Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) (38 page)

Colin obeyed his unseen doctor. He focused on his toes, clenched, unclenched, clenched, unclenched. It wasn't working. He tried something else. This is for Annie, he said to himself. This is for Annie. Over and over. Thinking of nothing else, his panic receded some, his breathing returned to an almost normal rate, the dizziness vanished.

"Here we are, Maguire." Hallock pulled into a side street, killed the motor. "Can't park in front. Even Schufeldt might think it's suspicious. You okay?"

"I'm okay." And he was. He hadn't passed out, hadn't died.

"We're going to get plenty wet between here and there. Let's head for that big tree on the corner, then we'll case the street, make sure it's empty. You ready?"

Colin nodded.

Both men opened their doors, jumped out, and made a dash for the large oak. They were drenched at once. The wind, in a relentlessly battering fury, pushed them against the trunk of the tree.

Shouting, Hallock said, "It looks all clear, nobody around. Make a run for the door."

Heading into the wind, they ran, ankle-deep water slowing their progress. Once there, Colin dug in his windbreaker pocket for his key but came up empty. "Jesus," he yelled over the storm, "the key's gone."

"What d'you mean, 'gone'?"

"It must have fallen out of my pocket when I was running," he explained.

"You sure?"

Feeling like a fool, Colin checked all his pockets. "Nothing," he said.

"I didn't bother bringing my keys since you had yours."

"Should we look?" He gestured toward the street.

"Like looking in a lake," Hallock said impatiently. Let's get off the street." He headed for the alley at the right of the building, Colin following.

In back Colin shouted over the rain, "My window. I went out that way this morning. It should still be open." He gave the window frame a shove and it slid up easily. He climbed through first, gave a hand to Hallock then shut the window.

"God almighty, I feel like I've been in the Sound. And you look like something the cat drug in," Hallock observed.

"You can see in the dark now?"

"I'm using my imagination."

"Well, use it to find our way through this place to the basement. C'mon, let's go. Take my hand." Colin shuffled forward, one hand stretched out in front of him, the other behind, clasping Hallock's.

After a few moments their eyes became accustomed to the dark and they were able to move more swiftly. Once Colin slammed into a chair left in the wrong place, and Hallock crashed a shin into something he couldn't identify.

At the top of the steps to the basement Colin dropped Hallock's hand. "There's a rail on the right."

"Got it. How the hell are we going to read anything down there?" Hallock asked.

"There should be a flashlight somewhere."

"What d'you mean, 'somewhere'?"

"Just that."

It was darker when they reached the bottom. The windows were very small at ground level and offered no light. Carefully, Colin crossed the room toward where the bound papers were stored.

"Hey?" Hallock called. "I can't see a goddamned thing."

"Just follow my voice. Keep coming—here I am—that's right. Straight ahead. You'll make it. Good. This is where the old issues are kept. Christ, how am I going to see which is the one we need?"

"Beats me."

"We've got to find that flash."

"You don't have any idea where it is?"

"There are some shelves over on the far wall. I think maybe I saw it there."

"Where's the far wall? Can't even see that," Hallock said wearily.

"This way." He grabbed Hallock's wet jacket, pulled him along, his right hand thrust forward, protecting himself. The hand collided with something cool, smooth. He wrapped his fingers around the object, lifted it from the shelf. Bringing it close to his face he saw that it was a glass, smelled something acrid. "Okay, we're at the shelves." He reached out to replace the glass and dropped it. "Shit!"

"What was that?"

"A glass."

"What's the smell?"

"Turpentine, I think."

"Don't drop any lit matches."

"I don't have any matches. I wish I did. Come here, next to me. Feel around for the flash."

Both men felt along the shelves as if they were reading Braille. A number of things crashed to the floor, some breaking, others bouncing, rolling away.

Finally Hallock said, "I got it." He snapped the button forward and a dim light appeared. "Not much life left in the batteries."

"Turn it off. Okay. Now let's go back to the books. Keep the flash off so we don't waste it."

"Right."

Again they shuffled across the cement floor like ancient men using walkers. Colin's foot caught on something and he tripped, pitched forward, falling against a crate, cracking his head. He shouted out in pain.

"Maguire. You okay, Maguire?"

"Just dandy."

"Where are you?"

"Don't move, Waldo. There's something on the floor." He sat up, scooted toward whatever had tripped him, touched it. "Over here. Give me the flash." He extended his hand, felt the cool metal slapped in his palm, clicked it on, pointed the beam toward the

offending object. "It's one of the bound books," he said excitedly. "It must have fallen when Mark and I were fighting. Let me see if it's the one we need. Come here, sit down."

Hallock joined him on the floor. Colin opened the book. "Yeah, this is the one. Hold this," he said, giving him the flashlight. He turned the pages until he came to the issue he'd seen that morning. "Here it is."

The beam of light dimly illuminated the page, the bodies lying under the tarps.

"Jesus," Hallock said, "I'd forgotten how awful it was."

Colin began to read the story out loud but Hallock interrupted him. "Go to the obit page. That's what we need."

"You're right. Okay, here it is. My God." He kept turning pages. There were three devoted to obituaries. "Waldo, we don't even know what we're looking for."

"I think we'll know it when we see it. You start on the left side, I'll read the right."

Silently they read through the obits, checking names, looking for clues. And then Colin said, "Perkins."

"Who?"

"Perkins. Annie mentioned them to me."

"What d'you mean?"

"She knew them." The flashlight died. "Shit!" He clicked it off, shook it, snapped it on again. Nothing. "Now what?"

"Tear those pages out and put them under your jacket. We'll read them in the car."

Carefully, Colin ripped out the pages, folded them into as small a square as possible, shoved it into his shirt pocket, and zipped up his jacket. "Okay."

They scrabbled to their feet and stumbled toward the steps. Upstairs they made their way to the front of the building without incident. Colin unlocked the door. They stepped outside, the rain lashing their faces and bodies.

"Run for it," Hallock yelled.

Splashing through pools of water, they ran across the street, past the big oak and to the car. Inside, Colin unzipped his jacket, patted his pocket with a wet hand. "Still there," he said, relieved. "Got any rags or anything? I don't want to touch the paper with these hands."

"Look in the glove compartment."

He pushed the lock and it snapped open. There were two napkins, looking as if they'd been used.

"Not mine," Hallock said.

Colin dried his hands, dropped the napkins on the floor, and gingerly removed the folded papers from his pocket.

"Where's the light in this buggy?" Hallock asked.

Colin ran his hand over the roof. "Try your side."

"Got it." He clicked on a muted light.

Colin unfolded the sheets and handed two to Hallock. He ran his finger down the page in front of him until he came to Perkins, Evelyn and Howard. Evelyn R. and Howard Mathew Perkins, residents of Seaville, died Saturday June 10th in the club Razzamatazz fire in Seaville. She was 35, he was 39.

Mrs. Perkins was born in Seaville, the daughter of the late Elizabeth and Franklin Heath.

Mr. Perkins was born in Bay View, the son of Alice and James Elliott Perkins. He was an employee of Riverhead Highway Department.

The Perkins are survived by their son, James Drew.

"James Drew," Colin said vaguely.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Hallock looked at him, raised an eyebrow. "You find something?"

"No, it was just a name that sounded fam He trailed off, his eyes glazing over.

"What is it?"

"Oh, Christ! I don't believe it."

"Maguire, will you tell me what the hell you're talking about?"

"I'm talking about a kid named James Drew Perkins. Sound familiar?"

Hallock looked puzzled.

"Try this: Jim Drew."

"Jesus!"

"He was Annie's first boyfriend when they were eight."

Hallock snapped off the light and started the motor. "I hope to hell we're not too late."

LOOKING BACK—75 YEARS AGO

Some bad boy or boys without a spark of common decency or speck of manly honor have been doing various things lately that will land them in the penitentiary if their identity should become known. The latest depredation occurred this week when the miscreants with heavy rocks smashed a portion of the walk and steps near the bottom of the landing of the new stairway and walks at the foot of the Sound Road. The Seaville Gazette will press the charge against the miscreants if their names can be learned.

THIRTY-NINE

When the blindfold was removed Annie looked around. She was in his barn, a small room off the main area. Boxes were stacked along one wall, and against another was an old carousel horse painted green and red. Opposite her was a roll top desk in the first stage of being stripped. A dining room chair with a caned seat leaned against the desk. Rock music continued to blare from the other room.

He stood above her. His hair was wet, and the shoulders and arms of his denim jacket as well. Under it he wore a red polo shirt, and when he moved the jacket flapped back exposing a worn alligator, a hole near his tail. The knife was in his right hand, a cigarette in the other.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" he asked, annoyed.

Annie stared at him, uncomprehending. "Of course I do. You're Jim Drew."

He smiled, his lips turning downward. "No, I mean who I really am."

Was he one of these people who believed he was Christ or Napoleon or maybe a being from another planet? Whoever he thought he was, she must be careful not to offend; try to convince him that she believed him. "Why don't you tell me who you really are?"

"Take a guess." He ran a hand over his scraggly black beard, bringing the ragged edges to a momentary point before the wiry hairs sprang back into disarray.

"It's hard to think tied up like this."

He laughed harshly and turned away from her.

"Where are you going?" she asked, panicky.

Drew picked up the cane chair, placed it in front of her backwards and sat down. Leaning his arms on the top of the frame, one hand gripping the knife, he said, "If you think I'm gonna untie you, you've got another think coming."

"My wrists hurt."

He frowned, thick black brows coming together, forming one line. "Fire hurts worse."

"What do you mean?" He still hadn't told her what his reference to the Razzamatazz fire meant.

"Next week's the anniversary. Twenty-five years."

"You mean twenty-five years since the Razzamatazz fire?"

"Boy, you're real smart," he said sarcastically. Then, switching gears, said, "How come you became a preacher?"

"It was just something I wanted to do." She couldn't help thinking how strange life was. If she hadn't become a minister she probably would never have returned to Seaville, and now her life wouldn't be hanging in the balance.

"I thought you'd be a teacher."

"What do you mean, you thought?"

He laughed again. "Guess."

"Guess?"

"Yeah. Guess why I thought you'd be a teacher."

"I can't."

"You'd better try," he said sharply.

"I told you I can't think with my hands tied this way."

Drew jumped up suddenly, the chair falling forward hit Annie's knees. She cried out as he lunged toward her and slapped her across the face backhanded. "Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. And don't go saying anything about being tied up again." He stood over her, his body shaking.

Her face stung where he'd hit her, knees too where the chair had struck them. She mustn't make him angry. The only hope she had was to keep him talking, win him over. But he was insane. No rules applied. Her experience with totally mad people was nonexistent.

"Jim, I'm sorry I made you so angry and—"

"I'll bet you are," he interrupted.

She went on. "I'd like to know who you really are. Tell me."

He looked pleased, as if he'd finally won some approval. "I'll give you a hint," he said briskly. "I wanted to be a pilot."

"A pilot," she repeated. "What do you mean, you wanted to be? When you were little?"

"Right."

The Beatles were singing "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." It didn't help her concentration. She felt confused. How would what he wanted to be as a child be a hint for her? "You have me stumped," she said, smiling.

"That's because I'm smarter than you."

"I'm sure it is." She hoped she sounded sincere.

His dark eyes sparked. "You'd better believe it."

"I do."

He rocked on his heels. "Anyway, I wanted to be a pilot, and you wanted to be a teacher, and we were going to get married."

She was stunned. It couldn't be. But it was. "Jamie Perkins," she said.

"Jamie Drew Perkins."

"I can't believe it. I was just talking about you " She trailed off. This wasn't some ordinary meeting of two old friends—a hug and kiss and talk of old times. "Oh, Jamie, why?"

"Who to?" he asked, ignoring her question. "Who've you been talking to about me?"

"No one. I mean, no one special," she fudged.

"Who?" he demanded. He stepped toward her, menacing.

She couldn't tell him, couldn't even say it was someone other than Colin; she didn't know what he might do to the person she named. "I don't even remember."