For Every Evil (21 page)

“Meaning?”

“Talk to some of his friends and past acquaintances. For instance, who do we know who knew Hale years ago?”

Bram shrugged. “Ivy?”

“True. And I may want to speak with her. But I was thinking of someone else — someone we met at the party the other night. Someone who was very angry at Hale because of a current business deal.”

“That photographer?”

“Exactly. Ben Kiran.” She hesitated. “So I called him.”

“You did
what!”

“He lives in West St. Paul. It’s a listed number; it wasn’t hard to find.”

Bram was amazed. When Sophie got a bee in her bonnet, there was no stopping her. Sometimes that was good; sometimes not. Whatever the case, this whole situation made him uneasy. “And?”

“I asked if I could come over and talk to him.”

“Now?”

Sophie jumped up. “I can’t just sit around the house and do nothing!”

Bram watched her begin to pace.

“I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve got to start somewhere. Maybe Ben has some idea who this Ezmer Hawks is — or where I can find him. Or maybe he knows something he doesn’t realize is important.”

“Are you going over there
now?”

Sophie looked at her watch. “Yes. I said I’d arrive around eight. So” — she plunked the timer down on the desk — “you’re in charge of seeing that our cake comes out on time.” She handed him the spatula.

He took it and stared at it as if she’d handed him a scepter of office. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”

“Why? All you have to do is take a toothpick and poke —”

“No! I’m not talking about the cake.”

“Then what?”

He rose and stepped around to the front of the desk. “I’m not sure you should get involved in this, Soph. The police are professionals. Let them handle it.”

“Oh, the police are doing just a
fine
job. I especially liked the way they barged in here tonight and terrorized my son.”

Bram shook his head. He knew trying to change her mind was useless. “Okay,” he said, taking her in his arms. “But you’ll call me if you need me?”

“Of course I will. I’ve left his phone number on the fridge.” She pressed her head tightly to his chest. “You just stay here and keep the home fires burning, the paper airplanes flying, Ethel’s tennis balls in plain sight and that cake from turning into a piece of charcoal.” She smiled up at him, kissing the bottom of his deeply cleft chin.

Ben wiped the sweat from his face with a thick white towel as he ushered Sophie into the living room of his town home. It was a spacious, sparsely decorated room dominated by a tan-and-white-striped futon couch and two leather chairs. He was wearing navy blue sweats and a red bandanna around his head. He’d obviously been exercising before she arrived. A Nordic Track sat in one corner of the room.

“Is Rhea here?” she asked, making herself comfortable on the couch.

He shook his head. “She’s stopping by a little later. Her dance group is in rehearsals for another show they’re doing next month in Madison. At the university,” he added, disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing a moment later with a pitcher of orange juice and two glasses. “Can I offer you some?” he asked.

“That would be nice.” She waited while he poured.

He handed her the glass and said, “I’m not exactly clear on why you wanted to talk to me tonight. I really don’t know that much about Hale Micklenberg.”

She took a sip. “But you said something interesting the other evening. You mentioned you knew him years ago. He was working as a counselor in a summer arts camp?”

“That’s right.” He sat down in one of the leather chairs and tossed the towel over his shoulder. “I was eleven. My parents had always encouraged me to take an interest in drawing and painting. My father was an illustrator, mostly of children’s books. When Mom and Dad heard about the arts camp, they thought it would be fun for me. My sister was going to go the next year, but as it turned out, there wasn’t a next year.”

“Really? Why?”

“A kid was lost.”

“What do you mean? In the woods?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t think anyone knows for sure.”

“He was never found?”

“He just disappeared.”

“That’s awful!”

“Yeah.” He removed the sweatband from around his head. “That’s why they shut the place down. I heard the people who ran it lost their insurance. Nobody would cover them anymore.”

“How did it happen?” Sophie leaned back against a pillow and sipped her juice.

“Nobody knows. We used to line up before dinner so that the counselors could count heads. Eric — his name was Eric Hauley — simply didn’t show up one evening, so they went looking for him. They searched his cabin. Nothing was missing, except for the clothes he had on that day.”

“How old was he?”

“I don’t know exactly. About the same age as me I think.”

“How well did you know him?”

“We took a canoe out together a couple of times. I liked him. He had a lot of guts. When one of the counselors would piss him off, he sometimes walked into Bright Water. That was the nearest town.” He shook his head and looked out the window. “Camp Bright Water. What a crock.”

“Was that allowed? Leaving the campsite, I mean?”

“No way. But Eric didn’t care. He was kind of independent. Headstrong. He and Hale really rubbed each other the wrong way. Hale liked to needle him. Nothing Eric did — especially artistically — was ever right. Even some of the other counselors noticed the antagonism . .. and I think the head of the camp talked to Hale about cooling it. But the needling didn’t stop. It was almost like they were locked in some kind of competition. I never got it. I mean, Hale was a grown man. But then again, he liked to set him self up as the final word on all things artistic. It didn’t surprise me to find that, years later, he’d actually become an art critic. Eric thought he was a nerd. So did most of the other kids.” He paused to wipe his arm across his forehead. “I remember Eric worked for almost a week with some ferroconcrete and bricks. He was building a barbecue pit. It was really a great idea. He had this picture of an Egyptian sphinx up on the mirror in his room —”

Sophie nearly choked on her orange juice. “A what?”

“Yeah.” Ben smiled. “Great idea, huh? He built the thing to look just like a sphinx. Between the paws he’d made a deep pit for the logs. The first night we used it for roasting hot dogs, the entire camp cheered. I think we all felt like we were ancient Egyptians — not that they had hot dogs back then, but you know what I mean. We were kids and we were having a ball. Eric was the center of attention. He really did have a great deal of artistic talent. He just wouldn’t kiss Hale’s ass.” He grimaced, as if the idea turned his stomach.

Sophie was almost too stunned to speak. Here was a connection to the paintings at the Chappeldine Gallery. To Ezmer Hawks. But what did it mean?

Ben threw back his head and chugged the juice until he’d drained the glass. Then he poured himself some more. “The funny thing was, there was an old woman who lived on a farm about a mile outside of Bright Water. She said she often saw Eric walking into town. She was sure she’d seen him the day he disappeared.”

“So the authorities thought he might have run away?”

“I guess. They ruled it a disappearance. No foul play was ever established. What I can’t understand is: if he was going to hit the road, why didn’t he take any of his things?”

“I’m sure the police and the camp officials wondered that as well.”

He nodded.

“But no one ever found out?”

“Sorry. That’s all I know.”

“How did Hale take the disappearance?”

He shrugged. “I guess he was upset. I don’t actually remember him saying anything. An assembly was called the next day. The camp director explained what had happened. Some police came and asked questions. The counselors wanted to make sure we weren’t traumatized or anything, so we talked about it afterward. The day after that my parents came to get me. That’s it. End of CBW.”

“CBW?”

“That’s what we all called camp. The brochures my dad showed me had this very outdoorsy logo. A bunch of logs with a flame above it, and CBW stamped across the top. Nice place, really, except for the occasional asshole like Hale.”

Again, Sophie thought of the pastel drawings at the gallery. One of them looked very much like the description of that logo. This was too incredible to be a coincidence. “I don’t suppose you know someone named Ezmer Hawks?”

“Who?”

“He’s an artist.”

“Never heard of him.” He drained half the glass. “Why do you ask?”

“He was at the party the other night. Hale got a note from him. And a drawing — a sphinx with fire between its paws. Hale’s face was in the fire. The note demanded that Hale tell the police about something that happened in his past. After what you’ve told me, I think it may be related to this incident at Camp Bright Water.”

Ben whistled. “Unreal!”

“Maybe Hale had something to do with Eric Hauley’s disappearance.”

“You mean like he … caused it?”

Sophie was silent as she considered the question. Finally she said, “Maybe.”

>“As in … killed him?”

“I suppose we can’t rule it out.”

“But who’s Ezmer Hawks? How did he know about any of this?”

Sophie tugged on the strawberry blonde wisps of hair around her ears as she thought it through. “There wasn’t a kid at the camp with that name?”

Ben shook his head. “No, I’d remember. It’s not a name you’d forget.”

Sophie had to agree.

“Wait a minute.”

“What?”

Ben pointed a finger at her. “Eric Hauley? Get it? E. H. Ezmer Hawks. They have the same initials.”

Sophie felt as if she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. “Of course!”

“Maybe they’re one in the same person. Eric didn’t die. Maybe he really did run away. And he came back to …” He let the sentence trail off.

Sophie’s eyes held his.

“Eric hated Hale. I know that for a fact.” He sat forward eagerly in his chair. “This is incredible. Is it possible we’re onto something here?”

“If what you’re telling me is true, then yes. But…”

“What?”

“Well, someone made an attempt on Ivy’s life a couple of weeks ago, too. At least it looked that way. As I think about it, there might even have been two attempts.” She paused. “Didn’t you say that Ivy was at the camp that same summer?”

“Sure! She was there. Maybe she’s part of it!”

Sophie was somewhat repelled by his enthusiasm. Perhaps it was his normal style, but it seemed excessive.

“Are you going to talk to her?” he asked. “I think we should. She might know more than she’s told the police.”

At the sound of the doorbell, he rose and sprinted into the front hall. “Be just a minute,” he called over his shoulder. “Hi!” he said, opening the door for Rhea and lifting several paper sacks out of her arms. “You got Chinese. Great!” He gave her a kiss on die cheek.

As Rhea stepped into the living room, she saw Sophie sitting on the couch. “You have company,” she said, glancing at Ben.

“Yeah. You remember Sophie Greenway. From the party the other night?”

Sophie stood.

“Please, don’t get up on my account,” said Rhea, giving her a thin smile. She took off her coat and hung it in the coat closet.

“No, really. I have to go. It’s getting late.” All Sophie wanted to do right now was ruminate. If she took the parkway back to Minneapolis, she’d have plenty of time to herself.

“We’ve been having a great talk,” said Ben.

Sophie was curious about one more topic. “I was wondering: did you ever figure out who was going to photograph the new IAI spring catalogue?”

Ben gave her his best Cheshire cat smile. “I am. Of course.”

“Really?”

“No question about it. Chuck Squire’s a good buddy of mine.”

“Chuck?” Sophie repeated the name with undisguised amusement. Nobody called Charles Squire
Chuck.
At least, nobody who’d lived to tell the tale. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

He grinned. “Thanks. We’re going to finalize the deal tomorrow. Did you know Chuck’s the new president of IAI? Lucky for me.”

Sophie was surprised. She’d assumed Ivy would take over that position. “Well, then, give
Chuck
my best.”

“Will do. But wait. We haven’t finished talking about Hale yet.” He seemed disappointed by her departure.

“Hale?” said Rhea, giving him a puzzled look.

“Yeah! Wait until I tell you the whole story. It will blow your mind!”