The Headsman (39 page)

“You’re right about that.”

“Any progress in locating the Harper boy?”

“No,” Jud said. “There’s been no sign of him.”

“That’s just made the whole thing even worse. The idea that he could be responsible for something like that. It’s almost unthinkable.”

“Yes. Inspector Pearson’s in charge of that part of the investigation, as you know. What I’m looking into is a different angle.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“As you know, there was a similar case here in Braddock twenty-five years ago.”

“Yes, I know. That’s what’s kept this damned headsman story alive for so long. I’ve heard there were other cases as well. Some of them going back a hundred years or more. You know about that?”

“A little,” Jud said. “But most of it’s based on hearsay and old tales that’ve been passed down. There isn’t much concrete evidence those things ever actually took place. The headsman is mentioned in some histories of the region, but as far as anything definite on any killings is concerned, it’s pretty hard to find a record.”

“I see.”

“On the other hand, the case I’m talking about was real. That victim was also female, and she was also decapitated. She lived here in Braddock, and she and her husband were quite well known in the town.” He paused, waiting to see if Campbell would volunteer any knowledge of her.

He didn’t. Instead, he simply regarded his visitor without expression.

“After Marcy Dickens was killed,” Jud went on, “the
Express
ran a long piece about the earlier murder. Maybe you read it.”

“Yes, now that you mention it, I did.”

“Her name was Janet Donovan. I believe you knew her.”

Campbell’s eyes narrowed. “I did, slightly. She and her husband belonged to the country club. I remember seeing them once in a while.”

“You mind telling me what you remember about her?”

“Oh, Lord—that was a long time back. So if I ramble a little, forgive me.”

“Take your time,” Jud said.

“Braddock was a lot different in those days. Believe it or not, the town was even more insular than it is now. Everybody knew everybody’s business. I was just settling in here at the company—my father was alive and heading it then—and I ran in a different crowd than the Donovans. All I remember is that they were members of the club.”

“And that’s where you met Janet Donovan?”

“Could have been. Although it seems to me I might have met her through her husband. If I remember correctly, he was in the insurance business. Always trying to sell you a policy.”

“Uh-huh. What was she like?”

“Janet? I guess you’d call her attractive. Dressed well. Drove a red convertible around town, so you couldn’t miss her.”

“I understand she had a lot of friends.”

“That I couldn’t say. As I mentioned, I ran with a different crowd. We were all single. A lot of us had grown up together, more or less. Kim Menager—she’s married to Bill Swanson now—and Charley Boggs, a whole bunch of us.”

Campbell was keeping all this as casual as possible. It was time to push him a little. “How well did you know Mrs. Donovan personally, would you say?”

There was no change of expression in the smooth features. “Not very well. Enough to say hello to, or to chat with, I suppose. But nothing beyond that.”

“From what I’ve been able to learn, she was something of a swinger.”

“Really? Well, I suppose that’s possible.”

It was interesting. As they’d been talking, Campbell would have been thinking about what could possibly tie him to Janet Donovan after all these years apparently concluding nothing could. So now he was feeling secure, confident that he could respond to any question this jerkwater cop might ask without worrying about his answer.

Jud watched him closely. “Did you have an affair with her?”

Instead of being shocked, Campbell seemed amused. “Chief, please. I might have been a young stud at the time, but if I wanted to get laid I didn’t have to chase married women. You didn’t really come all the way out here this morning just to ask me that, did you?”

“As a matter of fact, no, I didn’t. When you knew the Donovans, did you ever go to their house?”

This time his eyes flickered slightly. “I don’t know. I really don’t remember.”

“Don’t you? Then let me ask you this. Do you remember that the Donovans had a daughter?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You don’t remember her?”

“Only vaguely.”

“She remembers you.”

Campbell’s mouth opened and then snapped shut again. His manner changed abruptly. “What are you getting at?”

“Before Janet Donovan was killed, she had several lovers. You were one of them.”

The executive tensed, the muscles in his jaw working. “Hey, what the hell is this? How dare you come in here making accusations like that without a shred of evidence? You’re trying to tie me into a murder that took place years ago on the grounds that I had an affair with the victim? Jesus Christ—have you lost your mind?”

“You heard what I said. You were Janet Donovan’s lover.”

Campbell stood up. “All right, Chief. That’s enough. You know, I was one of your supporters. There are people on the council who think you ought to be fired. But I was one who spoke up for you. I believed you were just what we needed—a good young cop who could run the department and at the same time be a decent, responsible citizen. Instead, you’ve turned into a fucking lunatic. The fact that there’s a homicide investigation going on doesn’t give you any right to make a lot of wild accusations—sticking your nose into people’s lives. Now get out of here, right now.”

Jud had been expecting this. He’d been well aware of the potential explosiveness in what he’d be asking Campbell, and the executive’s reaction was no surprise. He sat where he was.

Campbell stared at him. “Did you hear what I said? Get out! And I’m warning you, the members of the Council will hear about this. I find your attitude and your actions not only offensive but outrageous. You’ll regret you came barging in here.”

Jud said, “Sit down.”

“What?”

“I said, sit down. There’s more.”

Campbell hesitated. His curiosity was working on him, as Jud knew it would. He sank back into his chair, continuing to hold the chief in a flinty stare. “This better be good.”

“What I said about you and Janet Donovan I can prove,” Jud went on. “In fact, I can produce an affidavit that’ll confirm your relationship with her.”

Campbell grew truculent once more. “The daughter again, right? That just shows me how stupid you are. The Donovans had a daughter, yes. I remember that. But at the time I knew Mrs. Donovan—knew her
slightly
, mind you—the kid couldn’t have been much more than a baby.”

“She was old enough to know what was going on.”

“Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. But just who do you think would be dumb enough to believe allegations made twenty-five years later? Do you have any idea how preposterous this is?”

“There is no statute of limitations,” Jud said, “on murder.”

There was another pause as Campbell thought it over. “You know what this sounds like to me? It sounds like somebody’s thinking they’ve found a way to capitalize on all the publicity the Dickens murder and the headsman crap has generated. Somebody’s trying to cash in, right? And what’s your own involvement, Chief? Are you foolish enough to let yourself be used in some cockamamie scheme, or are you trying to be one of the users?”

“Neither one.”

Campbell compressed his lips. “I think you know my lawyer, don’t you? Mark Peterson of Merriwell, Peterson and Ives?”

“Yes, I know him.”

“You won’t be surprised that a lot of what Peterson does for me is to fend off nuisance cases. Situations where somebody decides that just because I run a successful company I’m fair game for any crackpot who thinks there’s a buck to be made. Throw rocks at me or at Empex and we’ll pay up just to get rid of the problem. Is that what’s going on here?”

This was interesting, too. Jud wasn’t sure whether he was hearing a threat or a subtle pitch. Campbell was no pushover.

The executive thrust out his jaw. “Well? What about it? Is this daughter—this Donovan woman—looking for a payoff? Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” Jud said. “It isn’t. I’m here to ask you questions about a murder. There were a lot of similarities between the Donovan and the Dickens cases. It’s logical to assume that someone who knew something about one could know something about the other.”

Campbell glowered. “That’s all. I’m not going to listen to this shit for another minute. Either you get out of here now or I’ll call security and have you thrown out. Cop or no cop, you’ve over stepped your bounds, MacElroy. And even though you don’t seem to realize it, you’ve got yourself into a hell of a lot of trouble. Now go, or I pick up the phone.”

It must be quite a kick, Jud thought, when you get to the point that you operate by a different set of rules than the ordinary shitbird who pays his taxes and still worries about a speeding ticket if he goes over the limit. Empex had its own police force. And in this guy’s view, it was stronger than the town’s.

“You hear me? Out.
Now
.”

“Tell me,” Jud said. “You ever spend time in a motel?”

“What?”

“Like the Mayflower, for instance?”

Some of the color went out of Campbell’s face. And along with it, some of the arrogance. “What are you saying?”

“Room Twenty-two?”

His tone changed, grew softer. “So I was right. This is a shakedown, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s just to let you know you’re not quite as high and mighty as you think you are. You want to squash me, go right ahead and try. I know when you were there and who you were with. I also had a little chat with the manager, in case somebody tries to get to him. Anticipating you might want to deny certain things. Like being there at all, for instance. I let him know what perjury was all about. Just in case he might have to testify in court. He got the message. He’ll remember you.”

Campbell clasped his hands in front of him and stared at them for a time. When he looked up at his visitor he said, “What do you want?”

“Answers,” Jud replied. “I want to ask you questions about Janet Donovan, and I want you to tell me the truth.”

Campbell’s eyes were like slits in the smooth face, but otherwise his features gave no hint of what he was feeling. He made no reply.

“How often did you visit her?”

“Wait a minute. This other business?”

“Yes?”

“Are you saying if I answer questions about Donovan, the uh—visits to the Mayflower stay quiet? You’ll keep that in confidence?”

Visits
, plural, Jud thought. He doesn’t know it, but he just admitted there were a number of them. I wonder how long he’s been seeing her. “That’s right. I’ll forget all about it. Provided you tell me what I want to know about you and Donovan. You used to go to their house, correct? When her husband wasn’t there?”

Campbell swallowed. “Look. I saw her a few times, yes. But I was just one of a lot of people, believe me. She was a bimbo who was married to the town jerk. And I was only a kid. So yeah, a couple of times when her husband was out she invited me over and I went.”

“You were seeing her at the time she died, weren’t you?” That was purely a shot in the dark, but he wanted to see how Campbell would handle it.

“Yes, but I swear to God I knew nothing about her murder.”

“You said you were just one of a lot of people.”

“That’s right.”

“Who were the others?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Are any of them still living in Braddock?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said Bill Swanson was in your crowd. He was seeing her too, wasn’t he?”

That was another shot in the dark, but it went home. “Yes, I think so.”

Or maybe he’s trying to spread the responsibility around, Jud thought. “And Charley Boggs—he was another one, wasn’t he?”

“I told you, I’m not sure who the others were.”

“How did you first become friendly with her?”

“I suppose it was at one of the Saturday night dances at the club.”

“Then what?”

“Then she—suggested I drop over some time. Said her husband was often out in the evening.”

“And that’s what you did.”

“Yes.”

“You ever argue with her, ever have a fight?”

“No.”

“She ever threaten to tell her husband about you and her?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“How often did you visit her?”

“I don’t know, just once in a while.”

“Ever go places with her, ever take her anywhere?”

“No. Never.” His resolve seemed to stiffen. “Look, MacElroy, as soon as you get out of here I’m going to talk with Mark Peterson. I’ve told you everything I remember about what happened back then—probably more than I should have or needed to. Even though our chief of police had to resort to blackmail to get me to reveal something that happened years ago. A flirtation. That’s practically all it was.”

“Is that so? You were fucking a married woman and while you were carrying on with her she was brutally murdered. Somebody chopped her head off. And you say that was nothing but a flirtation?”

“I said I had absolutely nothing to do with her death. I don’t know anything about who killed her or why.”

“You remember where you were when it happened?”

“No.”

“Where were you living at the time?”

“I had a place on Lake Wachitaug.”

That was a resort about fifteen miles northwest of Braddock, a springfed lake that meandered through the foothills of the mountains. It was surrounded by pine forests, and on its shores were the summer homes of people who could afford to pay a lot for what they called cottages. Some of them were residents of Brad-dock, but others came from as far away as New York City to enjoy the cold, clear water and the bracing air.

“You lived there year-round?”

“For a couple of years, yes.”

Jud had heard about the kind of parties that went on out at the lake—not only in the summer, but especially in the wintertime, when most of the area was deserted. That was when there was a lot of heavy boozing and cocaine use, and stories of wife-swapping sometimes got around. Once about five years ago, Jud recalled, a young woman who’d been spaced out on alcohol and pills fell into the lake on a bitter-cold winter’s night. She’d managed to get out of the icy waters but apparently had become disoriented and couldn’t make her way back to shelter. When they found her in the morning she was frozen stiff.