that what was written on the sheet of paper represented the beginning of the end.
Russell felt impatience fluttering in his stomach like a flight of butterflies. ‘Can I go?’
Blein made a gesture with his hands that meant freedom. ‘Of course. Your lawyer and the bail he put up say you can.’
‘I’m very grateful, sheriff, and I mean that. In spite of the circumstances, it’s been a pleasure.’
Woodstone got up from his chair, and he and Blein shook hands. They presumably saw a lot of each other, given their respective jobs in a small town like Chillicothe. In the meantime Russell had already reached the door and was opening it.
He was stopped by the sheriff’s voice.
‘Mr Wade?’
He turned in the doorway and saw the sheriff’s clear eyes fixed on him. ‘Yes?’
‘Seeing as how you just interrogated me, can I ask you a question now?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Why are you interested in Matt Corey?’
Russell lied shamelessly, trying his damnedest not to let it show. ‘According to reliable sources, he performed an act of heroism that has never been recognized. I’m writing an article to draw attention to his sacrifice and that of other soldiers like him who’ve also been ignored.’
He didn’t stop to wonder if his patriotic tone had deceived such a mature lawman. In his head he was already sitting in front of a former builder named Ben Shepard. Assuming the old dog, as Blein had called him, agreed to talk to him. Russell remembered perfectly well how difficult it had been to be received by that other old dog, his father.
He followed Woodstone outside, crossing the part of the office open to the public, where a young woman in uniform was behind the desk and another officer sat filling out forms. He found himself back in America. Chillicothe was the essence of it.
Russell saw his rented Mercedes parked on the other side of the street.
Following the direction of his gaze, the lawyer gestured towards the car. ‘Mr Balling sent someone with a second set of keys to get the car. I gave instructions that they bring it here.’
‘Good work. Thank you, Mr Woodstone. I’ll tell the person who contacted you.’
‘It was your father actually.’
Russell couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘My father, personally?’
‘Yes. I thought it was a joke at first, but when I heard you’d been arrested…’
The lawyer broke off, realizing he had made a gaffe. He seemed to be saying that he’d been more convinced by the news that Russell Wade was in jail for speeding and for drunk driving than by a voice on the telephone claiming to be Jenson Wade in person.
Russell felt like smiling, and hid it by scratching his nose. ‘How did my father sound?’
The lawyer shrugged, as if trying to erase his embarrassment. ‘That’s what fooled me. When I heard his voice on the telephone, I had the impression he was trying hard not to laugh.’
Russell allowed himself that smile after all.
Discovering after all this time that Jenson Wade had a sense of humour was weird, to say the least. He wondered how many other things he didn’t know about his father. He immediately told himself, with a touch of bitterness, that there were at least as many things his father didn’t know about him.
CHAPTER 33
Russell stopped the car in front of the house and switched off the engine.
He sat for a few moments in the middle of that rural landscape, beneath an unsmiling sky. He had gently but firmly refused Woodstone’s offer to go with him, in spite of the fact that he claimed to have known Ben Shepard for decades. Whether that was true or not, his eyes had glittered with curiosity as he made the offer. Russell had understood why. This was a small town and being in possession of new information could make anyone the centre of attention.
The house he was looking at now was of stone and wood, had wide windows, and gave the impression of solidity. Its owner had clearly built it according to his own needs and his own aesthetic criteria, which were admirable. It was a two-storey house at the top of a hill. In front of the house was a lawn and a well- tended garden and in back was what looked, from the position in which he was parked, like a vegetable garden. About a hundred yards to his right there was an asphalted road that went around to the rear of the house, which was where the garage must be.
He got out of the car and approached the fence that surrounded the property. Next to the small gate was a green painted letterbox with the name Shepard on it in white letters. The gate was not locked and there were no signs warning of dogs. Russell opened it and walked along the path, which was marked out with slabs embedded in the grass. He was a few steps from the house when someone emerged from around the corner to his left. He was an elderly but still vigorous-looking man of above average height, with a lined and tanned face and surprisingly young blue eyes. His work clothes and the basket he had in his hand indicated that he had come from the vegetable garden.
When he noticed Russell, he came to a halt. ‘What do you want?’ he asked calmly but firmly.
‘I’m looking for Ben Shepard.’
‘In that case, you’ve found him.’
Russell was impressed by the old man’s character. Instinctively, he decided that the one way to deal with him was to tell him the truth.
‘My name’s Russell Wade and I’m a journalist from New York.’
‘Good. Now you’ve told me, you can take your car and go back where you came from.’
Ben Shepard walked unhurriedly past him and climbed the steps leading to the porch.
‘This is very important, Mr Shepard.’
‘I’m nearly eighty-five, young man,’ Ben Shepard replied, without turning around. ‘At my age, the only important thing is to open your eyes again the next morning.’
Russell realized that if he didn’t say something, the encounter would finish before it had even started. ‘I came here to talk to you about Little Boss.’
On hearing that name, which for years had probably been spoken nowhere but in his memory, the old man stopped on the steps. ‘What do you know about Little Boss?’ he asked, coming back down.
‘I know it was the nickname of a boy whose real name was Matt Corey.’
The reply was curt and determined. ‘Matt Corey died many years ago in Vietnam.’
‘No. Matt Corey died in New York just over six months ago.’
Ben Shepard’s shoulders appeared to droop. He seemed affected by the news, but not surprised. He stood there for a few moments, head bowed. When he looked up again, Russell saw that his eyes were watery. He recalled the tears Wendell Johnson’s brother Lester had tried to hold back.
The old man nodded towards the house. ‘Come in.’
Russell followed Ben Shepard inside and found himself in a spacious living room that occupied the whole front part of the house. On the right, over towards the fireplace, there was a pool table with a rack for the cues. The left side of the room was given over to the TV area, with armchairs and couches. The whole room was furnished in a sober and surprisingly modern style, even though the furniture didn’t look new. In the past, Russell thought, that room must have been cutting-edge of its kind. Everywhere, as a unifying element, there were pictures and objects representing a lifetime’s memories.
Shepard walked to the living room area. ‘Take a seat. Would you like a coffee?’
