I inched forward. That was what was so frustrating about this parade of prima donnas. All of their lives were intertwined, by history, by marriage, by shared lies. They were like a group playing three-card monte, and laughing as I kept diving for the court card. I was beginning to doubt a South Side street fighter could be a match for such smooth hustlers.
I oozed off the tollway at Warrenville Road. I could find my way from the tollway to Larchmont Hall on autopilot by now. At Larchmont, I pulled my Mustang around behind the barn, where it was hidden from both the road and the woods connecting to the Bayard estate. If someone-say, young Catherine, or even Ruth Lantner-were visiting Larchmont Hall, they wouldn’t be able to see the car.
Before leaving Oak Brook, I’d stopped in the shopping center to change out of my business clothes and put on a swimsuit, sweatshirt and jeans. These last I took off now and left in the car. I squirmed my way into the wet suit. The rubber was hard to maneuver. I was sweating from exertion by the time I finished, but feeling clammy at the same time from the cold rubber against my skin.
I put on the diver’s headlamp I’d bought this morning. Tucking the twine and small knife under my arm with fins and goggles, I padded around the barn, through the overgrown gardens to the pond.
I’d never done underwater work, but I’d learned to swim in Lake Michigan. In fact, my cousin Boom-Boom and I used to drive our mothers mad with worry by going into the foul waters of Lake Calumet, since that was closer to our homes. Funny how the stuff that’s exciting when you’re a kid with a scolding mother in the background seems horrifying when you’re an adult on your own. If Boom-Boom were here, it would be an adventure. If Boom-Boom were still alive, I wouldn’t feel so alone. Self-pitying tears spurted out. I dashed them away angrily. You’re a woman saved by action, I mocked myself get the damned fins on and get going.
The water was as nasty as I’d imagined. I made a face, then pulled the goggles over my eyes, stuck the breathing tube between my teeth, and did a handstand, trying to ignore the shock of cold water against my head. Almost at once, I became tangled in the nest of roots. Picking and kicking my way through them got my blood flowing enough to keep the cold at bay, although it also stirred up dirt from the bottom, making it harder to see anything-the headlamp couldn’t penetrate more than a few feet of this murk. As I’d expected, it didn’t matter that I’d gotten to the job late-daylight wouldn’t have made it through the knotted vegetation on the surface.
I estimated I had about four hundred square feet to cover. I grimly set about working the lanes: headstand, paw my way through the roots, feel the bottom, surface for air, repeat. The breathing tube was useless, so I laid it along the pond ledge. Each time I reached one of the walls, I’d tie off a length of twine. I started at the west end, where I’d tumbled onto Marc’s body on Sunday.
At the end of an hour, I’d covered about a hundred square feet. I’d found three rusty cans, a corroded watch, shards of china with edges worn smooth by the water and a crystal champagne goblet miraculously whole. I’d also found a number of pieces of wood so logged by water they’d sunk to the bottom.
It was seven o’clock and completely dark now in the upper world. My shoulders ached from pushing through the weeds, my nose was running and I was feeling sorrier for myself than ever. I put the goblet on the edge of the pond next to the china, tied off my line, and dove again.
At seven-thirty, I’d added more cans, some forks and spoons, more china shards and a woman’s ring to my trove. The ring had been there for some time, judging by the amount of dirt on it, but it looked as though it might have impressive stones in it. I zipped it into a pocket of the wetsuit.
At eight, when I was so cold and discouraged I wanted to quit, I found a pocket organizer. I surfaced and stared at it. I was numb, unable to summon any excitement, but I knew it had to be either Marc’s or his murderer’s-beneath the muck of dirty water and plant detritus, the grain on the brown leather was still visible. My hands were too thick with cold to try to open it here. I hoisted myself out far enough to zip it into my pocket next to the ring.
I’d covered most of the pool by then. I was tempted to call it quits, but I only had one more section to do. If I didn’t search it, I’d lie awake all night imagining the vital piece of evidence I’d overlooked. I sucked cold air into my damp lungs for a few minutes, then slid back into the water.
Nothing else was there except more wood. One piece felt as though it might actually be an artifact, not just a dead branch. I brought it to the surface with me. Pushing myself thankfully free of the murk, I walked around the pond undoing my lengths of twine, looping it around my shoulder. My legs were wobbly from two hours of diving and kicking.