The Hidden Life

By Robert Castle

The police have just surrounded the hereditary mansion of Gladwynne Biddleton. He has just shot and wounded his security chief, Dominic Kittredge, and killed Dominic's wife, Theresa. As he watches the siege unfold on TV, historical visions besiege Gladwynne's mind. By turns he is a B-17 bombardier; an SS officer tasked with burning t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atmosphere Press
• Release date: Sep 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781649219404

Book preview

i. Your baby

Pilot to bombardier, we’re nearing our target.

A pause before the pilot continued.

Okay, Tony, it’s your baby.

He squeezed with all the power in his body. Nothing dropped.

Tony rocked side to side nervously.

We’re coming around again, said the pilot.

He gazed through the narrow scope. The flattop sat helplessly. The little men on the deck scattered around their recently fueled Zeros. The dark red suns on the wings made inviting targets. Tony held the turning point of the war in his grasp. All depended on his accuracy. Sweat ran into his eyes. He squeezed hard again.

Let it go, the pilot and co-pilot yelled at him.

His feet pressed hard on the floor. The engines hummed more loudly.

They circled for another run.

He breathed hard.

American fighter planes strafed the water. A steady hot stream poured from the cannons on the wings. The Bombers circled the aircraft carriers.

The Japanese Air Force and Navy a few bombs from being knocked out of the war.

ii. Take no prisoners

He stands off the toilet, walks back to the sofa, and flops down.

Four o’clock. The early local newscast starts with the siege at Wolf Chase Acres. The standoff had lasted nearly twenty-four hours so far. The cameras catch three policemen joking with one another. A voiceover recounts the previous day’s events.

Tony knows the story by heart.

The man (some stinking rich, rich guy) arrived at Dominic Kitteridge’s house in the late afternoon. Kitteridge met him in the driveway. It had snowed nearly ten inches. They exchanged words for a few minutes. Mrs. Kitteridge apparently saw them from the front doorway. The stinking rich man pulled a revolver from his jacket and shot three times. One hit Mr. Kitteridge in the shoulder, another smashed the thigh, and one bit the snowy gravel driveway. It was uncertain what order these targets had been hit. Tony suspects that the missed shot occurred while Kitteridge dropped to the ground. Mrs. Kitteridge rushed outside and startled the shooter, who fired a final shot through her forehead. The shooter knew Kitteridge, knew him extraordinarily well. According to the Kitteridge’s teenage daughter, who came to a second-floor window as her mother’s head exploded, the horribly wealthy man dropped the revolver, started backing his Lexus wagon out of the driveway, and sped away.

Police arrived at the Wolf Chase estate forty minutes later. By that time, the shooter had locked himself inside the three-story mansion, where it was known that he had a small arsenal consisting of a machine gun, shotguns, .45 automatics, assorted hunting rifles, and perhaps more powerful deadly weapons. Through bullhorns, the police have cajoled the shooter to give up, to be reasonable, so nobody else would get hurt, or, at least, regard the reputation of his own family, the Biddletons.

It was very moving.

Silence from the mansion, however. No phones were answered. A few lights shone from spaces well away from the windows. According to latest reports, local police cordoned off one thousand yards on all sides and waited. The State Police, F.B.I., and A.T.F. had joined the local police this morning. 

When the siege attracted the national media, within a half-hour of the stinking wealthy son of a bitch locking himself in, television and newspaper commentaries soon accused the local police of acting improperly. The police chief defended his decision to surround the estate and wait it out. Chief Gottlieb didn’t want to add to the list of casualties, nor was he certain in what state of mind the shooter was in.

Why were they waiting now and joking around? 

Tony knows. Because the man inside is rich: filthy rich. A non-wealthy, non-white person would have had bombs dropped on him. 

 Of course, the man inside the Estate has great killing weaponry at his disposal, is probably scared and jittery, and, if attacked, can take down a dozen or more men before police could make visual contact. Moreover, tear gas might be ineffective to disable him because his exact location in the house is not known. From first-hand experience, Gottlieb knows that the nut, as he was inclined to call him, has a bunker or a nuclear fallout shelter within the bowels of the mansion that can forestall the police’s strongest efforts.

Tony thinks the Chief an honorable police veteran, judicious but decisive, who wouldn’t have hesitated to attack. He must know something that Tony and the public did not: the mind of the rich, psychotic maniac who might prefer Suicide by Cop, although, this may have only been something seen on a television cop show. Perhaps the shooter has already committed suicide? Who knows? 

Contributing to the circus of speculation and morbid watchfulness is the image of aristocratic America in a state of utter degradation. Gottlieb is giving the maniac the benefit of the doubt. Innocent until proven guilty? Hardly. He didn’t want the responsibility for killing a scion from one of the richest families in the world.

Oh, how many, including Tony, would love to see street justice prevail? Attack the bunker. Drop the bomb on the mansion. Use flamethrowers and hand grenades.

No prisoners.

Testimony

State your name and occupation for the court.

Bernard Thierry, Biddleton Family Lawyer.

How long have you worked for the Biddletons, Mr. Thierry?

For twenty-five years I’ve made certain the defendant, Mr. Biddleton, did not get into legal trouble or harassed by the news media.

Mr. Thierry, where were you on the afternoon of February 14th?

As was my protocol, I was making my monthly visit to the Gladwynne Biddleton estate.

When did you arrive at the mansion?

Around quarter to four.

What happened when you arrived?

I was pulling up in my car when I saw Mr. Biddleton dash from the house to his Lexus wagon and speed away.

Where did the defendant get the car from?

One of the garages, I suppose.

Were all the cars ready to be used?

Most of them.

Who had the keys? Where were they kept?

In a locked cabinet. In the foyer as you enter the mansion.

Was the cabinet broken into or unlocked?

Apparently, Mr. Gladwynne found a key. I don’t know for certain.

Did the defendant drive a car very often?

No.

Wasn’t he usually taken around by the chauffeur?

Yes. But even that was a rare occasion.

But he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, driving away in the snow?

It looked like it.

What did you do, then?

I was very confused. At first, I thought about going into the house and ask one of the servants what had happened?

Did you?

No, I decided to follow the car. It had gone out of sight. I followed the car tracks to the main road, made a left onto the road and, a few minutes later, saw the Lexus.

Did you catch up to him?

No. I followed him to the Kitteridge house on the Estate, which was a few miles away...

Mr. Thierry, were you were present when the defendant shot Mr. Kitteridge and his wife?

Yes, I was just pulling in.

Did you try to stop him?

I didn’t know why he went there. I had no inkling that Gladwynne had gone there to harm anyone.

What did you see?

Mr. Kitteridge approaching the car. Gladwynne sticking a gun out the car window and shooting Mr. Kitteridge.

Then what happened?

Mr. Kitteridge fell on the ground bleeding in the driveway. The snow turned crimson. Mrs. Kitteridge exited the house and ran toward her husband. The gun fired again and she, too, fell to the ground.

What did the defendant do then?

He dropped the gun and started backing the car from the driveway. He barely missed hitting me, standing next to my car...

Did he see you or say anything?

I yelled to him. He made no indication that he saw me. Then he drove away.

What did you do?

I phoned the police. I have a phone in my car.

Thank you. I have no more questions.

iii. Reasons of state

The phone began ringing every ten minutes. The message left the first time was friendly. 

Mr. Biddleton, pick up the phone. We know you are there. We just want to talk to you. We don’t want to hurt you. This is Chief Gottlieb. Remember me? We will keep the line open when you feel ready to talk.

Why should he pick up the phone? Could the police and armed forces of another country besiege sovereign territory and, then, so blithely phone and act as if he’s the aggressor? Yes, he had invited diplomatic and military emissaries into his home many times, but who had given the Chief authority to blockade his estate? Their reluctance to attack undoubtedly assured Tony that higher authorities would not sanction a transgression. When the President or Secretary of State calls – they had his private bunker phone number – he would be willing to negotiate. Putting the