Requiem for a Realtor (26 page)

Married late, Frederick and his wife had spoiled Stanley, their only child, and then tried to lessen the effects of this in the will they had made. Stanley would be a rich man, but not yet. He had proved himself capable of such folly that postponement seemed the prudent course. Not that Amos had not been surprised by the plan to make Stanley an heir when he turned fifty. That was a birthday Stanley was destined never to see. For years he had accepted the terms of the will until, stimulated by the bad advice of the ineffable Tuttle, he had sought to lay hands on the money that was coming to him. This was a struggle Amos had expected soon after the demise of the parents, but Stanley had accepted the terms for years. Now all that money would go to the daughter-in-law the senior Collinses had never known.

One of the oddest events of recent months had been the visit to his office by Phyllis Collins and Dr. David Jameson. Amos had not led an entirely sheltered life, but the brazenness of Mrs. Collins, bringing her altogether too attentive dentist to discover what divorce and remarriage would do to her prospects of sharing in Stanley's inheritance, had impressed him. But then Amos regarded the pleasure he had taken in dashing her hopes as a confessable fault. He said as much to Father Dowling when he arrived and they were settled at a table with a delightful view of the lake through the window beside them.

“Marie called them the odd couple.”

“I would not have thought Dr. Jameson would be smitten by such a woman.”

“The infatuation has run its course, apparently.”

“So he wasn't after her money. Now there is money to be had, a great deal of money. I hope to convince her to use it wisely.”

“She mentioned going on a cruise.”

Amos sighed. “Of course.”

“The suggestion came from Mrs. Sawyer.”

“Her I have not met.” It might have been an expression of thanksgiving.

“Amos, when I was a student we studied the arguments of St. Thomas Aquinas on false candidates for happiness. Money was one of them.”

“How did the argument run?”

Father Dowling summarized as best he could what the saint had said. “But he added something to the arguments against wealth and pleasure and fame constituting happiness. He said the best proof against them is having them.”

“Ah, that is an argument I can heartily endorse. I fear that wealth will prove a mixed blessing for Mrs. Collins as it has for so many others.”

“You must give me a lawyer's view of the case against George Sawyer.”

“Murdstone is no Tuttle, but even so, there is little he will be able to do to save his client from conviction. The physical evidence, as I have heard it, is decisive.”

“I sometimes think it is easier to imagine those we do not know as guilty. I have never met George Sawyer.”

“Nor I. But he will be on everyone's lips while the trial goes on. Did you know that convicts keep scrapbooks of the media coverage of their trials?”

“A brief hour in the sun of public attention.”

“Is that from St. Thomas?”

“He wasn't given to metaphors.”

“I am sure that Dr. Jameson did not enjoy it when he was under suspicion.”

“He is a very earnest man.”

“What he does is a species of cosmetic surgery, isn't it?”

“‘Everyone has a natural right to a perfect smile.' That isn't Aquinas either.”

Amos smiled. “It is a temptation, I know, but sometimes like Mr. Bennet in
Pride and Prejudice,
I think that others have been put on earth to keep us bemused. But then Mr. Bennet bemuses me, too.”

“I may visit George Sawyer.”

“Is he a Catholic?”

“Marie assures me they were married in the Church. And haven't been in one since.”

“He may find the consolations of religion attractive now.”

10

When George Sawyer was brought into the visiting room he stopped and stared at Father Dowling, then turned to leave but the guard stood in his way.

“I don't want to see a priest.”

“I was told you're a Catholic.”

A wry smile came over Sawyer's face. “Well, I was.”

“You don't have to talk with me if you don't want to.”

“Who sent you?”

“Oh, I am here entirely on my own.” Father Dowling took out his pipe and began to fill it. Sawyer moved toward a chair and sat. He took out a package of cigarettes.

“I've taken up smoking again. What difference does it make?”

“Well, I wouldn't recommend it as a means of suicide. Smoking has more positive benefits.”

“You did the funeral for Stanley Collins.”

“Of course. You were there.”

“Of course.” He repeated it in a sarcastic tone. “I'm sorry. You have to realize that I had known Stanley all my life. We went to school together, we were in college together. Marquette.”

“Ah, the Jesuits.”

“Later we went into business together. Of course, we fought like cats and dogs. I should say like old friends. Now they accuse me of killing him.”

“Things look bad for you.”

“Don't I know it. Not even my lawyer pretends I have a Chinaman's chance.” He looked over both shoulders. “Can I still say that? Where I'm going I'll have to be careful what I say.”

Father Dowling thought of telling him he knew the chaplain at Joliet, but that seemed an odd way to comfort the man.

“You sound resigned.”

“Explain providence to me, Father. Or fate. Whatever it is that makes a joke of life.” He puffed on his cigarette, then studied its glowing end. “Take smoking. I had an uncle who died of lung cancer. Never smoked in his life.”

“You should complain to the surgeon general.”

Sawyer laughed joylessly. “Stanley and I used to compose letters to the editor. We never sent them, but it was great fun.” His eyes drifted away. “Sometimes I think I saw all this coming.”

“All what?”

“Do you know of Stanley's inheritance? All his life he looked forward to turning fifty when he would be rich. Now that looks like a joke played on him. I wonder where I'll be when I turn fifty.” He put out his cigarette and shook another from the package.

“So you are Catholic?”

“Oh, sure. Does anyone ever stop? You stop going to church and all the rest, but if I filled out a form I would write Catholic. The way I would write Irish.”

“It goes a little deeper than that.”

Sawyer had lit the fresh cigarette. “Did you come to hear my confession?”

“Well, I am a priest.”

“It's funny. They use the same word here. Confession. They expect me to make a confession.”

“The other kind is more important.”

“Father, I didn't kill anybody.” He peered at Father Dowling. “Of course, you expect me to say that. My plea will be not guilty, but that's only a legal formality for Murdstone. He thinks I'm guilty.”

“But you're not?”

“Oh, I'm guilty of lots of things. The whole book, probably.”

“So get it off your chest.”

“I thought sin was on the soul.”

“Then get it off your soul.”

“Even my wife thinks I'm guilty. I mean of killing Stanley and that other guy.”

“Has she said so?”

“You've heard of body language. I know what she thinks.”

“Maybe I should talk with her, too.”

“We were married in the Church. A beautiful ceremony in Wauwatosa. Stanley was my best man. He got married in front of a judge.”

“He came to see me.”

“Stanley?”

“And his wife.”

“Were they going to get their marriage blessed at last?”

“Did he ever mention that to you?”

“It was his favorite subject. His claim was that he wasn't really married to Phyllis so playing around wasn't all that bad. If he got a divorce it didn't mean anything because he wasn't married in the first place. Is that true?”

“It's a little more complicated than that.”

“He talked of marrying Wanda Janski.” Sawyer looked wistful. “She's a singer.”

“I've met her.”

“In daylight? You had to hear her sing to understand. The joke is I introduced Stanley to her.”

Father Dowling stayed for nearly an hour, and when he left asked George Sawyer if he would like him to come back.

“If you want. I don't like to have Susan come here. Did you mean that about talking to her?”

“Would you advise it?”

Sawyer shrugged. “What could it hurt? Maybe you can convince her I didn't kill Stanley.”

*   *   *

Susan Sawyer agreed to see him with some reluctance. The fact that he had visited George seemed to be in his favor. They met at a fast-food place in the mall over coffee.

“I can't remember the last time I talked with a priest.”

“Not many people make a diary entry when they do.”

She smiled, if only at the effort to make a joke. “It's not as if I lost my faith. I am deeply into spirituality.”

“Tell me about it.”

She cocked her head to one side. “Are you making fun of me?”

“God forbid.”

“People laugh about New Age spirituality but that's because they don't understand it. George pooh-poohed it, of course.”

“Of course.”

“He claims to be an agnostic.”

“That's not much help to him at the moment.”

“I have talked with his lawyer, Father. Miles Murdstone. Everything seems as certain as it can be. I tell myself George could not have done these things. I cannot imagine him killing anyone, let alone Stanley Collins.”

“He says he didn't.”

“I know.” Silence. “I think he's following his lawyer's instructions.”

“You think he did it?”

“I'll tell you a secret. I don't want to think about it. I'm sick and tired of thinking about it. I have to think of what I will do now.”

“I talked with Phyllis Collins.”

“This has drawn the two of us closer than we've ever been. Isn't that odd? We haven't been able to stand one another for years, and now we practically cling to one another. What has happened has happened, and we have to go on, somehow.”

She seemed to have consigned her husband to his fate and was determined not to be undone herself by what had happened to him. Of course, her husband was now branded as the murderer of two men and that would considerably alter her attitude toward him.

“How long have you been married?”

“Fifteen years.”

That was all. He let it go. Father Dowling found Susan Sawyer inscrutable.

*   *   *

The next time he visited George Sawyer, they talked about the evidence that had been gathered against him. Despite that, he said again that he was innocent. And so it might have remained if George Sawyer had not said, “Last time you talked about going to confession.”

“Would you like to?”

“Here?”

“Why not? It's as private as any confessional.” He took the stole from his jacket pocket, turned it to its purple side, and put it on.

“I don't know where to begin.”

“Why don't I just run through things, the large sins, and you can respond.”

And so they went through pride and theft and adultery and other sins of the flesh, all the capital sins but one. George accused himself of breaking every commandment mentioned.

“Anything else?”

“That's all the big ones.”

There had been no mention of murder.

“Sure?”

George Sawyer nodded. As he recited the formula of absolution, making the sign of the cross over the penitent, Father Dowling told himself that Sawyer would not have held back anything, given what he had confessed.

“So that's that.”

“I feel lighter.”

“Don't wait so long next time.”

“I wonder where next time will be.”

11

Marie Murkin did not conceal her satisfaction that justice would be done. The fact that George Sawyer was accused of killing a man who had visited the rectory made it seem almost a personal affront.

“They should lock him up and throw away the key.”

Phil put down his beer. “Punishment isn't what it was, Marie.”

“I know. I have no doubt he will be walking free in a few years, and yet those two men will still be dead.”

That afternoon, Father Dowling had gone over to the school and talked with Edna Hospers.

“Many women are sorry we've stopped them from taking turns spending time with Phyllis Collins, but she has come out of the doldrums. Mrs. Sawyer is so wonderful. She spends so much time with her that there is no longer any reason to ask for volunteers. But the women miss it.”

“Have you yourself been there?”

Edna nodded. “That's what caused me to call off the visitations. Nice as it was of the old ladies, I think they were becoming a nuisance. Besides, Phyllis is seldom alone now. Susan Sawyer sees to that.”

“Birds of a feather.”

“Oh, but they aren't. Phyllis is such a chucklehead. Susan will be a very good influence on her.”

“Are they still talking about going on a cruise?”

“They have all kinds of literature they're poring over. I told them it was a great idea.” Edna paused. “It wasn't a great idea suggesting to Susan that she and I had things in common. I mentioned that Earl had spent time in prison, and she just cut me off. I thought I could say things that would be of help to her, but she wasn't interested. You would think that
she
was the widow rather than Phyllis. Well, that is how some people cope with it. I gather it wasn't too happy a marriage.”

“Apparently not.”

“Earl said that once he gets into prison he will be with people who did far worse things.”

But Father Dowling had come to think that George Sawyer was as innocent as he claimed to be. He could not believe that the man would have gone through the humiliation of that long confession and left out the reason he was sitting in jail. Under the circumstances, confessing murder would have been relatively easy. But that left all the material evidence against George unexplained. He had left his handkerchief in the cab of the truck and the imprint of his office moccasins had been found on the floorboard. He had been asking about Bob Oliver around the Frosinone and learned that he was often there. And there was the less conclusive link of the ignition key of Stanley's car, gone from the tray in Shirley Escalante's desk and then mysteriously returned after George had been sitting in her chair. George Sawyer had no explanation for any of that. When Father Dowling had reviewed the evidence, he looked away, his expression desolate, his mouth a thin line.