Barry Friedman - Dead End (26 page)

Vandergrift almost fell backward out of her chair
as flames shot halfway to the ceiling from the
sagan-aki
, a goat cheese flambé, the waitress was holding.

“Oompah!”

Maharos and the Sussmans shouted in unison along
with a dozen other diners in The Athenian Restaurant.

Marc Sussman guffawed. “Karen, you’re going to
have to learn to get used to these fireworks when you eat in a Greek
restaurant.”

She shook her head slowly. “I hate to wait around
and see what comes out of the
dolmas
Al ordered for me.”

It was two weeks following the chase down I 77
after Rankins. A few days after it was over, Maharos had called Marc Sussman to
invite him and his wife, Annabelle, to dinner. “I owe you one for your help on
the case. You called it.”

“You mean the heptamaniac. Yeah, I read the
gruesome report in the paper. Are you still on administrative leave?”

“No. They gave me back my gun.”

“You feel okay?”

“You asking if I need a session on your couch?”

“Don’t be a macho wiseass. I happen to know that
inside that hairy chest there beats a heart.”

Maharos said, “No, really, I’m feeling fine now.
I did have a couple of bad nights after it was over, but I convinced myself
that I had no choice. I gave him a chance. It was either Rankins or Dr.
Schneider.”

“How is Dr. Schneider?”

“Except for a row of stitches that make his head
look like a National League baseball, he’s all right.”

Sussman said, “Last time I talked to you, you
were cursing because you had been subpoenaed to appear as a witness in the
trial of that decorator in Canton—the one that had been arrested for killing
his lover. Whatever became of that?”

“Yeah, Lance Harwood. The charges were dropped
after we found evidence that Rankins had killed Burnstein. There was another
guy too, Roy Young, who was being held in jail in New Philly. They had booked
him for killing Hamberger. Of course, they let him go.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that it’s
rough being an executioner, but—.“

Sussman said, “I know what you mean, Al. It
resolved a lot of problems. You know, of course, that Rankins would probably
never have gone to trial. With his background, he’d have ended up in Oakwood or
some other institution for a few years. Then—well who knows?”

“You’re probably right even though there was no
question that he had killed the seven people—six on his list and one bonus. We
had collected a file full of evidence. Incidentally, we got a match on the blue
fibers from his sweater, also on his shoe prints with those we found at a
couple of the murder scenes.”

“I’d love to write a paper on him for one of the
psych journals. You know, a guy who’s impotent, paranoid-schizophrenic,
heptamaniacal—and does serial murders.”

“Would it help your paper if I told you that he
also had dandruff and athlete’s foot?”

Sussman chuckled. “I guess you’re over your
depression.”

“Seriously Marc, I know the guy had scrambled
eggs for brains—although he was not stupid. But you’ve always told us that most
of your psychotics are not dangerous. What made this one different?”

“I can give you an answer, although I can’t vouch
for its accuracy. My theory is that he was getting instructions from one of the
characters in the Bible.”

“Voices?”

“Uh-huh. Schizophrenics have auditory
hallucinations at times. Some of his testimony at the preliminary hearing when
he was brought in on charges of killing his landlady strongly suggest that he
was hearing voices that were in his head.”

“That’s still not a reason to kill someone.”

“Of course not. But we know that he was impotent,
had been all his life, probably on an inherited hormonal basis. Give someone
with paranoid-schizophrenia an idea that his failure to get an erection is due
to something like an operation on his genitals—for example, the
circumcision—and you’ve got, what in his mind, is a reason to kill. In this
case, the doctor who performed the circumcision, and anyone else in any way
connected became a potential victim.

“Notice that all his victims were male, except
for Abelson’s paramour. We’re quite sure that she wasn’t an intended victim. He
probably had some weird idea that the sexuality of the men he killed would be
transferred to him if he got rid of them. In that case he would see his victims
as sacrificial.”

“One thing that had us puzzled was his using a
different gun for each of the killings. We wondered why. He put his signature
on each of the victims by shooting them in the same place, so he wasn’t trying
to fool us on ballistics.”

Sussman said, “Of course, we’ll never know. But
my guess is that the voices in his head told him that he had to use a clean
sacrificial instrument for each one.”

“Speaking of sacrificial instruments, we never
did find the guns he used.”

“They’re probably at the bottom of a lake—maybe
several lakes.”

Maharos said, “You guys have an answer for
everything.”

“Ask and ye shall receive. How about a little
therapy?”

“No thanks. I’m handling it all right. But thanks
for the offer.”

Now, seated in the Greek restaurant, Annabelle
Sussman said, “Karen, have you ever had this lemon soup before?”

“Never. I’ve been missing a treat.”

Marc Sussman said, “You’ve been hanging out with
Alexander the Great for over a month and he hasn’t introduced you to
gyros
and
spanakopita
yet?”

“Do hot dogs and hamburgers count?”

Sussman threw up his hands. “For the next
occasion I’m going to give you a copy of the
Joys Of Greek Cooking.”

Vandergrift dropped her gaze and examined some
crumbs on the tablecloth. Annabelle Sussman looked from Vandergrift to Maharos.
A suppressed smile touched the corners of Maharos’ mouth.

Annabelle said, “It’ll make a great wedding
present.”

Vandergrift’s face turned pink.

Marc Sussman spread a glob of cheese on a piece
of pita bread. “Isn’t that just like a woman? For God’s sake, Annabelle, just
because they look at each other like a couple of lovesick school kids it
doesn’t mean they’re picking out silverware patterns.”

Maharos put his hand over Karen’s. “Well, we’re
not ready to make an announcement, but Karen has put in for a transfer to the
Mahoning County Sheriff’s Department.”

Sussman smiled, nodded his head slowly. “There’s
real romance for you. Whether or not they get married, depends on a clerk in
some bureau finding the right stamp—what are you staring at, Al?”

Maharos had a grin on his face. He pointed his
fork at Sussman. “Hey, did you know you chew each mouthful seven times?”