bale, chafing her knee. ‘You like music, honey? Me, I love Benny Goodman. Next time he swings through Philly I'm gonna go check it out. If you want to come with, I'll try to score an extra ticket.'

‘Oh, that's sweet,' said Elisabeth.

‘Yeah, but whaddya say?'

‘Thing is, I've got a fellow back in Virginia.'

‘Virginia? Might as well be Mars.'

Maintaining her empty smile, Elisabeth again dislodged his hand. She dragged her bale a foot away from him, closer to Josette, and then glanced at her friend, hoping the gesture had not gone unappreciated. But the younger girl still looked wounded.

Now Caroline and Earl talked earnestly about the difficulty college women had in finding a husband, while the other man spoke again to the back of Josette's head, complaining about the back-breaking labor they had done that afternoon, filling the corn crib. Voices grew ever more strident, and a fug of cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. James scooted his bale closer to Elisabeth again. ‘Come on,' he implored. ‘Don't play hard to get.'

Abruptly, Elisabeth stood. ‘I'm going back to the party,' she announced. ‘Josie, come with me.'

Josette hesitated. After a moment Elisabeth turned, heading out into the night alone; in a flash, Josette was by her side.

During their minutes inside the barn, the snowfall had stopped. A diffuse glow lit the cloudy sky. Elisabeth started back toward the herdsman's home, but Josette brought her up short with a hand on one arm. ‘Let's go for a walk, huh? I need to clear my head.'

Elisabeth bit back an argument. They wandered aimlessly away from both barn and house, in the general direction of the bullpen and corn crib. For several long moments, they strolled through the cold without speaking. Josette hummed a few tuneless bars of ‘Darling,
Je Vous Aime Beaucoup
'
.
She took out a cigarette, dropped it, bent to retrieve it, and stuck it between her lips upside-down. ‘Libby,' she said sulkily, ‘you and James never … you know. Did you?'