The Headsman (49 page)

Which reminded him to check his police radio. He turned it on, getting a flood of static and then squelching it as much as possible. He picked up the mike and called the BPD.

Tony Stanis responded. “Chief, been trying to reach you.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Excitement was making the dispatcher garble his words. “We just got a call from Ethel Boggs. The headsman was in their house. He cut off Billy Swanson’s head and ran out the door. And Charley Boggs had a heart attack.”

Holy shit—was he hearing this right? “Say again, Tony?”

Stanis repeated the transmission, this time sounding even more frantic.

“Okay, got it.” He braked to a stop, then turned the Blazer around as quickly as he dared. “Send an ambulance out there, fast.”

“We’re trying to,” Stanis went on, “but Memorial’s only got one in service and it’s stuck in a snowbank. They’re digging it out now. Also we got Kramer on his way in Car Six. But he’s not doing too good either. The snow’s so deep he’s just crawling.”

“Where’s Grady?”

“I don’t know. He left the stationhouse this afternoon. We haven’t heard from him since.”

“Call his house, tell him to get in to the station. I’m going to the Boggses’.”

Jud’s heart was pounding as he drove. He wanted desperately to make the Blazer move faster, but he didn’t dare. As it was, he was having a tough time staying on the snowy surface.

The headsman had been in the Boggses’ house? And he cut off Billy Swanson’s head? Charley Boggs had a heart attack? Jesus Christ
—
what next?

As well as he knew the area, he found to his surprise he’d missed the turn onto Riverside Road, the one that would take him out to the Boggses’. He had to back up and turn around, which was tricky enough, and then creep back to the place where the road divided. It seemed to him he wasn’t making more than about fifteen miles an hour, and at times not even that. When he finally had the Blazer on Riverside he increased his speed a little, but he didn’t dare push it for fear of going off the road.

He picked up the mike and tried police headquarters again, but this time all he got was static. Small wonder, in this storm. After a couple of tries he gave up and returned the mike to its hook on the dash.

There was a rise ahead he was familiar with, and he remembered that on the far side he’d be less than a mile from the Boggs house. When he reached the summit he slowed almost to a stop, then cautiously made his way down the incline. At the bottom he again accelerated a little, pointing the car in what he hoped was the right direction.

Something very large and very powerful crashed into the passenger side of the Blazer. The impact knocked him away from the wheel, slamming his head into the corner post. The vehicle slewed crazily on the slippery road surface and came to a stop, teetering on two wheels against a snowbank.

He couldn’t see, and he had a hazy impression that he’d been hurt. There was a roaring in his ears and blood was running down his forehead and into his eyes. He pawed at his face and the noise in his ears grew louder and he slipped into unconsciousness.

4

He had no idea how long he was out. When he came to he couldn’t remember where he was or what had happened to him. He knew only that he was stiff and cold and that there was a hell of a pain in his head. There were other aches here and there about his body as well, mainly in his back and his left shoulder, but the headache was the major cause of his misery.

He was also unable to see clearly. There were fuzzy green lights in front of him, but he couldn’t focus on them. He tried to rub his eyes and realized he had gloves on. When he got them off he touched his face with his fingers and found them covered with blood. He wiped the mess away with the sleeve of his jacket as best he could and then explored further with his hands.

There was a lump above his left ear and the skin was broken; apparently that was where the blood had come from. His cap had been knocked off but he wouldn’t need it, and getting it back onto his swollen head would be difficult anyway. He could see now, and he realized that the green lights were in the dashboard instruments of the Blazer. The headlights were still on and the wipers were continuing to sweep the windshield, although the engine had stalled when the vehicle was struck.

As he pulled himself into an upright position he saw that everything was tilted. He realized that was because the Blazer was resting on its side against a snowbank, with only the driver’s side wheels on the road.

He turned off the headlights and the wipers to save his battery, and then opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle. The snow was coming down as fiercely as ever, whipped along by a relentless wind. He closed the door and put his shoulder against it and heaved, in an attempt to right the machine.

It wouldn’t budge.

And the effort made his head hurt worse than it had before. He went around to the opposite side and saw that the passenger door was caved in, along with the right front quarter-panel.

Apparently the Blazer had been struck by another vehicle—a large, heavy machine at least as big as the Chevy. Why hadn’t he seen it? Even with the snowfall he should have been conscious of the other driver approaching, should have been aware of the other’s headlights.

Unless the lights had been turned off. And that other truck or car or whatever it was had rammed him deliberately, coming at him from an angle, intending to disable him—or kill him.

From behind him came the sound of an engine and the clank of chains. Instinctively, he put his hand on his pistol as he turned. A set of headlights was approaching, dim yellow blurs in the storm. He moved back around the Blazer to give himself protection, just in case.

But the lights slowed down and then stopped. A spotlight shot a blinding glare toward him and he heard a voice shout, “That you, Chief?”

He made his way over to the patrol car, struggling through the snow. He saw that Bob Kramer was behind the wheel. Jud averted his eyes from the glaring light and Kramer turned it off.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jud said, “I’m all right. Just had a little accident.” He went around to the passenger side of the cruiser and climbed into the car.

“I was on my way to the Boggs house,” Kramer said.

“So was I. Go ahead.”

“You sure you’re okay? Looks like you took a pretty good lick.”

“I’m fine,” Jud said. “Drive.”

The patrol car moved forward, chains clanking and banging.

“You see any other vehicles on your way over here?” Jud asked.

“A couple in town, but that’s all.”

“What happened at the Boggses’? You know anything more?”

“Just what Stanis told me about Mrs. Boggs calling. Did you get that?”

“Yeah.”

“I think Memorial’s got an ambulance coming, but I’m not sure. Radio’s not working too good in this weather.”

“Anybody call Pearson?” Jud could have kicked himself; he’d only just now thought of it.

“I don’t know. Maybe Stanis did.”

“The phones may be still okay. I’ll call from the Boggs house.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What is it?”

Kramer pointed. “The house is right over there, but I don’t see any lights. Power must’ve failed.”

“Shit. That’s all we need.”

Kramer turned on his spotlight again and the beam picked up the house when they drew closer. A car was parked on the road a few yards this side of it, but there was so much snow on the vehicle the cops couldn’t make it out clearly.

They left the cruiser in front of the house and trudged through the drifts up to the front door, Kramer illuminating their way with a flashlight. Joe Boggs answered their knock, his face wearing a dazed expression, as if he’d taken a heavy blow. He was carrying a Coleman lantern, and in its glow the two officers could see well enough to shake snow off their clothes and their feet. They followed Joe through the foyer into the center hall and then into the living room.

There was another lantern in here, standing on a table. Charley Boggs was lying on a sofa, his wife and daughter nearby. Alice Boggs was wearing a bathrobe. Her mother approached the cops as they entered the room. “Thank God you’re here. Did you bring an ambulance?”

Jud told her one was on its way. He stepped over to the sofa and looked down at Boggs. The car dealer’s face was as gray and shapeless as a blob of suet. His eyes were half-closed, and he wasn’t moving. Jud knelt beside him and grasped his wrist.

For the first few seconds he could find no pulse. Then he got one, but it was fluttery and erratic. He tried to take a count but that proved impossible; he could detect only slight evidence of a heartbeat, too faint to measure. After a minute or two he gave up and placed a hand on Boggs’ forehead. The skin was dry and cool, almost cold.

“He had a heart attack, didn’t he?” Ethel Boggs’ voice rose. “Is he going to die? Is he?”

Jud stood up. “He’s going to be fine.” He didn’t know what the hell Boggs was going to be; dead would be a good guess. And soon. But he couldn’t tell Ethel that. “Just keep him warm and quiet until the ambulance gets here. And stay close to him in case he needs anything, okay?”

She nodded dumbly, and he took Alice aside. When they were by themselves at the far end of the room he said, “What happened here?”

The girl took a deep breath. She appeared to be as shaken as her mother, but Jud knew kids were tougher when it came down to it. “Billy and I were … upstairs.”

Jud cocked his head, trying to picture it. “Your parents were down here and—”

She shook her head. “They didn’t know he was here. I let him in the side door and he … sneaked up to my room.”

He got it then. At least she was being straight about it. “Then what?”

“Then we were in my room, and uh—”

“Where in your room?”

“In my bed.”

“Go on.”

“And all of a sudden the door just smashed open and
he
was there.” Now there was a note of hysteria in Alice’s voice as well.

“Take it easy,” Jud said. “Try to stay cool and just tell me what happened.
Who
was there?”

She choked back tears, swallowing hard. “The headsman.”

“Are you sure it was—”

“Yes, yes. Jesus, of course I’m sure. He was all in black and huge and he had a thing over his head. He had this big ax and he and Billy started fighting and I ran out of the room.”

“Keep going.”

“I went downstairs and told Daddy and he got a gun and there was shooting and then we found Daddy on the floor. The headsman was gone. I went back up to my room, and—oh, God.” Now she did cry, pressing her palms against her face, her shoulders shaking.

Jud put his hands on her arms and she fell against his chest, sobbing. He waited a few moments and then gently eased her back. “You stay here,” he said. “Take care of your parents and your brother. How do I get to your room?”

She took a tissue out of a pocket of her robe and wiped her nose with it. “Go down the hall to the end and turn right. It’s the first door at the head of the stairs.”

Jud signaled to Kramer and the two of them hurried through the house, flashlight beams showing the way. When they reached the stairs they went up them slowly and carefully, both of them with pistols drawn. Even though Alice had said the headsman was gone, they were taking no chances.

The mess in the bedroom was hideous. Blood was spattered everywhere, and a huge pool of it lay on the floor near Billy Swanson’s headless corpse. The scene reminded Jud of what he’d found in Marcy Dickens’ room on that Saturday morning that seemed so long ago. The one great difference was that this time there was no decapitated head with its eyes staring at him. He and Kramer searched the room as well as they could with only the flashlights for illumination, taking care not to disturb anything and staying as clear as possible of the blood on the floor. But there was no sign of Billy’s head.

“He must have taken it with him,” Jud said.

For answer, the young cop doubled over, holding his fist against his mouth, struggling to keep from vomiting. He stumbled past Jud into Alice Boggs’ bathroom and stood over the toilet as his stomach heaved up its contents. The acrid stink of puke combined with the sweet blood odor was nauseating. Jud decided to get out of here before he lost his own dinner, such as it was. He went back down the stairs in the dark and felt his way along the hallways until he was back in the living room.

He asked Joe Boggs where there was a telephone, and the boy showed him to a wood-paneled study across the hall from the living room. Joe placed one of the lanterns on the desk and left the room.

Jud called Braddock police headquarters first. As he waited for an answer he thought about the other calls he’d make. For one, he’d contact Karen Wilson to see if he couldn’t get her to help. Maybe she could tell him something, if he could get her to cooperate.

Stanis answered the call.

Jud asked if Inspector Pearson had been notified and Stanis said he had. That was a relief; at least Jud wouldn’t have to catch any shit on that count.

“But I think he’s out of it,” Stanis said.

“Why—what do you mean?”

“Him and Williger were in the bar at Howard Johnson’s getting smashed. He said they’d get over to the Boggses’ right away, but if they make it, it’ll be a miracle.”

Jud asked where the ambulance was, and Stanis said it should be there any minute. What about Grady, he asked next. No luck—the cops hadn’t been able to locate him.

He told Stanis he’d get back to the station just as soon as he could make it through the snow.

He put the instrument down and expelled a stream of air. No electric power, and the police radios didn’t work worth a shit. And sooner or later the phones would go out as well. Carrying the lantern, he went back into the living room.

Ethel Boggs was trying to comfort her husband, who looked even less healthy than he had earlier, and her daughter was trying to comfort her. Jud stood awkwardly by, noting that Boggs was barely breathing and his skin had taken on a bluish pallor.

When Kramer returned to the room, Jud told him to stay there and wait for the ambulance. He’d take the cruiser, he said. He mumbled another reassurance to Ethel Boggs and left the house.