The Mighty Johns: A Novella by David Baldacci

Author:David Baldacci
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2021-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

D​RAVEN GASPED.

McIntyre had come out wearing both a wig and the gown. She was turned away from them, as North had instructed, so that Draven could only see her from the back.

“You recognize the gown?” asked North.

Draven slowly nodded. “Where did you find it? You must tell me that.”

“It’s yours?”

Again a nod, her lips moved erratically, yet no words came.

“I found it in a very special room underneath the stadium. I also found a wig. The one that Molly is wearing.”

It was not the wig, of course, but a reasonable facsimile that he had bought and which McIntyre had helped him fashion in the style of forty years prior.

McIntyre rejoined them, sitting down next to North.

“Do you recognize this?” asked North, pointing to the wig McIntyre had on.

“No, I’ve never worn a wig.”

“I understand that. I didn’t mean do you recognize the wig, I meant do you recognize the hairstyle?” He pulled from his pocket the news clipping with the photo showing Ruggles, Draven, and her husband at the awards banquet. He passed it over to her. She looked at the picture and then at the wig.

“I see your point,” she said quietly.

“I’m sure you do.” He paused, eyeing the dimensions of the vast hall. “You have a basement corridor, stone, with low ceilings here, correct?”

When Draven looked puzzled, North took out the photograph that McIntyre had back at her apartment. “This space?”

“Oh, yes.” She shivered. “A very cold place. John loved it. I never go down there.”

“I thought as much. They would have needed some safe place to study the effect.”

“The effect?” said Draven.

“I’ve found that the best way to really determine the truth is to replicate the conditions and elements of whatever it is you’re trying to prove.”

Draven now clearly understood what he was getting at. “Follow me.”

It took about an hour, for North had to get the lighting and other conditions in the lower passageway just the way he wanted, which included the removal of all furniture, paintings, and other objects until the space was entirely bare.

As he pulled one painting off the wall, he looked at it and then glanced at Draven. “This is your husband? In uniform?”

“Yes, he fought in World War Two. Well, he didn’t actually fight. He was too old. But he wanted to be part of it and he had important friends in the government. So he had a nice, safe desk job overseas. But to hear him tell it, he beat Hitler all by himself.”

North laid the painting aside and looked at the long hallway, now shorn of all decoration. He smiled at the result. Yes, this would work out very nicely.

Draven and North stood at the far end of the tunnel, for that was certainly what it was now, a tunnel—if not the tunnel.

In the spirit of a director about to commence his masterpiece, North called out, “Action.”

At the far end of the tunnel, a door opened, and McIntyre stepped out into the shadows wearing the gown and wig. When they saw her both North and Draven exchanged a knowing glance.

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