The Church of Dead Girls (30 page)

The three looked at one another. Their expressions showed a friendly and mild exasperation, as if they had been afraid that my question might come up.

“We've spoken to many people,” said Bauer. “We understand you've talked to the police, as have others. But we felt there'd be no harm in sifting through the material once again. Not that you're hiding anything, but possibly the police missed something.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what made them competent investigators, but it seemed more protests on my part could be interpreted as defiance and I had to ask myself if it was worth the risk.

“I didn't see Meg again that evening,” I said.

They asked more questions and I described how Sadie had come over to my house and how we had gone out to look for Meg and how Sadie had found the umbrella.

“You were the one to call the police?” asked Agnes.

I admitted I was. I tried to answer their questions coolly, without slowing irritation. I described how I had remained in Franklin's house till midnight, then come home.

“I have another question,” said Donald, “and I must say I have absolutely no wish to offend you.”

I waited, expecting the worst.

Donald glanced at Mrs. Hilton, who nodded to him in return. “What we would like to know is whether you are homosexual.”

Though I expected to be surprised, I was shocked nonetheless. “My personal life is none of your concern,” I said.

“We understand that,” said Donald. He again looked at the others for support, then he tried to smile affably. Though he looked cheerful with his large Irish face, he was not a man whom I suspected of much cheer. “You must see,” he continued, “that we are not asking for ourselves but in the interest of finding the missing girls. Do you know other homosexuals in Aurelius?”

I hesitated again. “I may.”

“What about Jaime Rose?” asked Agnes Hilton.

“Is he homosexual?” I responded.

“What about Aaron McNeal?” asked Donald.

“I very much doubt it. He has girlfriends all over town.” His question surprised me and I wondered if it had been prompted by Aaron's friendship with Barry.

Donald began to speak quickly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his big stomach resting on his thighs. “Whether you're homosexual is your own business, but we wondered if there were an organization in Aurelius of gay men. We'd like the chance to address them, just to make certain that all possible avenues have been explored.”

“We've talked to other groups too,” said Bauer. He described a group devoted to ballroom dancing that met at the Episcopal church and I found it incredible that he would compare an organization of gay men to a ballroom-dancing club.

“We've talked to the Masons and Kiwanis Club as well,” said Agnes. They looked at me with kindly concern, as if there was something wrong with me. I looked back at them blankly, trying to hide the fact that I thought something might be wrong with
them.

“I know of no organization of gay men in Aurelius,” I said, which was true. In fact, I felt they already must know this, which meant they had come not for this sort of information but rather for the chance to look at me more closely.

“I know you're upset about the missing girls,” said Donald, leaning back in the chair, “especially since you're close to Sadie. It's a terrible thing that's happened not only to the families of those girls but to the town as a whole.” He gently rubbed his cheek with his right hand, as if touching a bruise. “I'm sure you're concerned with all that's happened—the bomb scare at the high school, the death of that professor, and of course the mistrust. But our normal life won't resume till we know what happened to Sharon and Meg. Their extraordinary disappearances has forced us to take extraordinary measures.”

“Do you really think our lives will return to normal?” I asked. “Even if we learn what happened?”

“Perhaps not,” said Donald.

“But we hope so,” said Agnes Hilton. “And we certainly pray for that.”

T
wo days after Halloween, Ryan Tavich got a telephone call. He heard a low female voice speaking in a whisper.

“You can let Aaron McNeal out of jail,” she said. “He was with me on Halloween night.”

The fact that Aaron was in jail in Potterville had been reported in the
Independent.

“And who're you?” asked Ryan. He'd been expecting something like this. He tried to place the voice but couldn't.

“I don't wish to say,” said the woman rather primly.

Ryan made a regretful noise. “I'm afraid I can't let McNeal go free just on your word. I don't know who you are and I don't know any of the particulars of the time he spent with you.”

“Surely you can guess the particulars.”

Ryan wondered if that was true. “But I still don't know who you are. Why should I believe you?”

“If I gave you my name, would you promise not to reveal it?”

“I'd need to talk to you,” said Ryan.

“You are talking to me.”

“I'd need to talk to you in person.”

“That's impossible.” The woman's voice rose a little.

“Then Aaron will have to stay in jail.” Ryan waited.

“But why?” asked the woman.

Ryan decided to stop fooling around. “Because I want to talk to you face-to-face. Take it or leave it.”

There was a pause as Ryan listened to the woman breathe. He heard a cash register ring somewhere behind her. Who still used an old-fashioned cash register? Captain Percy came into the office with two of his men. They walked over to a survey map tacked to the wall and Percy pointed to a spot north of town.

“It would have to be very private,” said the woman.

“Anywhere you want.”

“If you were convinced that Aaron was with me, would you let him out of jail right away?”

“Of course.”

“Then we should meet this morning.” The woman was silent for a moment. “What if we meet in the reference room at the library at nine-thirty. There's never anyone there.”

Ryan agreed and they hung up. He wondered about the woman. Her voice wasn't a girl's voice but he couldn't guess her age. And he wondered about the cash register. He could see it in his mind's eye—chrome with black keys—but he couldn't think where it was. The library was three blocks away and Ryan decided to walk. Captain Percy and his men were still studying the wall map. In the past month, Percy had lost some of his military bearing. Not that he had become any warmer, he just seemed less confident. Like all of us, thought Ryan.

Grabbing his sport coat, Ryan walked out of City Hall and turned right, up Main Street. It was a cool, sunny day and a few last leaves were blowing along the gutters. There wasn't much traffic but he saw a few people he knew and he waved. Cars were parked diagonally in front of the Friends of Sharon Malloy. Sharon's picture was on the right side of the door and Meg's was on the left. Ryan passed Junior's and the Key Bank. He passed Weaver's Bakery and Malloy's Pharmacy. The huge picture of Sharon in the window at Malloy's smiled out at him. He glanced through the door but saw no one inside, or maybe he saw a movement—he couldn't be sure. Reaching Carnegie Library, he climbed the steps and entered the general reading room. About ten people were looking through the newspapers and magazines. Ryan recognized nearly all and nodded to several. The librarian, Mrs. Wright, raised her eyebrows at Ryan.

“I got to check some stuff,” he said. He hurried by her before she could offer to help and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The reference room was empty. The radiators were making clanking noises. Ryan took a volume of the
Encyclopaedia Britannica
and sat down at a table by the back wall but facing the door. He opened the volume to an article on Tibet and began to glance through it. He thought how he would never visit Tibet and, for that matter, how he would probably never visit Europe. He wondered if he felt bad about that and decided he didn't.

Someone entered the room. It was Mrs. Porter, who worked at Malloy's Pharmacy. He felt annoyed, afraid that her presence might scare away the woman he was supposed to meet. Then, to his surprise, he saw that Mrs. Porter was walking directly to his table, and, with greater surprise, he realized she was the woman he had talked to on the phone. It made him remember where he had seen the cash register; at least that was settled.

Mrs. Porter was a respectable-looking woman in her forties, plain, but in good shape, wearing a three-quarter-length blue wool jacket over a dark dress. Ryan expected her to say something like, “I'm so ashamed.”

Instead she said, “Is this good enough?”

Ryan had seen her a hundred times but never outside the pharmacy. He realized he knew nothing about her. He vaguely remembered a Mr. Porter, but he had no idea what the man did. The woman had never been pretty, Ryan was sure of that, but she was well-dressed and her dark brown eyes were attractive. She was neither thin nor fat: compact, was how Ryan described her.

“Sit down,” he said.

She hesitated, then sat at the table across from him. She folded her hands in front of her. “Should I get a book too?” she asked, somewhat ironically.

“If you like.” She didn't move. Ryan looked down at his hands, which were square with short fingers. He looked at Mrs. Porter's hands, which were large with long fingers, probably bigger than his own hands. “What's your first name?” he asked.

“Mildred,” she said.

Abruptly, Ryan remembered she had been married to Rolf Porter, who ran the Century 21 real estate office and was co-chairman of the Friends of Sharon Malloy with Sandra Petoski. He couldn't remember if they had children.

“Tell me about your relationship with Aaron,” asked Ryan.

“There's no relationship. He's come to my house several times and spent the night. I'm not sure if he'll come again.” Her tone was slightly defiant, as if she expected Ryan to disapprove. She looked him in the eye without blinking.

“And he was with you on Halloween?”

“He left the next morning when I went to work.”

“How long have you known him?”

“I've known who he is for years. A month ago he spoke to me in the pharmacy. Then he came in a day after that and we talked some more. Two days later he came to my house in the evening. I didn't send him away.” Again her voice had a defiant edge. Ryan wondered what Aaron had found attractive about her.

“What do you talk about?” asked Ryan.

She appeared unsure for a moment, as if Ryan were suggesting that a man in his twenties and a woman in her forties would have no common subjects. “All sorts of things.”

“Did he talk about Houari Chihani?”

“No.”

“Did he talk about Sharon Malloy?”

“A little.”

“Did he talk about his mother?”

“Yes, a number of times.”

“Like what?”

“He talked about her sense of humor, how she was energetic, how she always seemed interested in him. He even talked about how she had brushed her hair.”

Ryan had a sudden memory of Janice sitting before her mirror brushing and brushing for up to half an hour. The memory almost disarmed him.

“Did he talk about her murder?”

“Not directly. It's a very painful subject for him.”

“What about her relationship with men?”

“He said that she'd probably had sex with over two hundred men in Aurelius. He was impressed by that. I asked if he was going to match her number with women and he said he might.”

“What did you like about Aaron?” asked Ryan.

“He was nice and he wanted me. Does that surprise you?”

Ryan looked away. They were still alone in the room. He closed the volume of the encyclopedia that lay before him. “Did you know his mother?” he asked.

Mrs. Porter hesitated. “She came into the pharmacy a number of times.”

“To buy things?”

“Of course.”

“What kind of things.”

“The usual things.”

“Did she buy condoms?”

“Yes.”

“Did she talk to Donald?”

“Sometimes he waited on her.”

“Did they seem friendly?”

“Not especially. They were rather cool to each other, actually.”

“What did you think of her?”

“I don't know if I had an opinion.”

“You must have.”

She looked down at the table, then looked back at him. “She was your lover too, wasn't she?”

Ryan felt irritated by the question. Then he almost smiled at his prissiness. “For a while.”

“Did you like her?”

“Very much.”

“She must have been an amazing person to have so many men feel so strongly about her. Do you like Aaron?”

“I find him a pain, but it's hard for me not to like him. He looks like her.”

“Do you still think of his mother?”

Ryan leaned back. “I'm supposed to be the one asking the questions.”

Mrs. Porter clicked her tongue against her teeth, a dismissive noise. “Then ask.”

“Have you ever been involved with Donald Malloy?”

“Of course not.”

“Why ‘of course not'?”

“He's my employer.”

“Do you find him unattractive?”

“I've never thought about him in that way.”

Ryan considered Mrs. Porter's feelings about men. He had thought that women who liked sex always showed it, but Mildred Porter showed nothing. Ryan guessed he had been wrong about that as he had been wrong about other things.

“Are you going to let Aaron out of jail now?” she asked.

“Right away.”

An hour later Ryan released Aaron from jail. Ryan didn't speak as they walked to his car. He wanted to make Aaron curious, if that was possible. The sky had clouded over and the temperature was dropping. There would be snow by evening. Aaron looked straight ahead through the windshield and said nothing.

“Tell me,” said Ryan after they had driven a few miles, “what do you see in Mildred Porter?”

“She likes sex.” Aaron continued to stare straight ahead. He was angry at Ryan for putting him in jail. His anger made the L-shaped scar on his cheek seem darker.

“She must be twenty years older than you and she's plain.”

“Eighteen years. I fucked her body, not her face.”

Ryan was rather shocked. “You must have liked her.”

“Give me a choice between a plain woman who likes sex and a beautiful one who's indifferent, I'll take the plain one. I like Mildred Porter. She's passionate and modest.”

“Will you see her again?”

“I doubt it.”

“Why not?”

“I've already been down that road.”

“What do you know about your mother's murder?” asked Ryan.

“No more than you do.”

“Are you sure?”

“That's what I said, isn't it?”

Ryan drove in silence for a moment. The fields between Potterville and Aurelius were mostly cabbage fields. At this time of year they were gray and picked over. The few heads that had been missed reminded Ryan of decomposing skulls.

“Do you think your mother's murder is connected to these missing girls?” asked Ryan.

“I have no idea.”

“Are there men you suspect might have killed your mother?”

“I have no idea.”

“Why did you tell Harriet to have sex with me?”

“Ask her yourself.”

After Ryan dropped Aaron off downtown, he drove over to Bud's Tavern. He wanted to explore an idea that had occurred to him. It was not quite eleven-thirty and Sheila Murphy was behind the bar washing glasses. Sheila's red hair was piled up on top of her head and as she glanced up at Ryan she brushed a couple of loose strands away from her face. She was a large, buxom woman who, in her midtwenties, was beginning to get heavy. From the kitchen came the smell of cooking meat.

“Lunch isn't ready yet,” said Sheila. “You want a beer?”

“I want to talk.”

Sheila looked regretful. “I'm pretty busy. Could we make it later?”

Ryan tried to look affable. “I guess I could take you back to my office and we could talk there.”

She was silent for a moment. “What d'you want to talk about?”

“Were you friends with Janice McNeal?”

“We knew each other,” said Sheila, surprised.

“I want to know more than that.” Ryan sat down on a stool.

“Like what?”

“Did you go out with men together?”

“I don't see that it's any of your business.” Sheila had raised her voice. She glanced quickly toward the kitchen.

“Then let's go to my office.”

“All right, dammit.” Sheila bit her lower lip, leaving a trace of lipstick on her teeth. “Sometimes I'd visit her house. I liked her. We'd go out with men. Sort of blind dates. Either I would know the men or she would.”

“Would you have sex with these men?”

Sheila folded her towel into squares and set it on the bar. “Sometimes. If we liked them.”

“So you knew the men she'd been involved with?”

“I knew you'd been into her pants all right,” she said crossly. Sheila again pushed away a strand of hair. “I didn't know all her men.”

“Did Aaron ask you these questions?”

“When?”

“That night in the motel when he bit you.”

“How'd you know that?”

Sheila had both her hands on the bar, leaning toward Ryan. He was turning his stool slightly to the left, then to the right. There was something almost childlike about it.

“You didn't tell him, did you? That's why he got mad.”

“I told him it was none of his business. And it's none of yours either.”

“Did you tell him anything?”

“We were joking. At least I was. I said his mother had been laughing about a professional man. That was what she called him, ‘a professional man,' like it was a joke. He asked who it was and I wouldn't say. I realized he'd gone out with me just to ask these questions and it hurt my feelings. But also I didn't want to get anyone in trouble. We were wrestling. He said he'd give me the Hark treatment if I didn't tell. I thought he was joking. I told him to fuck off. That's when he bit me.”