Stuart Woods - Under the Lake

“All right, all right, it looks like a suicide, but you know I’ve got to be thorough.” He looked again at what was left of Eric Sutherland’s body. “More thorough than I’ve ever been in my life.” He looked back at Howell. “Did you go upstairs or into any of the other rooms?”

“No, I made it a suicide right away. I reckoned if there’d been anybody in the house, they’d have heard it. If I’d thought there was a murderer hiding upstairs, I’m not so sure I’d have looked, anyway.”

“When was the last time you saw Eric Sutherland alive?”

“At his party. Not since.”

“Not anywhere? Not here, not in the town, not anywhere?”

“Nope. In fact, I only ever spoke to Sutherland twice; the day I arrived in town, when I saw him and stopped to introduce myself, and the day of the party. That was it.”

“You ever have harsh words with him?”

“Nope. He was a little cool when I met him the first time, but at the party he was all charm.”

“Apart from the time you broke into Sutherland’s office, did you ever come to this house when he wasn’t here?”

Howell waited for a moment before answering. “I think you must be referring to the time when Scotty lost her credit card at Sutherland’s party, and Sutherland thought somebody had broken into his office. I have never visited this house when Sutherland was not here. Do I make myself absolutely clear on that point?”

“Yeah, okay, we’ll forget about the credit card. You’ve explained that well enough, and I think it’s best forgotten.”

“Fine. I know you’ve got a doctor on the way, Bo, but for what it’s worth, this looks hours old to me. The blood and the other stuff are partly dried.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Bo looked up as a car came to a halt outside the house. “Look, John, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t go phoning this in to any of your newspaper buddies, and if you’d keep Scotty from doing that, too. I want to have this thing covered from every angle before the press gets onto it, okay?”

“Sure, Bo.”

Mike came into the study carrying two briefcases, saw Sutherland’s body, put down the cases, and fled to the driveway. They could hear him retching.

“He’s going to be a lot of help,” Bo said, wryly.

Howell laughed. “He’ll get used to it. First time’s the worst.”

“Well, John, we’ve got a lot of work to do around here. I’ll call you if I have any more questions.”

“Okay, I’ll let you get on with it.” Howell turned and started for the door.

“Oh, John,” Bo called out.

Howell stopped. “Yeah?”

“Like they say in the movies, don’t leave town.”

Driving back toward the town, Howell reflected that there was a certain symmetry emerging in all this that seemed more than coincidental. He had a couple of things to confirm, then he would know. Maybe.

He glanced at his watch; the timing was about right. He parked in front of the courthouse, and, sure enough, right on schedule, the battleaxe, Mrs. O’Neal, left for lunch. Howell bounded up the stairs. This wouldn’t take long; he just wanted to confirm his own memory. He was in and out of the records office in minutes.

As he got back into the car, another thought hit him, right from left field. Curious, he drove to the shopping center, parked in front of the drugstore, and went in. He stood staring at the shelf.

“May I help you, sir?” A girl in a white jacket stood at his elbow.

“Oh, no thanks, I was just looking,” Howell replied, and tried to smile at the girl.

She looked askance at the shelf of female products and back at him, askance.

“Uh, just looking,” he said lamely and left quickly. Howell felt very strange, indeed, as he got back into the car. All this had suddenly become a little too much. His first reaction was that he wanted a drink. With some effort, he scaled the desire back to a beer, then headed for Bubba’s.

He was on his second beer when Enda McCauliffe came in. Howell was, at first, surprised that McCauliffe wasn’t out at Eric Sutherland’s house, then it occurred to him that the lawyer probably didn’t know yet. It had been no more than half an hour since Howell had found the body.

“Mind if I join you, John?” The lawyer was a lot friendlier than the last time they had met.

“Please do, Mac. I was about to come to see you anyway.”

“Listen, John, I’m sorry I popped off at you out at Sutherland’s. I’d had a lot to drink, and I wasn’t at my best that day.”

“Not at all, Mac. You were protecting your client. I understand.”

The lawyer ordered lunch. “Why were you coming to see me?”

“I think I might need a lawyer pretty soon.”

“Well, I don’t know, John…”

“I can promise you that any legal advice you give me won’t conflict with Eric Sutherland’s interests, Mac. In fact, I can guarantee it.”

“Well, okay, how can I help you?” He looked around. “I used to do most of my work in this place, anyway, if you don’t mind talking here.”

“Couple of things,” Howell said, sipping his beer. “One’s a long-term sort of thing that I’d like you to handle locally for me. I’ll talk to you about that in a day or two, I think.”

“And the other?”

“There’s a fair chance I might be arrested before the day is out. I’ll try and avoid it, but if I get picked up, I don’t want to spend the night in jail.”

“What’s the charge going to be?”

Smart lawyer, Howell thought. Not 'What did you do?' “It could be almost anything, but probably material witness. Maybe murder.”

“You thinking of killing somebody?”

“Whatever it turns out to be, you can rest assured I didn’t do it.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

“If you need some muscle, call Denham White in Atlanta. He’s still my brother-in-law, after all.”

“John, are you sure there isn’t something you want to tell me?”

“Yes, but first, I want to ask you a personal question.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Why did you never marry, Mac?”

The lawyer said nothing, just looked at Howell without expression.

“Could it have been for the same reason Bo Scully never got married?”

The lawyer continued to look at Howell for a moment. “Which one of my half-dozen stock answers would you like?”

“Never mind, Mac, I’m sorry.”

“John, perhaps you shouldn’t count on me to represent you.”

“Sorry, Mac, you’re stuck with me. I know you’ll do a good job. Look, a lot is going to happen around here during the next twenty-four hours, and I want you to remember that a lot of it may not be what it seems to be.” And that, Howell thought, was a direct quote.

“You’re getting pretty mysterious, John. What’s going to happen?”

“Well, I don’t know all of it, maybe not even most of it, but it’s already started. Eric Sutherland is dead.”

McCauliffe sat up. “Are you serious?”

“Apparent suicide. I found the body this morning.”

McCauliffe looked stunned. “Where?”

“At his house. In the study. Shotgun in the face.”

“ You found him? What were you doing out there?”

“I went to ask him some questions about the O’Coineens.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, that would have been a touchy point with him, wouldn’t it? When things have quieted down a little, I think you and I should get together and compare notes.”

“I think I’d better get out to Sutherland’s,” the lawyer said, getting up. “Why don’t you and I have lunch tomorrow?”

“That’s good; we should both know more by then. Tell me, Mac, does Bo know what’s in Eric Sutherland’s will?”