Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) (25 page)

Colin made a quick decision. "I want to help, Waldo, but I have to tell you something first."

"Shoot."

"I want to tell you about my wife and children."

"Didn't know you had a wife and kids."

"I don't. They're dead. I want to tell you how they died."

It took about twenty minutes. Sweat ran down Colin's body, his voice shook, and his hands trembled. But he did it, and was glad.

"Shit, Maguire, losing your wife and kids. I don't know what I'd do if that happened to me." He took a swig of beer.

"There's something else," Colin went on. "Babe Parkinson found out and it looks like she's given the story to
Newsline.
When that breaks I'm going to be just as much persona non grata around here as you are. So maybe I'm not the guy you want to team up with."

"You kidding me or what? You think what you told me makes a difference? Hell, Maguire, what kind of schlemiel do you think I am?"

Colin shrugged, stubbed out his cigarette. "I just thought I should give you the out."

"Don't want it. I need a partner, somebody to bounce ideas off, get some input, too. Charlie Copin and me used to do it that way, but I can't jeopardize Charlie's career, ask him to openly work with me. He's got to work with Wonder Boy now. But Charlie's a good guy, he'll do what he can on the QT. He got me these," he said, pointing to the folders. "Xeroxed the originals. And he'll keep me informed much as he can."

"What are they?"

"The dossiers on the victims. I figure we've been going at this thing all wrong, Maguire. Looking for the killer before we know everything about the victims. I think the answer to who this bozo is is right here." He tapped the top folder with a long thin finger. "These people weren't picked at random. The bastard has some kind of plan. The marks, the choice of victim, the place he kills 'em, all of it. There's a design, like a blueprint, know what I mean?"

Colin told him what he'd learned about the latest symbol, and said he was going to research it further.

"See," Hallock said, "that's just what I mean. The fucker's practically telling us who he is, only we aren't picking it up."

"Do you think he wants to be caught?"

"Don't they all? These kind of killers?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think Ted Bundy, Albert DeSalvo, or Albert Fish wanted to be caught."

"Who's Albert Fish?"

"He killed a lot of kids, then ate them."

"Jesus Christ almighty." He polished off the beer. "Did they leave a lot of clues around, those guys?"

"Not really. Nothing like A's or swastikas or whatever that thing is."

"I think it's good you checking that stuff out at the library, so don't get me wrong when I say this. But my instincts tell me we got to figure out what the victims got in common, then we can think like the killer. I'm going to leave these with you, Maguire. I been over them, made my notes. I want you to do the same, we'll compare tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, but what am I looking for?"

"Similarities. Anything you can find about these people they got in common. Don't worry about it being stupid. I mean, like maybe they all have an F in their names, which they don't, or none of them have an F in their names, which is true. What I'm saying, Maguire, is that nothing is too small or too stupid to consider."

"I've got you."

Hallock pushed back his chair. "What time you get up in the morning?"

"Pretty early." He'd thought about going to Annie's church, but his priority was to look over this material. He was too tired to do it tonight.

"I'll come by around ten, see what you got."

"Okay." He walked Hallock to the door. "You know, Chief, you could stay with me if you want to. I've got three bedrooms."

"Thanks, Maguire, but I wouldn't want to crimp your style or anything."

"What style's that?"

"Oh, I don't know." He smiled and nervously pulled on his long nose. "Anyway, I need to be alone. Got to think through some stuff, figure out what I'm gonna do with the rest of my life. Besides, Liz Wood needs my business. Least I can do."

They shook hands. Colin snapped on the porch light. Halfway to his car Hallock said, "Hey, Maguire, when are you gonna get rid of that mustache?"

He was surprised. "You don't like it?"

"Puts me in mind of the outlaws in the Westerns I saw as a boy."

Colin laughed. "I'll think about it." He waited until Hallock was in his car before he turned off the light.

Back in the kitchen he checked the time. Twelve-twenty. He wanted to call Annie and say goodnight again. Lifting the receiver from the wall phone, he hesitated. Maybe she was asleep and wouldn't appreciate being awakened at this hour. On the other hand, she might like it, be glad to know that he was thinking of her. He started to dial, then replaced the phone. She had to preach the next day, it wasn't fair to wake her. He couldn't believe it—he was hung up on a preacher, for God's sake! His hand slipped from the phone and he started to walk away when it rang.

"Colin," Annie said. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

He felt himself grow light, as if all his bones had vanished. "No, I'm awake. I was just thinking about calling you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"That's nice," she said. "I'm calling because ... I wanted you to know that... I wish you were here with me."

Her words hit him in the pit of his stomach. "Annie," he said.

"I just wanted you to know that."

"I wish I could be there, too." He didn't say he'd come back, drive ninety miles an hour to get there. He knew nothing had changed. "I'm glad you told me."

"Me, too. Goodnight, Colin."

"Goodnight, Annie."

He waited to hang up until he heard her break the connection. God, he felt good! She cared. The phone rang again. He grabbed it. "Annie?" There was no answer. "Annie? Is that you?" Again there was silence, but he could tell the line was open. "Hello? Who is this?"

No answer. And then he heard the click. Returning the receiver to the cradle, he felt an icy sweat bead on his neck, then creep down his back. He tried to tell himself it was a wrong number but he wasn't buying. Somehow he knew exactly who his caller was; he just didn't know his name.

LOOKING BACK—50 YEARS AGO

In keeping with its policy of giving its patrons the very best in sound motion pictures, the Seaville Theatre has installed and has now in operation the revolutionary new "High Fidelity" sound reproducing system manufactured by the RCA Victor Co. About $5000 was spent in equipping the Seaville Theatre with this latest development in sound reproduction.

TWENTY-SIX

She had given a terrible sermon, stumbling over words and phrases, having a coughing fit, losing her place, and all the time Steve Cornwell—who would give anything to see her replaced—was sitting there in the first row, grinning. The more he grinned, the more mistakes Annie made. It had infuriated her, anger tripping her up further. She'd spent an inordinate amount of time on this sermon, rewriting and rewriting, and because of her date with Colin, for once she'd had it finished by two on Saturday afternoon.

And then she'd blown it. The topic was Commitment and Fidelity in all their ramifications. Was it some unconscious nonsense on her part that had made her louse it up? Some feeling of infidelity toward Bob? Or maybe it was seeing Russ Cooper in the third pew, tears on his cheeks. Or perhaps it was Burton Kelly, pouting in the fifth row, center. All those things might have added to her poor performance, but the main reason was her own fault: She had been preoccupied with Colin, going over the night before, waiting for him to enter the church. She'd been so sure he'd come.

Once again she'd made herself vulnerable to another person and she'd been disappointed, hurt. On top of it all she was embarrassed about the phone call she'd made to him the night before. She truly wished she hadn't done that. Well, it was all too late, the service was almost over, the final hymn just ending.

Nervously, Annie gave her closing remarks, then took her place to greet the parishioners as they went into the parish hall. When they'd all gone by her she started to follow, then noticed a surly-looking Steve Cornwell standing near the back. She waited. He said nothing but continued to stare at her, hands in his trouser pockets.

Annie considered asking him what he wanted, rejected the idea, and started for the hall. As she reached the door Steve's laughter stopped her. Angry, she whirled back to face him but he was gone. For a moment she looked out into the empty church, trying to regain her calm, telling herself to forget Cornwell.

Inside, Peg Moffat, coffee in one hand, cookies in the other, was by Annie's side at once. "What's wrong, kid? You look terrible."

"Steve Cornwell," she managed to get out.

"Uh-oh. What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. He just stared at me, then he laughed." She shuddered, running her hands over her arms as if she were cold.

"What do you suppose it meant?" Peg bit into a chocolate chip cookie.

"I don't know."

"You didn't do anything dumb last night, did you? You want one of these? They're dynamite."

"No, thanks. If you mean did Colin spend the night, no."

"I don't know whether to be glad or not. How'd the evening go?"

Annie smiled.

"That good, huh?"

She shrugged, not wanting to commit herself, even to Peg.

"When are you going to see him again?" She finished the cookie, started a new one. "You have to try one of these."

Annie held out her hand. "We said we'd talk today. But I won't be able to see him tonight. I have the Death and Dying group."

"Did he stay late?"

"Not too." She thought of telling Peg about calling him but couldn't. Absently, she took a bite of the cookie.

"Good, huh?"

"Who?"

"Not who. What. The cookie, sweetie, the cookie."

"Oh, the cookie."

"You're a goner, kid. Say, do you think Steve Cornwell saw you together?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Listen, I have to talk to some of the others. Can you stay for awhile today?"

"Sure. I'll make my way over to your house in a bit. And I expect every last detail."

Smiling, Annie watched Peg join Madge Johnson and Tug Wilson. When she turned away she saw Burton Kelly coming toward her. She didn't need this today. Fortunately, Karen Ludwig cut him off, immediately began talking about the sermon, said she liked it, and had some questions. Annie was grateful and tried to absorb

herself in the conversation, but her thoughts kept sliding back to Steve Cornwell, wondering about his laughter, feeling threatened.

By the time she was able to absent herself from the crowd of parishioners she felt edgy and restless. Every encounter she'd had seemed to fizzle and die, or else they'd ended with someone miffed. Whatever she'd tried had gone wrong. She hadn't even managed to avoid a confrontation with Burton. He'd been sulky and irritating, challenging everything she said. The morning had been a mess. She was a mess. Was all this because she was taken with Colin? Had she been so starved for affection that a few kisses had turned her mind to mush? That possibility disturbed her. As she climbed the back stairs to her house she thought, Thank God for Peg, she'll put me straight.

"Peg," she called from the kitchen, "I'm here."

There was no reply.

And then she saw the note.

Dear Annie,

Had to leave, didn't want to come back to the Hall. Tim called,

told me Beth is running a temperature. I'll catch you later.

Why don't you drop by this afternoon? Sorry I couldn't stay

but I still expect the gory details.

Love, Peg

Timing, she thought, is everything. If ever she wanted to talk, it was now. The phone rang and she grabbed for it, hoping it was Colin. It was only a wrong number. She thought about calling him but decided against it. The last thing she wanted to do was to appear pushy, smothering. Instead she decided to relax, have her glass of sherry before she went to the Townsends' for dinner. In the dining room she poured herself the drink, then turned toward the living room.

When she saw him she sucked in her breath, dropping the glass. "What are you doing here?" she managed to ask.

He said nothing, just smiled.

----

The first thing Hallock said to Colin was, "You look kind of bleary-eyed, Maguire. Didn't you get any sleep?"

"Not much. You?"

"Haven't slept yet. I tried but I couldn't. There was a paperback somebody left in the motel, read the whole damn thing."

"What was it?"

Hallock cleared his throat. "Oh, it was just some damn thing called
Ballerina
."

Colin smiled.

"Listen," Hallock said defensively, "it got me through the night and it wasn't half bad, either."

"I didn't say anything, Chief."

"Better stop calling me Chief."

"Sorry. Want some coffee?"

"You got some made?"

"Yup."

"I wouldn't mind a cup."

Colin poured them each a mug of coffee, put a carton of milk on the table, and pushed the sugar bowl toward Hallock.

He took three teaspoons. "So what do you have?"

Colin got out his sheets of lined yellow paper and laid them on the kitchen table. Across the top of the first one he'd written the names of the victims and down the left side, fifteen categories: age, sex, color eyes, color hair, height, weight, marital status, date of birth, where born, siblings, parents, children, job, address, and financial status.

Hallock took a similar piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded and smoothed it, then placed it next to Colin's. He had an additional four categories: hobbies, friends, habits, enemies. "Two minds that work as one, huh?"

"Looks like it."

"What kind of matches did you make?"

"A few times I thought I might have something, but then the little girl, Mary Beth, would throw it off."

Hallock nodded. "Know what you mean. Let's hear it anyway."

Colin picked up his second sheet and began to read. "Two of the victims have brown eyes, two blue. Two have blond hair, two brown." He looked up from the paper. "Of course, Ruth Cooper's was dyed. She'd already turned gray but she'd been a brunette." He continued reading. "Three of them were between five feet five and five feet eleven. Mary Beth threw that one off. The weight didn't seem to mean anything," he said.