Authors: John Connolly
‘I was a Jew helped by a Lutheran: Pastor Otto Werner of Boreas reached out to me. He found me a job, a place to live. He even introduced me to the man who would become my husband. David was working on the pastor’s house at the time, painting it inside and out. In the end, I found some peace, Mr Parker. I found it here.’
There was nothing more to say. Parker stood, thanked her for her time, and prepared to leave. As he passed the dining room, he saw cards piled up on the table, and envelopes sealed and addressed, and a fountain pen.
‘Is there anything that I can do for you?’ he asked.
‘You know, you could take these to the post office, if it is not too much trouble,’ she said. ‘I received many cards, many letters, and I am trying to reply to them all. They will need stamps.’
She counted the sealed envelopes carefully, made a calculation in her head, then found her purse and gave him the exact amount in bills and coins. Only as he was about to leave did she notice that she had paused in the act of addressing an envelope. She picked up the pen and wrote the rest of the address. He noticed that she was forced to hold the fountain pen awkwardly, for she was left-handed and did not want the ink to smudge. She returned to her purse for more change for the last stamp. He tried to tell her not to go to the trouble, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
She walked him to the door.
‘The detective, Mr Walsh, he told me that you might come here,’ she said. ‘He told me you might want to help find the ones who killed my Ruth. Is that true?’
‘Yes.’
She nodded.
‘Then
Auf Widersehen, Herr Parker
,’ she said. ‘
Und machs gut
. Take care …’
He bought stamps at the post office in Boreas. He did not recognize any of the names on the envelopes, although most of the addresses were local. Before he mailed them he made a note of each addressee, then went to look for Bobby Soames.
57
S
oames blanched when Parker appeared at his office door. His receptionist was taking a late lunch, and Soames was left alone to take care of business. Not that the phone was ringing off the hook anyway, or not as far as anywhere in Boreas was concerned. Nothing was more likely to smother the tentative growth of a local property market than a killing. Soames thought that it might actually be years before he managed to rent or sell either of the properties on Green Heron Bay again. Sometimes Google was a curse.
‘Are you here to renew your lease?’ he asked the detective, and he wasn’t sure which answer he wanted to hear more. A ‘yes’ would guarantee his clients – and, by extension, Bobby Soames – some income from one of the properties. A ‘no’ would mean that he’d see the back of the detective, who still made him nervous, and whom he secretly regarded as having cursed Green Heron Bay by his presence.
‘No, I hope I’ll be leaving before the month is out.’
Soames felt relief, and realized that he’d wanted peace of mind more than money. He wondered if he might be coming down with something.
‘I do have a question for you, though,’ Parker went on. ‘I want to find out more about the area. Who’s the best person to turn to for a history lesson?’
Soames leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. Now that the detective had confirmed he was leaving, Soames was feeling a certain warmth toward him.
‘Well, there’s no shortage of old farts who’ll make you wish you’d never asked,’ he said. ‘But if you want it concise and to the point, I’d talk to Pastor Werner over at Christ the Redeemer Lutheran. His father was pastor here before him. It’s a family business.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Between us?’
‘Sure.’
‘Never married. Might be gay. Nobody asks, nobody cares.’
‘Are you Lutheran?’
‘No, I’m Catholic, but it doesn’t worry me.’
‘Being Catholic?’
‘Being gay.’ He frowned. ‘Or being Catholic, now that you mention it. I’m a once-a-year-at-Christmas kind of churchgoer. I guess I’m in a state of disagreement with a lot of the rules.’
‘You’re a one-man schism.’
‘Yeah, but don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to attract followers. Last I heard, you were in the hospital.’
‘I’m all better now.’
‘You’ll pardon me for saying so, but you don’t look all better.’
Parker had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror outside Soames’s office. He’d more or less ignored the surgeon’s advice about taking it easy, and it was showing on his face.
‘Is this how you attract clients?’
‘Again, you’ll pardon me for saying so, but I’m kind of happy that you’re leaving, so I don’t want you as a client. I admire what you tried to do for that woman and her child, but the sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’ll be forgotten here, and the sooner I can find someone to take those houses off my hands.’
‘You’re a practical man, Mr Soames.’
‘As are you. The police any closer to finding out what happened up there?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m still looking.’
‘If I can help, you have my number.’
‘Because if you help me, it might speed me on my way?’
‘That’s part of it,’ said Soames. ‘The other part is that I was there when the cleaning crew wiped the blood from the walls. I didn’t like it.’
‘Well,’ said Parker, as he turned to go, ‘there’s not a lot about it to like.’
He stopped by the Boreas Police Department after leaving Soames, and was just in time to hear the tail end of an altercation between Sergeant Stynes, who was acting chief while Cory Bloom recovered from her injuries, and a gray-haired man who must have topped out at six-five or six-six, and was wearing a blue windbreaker with the words ‘
BOREAS PD
’ in white letters on the back over tan pants and black shoes. They were standing in the chief’s glass-walled office, the door of which stood open. All activity had ceased around them as two officers in uniform – one of them Mary Preston, the other a youngish man – and a receptionist listened to what was unfolding.
‘You don’t tell my people how to do their job, Mr Foster,’ said Stynes. ‘Do I have to remind you that you’re officially retired?’
So this was Carl Foster, thought Parker. He’d heard all about him from the locals. The former deputy chief looked like a hard man. Parker was glad that he had been able to deal with Cory Bloom instead of him.
‘They should have brought me back!’ shouted Foster. ‘I know this town, damn it. I know it better than you ever will!’ He emphasized his point by slamming the palm of his right hand on Stynes’s desk. ‘And I can tell you that these people’ – he now waved the same hand behind him at the listening figures without even deigning to glance at them – ‘aren’t worth a shit.’
‘Get out of this office,’ said Stynes.
Unlike Foster, she didn’t shout, didn’t swear. Her authority was enough to carry her voice. She was handling herself well.
‘This isn’t over,’ said Foster.
‘Yes,’ said Stynes, ‘it is. And I’d be grateful if you’d leave that windbreaker here when you leave. That’s department property.’
‘You want it, you’ll have to take it off my fucking back yourself,’ said Foster.
He stomped out of the office, passed between a pair of desks, and exited through the door beside the reception desk, only coming up short when he almost ran into Parker. He took a step back when he realized who the newcomer was, glowered, and then used the basest of epithets to describe Stynes, pointing his thumb in her direction so that Parker could be under no illusion as to whom he was referring. He appeared to be seeking an ally, but Parker simply turned his head away.
‘Fuck you too,’ said Foster.
He brushed past Parker with enough force to cause him to move his feet, but not to stumble. When he was gone, Parker went to the desk.
‘Do I need to put my name down to shout at someone,’ he asked the receptionist, ‘or can I just go straight through?’
Preston appeared behind her before she could answer. She was one of those who had come to the hospital to hear Parker’s statement after the deaths at Green Heron Bay, and their encounter had been civilized.
‘I guess you can go right to the head of the line,’ said Preston.
She opened the door and led him to the chief’s office. Stynes invited him to sit, but he told her that he preferred to stand. His injured side was plaguing him. He was about done for the day.
‘No offense meant,’ he told her. ‘It’s more comfortable for me to stay on my feet, and if I sit down I may not be able to get up again.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Alive. How’s Cory Bloom?’
‘They’re letting her out of the ICU tomorrow.’
‘I’m glad.’
Stynes turned to look out the window, where Foster’s Jeep was pulling out of the parking lot.
‘I’m sorry you had to hear that.’
‘I’ve heard worse.’
‘Did he say something to you on the way out?’
‘He might have used a rude word. I tried not to look offended.’
‘He’s a jerk.’
‘Still, he hides it well.’
‘I was wondering if you’d come back here,’ said Stynes.
‘I’m going to stay around for a few days.’
‘To recuperate?’
‘To ask some questions.’
‘Bangor is handling the investigation.’
‘Does that mean you object to my asking questions?’
‘Would it make any difference if I did?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not sure I believe that.’
‘It strikes me that you have enough people making life difficult for you. I’m not planning to add to your problems.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said. ‘I had an idea that you might be taking what happened up there personally.’
‘Just as you are.’
‘Cory’s not only my superior, she’s also my friend. Who were you planning on talking to?’
‘Anyone I can. I’ve already spoken to Amanda Winter’s mother. I also mentioned to Bobby Soames that I’d be hanging around for a while. I’m sure I can think of a few more.’
‘Bobby Soames leaks like the
Titanic
after the iceberg hit.’
‘Really? A chatty Realtor. Who knew?’
She nibbled at her bottom lip.
‘If you were anyone else, I’d tell you to turn around and keep driving until you hit Portland,’ she said. ‘But I’ll make an exception, if only because I know that my objections wouldn’t be worth a damn. But if you find out anything, you share it with Bangor – and me.’
‘Agreed.’
‘You still have your weapon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t use it.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Just one. I have feds crawling over this, and our department is a virtual outpost of the MCU. If this goes to hell, and I’m asked, we never had this conversation.’
‘I get that a lot.’
‘I’ll bet. You take care, Mr Parker.’
‘You know, you’re the second person today who’s told me to do that?’
‘Only the second?’ said Stynes. ‘I’m shocked. Just make sure I’m not the last.’
Mary Preston joined Stynes in her office after Parker had left.
‘I’m starting to like him,’ said Preston. ‘But is it okay to say that he makes me nervous?’
‘He has blood on his hands,’ said Stynes. ‘And, you know, I think he may be almost fearless.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s announcing his presence here, letting people like Bobby Soames know that he’s taking a professional interest in what happened to Ruth Winter, and by extension Bruno Perlman, and the Tedescos down in Florida. Whoever ordered their deaths is going to hear about it, and is going to know that Charlie Parker isn’t like the cops, or even the feds. He’s single-minded, he follows things through to their conclusion, and he won’t give up. I don’t think he ever gives up.’
Preston still looked confused.
‘He’s staking himself out, Mary,’ Stynes explained. ‘He’s going to bring whoever was responsible for those deaths down upon himself.’
‘And then?’
‘I believe he’s going to tear them apart.’
58
I
n any given situation, the most difficult step is to reach a decision. Once a decision is made, control can be asserted. Baulman and Riese were old soldiers, and they knew that, in war, any decision was better than none. To allow Hummel to remain alive, and wait to see what unfolded, would have been intolerable to them. It would have handed control of the situation to others – to Marie Demers, to the Justice Department, and all those who wished to deprive them of a peaceful death.
And so the Jigsaw Man arrived at Golden Hills. He had been there on many previous occasions, and was familiar with the names of at least half a dozen patients at any one time, but he had never before traveled there with the intention of ending a life.
At the front desk, he gave the name of Beate Seidel, who had been resident at Golden Hills for more than four years, and was now in a state of terminal decline. The Jigsaw Man doubted that Beate was capable of any kind of coherence in word, deed, or memory. Her mind was a series of baffling, unconnected images, and all he saw in her face that afternoon was fear. He stayed with her for half an hour, attuning himself to the rhythms of the staff. The evening meal had just been served, and a calm of sorts reigned, punctuated by the sound of competing televisions from various rooms. The orderlies and nurses had retreated to their stations to catch up on paperwork, and grab something to eat or drink.
The Jigsaw Man left Beate in her bed, staring at the ceiling, and stepped to the door to check the hallway. It was clear, so he walked quickly down to Bernhard Hummel’s room, slipping on his coat as he went, as though preparing to leave. The old man was snoozing on his bed, his slippers still on his feet. The Jigsaw Man left the door slightly open, advanced to the bed, and pulled the curtain halfway across, concealing them from anyone who might choose to peer in.
He stood over Hummel, and the old man opened his eyes. In his final moments, Bernhard Hummel was gifted with clarity.
‘I knew you’d come,’ he said. ‘Ever since Kraus visited, I knew.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the Jigsaw Man.
‘Don’t be. I’m tired of being afraid.’