Prayer for the Dead (21 page)

“Why would that be?”

“Who knows?”

“Is there anything unique about Scandinavians as a group? Anything that sets them apart?” Becker asked.

“From an actuarial point of view, do you mean?”

“From any point of view. I need any ideas I can get.”

“Well, actually, I did think about that, I assumed you would want to know. There is one interesting thing—from an insurance perspective.” Again Chaney paused to feel his advantage. “Scandinavians tend to live longer than other ethnic groups. That’s mostly climate related, both in Scandinavia and here.”

“How do you mean?”

“People in Minnesota live the longest, on the average, of any state in the Union. Did you know that? Minnesota not only has the highest concentration of Scandinavians in the nation, it also has one of the coldest calumniates.”

“That’s important?”

“It seems to be. The same is true of Scandinavia, too, of course. Part of that might be the high level of social services in both countries, too. But people in cold climates tend to live longer anyway.”

“I would think Alaskans would live the longest in that case.”

Chaney shook his head dismissively.
“Too
cold. Too many people living high-risk lives. Too many indigenous peoples with a low standard of living, too many transients. No, your best bet, if you want to live a long time, is to have Norwegian parents and live in a cold state with good health care close by. Minnesota. We ought to charge less for a general life policy in the state, but it’s against federal regulations. Can’t discriminate.” Chaney said it as if it were an insult to the precision of his craft. “That pushes your premiums up, you know.”

“Why mine?”

“You’re a white Anglo-Saxon male. You’re going to live longer—on the average—than an Afro-American male. That’s just a statistical fact, not my opinion, but we can’t charge the Afro-American more for the same coverage just on the basis of his race. Or, put the other way around, we can’t charge you less. To the government, either way we do it, it’s discrimination. So we charge you the same as the other guy and you get cheated.” Chaney shrugged. “That’s democracy. Politicians aren’t interested in statistics.”

“Except voting patterns. How do you know I’m Anglo-Saxon?”

“Your name’s Becker? That’s English—or German. Northern European in any event. Basically the same stock. By the time you get to this country, the life expectancy is virtually the same. You’ve got a good year and a half better expectancy than somebody with Mediterranean heritage.”

“How do you know my mother’s not a Greek?”

Chaney laughed. “Looking at you. Your hair, your features, your skin color, your height, your body type. You look like your ancestors were roaming northern Europe since the last Ice Age … She’s not Greek, is she?”

“No.”

“What was her maiden name?”

“Kriek.”

“German. I knew it. Don’t misunderstand me. We’re all mongrels in this country. Do a few case studies, go back more than two generations on anybody in America, and you won’t find very many who aren’t as mixed genetically as an alleycat. All the gene pools bleed into each other here. I’ve got a grandmother from Turkey—although you’d never know it. Still, certain types hold true. Give me your genealogy and I can come up with a pretty accurate picture most of the time.”

“And most of the time is good enough for an actuary, right?”

Chaney paused, wondering if his profession were being insulted.

“We deal in large numbers, if that’s what you mean. We’re not
supposed
to be an exact science.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“So, is there anything else you need?”

“This information, Dyce’s list. Is there any way anyone else could have compiled it? I mean anyone with a computer and a modem?”

“Well—if he knew the codes. You can tap into the White House bathroom these days if you know the code.”

“But it would be difficult?”

“Sure it would—unless you were from another insurance company.”

“Insurance companies exchange information?”

“All the time. We have to cross-check to fight fraud, for one thing. If somebody insures his wife for fifty thousand and she dies, that’s not a big event, but if he took out a fifty-thousand-dollar policy with ten other companies—hello. Suddenly you’re looking at a significant event. But the main reason we exchange information is that actuaries need the largest database possible to do the best job. We transfer information every day.”

“To the same people. Or the same computers?”

“The same computers, basically, yes. Why?”

“Could you tell if another computer tried to get at this information?”

“The database or this list?”

“The list, I would think.”

“That would be easier than protecting the whole database. Yes, I could set up an alarm that would tell me if someone tried to get into Dyce’s file.”

“Good. Please do that and notify me immediately.”

“Want to tell me why?”

“Mr. Dyce is going to want to come back for his list. Maybe not right away, but sooner or later, he’s going to have to.”

“He’d be stupid if he does.”

“Not stupid. Not stupid at all. Helpless.”

Tee noticed certain things. One was the remarkable resilience of a town like Clamden. In the week following the news of Dyce’s crimes and his subsequent escape, the townspeople had reacted with the predictable outcry of disgust, horror, and outrage—much of the latter directed at the police in general and Tee in particular for not somehow magically foreseeing Dyce’s plans and providing adequate protection to the citizenry. There was talk of getting a new chief, discussion of citizen patrols, an increased sale of locks and safety devices, demands for a curfew to safeguard the children, all the expected flurry of alarm of a people who had suddenly been made to feel insecure in their own homes. What surprised Tee was how quickly things returned to normal. After two weeks, people still asked him about the case and the so-called manhunt, but by then only with the casual interest of someone massaging an old wound. It took longer for the macabre jokes to die down than for the concern to subside. The citizens ultimately reacted to Dyce’s murders with the statistical optimism of someone who has been struck by lightning and emerged to tell about it. The incident was over and so unlikely to ever happen again that its occurrence unparted a sort of immunity from future occurrence.

Another thing that Tee noticed was that not everything returned to normal. His friend Becker was changed in ways both obvious and subtle. He seemed distracted much of the time, which was understandable. He was conducting the real manhunt, after all, but there was something more fundamental: Becker had lost much of the air of unruffled calm that had always distinguished him. Minor irritants annoyed him openly, his posture and demeanor suggested a different person, a frailer, warier person than the man Tee had known since youth. It occasionally seemed to Tee as if his friend were not the hunter but the man being hunted.

Becker’s visits to Cindi’s house also became more frequent. That, at least. Tee could understand. His friend’s car was parked on Cindi’s street most nights, but the hours were getting later and later so that Tee wondered if Becker was having trouble sleeping.

“Is it any of your business?” Becker asked. They sat in the coffee shop, once again ignored by Janie, the waitress.

“What did I say? All I said was, how’s it going with Cindi?”

“And I asked if it was your business.”

“It was polite conversation. You’re losing your sense of humor lately.”

Becker stared at Tee. There was no malice in his look, but an unplacable, searching quality that demanded an answer and always made Tee uneasy.

“It’s my job,” Tee continued. “Especially now. What kind of cop would I be if I didn’t notice your car when I saw it?”

“What kind?”

“Especially now. It’s not that I’m keeping tabs on you. I cruise, that’s what I’m supposed to do. I cruise neighborhoods, I test shop doors at night, I investigate cars that are parked where they don’t belong, and cars that are abandoned. It’s what I do. Especially now.”

“Especially now.”

“Now more than ever. People like to see the police going through the motions; it makes them feel comfortable.”

“Little do they know,” said Becker.

Tee wasn’t sure whether to laugh.

“Or maybe you haven’t lost your sense of humor exactly,” Tee said. “Maybe it’s just got too subtle for me.”

“Didn’t mean to disparage your fine police work.”

“If I could just point out, I was the one who noticed something funny going on in the first place.”

“And I’m the first to give you credit,” said Becker.

“I stress your finely developed sense of paranoia in my report.”

“You might try to spread the word a little broader. People in town think we’re a bunch of half-wits.”

“We?”

“Like we should have known some insurance salesman was inviting the boys in for a while and then boiling them up?”

“Notice a certain lack of local respect, do you. Tee? A chief is not without honor except in his own community. They all see what a fine job you’re doing now, though. Cruising and noting my comings and goings. That should make them feel better.”

“I just asked how you were getting along … Look, are you pissed at me about something?”

“Pissed at you? Why would I be? You’re the one who gave me my current occupation.”

“You didn’t have to do it. How did I know what it would turn into?”

“You are the one who presented me with your nephew’s wife and baby, aren’t you?”

“Present you? What’s that? She happened to be around, I thought she could be helpful. Who twisted your arm to get into it? Did anybody pressure you in any way …”

“Forget it. Tee, it’s not your fault. I’m not in a very good mood, that’s all. I haven’t been sleeping much.”

“Because of this thing?”

“My dreams keep me awake.”

“You can’t dream if you’re not asleep in the first place.”

Becker gave him that questioning look again, almost as if he were hopeful of discovering a new troth.

“Are you sure of that?”

“Look … you don’t have to stay on it. If it’s getting to you, just quit. It’s not your job anymore, you gave it up once already.”

“Just give it up?” Becker grinned.

Tee shrugged. “Let Dyce go. They’ll find him or they won’t. In any case, he won’t come back here.”

“Won’t he?”

“Why would he?”

“ ‘Cause this is where he gets his kicks?”

“Come on, John. He can buy a cauldron anywhere. All this guy needs is a house and a stove.”

“Not quite. He needs his tranquilizer, PMBL. We don’t know what his source is, but it’s certainly not over the counter.”

“His source doesn’t have to be around here, does it? It could be any pharmacy outlet in the country.”

“Could be. Could be he drives halfway across the country to get his supply. Could be he gets it through the mail, but I doubt it. He’s been very careful. But even supposing he does get it from somewhere else, there’s still something else he needs from here.”

“I’ll bite. What does he need from here he can’t get anywhere else?”

“His victims. He’s got them selected already. He’s gone to a lot of trouble and time to locate them, and he’s used a lot of expensive hardware to do it.”

“Your famous list.”

“His
list, not mine.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t have a list.”

“Christ, I get the point. It’s just a manner of speaking.” Tee waved for Janie, then sighed.

“Why can’t he just make up a new list. All right, not
just.
I suppose it’s complicated, but still, why not do it the safe way? Why come back here? They sell insurance in Utah, don’t they?”

“He could make up another list. Maybe he’s doing it now, in which case we won’t catch him, not now, maybe not ever. But I don’t think he is. He doesn’t have the time.”

“Time? He’s got all the time in the world. What’s he got to do in such a hurry?”

“Kill.”

“Come on, John. What is he, Dracula? He’s got to hurry up to kill? If I was doing it, I’d take all the time I needed and set it up right.”

“That’s because you’d be doing it logically—but then you’re not doing it in the first place. And why aren’t you?”

“Why aren’t I what? Boiling bones?”

“It’s a real question.”

“Because why should I?”

“That’s the point. You’ve got no reason to. You have no need to. And I don’t mean killing, exactly. I think that’s incidental. That’s probably just a way of dealing with the disposal problem. When I say kill I mean a whole complex of emotional reactions involved with whatever it is he does to these men before he gets rid of them. Whatever that compulsion is, I don’t think it can wait. It has to be fed, and it has to be fed a very special diet. It happens the diet he knows about is around here. Which is why I think he’ll be back.”

Tee felt an inward shudder at the off-hand phrase “disposal problem.” There was something eerily detached, yet at the same time intensely personal about Becker’s manner when he discussed Dyce that made Tee increasingly uneasy.

The two men sat in silence for a while, Becker lost in his thoughts and Tee studying his friend with concern.

Becker finally broke the silence.

“We’re getting along fine,” he said.

“None of my business,” said Tee.

“She’s a nice woman … Too young for me.”

“I wasn’t prying …”

“She keeps me from dreaming.”

“Look, John …”

“Or at least from sleeping.” Becker smiled humorlessly before raising his hand slightly above his shoulder. Janie, the waitress, came to the table with a pot of coffee in hand.

“So what is it with you and Janie?” Becker asked after the waitress had withdrawn. “She ignores you because you made a pass at her, or because you didn’t make a pass at her?”

“I remind you I’m a married man.”

“Oh. Pardon me.”

“Also a gentleman. Naturally I cannot discuss these things. My lips are sealed.”

“In other words, you made a pass at her, she refused you, you made an ass of yourself, and she hasn’t spoken to you since.”