Murder on the Thirteenth (15 page)

“I suppose.”

“There's also a very good chance W would light the fire. Maybe even send Luke away first. Anyway, by the time the flames reached poor Patricia, W and Luke were well out of sight.”

Jake sat quietly for a moment. “Maybe I'll have that beer now,” Jake decided.

Tretheway took two more quarts out of the ice box. He handed one to Jake.

“Don't you have anything smaller?”

Tretheway didn't answer. Jake took the beer.

Tretheway flipped to a clean sheet on the pad. He wrote, October'. Underneath he printed a large ‘13'.

“Thirteenth? I thought you said…”

“New Year's Eve is probably the big holiday for Scots.
For Hebrews it's Hanukkah. For Christians, maybe Easter.” Tretheway paused. “What's the biggie for witches?”

“Eh?”

“Think about it.”

“Hallowe'en?”

Tretheway nodded. “The eve of All Saint's Day. No question.” He pointed to the pad. “There's a tradition in the occult of doing things backwards. The Black Mass. The Lord's Prayer. Witches even ride their broomsticks backwards.”

“So?” Jake said.

Tretheway circled the number 13. “Thirteen backwards,” he scrawled ‘31', “is thirty-one. Last day of the month. Hallowe'en.”

Tretheway took a long swig of beer. So did Jake. They stared at the scribblings on the pad.

“Now what do we do?” Jake asked.

“Stay alert,” Tretheway said. “Keep an eye on Beezul. Especially on the thirty-first.”

“Can we tell him?”

“I think not.”

“What about Luke?”

“I don't want Luke. I want W.”

“And W is?”

Tretheway shook his head. “I have to be sure.”

Jake took a cracker and cheese.

“There's one more thing,” Tretheway said.

Jake stopped chewing. “Hm?” He hated Tretheway's “one more things.”

“We've had dashing to the ground and flying through the air. We've had poisoning. We've had burning at the stake. All legendary, murderous methods from the Kingdom of Darkness. There are others. But one stands out in my mind.”

Jake waited.

“Water,” Tretheway said.

“Not boiling babies again?”

“No, no. The water test.”

“Oh?” Jake swallowed.

“In the dark days of old, persons accused of witchcraft were often thrown into a deep pond. If they sank and drowned, they were ruled innocent. If they floated and lived, they were found guilty and executed.”

“A Hobson's choice.”

“Exactly.”

“So you think there'll be some sort of water thing on Hallowe'en?”

“Possible. This is in the smart guess category.”

“Do you know where?”

“No. This is why we watch Beezul.”

Jake finished off the crackers, drained his Blue and stood up. He could feel the beer. Fat Rollo thumped heavily as he jumped off the bed.

“So that's it then,” Jake said.

“Till All Hallow's Eve,” Tretheway said.

Fat Rollo waddled out of Tretheway's room. Jake concentrated on following the cat.

O
ctober 13 approached quickly. Although Tretheway believed in his own prediction that nothing would happen, he took no chances. Through Addie, he arranged a euchre party. To avoid drawing attention to Beezul, Tretheway suggested two tables and gave a list of eight people to his sister including himself and Jake.

“You two aren't planning anything funny, are you?” Addie asked.

“No, no,” Jake answered quickly.

“They're all going to wonder why through the week,” Addie said. “On a Wednesday.”

“Everything will be all right,” Tretheway reassured.

“Just a party,” Jake said.

Addie flounced off to the phone.

“She's a good kid,” Tretheway said.

Jake smiled.

For the first round of the evening, Tretheway and Jake played opposite Bartholomew Gum and Zoë. The other table held the competent team of Cynthia Moon and Garth Dingle against Doc Nooner and the secret guest of honour, Beezul. Later on, the losers would rotate after rubbers. In the kitchen Addie chatted with Wan Ho, the ninth guest of her own choosing. As she often said, “An extra policeman never hurt anyone.” The two casually served drinks, kibitzed with the players, replenished peanut
dishes, substituted for anyone called to the bathroom and generally greased the social wheels of the party.

The evening went as Tretheway had forecast, except for the cards. He and Jake came second to Cynthia and Garth. Zoë and Gum were a close third, while Doc Nooner and Beezul were a distant last. There was a small scene near eleven o'clock when Beezul, after only one drink, stood up, fidgeted with his pants, and announced that he was tired and wanted to go home. Tretheway and Jake quickly pooh-poohed this.

“You can't go home now,” Jake said. “You'll break up the tourney.”

“Here. Have one for the other leg.” Tretheway pushed a drink into his hand.

Beezul grumbled but played on.

The party broke up about twelve-thirty, which Tretheway felt was safe enough. He saw to it that everyone had a safe way home. Zoë drove Cynthia Moon, Gum was near enough to walk, Wan Ho rode with Doc Nooner and Garth had his own car.

Tretheway gave Jake an I-told-you-nothing-would-happen wink over Addie's shoulder before he closed the house up for the night.

It was close to the end of the month before Jake found out anything meaningful with his 1692 research, and he remained skeptical about all items except one.

“What have you got, Jake?” Tretheway and Jake sat, once again, in the privacy of Tretheway's quarters. It was the Thursday evening before Hallowe'en, which this year fell on a Sunday. Jake spread his notes out on Tretheway's desk and read them aloud.

“In 1692, Louis XIV of France attempted an invasion of England. The French fleet under Admiral de Tourville was defeated in a decisive engagement off ‘La Hogue'—that's
near Cherbourg —'and the invasion was turned back. After this victory, England remained mistress of the seas until almost our time'.” Jake looked pleased with himself.

Tretheway shook his head.

“What's the matter?”

“What could that possibly have to do with our W?”

“But you said…”

“Do you have anything else?”

Jake reshuffled his notes. “‘The Battle of Steinkirk. Victory of Luxembourg over William III'.”

Tretheway shook his head again.

“How about Port Royal, Jamaica? ‘Thousands killed in earthquake while tsunami obliterates private haven'.”

“What's a tsunami?”

“A tidal wave.”

“Then why didn't you say a tidal wave?”

Jake didn't say anything.

“I hope you're saving something.”

“Well, there's one more. It's my favourite.”

“Let's have it.”

“The Salem witch trials.”

“Ah.” Tretheway's expression was the same as when he scratched his massive back against a door jamb.

“‘1692, Salem Village.'” Jake read. ‘“Largest witch hunt in North America. Young girls met at the minister's house. Minister's slave, Tituba, filled their heads with tales of magic. Two of the girls lapsed into hysterical illness. Moaned, writhed on ground. Symptoms spread through child population of settlement. Thought to be bewitched. Finally girls accused others of witchcraft, including Tituba. Sir William Phipps appointed special commission of judges. Many more accusations. Village in grip of hysteria. Eventually two hundred arrested and nineteen executed'.” Jake stopped reading. “Hard to believe. Nineteen people hanged.”

“I think the total across the colony was twenty-four,” Tretheway said.

“You know?”

“Jake. You can't research witchcraft without reading about Salem Village.”

“Then why did I…”

“I had to know if anything else relevant happened that year. Someone had to come in through the back door.” Tretheway pointed at Jake. “Through the year 1692. I came in through witchcraft. And we both met in Salem Village.”

“But,” Jake persisted, “how is that related exactly to our W?”

“Don't know. But it wouldn't hurt to make a few inquiries.”

“Like what?”

“Sir William Phipps. I'd like to know the names of the judges he appointed. And the names of the ones they found guilty. We might get lucky.”

“I should call Salem Village, I guess. Maybe the City Hall.”

“I'd be inclined to call the local police. I'm sure they'll cooperate. This is business. Even though it may be unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary?”

“There's only three days left till Hallowe'en. I doubt if we'd hear anything back before the thirty-first.”

“So?”

“We might have the answers by then.”

“Hm?”

“From W.”

E
veryone said that when Hallowe'en fell on a Sunday, fewer children went from door to door. Add to this bad weather, in the form of a thick bone-chilling fog and, they said, fewer still will show up. This didn't happen at the Tretheways' where Addie had the reputation of packing a toothsome Hallowe'en bag. She had spent the day baking miniature butter tarts. Wan Ho and Gum were in the kitchen inserting two tarts into each small bag, along with assorted candies and one chocolate BB bat. Zoë and Beezul shared the task of carrying them on a large tray to the front hall where Addie handed them out. Fat Rollo, looking like a fearsome ornament bought especially for the occasion, watched all the proceedings inside and out from the high hall window sill. Cynthia Moon had been invited but stayed home, she said, with a head cold. Doc Nooner was still at his office and Garth Dingle had to close up his pro shop, so neither was at Tretheways' to help. By seven-thirty they were about halfway through two hundred bags.

“I don't know about you,” Tretheway said quietly to Jake, “but I've noticed more witches than anything else this year.”

“You're right,” Jake said. “Where are all the clowns? And funny faces?”

“Soldiers and tin men?”

“Knights of old? Princesses?”

Tretheway shook his head. “Sign of the times.”

The hunchback dwarf appeared close to nine o'clock. Addie had the screen door open offering a tray to bigger boys who were probably trick-or-treating for the last time. An impish creature suddenly pushed the boys roughly aside and grabbed several bags from the tray, almost knocking it from Addie's hands. A low growl came from its hideous, upturned mask. Addie screamed. The dwarf turned and ran awkwardly, as though crippled, down the sidewalk. Its long black cloak, misshapen by the huge hunch, swept across the wet grass. The older boys dropped their bags and ran the other way. Jake got there just in time to see the dwarf disappear into the fog.

“You okay?” Jake asked.

“Yes, yes.” Addie had recovered. “Gave me such a start.”

“What was it?”

“It looked like a gnome. A very ugly, rude, garden gnome.”

“What the hell's going on?” Tretheway appeared on the porch.

“Everything's okay,” Jake said. “A kid scared Addie. Dressed up as a dwarf. Hunchback and everything.”

“He growled,” Addie said. “And he looked awful. He had this horrible mask. Fuzzy hair. And a long cloak.”

“You're supposed to look awful on Hallowe'en,” Tretheway said. “It would be unusual if he had on a three-piece business suit.”

“That's not funny.”

Tretheway didn't answer.

“And he didn't say thank you either.” Addie went back into the kitchen for the last few bags.

By nine-thirty all was quiet. At ten, Zoë Plunkitt left for home, dropping Gum on her way. Tretheway and Jake sat at the kitchen table sampling Addie's butter tarts.

“How many of those have you had?” she asked her brother.

“Two,” Tretheway answered. Jake had counted eleven
but, he thought, they were quite small. Addie disappeared with her goodies into the common room where Wan Ho and Beezul were chatting with several student boarders.

“I had to tell Wan Ho,” Tretheway said.

“That's good,” Jake said.

“Not the whole story. Just enough so he'll keep an eye on Beezul. And be ready to help if he's needed.”

“I feel better.”

“With two squad cars.”

“Eh?”

“At Central. Waiting for his call.”

“Maybe you'd better tell me the whole plan,” Jake said.

“Simplicity itself,” Tretheway answered. “We follow Beezul tonight.”

“We?”

“You and me.”

“I thought maybe Wan Ho would come along.”

“No. I want him here. To watch the house. And to call in the police officially.”

“That's why we're using the Pontiac?”

“Right. Remember I asked you to double-check the car. I'd hate to have anything go wrong.”

“Not to worry. Full of gas.” Jake reassured. “And I tuned it up myself.”

Tretheway nodded. “Okay. We follow Beezul to his house. Wait maybe five minutes. Then you run down the block. There's a pay phone. Make sure you have change. Call Wan Ho.”

Jake wondered to himself why he always had to do the leg work.

“He'll send the cars in. They'll wait with us. Until W comes.”

“Is W going to do the deed there?”

“Probably not.” Tretheway paused. “Although there's a
couple of swimming pools in that neighbourhood. And there's a dammed-up creek just under the mountain. But it's not too practical. Not too private. No.” Tretheway tossed another butter tart into his mouth. “They intend to kidnap Beezul. Take him somewhere. But it doesn't matter. By that time we'll have W.”

“You're not going to wait and see?”

“No point. Too dangerous, for one thing. W will be there. With all the paraphernalia. Caught red-handed. With Luke. Hard for W to explain. Break in. Abduction. I'm sure W will break down when confronted. Simple as that.”