Hard Case Crime: Witness To Myself (16 page)

I had just finished clipping out the picture and the story when I remembered something Patty had asked me to do that morning. She would be home soon and I still hadn’t done it. I dialed Alan’s number, and after a wait of several rings his voice came on, loud. “What do you want now? What do you want?”

Frowning, I held the phone away from my ear. Then, “Alan? What’s wrong?”

Silence. A long one. “Oh God,” his voice said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m only trying to sell you an insurance policy,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Colin. Oh Christ. I must have sounded like a horse’s ass. But someone’s been bugging me and I’ve had it.”

“Is it your kindly minister’s aged mother?”

He managed a little laugh. “It’s just some guy bugging me, trying to sell me something.”

“Well, with that you’re forgiven.”

And then I told him why I’d called: Patty and I wanted to know if he and Anna would like to go out to dinner with us this Sunday.

“Sounds good but I’ll let you know after I talk with her.”

“Good enough. Take care. Oh by the way, don’t be so shy with those guys.”

He laughed again. A little one.

What I didn’t know, of course, was that he had just gotten a call, where that voice said, “I want you to know —” and Alan had immediately hung up, wanting to throw the damn phone against the wall. And now, after my call to him, he remained standing by the phone although telling himself he wouldn’t answer if it rang a thousand times.

But when the phone rang a few minutes later he couldn’t resist and swept it up. But he just held it to his ear, said nothing.

“You’re there,” the voice said. “I know you’re there. And I just want to say this.”

“I’m right here,” Alan said. “I’m right here. Now what the hell more do you want from me?”

“I just want to say this,” he repeated, and for the first time Alan realized from the muffled tone of his voice that he must be holding something like a handkerchief to the mouthpiece. “I just want to say that you not only butted into something that was none of your business but you milked it, you got yourself publicity out of it.”

“Look, you’ve said all this before. How many times do you want to say it?”

“Oh, you big hero,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard. “Big man, big hero.”

“Look, buddy, I didn’t ask for that, I didn’t want it.”

“Oh you didn’t want it! My ass. Let me ask you, do you know what being desperate means? Do you know what having nothing means? You have any idea at all?”

“Look, do you want me to call the police? Because that’s what I’m going —”

“You can call whoever the hell you want. You can —”

Alan quickly put down the phone; set it down quietly, though he wanted to slam it back on its hook. His immediate thought was that, though he hated to, he would have to change to an unlisted phone number. But what good would that do since the guy knew where he worked and could call him there? He thought about calling the police, but that lasted only about five seconds. The last people he wanted to talk to were the police. The Cape Cod police had surely distributed the sketch to them, it was in their files, perhaps even in their memories. And anyway, they wouldn’t get involved in tracking down nuisance calls. It wasn’t as if he’d been threatened.

And yet he felt as if he were being threatened. And — though this seemed crazy — he had the eerie feeling there was a reason, a dark one, why the guy had come into his life.

That night he was concerned enough about the caller to think again about getting a license to carry a gun. The next morning he even called the shop where he’d bought the gun to see how long it would take to get one. Just a few days, he was told. But though he played with the idea of doing it, common sense said no: He was afraid he might use it. And for the next few days he had no reason to regret it.

Not only didn’t he hear from the caller but the story of Susheela Kapasi disappeared again from the Breeze. No more sketch, no more about Luder. Alan wouldn’t even let himself be bothered by the occasional thunder of music from next door.

That Sunday the four of us decided to go to the zoo before going to dinner. None of us had been there in years, and the fact that it was a cool gray day, with a possibility of rain, somehow made us even more interested in going: It wouldn’t, we thought, be as crowded as usual. But it was, which didn’t bother us at all. We ate popcorn as we walked along the paths through the outdoor exhibits. Many of the animals were indoors, perhaps sensing rain, and one of the exhibits we went to was the monkey house. And it was there that, without Patty and I being aware of it, Alan noticed a certain man.

Every time Alan glanced at him, the guy was looking at us but then would turn away.

He was standing at the fringe of the group gathered around the chimpanzee window. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and was rather short, with a round face, heavy-lidded eyes, and black hair that was brushed a little over his forehead, like bangs. He was wearing a light windbreaker, and from what alan could see he also wore a nasty little smile. the four of us were about to walk on when alan looked at him again, and this time the man’s eyes didn’t shift away. for a moment alan felt a little jolt of recognition, even though he couldn’t place him. but there seemed to be something, something....

Alan looked away. And then when he looked back he was gone.

Alan told himself that his imagination was out of control.

We all wanted to go to the carnivore house in time for the feeding of the lions and tigers. We had about twenty minutes to get there, and Anna, Patty and I went on ahead to get a good spot while Alan lingered behind to watch the monkeys a while longer. When he did enter the carnivore house it was echoing with roars as the animals, striding back and forth in their cages, anticipated the feeding.

This part of the building was jammed with people; it was the prime daily exhibition.

Alan looked around for us and then saw us at the back of the crowd; Anna, however, was turned away from the animals and was talking to that same man. Alan stood there watching. Then he walked a little closer. And it was then that the man saw him. He showed Alan, briefly, that same little smile, which seemed to have nothing of humor about it. Then he reached out and shook Anna’s hand and started walking away, with a look over his shoulder at her.

Alan stood with us, forcing himself not to say anything as one of the keepers walked along the outside of the cages, flinging in slabs of red meat. But afterward, as the crowd thinned out, Alan said to her, “Who was that guy you were talking to?”

His voice was so sharp that Patty and I, who were just a little ahead, couldn’t help turning quickly toward them.

“Who was who?” She looked genuinely puzzled. Then, “Oh, you mean that fellow.”

“Yes, the guy you were talking with. Who is he?”

“Who is he? I don’t know who he is. Just someone who started talking to me.”

“Can I ask what about?” He didn’t seem at all concerned that Patty and I were standing there, listening.

“Alan.” She smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“I’m serious.”

“What he talked to me about? About children. How the only way to really appreciate a zoo was to bring a child.”

“I see.”

“And how he remembered his aunt bringing him here. I guess she raised him. He said he felt bad because she has to go to a nursing home.”

Alan felt a chill ripple through him. “He said that? He brought up nursing homes? Did you tell him you worked in one?”

“Alan, what is it?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure.” He hadn’t told her about the calls, hadn’t wanted to worry her. And he wasn’t sure if he should tell her now what he suspected.

“Alan, tell me what it is. You’re starting to scare me.”

I took Patty by the elbow and we walked a short distance away, to give them privacy. It was hardly subtle but I doubt if Anna or Alan noticed.

“Look,” Alan said, “I don’t know if this is so. I don’t know for sure. But I have a feeling, I have a suspicion. A strong one. That he’s the guy I pulled from the subway.”

She stared at him, her mouth open. “Oh Alan, that can’t be. Are you sure? It would be so coincidental.”

“I said I don’t know for sure. But I feel it, I think it.”

“Oh this is so crazy.” Then a look of anguish came over her face. “Alan, I didn’t give him my name. But I did give him the name of the nursing home. Did I... oh Alan, was I wrong?”

It wasn’t until they left us after dinner and had just gotten into their car that Alan decided to tell her about the calls. He’d been debating it in his head, hating to scare her but at the same time afraid for her. This guy at the zoo — and Alan was becoming convinced he was the caller — possibly had learned about Anna by following him to her place. If so, he not only was crazy, he was determined, and who knew what else he might do?

So he told her, and all the while she kept looking at him in dismay.

“Oh Alan, are you sure he’s the one?”

“Like I told you, I’m not positive, I couldn’t swear to it in court, but I’m almost positive.”

“But wouldn’t you recognize his face?”

“Anna, I’ve told you, I honest to God didn’t see his face, it all happened so fast it was like a blur.”

“Then how can you say this?”

“It’s just a feeling I have, a strong one. His build, maybe his hair, his age. Something. A lot of things.”

“So you’re almost positive it was him but you’re not positive,” she repeated.

“Anna, don’t talk to me like I’m nuts. I’m telling you the truth.”

“And you think he followed us to the zoo?”

“If I’m right, he must have. He didn’t just show up by accident.”

“But why? What could he want?”

“I don’t know.”

“And he didn’t tell you on the phone.”

“No, like I told you it was just I had no right to interfere, he had the right to die, it was none of my business, I was using it for publicity.”

“Oh my,” she said, shaking her head. “He couldn’t know you if he said that.”

Alan turned on the motor.

“Don’t hate me,” she said. “Please don’t hate me. I don’t doubt you for a second, not a second, but he seemed... he seemed like such a nice person.”

He started to come back at her with something in anger. But he didn’t; he said nothing. Another thought was going through his head, one that was so obvious he was amazed it hadn’t struck him before. That the guy he’d saved wanted only to die. And he, who’d killed an innocent girl, only wanted to live.

When he came back to his apartment that night, he half expected to find that the man had called again. He hadn’t. And what Alan learned the next morning pushed the fellow out of his head.

Some days he didn’t go to the Breeze’s Web site because he just didn’t want the anxiety of knowing that something was in it about the crime. Other days he couldn’t bear the anxiety of not knowing. The following morning, Monday, he started to walk past his computer to leave for work, but he stopped and logged on. And as the newspaper formed on the screen, one of the headlines on the front page read:

SUSHEELA KAPASI EVIDENCE BOX FOUND

The story, attributed largely to Mack McKinney, said that at the time the body was found the police in checking within a mile or so of the scene had found large tire marks on a sandy lane. They were thought to have been made by a truck or perhaps a motor home. The police had no reason to believe that something this far away had anything to do with the murder, and they had never made it public. Somehow the box in which the molds were kept had been misplaced. Recently McKinney had led a new search for it and had just found it in an old discarded locker.

Alan leaned back from the computer, trying to get his thinking straight. If they’d also found his foot-prints — maybe even one with bloodstains from his cut foot! — they would have mentioned it, wouldn’t they? Or were they still keeping that a secret? As for the motor home, that surely was long gone, must have been crushed or taken apart in some junkyard. But could they somehow trace those tracks to a certain kind of motor home? And from there to the rental company — and then to him? It seemed so farfetched, but who knew?

He was about to turn off the computer when he decided to look at a few links he hadn’t explored before. And a four-word headline on the third one he looked at grabbed at him.

POSSIBLE ANSWER AT LAST
?

The story was about Harold Luder and the murders he’d confessed to — and the ones he was being questioned about. And one of the victims they were trying to link to him was Susheela Kapasi.

It kept changing, how he felt. Within the same few minutes he could feel free, then that he’d been given only a respite, for he knew that Luder could never ultimately be tied in with the crime.

In the office that day he somehow did all the things he had to do: look at mail, dictate letters, speak to people, answer the phone.

One of the calls was from Anna.

“I just wanted you to know they asked me to stay on for another shift. I didn’t want you to call and find I’m not home.”

“Okay. I appreciate it.”

She seemed to hesitate. Then, “Look, something else. I want you to know he was here. He just left.”

He started to say, “Who?” — the stranger was that far from his mind. And then he said, a little startled, “That guy?”

“Yes. He called and came over. He said he wanted to see about the place for his aunt. He wanted to check it out.”

“And?”

“Well, his name’s Bruster, Roy Bruster.”

“Did he say where he lives?”

She thought. “No, I don’t think so. No,” definitely this time.

“Well, what did he say?”

“He said he liked it and that he’s going to talk it over with her and I think with someone else.” She paused. “Alan, please don’t be mad at me. Please? But are you really sure it’s him?”

“Look, I’ve told you, I’ve already told you what I think.”

“I’m asking because it scares me.”

“Why, did he say anything, do anything to scare you?”

“No, no, just the opposite. It’s what you said about him that scares me. Like I said, he actually seems very nice. Our administrator even said it.”