Whistler's Angel by John R. Maxim Page A

meeting. Whistler refused. After that, only silence from Aubrey.
    Even knowing that he was probably still under surveillance, Whistler went about his days normally. He and Claudia would do all the usual things. Go to movies, go to dinner, take long walks or long drives. He would often ask her mother to join them. She did on occasion, but would usually decline. Other times, he’d help out at the garden center. It was just down the hill from their house. Spring was approaching and both greenhouses were filled with trays of spring flowers grown from seed. Whistler’s knowledge of plants had been almost nil if one didn’t count poppies and hemp. But he found that he rather liked working with plants of the gentler and decorative sort. Trays that he’d prepared would have burst into life between one visit and the next. It was not a big thing; it was done every day, but it still seemed a minor miracle to him. He could almost see himself doing this with his own life. It seemed such a peaceful occupation.
     
    His father, early on, had phoned Stanton Poole.
    “Do you know who I am?”
    “Some…relation to young Adam?”
    “I’m his father, yes, but I’m something more than that.” He suggested that Poole make a call of his own. He gave him the name of one Roger Clew, a senior State Department official. He suggested that Poole telephone Clew at once and ask him about Harry Whistler.
    “It is in your interest to know who I am and who my associates are. That
    established, you will receive a visit from another acquaintance of mine and Mr. Clew’s. It will be a civil visit. You’ll be shown certain papers. I think you can guess what they are.”
    “I’ve no idea.”
    “Yeah, you do. From Aubrey’s ledger. And yes, my son took it.”
    “I’m…sure that I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
    “Make the call.”
    Poole did make the call. It had its effect. Clew suggested that he take Harry Whistler at his word if he hoped to postpone meeting Jesus. The “associate” appeared at Stanton Poole’s office with selections from the ledger in hand.
    Who were these associates? His father wouldn’t say. This was normal enough, a need-to-know thing, but it still annoyed him that Poole could be told while he, Whistler, who was central to all this, was being kept in the dark. He did, however, at least know Roger Clew. Clew had worked Europe for much of his career, his specialty being Intelligence. He had been to the house in Geneva many times. But Whistler hadn’t seen him in a good fifteen years. The last time was after his mother had died. Clew was one of the speakers at her service.
    His father said that Poole made a show of being shocked when his caller let him read a few pages. Poole swore that he knew nothing of any “loss or leakage” of property that had been seized. He denied that people who were otherwise innocent were targeted for punitive raids. This was interesting, said his father, because he hadn’t been accused of targeting and looting the innocent. Poole said that he would certainly have a talk with Felix Aubrey and get to the bottom of this matter. The visitor said, “Let’s go do that together.”
    Aubrey tried to stonewall, claimed the ledger was a forgery. The visitor advised Aubrey to rethink that point of view. She said that Harry Whistler had expected the denial. There was ample corroboration, she said, in the form of several sworn affidavits.
    “She?” Whistler asked.
    “A very capable she. Not that her gender is relevant.”
    “And what affidavits? Affidavits sworn by whom?”
    A shrug, a slight smile. “Let him wonder.”
    “I…take it that there are no affidavits.”
    “If not, they’d be easy to come by and he knows it. There’s always somebody who’ll flip or sell out at the mention of a possible indictment.”
    “Or the threat of a possible accident.”
    “Whatever.”
    “So, where was it left?”
    “They behave. We’ll behave. And you walk away from this, Adam.”
    Whistler