Richard Montanari (47 page)

    
Remember
the bell, Lucy
.

    The
drive across southeastern Pennsylvania was energizing. The rain had stopped and
it was a bright and sunny day. A lot of people think that the best place to view
fall colors in the United States is New England, and they have a point. But the
rolling hills of Pennsylvania, painted in scarlet and gold and lemon yellow,
might well give New Hampshire a run for its money.

    For a
long time neither Jessica nor Byrne said much. Both were lost in the events of
the past four days and the possibility of a break in the case, a break located
far out of their jurisdiction.

    Before
leaving Philadelphia, Jessica had gotten Byrne to stop at his apartment, shower
and shave, change clothes. He looked like two-thirds of his old self again.

    'You
didn't happen to find a piece of green yarn in your van, did you?'

    'No,'
Byrne said. 'Are you talking about the yarn that was around the box with your
mom's things in it?'

    Jessica
nodded. The thought of having lost the yarn made her sick. 'I looked
everywhere, asked everyone. It's gone.'

    'Maybe
it'll turn up.'

    Jessica
didn't hold out much hope for this. It was only ten cents' worth of yarn, but
it had belonged to her mother. And that made it priceless.

    The
police department of Garrett Corners was three officers strong. In addition to
the standard duties involving processing civil matters such as court orders,
writs and orders of possession, there were mortgage foreclosures and township
auctions. Rarely did they deal with homicide.

    The
town itself was an intersection, twenty buildings deep in four directions. The
municipal building was a featureless block of limestone, housing the police
department, courthouse and public agencies. It was every small-town city hall
east of the Rockies. Jessica and Byrne were instructed to meet the chief of police,
a man named Rogers Logan.

    Jessica
and Byrne announced themselves, showed ID, and took a seat on the worn oak bench
across the room. Jessica scanned the walls.

    Affixed
to them with yellowed tape were mostly outdated posters for D.A.R.E and other
community drug and outreach programs. After a few minutes the door to the back
opened, and a man walked out.

    Rogers
Logan was a fit sixty: military flat-top, big hands and farmer's shoulders. He
walked with a purposeful gait. Behind him was a young woman in full uniform and
Sam Browne.

    'I'm
Chief Logan,' he said. 'This is Officer Sherri Grace.'

    Handshakes
all around.

    Officer
Grace was in her late twenties, stout and surly. She was maybe fifteen pounds
over her prom weight, and Jessica knew why. Cop hours and cop food would do it
to you if you didn't fight it hard. Jessica waged the battle every day. Still,
Officer Grace wore it well.

    'Can
I get everyone some coffee?' Grace asked.

    'Sure,'
Byrne said.

    'How
do you take it?'

    'Like
it comes.'

    Grace
winked and left the office.

    'Coffee
maker's fritzed,' Logan said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, a sheepish
look on his face. He probably figured that in Philadelphia the police
department issued espresso machines and milk frothers to every squad. Little
did he know. The first thing Jessica noticed when she walked into the office
was that they had the same make and model of fax machines.

    They
retired to the squad room, which amounted to two desks pushed up against each
other, a pair of large corkboards on the wall, a conference table pushed into
the corner, along with five or six dented file cabinets.

    A
minute later Officer Grace returned with three cups of coffee in chipped
ceramic mugs. The outside temperature had dropped a few degrees, and the mugs
billowed with steam. She put the cups down on the desk, then put a cardboard
box filled with packets of non-dairy creamer, sugar, Equal, Sweet'N Low and
plastic stirrers on the table.

    'I'm
off to patrol,' she said. 'Nice meeting you all.'

    Giving
Byrne a little extra wattage in her smile, she left the office.

    The
coffee rituals came to a close. It was time to get down to business. Logan, the
country gentleman, gestured to Jessica to take his chair. Jessica smiled,
declined. All three of them stood as Logan described the victim.

    'His
name was Thomas Archer. Twenty-six years old. Lived over in Kelton, right near
the county line. He worked in the beauty salon over there.'

    'Where
was he found?' Byrne asked.

    Logan
moved over to a map on the wall, a map of Garrett Corners and surrounding
townships. He pointed to a small green area just a short distance from the
county line. 'He was found here, in the Shadyside Cemetery. As you can see, the
cemetery is on both sides of the creek. Tommy was found on the southern end,
near the mausoleum.'

    At
the word
cemetery
Jessica and Byrne exchanged a look. All they had
really known on the way up to Garrett Corners was what the telex had told them,
namely that there was a homicide victim with a possible connection to the
Philadelphia murders.

    'Who
found the body?' Jessica asked.

    'Body
was found by the mail carrier. He was doing his afternoon route and he noticed
a pack of dogs circling something in the cemetery. We've had a few problems
with meth labs out here in the past couple of years, and where there's meth
labs there're mean dogs. Mail carrier figured they'd gotten loose, called it
in, and we went out to check it out. County game warden scooped up two of the
dogs, others got away. The dogs had been at Tommy, but not too bad.'

    'Where
is Mr. Archer now?'

    'The
body was taken to the coroner's office in the county seat. They do all our
autopsies, what few we need done.'

    'Do
they know how long the body had been there?' Byrne asked.

    'Hard
to say until they give it a good going-over. Not that long, though.'

    'Do
you have photographs of the crime scene?'

    'Yeah,'
Logan said. 'Unfortunately, I do.'

    Logan
led them to a small area off the squad room, which served as storage space for
fax paper, toner, and other supplies. A folded crib leaned in one corner. Logan
flipped on the overhead fluorescents.

    One
wall was dedicated to racks of official forms. The town might have been small,
but it rivaled the PPD for forms needed. In the center was a folding conference
table. Most of the table's contents were bunched to one side, and a pair of
large manila envelopes sat in the middle.

    Logan
opened the envelopes, slid out the photographs. He arrayed them side by side on
the table. The longer shots showed a rural cemetery. The close-ups were of the
body. It was a sight with which Jessica and Byrne were all too familiar.

    Jessica
looked closely at the victim. The signature was identical to the bodies found
in Philadelphia. The body was nude, and shaved clean of all hair. The band of
paper was wrapped around the head, just barely covering the victim's eyes.
There were three bloodstains on the paper, one lateral, one circular, along
with the mutilated ear. The body was sprawled on a hillside, surrounded by low
headstones. The left leg was clearly broken.

    'Does
this dovetail with the case you're working?' Logan asked.

    'It
does,' Byrne said.

    'We'll
need copies of these photographs, if that's all right,' Jessica said.

    Logan
retrieved a stack of envelopes from the top of a nearby file cabinet. He picked
up two of them. 'I anticipated that. There's duplicates of everything in here.'

    He
handed the envelopes to Jessica. 'Thanks.'

    The
three of them went still for a few moments, each of them taking in the horror
displayed before them in full color.

    'When
was your last homicide?' Jessica asked.

    Logan
ran a hand over his chin. 'Well, even though it's been a few years I find it a little
hard to talk about. And mind you, I was in Vietnam. Two tours. Saw quite a bit.
This one shook me good.'

    Jessica
and Byrne remained silent.

    'We
haven't had but two murders here in all the time I've been on the job. One was
a domestic that went tragically wrong. Everyone saw that one coming, I suppose.
Those two were at it for years. The other was little Peggy van Tassel.'

    'Would
you mind telling us the details?' Byrne asked.

    Logan
sipped his coffee. Jessica noticed a slight shake in his hand. He put the cup
down, rattling it slightly on the worn Masonite surface. 'Little girl, eleven
years old. Father worked for the county in the water department, mother was a
teacher at Jefferson Middle School. Only child. Peggy went to school one day,
never came home. We put the word out and by that evening we must have had two
hundred volunteers for the search. We found her by Iron Lake ten days later.
She'd been molested, stabbed to death. Whoever did it cut her pretty bad.'
Logan cleared his throat, reached for his coffee, thought better of it. 'She
had on make-up, and a woman's fancy dress. Not a dress that was for a grown
woman, mind you, but a small one. One that was her size. The folks at the state
crime lab said it looked like it was made for her. State police took the case.'

    The
idea of the killer making a dress for the little girl gave Jessica a chill.
'Was the case ever closed?' she asked.

    Logan
shook his head. 'There was a man who was questioned in that case. That man's
name was George Archer.'

    'Archer?'
Byrne asked.

    'Yes,
sir. Tommy Archer's father. George was a state trooper for a few years, but as
I understand it he was shown the door,' Logan added. 'Insubordination was the
official line, but there were rumors.'

    'Rumors
of what?' Jessica asked.

    'Like
yourselves, I try to deal in facts, ma'am. If it's all the same, rumors should
live and die just that. Rumors.'

    Jessica
nodded.
Fair enough.

    'Why
did the state like George Archer in this case?' Byrne asked. 'George had been
seen talking to Peggy a few days before she went missing. In fact, that's where
we found Tommy Archer's body. Right near Peggy's marker.'

    Jessica
looked at Byrne, then back. 'He was found near her plot at the cemetery?'

    'Yes,
ma'am.'

    Logan
went through the photos on the table. He picked one up. In it, the body of
Thomas Archer was visible on the right side of the frame. To the left was a
clearly marked headstone.

    'Do
you think any of the girl's family might be involved in this?' Byrne asked.