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“Here? In your backyard? But you never reported his death.”
“I buried him myself.”
“Why?”
“To protect the girls.”
“From what?”
“He committed suicide. The poor kid tied a rope around his neck. He tied the other end to a concrete block. Then he picked up the block and waded into the pond until the mud got him and the block dragged his head under. I saw his foot. His trouser leg had trapped air and it floated. Don’t you understand, Bell? The girls loved him. The idea that he was so unhappy that he would commit suicide would destroy them. I know, because I still ask myself every day what did I do wrong? What could I have done better?”
“Spike said you were never the same after that.”
“Spike was right.”
“Why did you have Spike shot?”
“Spike wasn’t as dumb as I thought. Or as ‘honorable.’ He figured out what I was up to, and when the Standard started breathing down his neck in Kansas, he threatened to tell Rockefeller that I was out to destroy him. He thought I could help him, that I could stop the Standard from busting up his business . . . Before you start blaming some other innocent, I repeat, I didn’t ‘have Spike shot.’ I shot him myself.”
“No you didn’t,” said Bell. “You were a thousand miles away at Constable Hook at your regularly scheduled meeting with Averell Comstock.”
“I was not at Constable Hook. I was in Kansas.”
“Van Dorn detectives read it in Comstock’s diary,” said Bell. “You were not in Kansas the day Spike was shot. And before you cook up a new lie, Comstock’s secretary confirmed that indeed you did show up for that meeting, on time, as always . . .”
Matters tugged at the handcuffs. In a bitter voice he asked, “When did you start checking up on me?”
“We checked up on all the new men who were in a position to attack Standard Oil from within the company. After you tried to kill Mr. Rockefeller, we naturally focuse
d full attention on you. Where did you bury Billy?”
“Right here.” Matters pointed at the headstone. “Shakespeare’s grave.”
Bell peered at the stone, imagining the sequence of events. The boy was dead. The headstone was already there. Matters dug a hole. The stone marked an unmarked grave.
Matters said, “Funny thing is, he never wanted to come to the theater. Hated it. Poor kid never could fit in. Fidgeted the whole play.”
“You buried him right here when he drowned himself?”
“Like I just told you. You can dig up the poor kid’s bones if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe that you buried him. But I don’t believe that he drowned himself.”
“He drowned,” Matters repeated doggedly.
“Drowning was the least likely method Billy would have chosen to kill himself. If he drowned, he was not a suicide.”
“He drowned.”
“Then someone murdered him.”
“I would never hurt him.”
“I believe you. But you found his body.”
“I told you.”
“Did the girls mention that I knew Billy slightly at college?”
