Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) (30 page)

On the Fork everybody knows where everybody is every minute. Sure they did. So why didn't anybody know where the murderer was at any given time, like right before he struck? Because maybe he was a fixture and people were used to seeing him any old place at any old time. It had to be somebody who wouldn't stick out if a person happened to see him early in the morning near Carroll's Funeral Home. Or in Bay view in the middle of a Sunday. Or at the band concert. Just there. Just there, like he always is. And so damn respectable that nobody'd think twice about him.

Hallock grabbed the phone. Maguire's number was still busy. He slammed it down. He hadn't wanted to say anything to Maguire until he was sure. But now, he thought, he should be warned. It was important he know that Mark Griffing might kill him.

----

Colin and Annie sat at the kitchen table. She was wearing his blue terrycloth robe. He was in a clean set of sweats. They were eating scrambled eggs and bacon Colin had made for them. Neither one had eaten dinner.

"Funny," she said. "I feel like I'm eating breakfast, but it's dark out."

"Nice change," he said. "You look great in that color."

She smiled.

He said, "Hey, you never finished telling me about living here when you were a kid."

"There's not much to tell. We were only here two months. We came in the middle of April and we left by mid-June."

"How come?"

"The club Dad was playing at burned down." She shook her head, looked pained. "It was awful. People panicked. Most everybody got out okay. But some were burned and twelve people died."

"Jesus. How long ago was this?"

"Let's see... twenty-five years ago. Right. Twenty-five years ago this month. Two of the people who died were the parents of Jamie Perkins, my first boyfriend. They were trampled to death. I wonder what ever happened to Jamie? He was an only child. There weren't any other relatives. I begged my parents to adopt him but of course they couldn't. It was hard enough keeping the three of us in shoes with Dad's career always so iffy. I mean, when we left Seaville and moved back to Brooklyn Heights, we had no idea where the next dollar was going to come from."

"Where did it come from?"

"Oh, Dad got a job right away. He was a damn good trumpet player. Still is. I don't worry about him. But my mother's a different story."

"You said she suffers from depression."

"Yes. And sometimes she takes too many pills."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too." She looked at her food, pushed some egg around the plate, finally put down the fork.

Colin took her hand. She smiled. He leaned toward her and she met him halfway. They kissed gently.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No. Not now."

"Okay." He looked at the Yale wall clock. "It's after midnight, you know."

"Do I look like I'm going to turn into a pumpkin or something?"

"Or something," he said. "Where'd you park your car?"

She looked at him quizzically. "In front."

"You're kidding?"

"No."

"Why'd you do that? You told me—"

"I know what I told you."

"Isn't it true?"

"Yes. I think it is."

"Well, then, hell, you've got to go home."

"I want to spend the night with you, Colin."

"Listen, I want to spend the night with you more than anything, but I don't think it's a smart move. I mean, people think I'm a murderer. It's riskier than ever for you to stay here."

"Why don't you come home with me? In my car."

He shook his head, looked embarrassed.

She said, "Colin, I know you have trouble riding with someone but maybe you could try it—just this once."

There was no way he would let her see him with a panic attack. "You don't understand."

"Then tell me."

"I... I can't."

"You can." She put her hand on his leg, squeezed. "You can try."

"Okay, I'll try."

Slowly he told her, describing what the attacks were like, and ended with his head in his hands.

"It's all right, Colin. It's really all right. I'll stay here."

"No," he said. "No, you can't. I won't let you. It's bad enough that you're here this late. Come on." He took her by the hand. "Let's get dressed."

"Colin, wait. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to walk. It's not that far to your place."

"Are you sure you want to?"

He nodded.

"What about the morning?"

"I'll leave early and walk back."

After they were dressed Annie left. He watched her drive away. There didn't seem to be anyone on the street, but he couldn't be sure. He put out the porch light, closed the door, and locked it.

Inside he doused the lights one by one and made his way upstairs. In his bedroom he turned on a light. The blinds were drawn, but there was enough spill for anyone watching to see it. He waited three minutes, then turned off the light and went back down the stairs, hunkering down as he passed the living room windows. In the kitchen he carefully opened the back door and went out.

Keeping close to the hedges he made his way to the back of his yard, found an opening in the hedge, and crossed through to his neighbor's yard. Cautiously, he crept across the lawn and came out on Sixth Street. All was still. Not a light on. He began to jog, a slow, even rhythm, down the road and out onto Main Street. If anyone was watching his house they wouldn't know he'd left. At least, he hoped they wouldn't.

LOOKING BACK—75 YEARS AGO

Ground was broken Tuesday morning for the new Seaville Gazette building on Center Street, directly opposite the Auditorium and the Masonic Temple. The stone wall has been taken down in front of where the building will stand, and the land is being cut down to street level. The building will be of stucco with a two-story front and offices on the second floor. Everything will be up to date: plate glass front, electric lights, steam heat, hardwood floors, with a 50-foot basement.

THIRTY

Why did everyone think they could fool him? Play games. Tricks. He was the master, after all. Trickster. Trick or treat? I'll have a little trick, sir. You are a little trick, dearie!

Such a peaceful weekend we've had. This town's a loser and I'm here to win. Peace on earth, good will toward men. I know lots of good will. Good Will Oursler, Good Will Shakespeare, good Will James, good Will Bendix, on and on and on.

So four down, five to go. Got to make the next one a real goody. Got to top the last one. Hard to do. Can't let down on the perfection aspect, though. High-quality killings. Keep my standards high. Quality is important in everything we do. Why should it be any different in killing? I'm working on my moves... I'm making front page news. And then there's detail. Every last detail must be considered. I am a stickler for detail. But that must be evident. Surely if they thought about it they'd consider the detail, consider the inspiration behind the detail. But no one thinks anymore. No one knows how to put two and two together because they are too busy dividing four into two. But, oh, the detail. Detail, one, two, three, hup!

Look over the list. Three females gone. One male. It is true that the females are easier. You have to really use an element of surprise with men, have an edge. Well, surprise figures in all of them but the females are a pushover. The kid, too. Didn't like that one. Thought it would be easy. Almost couldn't do it. Getting soft? Easy does it. Cool. Easy. Take it easy. Kiss the sky.

So kill the poison pen. Wordsmith. Scribbler, penman, ink- slinger, scrivener, word painter, hack. Do it. Do it soon. Do it now. And that's an order, son.

Yes, sir. Right, sir. Immediately, sir.

LOOKING BACK—25 YEARS AGO

The talk entitled "Civic Righteousness" at the Thursday noon luncheon meeting of the Seaville Rotary Club was a program in keeping with the world in which we live today. The speaker was Roger Adams, a retired Lutheran clergyman. In his opening remarks Mr. Adams stated that God had blessed America, whose cities had been spared during two World Wars. Now that we are living in an atomic age, America's hope for the future lies in its moral outlook and the moral strength of its citizens.

THIRTY-ONE

Colin got to the Gazette building at six-thirty Tuesday morning. Annie had set the alarm for five-thirty. They'd had a quick cup of coffee before he set out on foot. It was a gray day. Fog was coming in from the Sound, making everything damp, the sun just a memory.

The office was cool, almost clammy. He snapped the lock on the door and left the pulled green shade in place. His heels made a clacking sound on the hardwood floor.

In his office he flipped the light switch. He dialed information for the number of Wood's Motel. When a woman answered he asked for Room 131.

"You calling for Waldo Hallock?" the woman asked. "Yes."

"He ain't here."

"He checked out?"

"Didn't say that, did I? I said, he ain't here."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Nope."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Nope."

"Did he come back from Florida yet?" "Nope."

"Then you do know where he is." Silence.

"Okay, never mind. Just tell him to call Colin Maguire when he gets in. The number's 777-2561." Silence.

"Are you there?"

"I'm here."

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard."

"Thank you."

She hung up.

He sat at his desk, wondering why Hallock hadn't gotten back yet. He'd probably tried to get him yesterday but couldn't get through. Maybe Hallock had found out something. Maybe he'd cracked the damn thing, found out who the killer was, found out it wasn't Mark.

He'd managed to put thoughts of the killings, Mark, Babe's story out of his mind while he was with Annie. But he couldn't hide from it any more. Things were closing in on him; he'd have to watch Mark carefully, see what he could pick up. But Babe's story might make it impossible for him to stay on at the Gazette. The reality was that he didn't have any idea what was going to happen next. He'd have to play it by ear.

God, a shitload of work had piled up on his desk. The first thing to do was the Looking Back column. He'd finished the bound volumes with last week's issue and needed to get the next volumes in the series.

He walked to the back staircase and snapped on the light. The steps creaked under his weight. He hated these stairs. They were wooden and open in the back, reminding him of the stairs to the basement in his childhood home. Brian had teased him mercilessly, telling him that monsters would bite his heels as he went down the steps. Often his mother asked him to go to the cellar to get her something. Too ashamed to tell her he was afraid, he went, terrified. Then he'd fallen, breaking an arm. After that his mother never sent him down again and Brian accused him of falling on purpose. Sometimes he wondered if his brother had been right.

In the basement he crossed the cement floor to where the books were kept. He pulled one for twenty-five, fifty, and seventy-five years ago. Each volume held papers for twelve weeks at a time. Colin laid them down on a bench, opened the one for twenty-five years ago, and flipped to the second issue.

He didn't know why he wanted to see the article about the fire Annie's father had been in. Maybe it was a way of being closer to her. After flipping through the pages, he realized he must be in the wrong issue and turned to the next one. There it was on the front page.

There were two pictures. The larger was of the building burned to the ground, with firemen standing around. The second picture showed a row of tarp-covered bodies on the ground in front of the

burned-out structure. Under the first picture it said: "Firemen Ed Lacy and Jarvis Grattan, part of the team who fought a losing battle for hours, view the remains of the new, popular nightclub in Seaville." The caption underneath the second read: "The bodies of the twelve people who died in the fire." The story was on page 2. As Colin turned the page he was stopped by Mark's voice.

"Morning, pal."

"Jesus, Mark, don't creep up on a guy."

Mark smiled. "Sorry."

"What are you doing here so early?"

"Hey, it's my paper, isn't it?"

Colin didn't like Mark's answer. It seemed odd, defensive. Suddenly he felt apprehensive and wanted to get out of the basement. He closed the book he'd been looking through. "I was just getting the new volumes for the Looking Back column."

"You're not going to need them," Mark said ominously.

"Why not?"

"Don't you know?" Mark's usual good looks, almost pretty in their perfection, seemed sharp, unyielding.

"No."

Mark stared at him, his brown eyes cold. "It's all over, Colin."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was an asshole to give you this job. Christ, you really jerked me around."

Colin took a step toward Mark.

He moved back. "Listen, pal, don't try anything with me. The police are onto you. They called me an hour ago, said you weren't at your house but your car was there. I figured you'd be here. I want you to surrender."

"Surrender?"

"Cut the shit, Colin."

"You think I committed these murders?" He almost laughed. "You've got to be kidding."

"You really had me fooled. I just couldn't believe you could kill Nancy and the kids. I guess nobody can ever believe a friend is guilty of something like that."

So this was what Mark was going to do—try to pin it all on him. "This isn't going to work, you know."

"Don't make it harder than it is, pal. They've already found her, okay?"

"Who's already found who?"

Mark smiled. "You're beautiful, you really are. Missed your calling, Colin. You should have been an actor."

Colin's mouth was dry. It clicked when he opened it. "Who did they find?" he asked. The only person he could think about was Annie. If Mark had killed her, he didn't know what he would do.

"You know who they found. Why ask me?"

"I don't know, Mark. Tell me."

"What I don't get are the symbols. What the hell do these swastikas mean?"