Page 87 of The Children of Eve

CHAPTERLXIII

Madison wasn’t necessarily the first suburb in which one might have expected to find a business specializing in religious publishing, fine editions or otherwise, although it could be argued that, if one wanted to spread the word of the Lord, it made sense to lodge oneself among the less privileged of His children. To Bern, Madison possessed all that was required to distract the poor from their lot: pawnshops, liquor stores, smoke stores, payday loan companies—the routine trappings of poverty, or its nearest neighbor, want. Who could blame these people for spending their money, what little they had of it, on lottery tickets and in casinos, because sure as death and taxes, they weren’t going to be able to dig themselves out of the holes they were in by working minimum-wage jobs. Even the winnings advertised by the out-of-state casinos on the highway billboards were deliberately modest: $13,320 here, $11,053 there, sums designed to appeal to those for whom $13,320 sounded life-changing, and might actually be so when $1,000 would make a difference. These were imaginable amounts, seemingly attainable even if they weren’t, not really, because the odds always favored the house, in casinos as in life. The sooner one became reconciled to this reality, the sooner the pain of existence began to dull—and in places like Madison, there was a lot of pain to be dulled. Even in a city with a crime rate as high as Nashville’s, Madison’s incidence ofviolent crime was still multiples of the national average, but its long-term residents watched out for one another, and sections looked to Bern as though they might be on the upswing. He thought it could have done with a few more places to walk, but that hardly made it unique among suburban neighborhoods. In other words, he’d seen worse—which was true of most things, until you were dead.

The Nashville Codex Corporation wasn’t advertising its presence, not even with an unobtrusive sign. It occupied a run-down cottage off Sandhurst Drive, with a covered, stone-framed front porch and a big two-car garage at the rear. No fence divided it from the adjoining properties, and only bulky security cameras at the front porch and above the garage doors distinguished it from the rest.

Bern had driven by the property just once, the tinted glass of the Explorer allowing Darold Doak, sitting beside him, to film it with his phone as they passed. Bern then turned back onto Sandhurst, parked, and waited for Doak to play the clip. Bern didn’t own a smartphone. None of the older crooks did; they were too sharp, too vigilant.

“I’d bet on a camera at the back door as well,” said Doak. “No way to get closer without being seen. But someone is home. See, second window on the left side.”

He played the clip again, faster this time, slowing it down only about twenty seconds from the end, where Bern clearly saw a shape move behind the glass.

“You have good eyes,” he told Doak. Bern had chosen Doak from the local talent pool because he was reliable and knew how to keep his mouth shut. Bern had made it clear to Doak that they would be removing Eugene Seeley from the board. Doak had replied that not knowing the guy would make it easier, but knowing him wouldn’t have made it a lot harder.

Bern was glad that the house wasn’t unoccupied. It meant that even if Seeley wasn’t home, whoever was inside might be able to provide themwith information. If the occupant was a person Seeley cared about, they might also offer Bern leverage to use against him.

“Looks like a woman,” said Doak, running the clip one more time.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Wife?”

“If he’s married, he’s managed to keep it quiet,” said Bern. “Could be a girlfriend, or a secretary to look after paperwork and deliveries. It is a legitimate business, even if it is a front. My guess is it’s the Udine woman.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“We ring the doorbell,” said Bern, “and ask about Bibles.”

THE WOMAN WHO ANSWEREDthe door was in her late fifties or early sixties, her silver-gray hair styled in a bowl cut secured with so much spray that it might have been mistaken for a wig were it not for the patches of pink scalp showing through. She wore a vast blue-and-white flowered dress that ended below the knees, and white support stockings. Her feet were tiny, like a dancer’s, and encased in blue satin slippers. Strangely, her lipstick, the only trace of cosmetics Bern could make out, was also blue. Since she was otherwise pale, it made her look like she was freezing to death.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“We’re seeking the offices of the Nashville Codex Corporation,” said Bern.

“You found them, but we’re not open to the public.” She had the singsong voice of a little girl. “We prefer all contact to be made through our website.”

“I understand, but I had hoped to speak with Mr. Seeley personally. It concerns a potentially lucrative contract. He wouldn’t be around, would he?”

“I’m afraid he’s not available right now.” She glanced at her watch. “But he shouldn’t be too long, if you don’t mind waiting. I’ve just made a fresh pot of coffee, and there might be leftover Bundt cake.”

“We don’t mind waiting at all,” said Bern, “as long as we’re not imposing. And I love Bundt cake.”

The woman stepped aside to let them enter. The door opened directly into a large living area repurposed as an office, with filing cabinets against the walls and an electric typewriter on a banker’s desk. An archway provided access to a small kitchen, with a hallway to the left leading to the bathroom and bedrooms.

“I take it Mr. Seeley does most of his work in the garage out back,” said Bern.

“If you ask nicely,” said the woman, “he may show it to you. He’s got a lovely old Chandler and Price printing press dating from the turn of the last century, and an Albion hand press that’s even older. Cream and sugar?”

She progressed into the kitchen, and Bern and Doak heard the rattle of cups.

“Black is fine,” said Bern, as Doak slipped past him, moving quietly for a big man.

The woman reappeared, but carrying neither coffee nor Bundt cake. Instead, she was pointing a silver semiautomatic directly at Bern. Before she could pull the trigger, Doak shot her in the head. She dropped to the floor and blood flowed from the hole in her skull like wine from a fractured jar. Even with the suppressor, the noise was loud enough to have drawn the attention of anyone passing by, but when Bern peered out the window, the street was empty. He drew his gun, locked the front door, and shadowed Doak to make sure the cottage was clear. Then, exiting through the kitchen, they checked out the garage workshop. The side door was locked and no one was inside. Bern decided a search of it could wait until later, so he and Doak returned to the cottage.

With Doak on sentinel duty, Bern turned the place over, looking foranything that might give them an advantage over Seeley or an insight into how his shadow vocation operated. He found nothing that did not relate to the work of the Nashville Codex Corporation, including yellowing invoices going back a decade or more, carbon copies of typed letters and receipts, some dated for the current year, and hardback account books, the entries written in blue fountain pen by two different hands—Seeley’s and the woman’s, Bern supposed. The driver’s license in her purse confirmed her identity as Mertie Udine.

Bern’s search of the house revealed no further trace of a woman’s presence: no clothes, makeup, toiletries. If Seeley was screwing Udine—in which case, Bern reflected, he was either very desperate or very charitable—she didn’t stay the night. Then again, even the evidence of male habitation was scant, which meant the Madison property might not be Seeley’s principal residence. The closets contained men’s clothing, but only sufficient for a couple of changes, and the toiletries in the bathroom cabinet were travel size. Even the toothbrush was barely used.

Bern returned to the garage studio. The trees on the adjoining lots offered cover for him to work on the lock without being observed. He saw no sign of an alarm system, perhaps because whatever the garage contained—paper, old books, and heavy printing presses—would be of little value to a thief. Bern also reckoned that the local junkies, creeps, and vandals knew better than to cross Seeley. Men like him had ways of making themselves untouchable.

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