For Every Evil (28 page)

Sophie’s breath caught in her throat. There it was again! That rhyme! “A child’s voice?”

“Yes. A young boy.”

Very slowly, she repeated, “A
boy
called the house?” She couldn’t believe her ears.

He nodded. “Although, I’m pretty sure it was a recording.”

Sophie felt a cold shiver run down her back. She thought of Eric Hauley. “Did he give a name?”

“No.”

“Louie, I don’t think Hale made that call.”

“Well, of course I can’t prove it.”

“No, it’s more complicated.” She watched as he rummaged in the magazine rack for a bottle of Maalox. “Are you feeling all right?” she asked. She had noticed his skin was kind of yellow.

“Indigestion. Or maybe it’s stomach flu. I don’t know. My doctor said to try antacids.” He glanced at her cup of tea, giving a rueful smile. “It’s probably best you don’t drink that. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to come down with this. My stomach has never felt so awful.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Sophie decided to forge on. “You know, I spent part of the morning visiting with Betty Malmquist Several weeks ago, Hale brought a shopping bag full of presents to her. She was supposed to open one every day, just to keep up her spirits. But when she got to the bottom of the sack, she found something odd. An unwrapped box containing rifle shells, Lasix, and arsenic.”

Louie whistled. “Quite a present. The meaning is pretty clear, don’t you think?”

“I’m not so sure. Hale wasn’t stupid. He’d never incriminate himself so blithely.”

“Maybe he forgot he put it in the sack.”

“Would you?”

“I see your point.”

“I don’t think Hale had anything to do with those two attempts on Ivy’s life. I think someone else was behind it”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know. I’m still working on it.” She paused. “How well do you know Max?”

“You think
he
was responsible?”

She shrugged. “Something was going on between him and Ivy this afternoon. It was like … I don’t know … like she wanted to talk, but was afraid to. Ivy may be having an affair, but I don’t think she’s very happy.”

Louie shook his head. “My wife always did tell me I was kind of thick when it came to things like that. The problem is, I’ve rarely seen them together, but I can’t see why he’d want to hurt her.”

Sophie had to agree. “You were there the night Hale died. Did you see anything?”

Louie selected another pretzel and chewed it thoughtfully. “I know Hale got some sort of note late in the evening that upset him. He found it in a catalogue that was on the coffee table. After he read it, he went out to the gate house.”

“Did he say anything about the contents?”

“Honestly, I don’t remember. I think he just growled his usual abuse and then took off through the kitchen. Ivy was looking for him, so I went and told her where he’d gone.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but the police seem to think my son had something to do with Hale’s murder.”

Louie raised his eyebrows in surprise. “They should have more sense!”

“Do you know Rudy?”

“Yes. We met at the party. Handsome young man. He looks a bit like you.”

“Thanks.” Her smile quickly faded. “The police searched his room several nights ago. We’re all terribly upset.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Louie was clearly indignant. “Well, don’t worry. Nothing will happen to your son.”

“I wish I could believe that. Innocent people have gone to jail before.”

Louie shook his head. “Not in this case.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked away, finishing his brandy and then taking another sip of Maalox.

“Who do you think murdered Hale?”

His eyes rose to a painting above his desk. It was placed in between a no smoking sign and another sign that said if we see you smoking, we will assume you are on fire and douse you with water. “Did you know that was an original de Kooning?” he asked, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Ivy gave it to me for my thirty-fifth birthday.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I suppose I didn’t. Hale was a swine, Sophie. When the police finally get tired of trying to pin it on your son, they’ll find a veritable battleship of potential suspects. All with admirable motives, I might add. And most all of them at the party that night. But that’s the problem. We mustn’t let someone innocent be blamed.” He hunched over, hugging his arms tightly around his waist. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to excuse myself. I’m not feeling very well tonight.”

She had noticed that in the last few minutes, his face had gone white as a sheet. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. Just make sure the door is locked behind you when you leave.”

“Of course.”

“And Sophie. I’ll talk to Ivy tomorrow. If I find out anything important, I’ll let you know. If Max is creating problems for her, she’ll tell me. I’m confident of that Thanks for caring. Ivy needs all the friends she can get right now.” He put his hand over his mouth and raced from the room.

Rudy followed John into the living room of his apartment carrying a tray full of cheese, dark rye bread, and thick slices of summer sausage. John carried two beer steins filled with his favorite brew. They made themselves comfortable on the floor in front of the couch, their toes almost reaching the fireplace. Before Rudy’s arrival, John had built a fire with some apple wood he’d been drying.

“I tried calling you several times today,” said Rudy, unscrewing a bottle of German-style mustard. “Friday’s your day off, right?”

John nodded, taking a deep sip of beer. “I took a short trip.”

“Really? Where?”

“Well” — he paused, making himself a bit more comfortable by stuffing a couch pillow behind his back — “I haven’t said anything to you about this, but I’m almost positive Kate Chappeldine is involved in something pretty strange, maybe even illegal. It has to do with Hale and that artist she’s featuring next month, Ezmer Hawks.” John took a newspaper clipping out of his pocket and handed it to Rudy. “I want the police to know about this. I mean, I can’t just sit around and watch Cross harass you. It’s ludicrous to think you had anything to do with Hale’s murder.”

Rudy unfolded the clipping. The paper was old and yellowed, with tape in several places to prevent total disintegration. The words “
Bright Water Sentinel,
August 10, 1971” had been written in black ink across the top.

“So, what is it?” asked Rudy.

“It’s an article about the disappearance of a boy from a summer arts camp up near Bright Water, Minnesota. The kid, Eric Hauley, was from Duluth. He was eleven. It seems, one day, he just walked away from the camp and never came back. No one knows why. A woman who lived near Bright Water said she used to see him walking into town occasionally. She was pretty sure she saw him the day of his disappearance.”

“So,” said Rudy, reading through it. “I don’t see what this has to do — “” He stopped. “Oh, it says here Hale Micklenberg was one of the counselors.”

“Right. Interesting, don’t you think?”

“But what’s it got to do with his death?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. I found the clipping in Kate’s desk drawer several days ago, along with a rubber stamp — a fake Soldiers Grove postmark. At the time, I was helping her pack one of my drawings — she’d sold it to a woman in Minnetonka. I went back to her desk looking for some strapping tape and there they were. She knows I found the stamp, but I never said anything about the clipping. My guess is that the pastels from this Hawks guy are either fakes, or he’s doing them, but concealing his address. Either way, Kate’s in on it.”

Rudy continued to stare at the clipping. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t, either. That’s why I drove up to Bright Water this afternoon.”

“That’s
where you were?”

John nodded, reaching for a slice of cheese and nibbling the end. “I thought I’d check the place out. The campsite doesn’t exist anymore. It’s been turned into a fishing resort.”

“How did you know where to look?”

John stopped chewing. “Well, I … asked several people in town. I went to the newspaper office first and looked through their back issues. I found this.” He drew out several Xeroxed sheets of paper from his back pocket. He handed one to Rudy. “Look at that.”

It was a series of camp pictures taken the same year as Eric Hauley’s disappearance. It had apparently been a feature article in the paper. One photo was a group shot. Unfortunately the right side of the photo was rather badly developed. It was too dark to see any of the faces. But the left side was clear.

Rudy held it closer to the firelight.

“Look at the kid, front row, third from the end,” said John. “Who does that look like to you?”

Rudy squinted, smoothing the paper against his knee. “I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.” John moved a bit closer. “Look at the shape of the face. The smile.”

The light of recognition dawned. “Kate!”

“Exactly.”

“But I thought she grew up in New York City.”

“So did I.”

“But … why would she lie?”

“Good question.”

Rudy scratched his head.

“Think about it,” said John. “If we’re to believe this photo, she’s known Hale a lot longer than she’s let on. She was there the summer Eric Hauley disappeared. You know, your mother told me something interesting. The night Hale was murdered, he got a note from Ezmer Hawks demanding he tell the truth about some event in his past.”

“This kid’s disappearance?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll bet Kate does.”

“What are you saying? You think Kate knows who killed Hale?”

John shrugged. “Maybe, although it’s what the
police
think that’s important.” He took another bite of cheese. “I called the gallery as soon as I got back to town. I wanted to tell Kate I intend to talk to Cross first thing tomorrow morning. If she’s been withholding evidence, it’s going to look pretty bad. But I never got to talk to her. There was a message on the machine that said the gallery was closed due to illness.”

Rudy shook his head. “I wonder if my mother knows about any of this?”

“Probably. She’s been nosing around ever since Hale’s death. If I were the murderer, I’d watch my back.”

“Yeah, well you’re not. So you’ve got nothing to worry about.” He took an indignant bite of summer sausage.

“She’s pretty upset with the way the police are handling the investigation.”

“So am I,” said Rudy, tipping his beer back and taking several hefty swallows. “If they can’t nail me for one thing, they’re going to nail me for another.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, switching his attention to the piano. “Say, who
is
that guy’s picture you’ve got up there? The one that looks like a high school photo.”

“He was a friend. His name’s Ted Fielding.”

“How come you’ve still got it?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Rudy took another sip of beer. “Sure.”

“Well, he was my first lover. I cared about him a lot. Still do. He’s living in Michigan now.” John could sense Rudy’s body stiffen and pull away.

“You’re gay?” asked Rudy.

“I can’t believe someone didn’t say something to you. Like Kate. I don’t keep it a secret.”

“But
you
never said anything!”

“Is it important?”

“You’re damn right it is!”

“Why?”

Rudy crawled over to the fire, keeping his back to John. “Because … it is.” He tightened his grip on the beer stein.

When John couldn’t stand the silence any longer, he asked, ‘Tell me something. You
really
never had any idea I was gay?”

Rudy turned and gave him a hostile stare. “Well, maybe I did.”

“But you found it a hard subject to bring up.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Another long silence. “You know, your mother cares a great deal about you.”

“So? What’s that got to do with anything?” He lifted the beer to his lips.

“When are you going to tell her the truth?”

Rudy’s hand froze. “The truth about what?”

“About you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” John knew he was taking a risk, but since he’d started the conversation, he couldn’t stop now. Drawing his legs up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them and said, “It took me a long time to figure you out. I don’t think your mother has quite the edge I do, so, unless you give her a break, it’s going to take her longer. The thing is — and please don’t take this wrong — but I’ve never known an ex-religious nut before.”