Loonies (22 page)

Shives leaned forward over his desk. “Listen, I don’t do the hiring around here. All municipal positions are hired through the Board of Selectmen’s office.”

“The selectmen?”

“Yes,” Shives said, sitting back. “So if you want to know any more than what I can provide you, I suggest you talk to Eldon Winch.”

Brian certainly intended to. As he got up to leave, he thought of one more question and turned back. “Did Runck have his ventriloquist dummy when he worked for that other fire department?”

“Yes,” Shives said, a curious look on his face. “Had it for some time from what I’ve heard.”

Brian wondered if Runck brought Marshall to the interview process, grinning a bit at the thought. He would ask Winch that as well.

When he left the station, he got a call from Noah telling him an interview with Runck was set up at the county jail. It was only a half-hour ride up Route 113, and Brian managed to smoke five cigarettes on the ride and down a cup of coffee.

Now as he sat on the other side of a plexi-glass window waiting for Runck to arrive, his nerves were jittery. He doodled in his notepad. When Runck was led to the seat on the other side of the glass, the man seemed nervous as well.

Brian picked up the phone to connect with the man opposite him. “Hello, Assistant Chief Runck,” he said, hoping that extending the aura of authority would encourage the man to cooperate.

“No more, I guess,” Runck said, his voice sad. His eyes looked bloodshot. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping well.

“Thanks for seeing me,” Brian said.

“I’ve really made a mess of things,” he said. “It just got out of control.”

“They know about the other fires,” Brian said, taking a gamble, not knowing if Steem had already spoken to Simon about the arsons. “The ones in the town you used to work for.”

Runck showed little reaction, though his eyes dropped. “That was a long time ago. I was younger then.”

“But you don’t deny you started them.”

He looked up. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“I was more like an accomplice.”

“How’s that?”

“Marshall always started them. He liked fires. He was obsessed.” He looked up, making eye contact with Brian. “I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me.” His eyes pleaded for understanding.

“You couldn’t stop him, could you?”

Runck shook his head. “No. Marshall was stronger than me. I never liked fire. That’s why I became a firefighter, to stop fires. But I couldn’t stop Marshall.”

Brian remembered watching the interrogation footage with Steem the night Runck was arrested. He had wondered then if it was all an act. Now he felt certain it wasn’t.

“Did you stop setting fires when you came to Smokey Hollow?”

“Yes. I had gotten better.”

“
You
had gotten better? I thought Marshall had the problem.”

Runck’s brows dipped as his eyes narrowed. He looked confused. “I meant we got better. The two of us. We stopped setting fires. I mean he stopped.”

“What about the fire at Ruth Snethen’s house? Where I live now.”

The large man sat back in his chair, his shoulders slumped. He looked like a child caught in a lie and trying to figure a way out of it. He let out a long sigh. “That was Marshall again. I thought we had overcome it, but he had a relapse.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

Runck leaned forward, his face almost hitting the glass. “It wasn’t his fault! He was tempted.” His voice rose, prompting concern on the face of the jail guard standing nearby.

“Tempted by what?” Brian asked, relieved that the guard made no attempt to interrupt their conversation.

“Not what, who.”

“Who?”

“Someone convinced Marshall to set the fire. I tried to talk him out of it. You have to believe me. We had made such progress.”

“Who wanted him to set the fire?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. Marshall was very secretive. He said it would be dangerous if I knew.”

“Is it the same person who told you to set the fire at the Mustard House?”

“Told Marshall,” he corrected. “Yes, Marshall said it was the same person.”

“And you don’t know who this person is?”

“No. I never spoke to him. He only spoke to Marshall.”

“But you know it was a he?”

“That’s what Marshall said. A man spoke to him, in private.”

Brian was frustrated. If only Runck could see that the man had to have talked to him. But in Simon’s world, Marshall was his own identity, with interactions separate from him. “Did this man want the fire set because the trunk was in the house?”

Runck looked at him through the glass. His face was pale. “I swear I knew nothing about that trunk. And I didn’t kill Dr. Wymbs either.”

Of course he hadn’t. It was obvious to Brian and the authorities that all three murders were committed by the same person
(The Pillowcase?)
and Runck was here the night of Ruth Snethen’s murder.

“Have you heard about the other murders?” Brian asked.

Runck’s hands twitched and he almost dropped the receiver. “Yes. There’s a lot of talk about it in here amongst the guards.”

“Do you know who might be involved?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“The culprit is still on the loose. A lot of people are worried.”

“That’s why I told them I didn’t want to be bailed out.”

“Told who?”

“Chief Shives and the others at the department. They wanted to pool money to bail me out, but I didn’t want any part of it.” He leaned forward again and his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “It’s not safe out there.”

“Who are you afraid of?”

Runck looked around him, and then faced Brian. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out. That’s why Marshall was killed, to keep him from talking.

“Because Marshall knew the person who told him to set the fires?”

“Exactly.”

This was no help, Brian thought. “I’m sure you’ll be safe in here.” He was about to end the conversation when he thought about something. He flipped back a few pages in his notepad. “Simon, you said you and Marshall got better and stopped setting fires till he had a relapse.”

“That’s right.”

“Did you get treatment somewhere?”

His question was met by a stone face. Color flowed back into the man’s cheeks.

“It’s good if you got help,” Brian said, trying to allay the man’s concerns. “There’s no shame in that.”

“We got better,” was all the man said.

“Simon, there was a four-year gap between your last firefighting job and the time you got hired at the Smokey Hollow Fire Department.”

The man thought for a moment. “Sounds about right.”

“Was that when you were getting treatment?”

Runck bit his lower lip. It looked like he was struggling to hold back his response. “Yes,” he finally said.

“Where did you get treatment, Simon?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Brian felt dejected. He tried to sound more concerned than inquisitive. “It’s okay, Simon. You’re safe in here. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Runck’s eyes kept moving around.

“Please tell me where you and Marshall were getting treated during those four years, Simon.” He didn’t think the man would respond, though Brian figured he knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it from Runck himself.

Finally the former assistant fire chief responded.

“The Wymbs Institute.”

When Thursday’s edition came out, Brian thought it was even better than the previous week’s. He had two murders and the arrest of former Assistant Fire Chief Simon Runck as a serial arsonist. His story on the murder of Ruth Snethen even contained a first-person sidebar about his discovering the body. That was good enough to win a press award, he believed. He also included his exclusive interview with Runck, taking a peek into the disturbed mind of a firebug.

But to keep good faith with the State Police, he had contacted Steem after his interview at the county jail and shared the information Simon had confessed. There was no need to keep it to himself; it was all going into the newspaper anyway. Steem seemed either impressed or pissed that Brian had gotten Runck to speak so openly. Or maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, the State Police captain appreciated Brian being forthcoming with the information and that he chose not to include the detail of the victims’ heads being covered with pillowcases.

It was difficult for Brian to leave that out, but he wanted to try to find out a little more about this Pillowcase character before automatically drawing the line to what was going on in Smokey Hollow. And he didn’t want any of the other media learning about that detail just yet.

Two things that Runck had revealed had most fascinated Steem. One was that the former firefighter claimed he didn’t know about the trunk being in Ruth Snethen’s house when he attempted to burn the place down. The second was the fact Simon Runck had spent four years as a patient in the Wymbs Institute.

That little tidbit fascinated everyone involved in the investigation. Brian discussed it with Noah that day. The most important aspect of it was they finally had someone connected to the Mustard House, even if it was ten years ago. Maybe he could recall some of the people on the staff. Maybe he knew some of the other patients. And most important, what if had heard anything about a patient who had been a serial killer known as The Pillowcase?

It was a proud day for Brian. He had put out another great edition. And even though he already had to start preparing for the following week’s release, he felt a sense of ease from the deadline stress and could breathe a little easier. He didn’t even feel the urge to smoke a cigarette. It was hard being a one-man show (not that Beverly Crump didn’t help out a lot, and Isaac handled all the boring sports-and-recreation crap), but he could relax for at least today before thinking about what he needed to do next.

He told Darcie she didn’t need to bother with cooking, because he wanted to take her out to dinner at Cully’s Pub. Heck, Brian even thought he could manage to eat a steak tonight. The thought of Hester Pigott’s knackering job didn’t bother him anymore. He wasn’t sure how many people would even read the old man’s story in today’s paper, given all the other juicy articles.

And of course there was the big Dump Festival this weekend. That was something Brian and Darcie could go to together, even though he’d be covering it for the paper. That was the kind of assignment where they could enjoy the festival like regular patrons while he took some notes and photos for
The Hollow
News
.

When he got home from work, Darcie was on the telephone.

“I’ve got to go now,” she said to whoever was on the other end. “It was so nice to hear from you, and we’ll talk again soon.”

His feeling of elation sank a little, and that craving for a cigarette crept back. His immediate urge was to ask her who she was talking with, but he didn’t want to sound intrusive. Not after how awful he felt about the flower incident. But as her husband, he wanted to know who she was talking to. It was normal for him to be curious; that’s what made him a reporter. It was in his nature.

So he put his smile on when she came into the living room.

“Your day must have been good.”

He held up the paper. “A banner day,” he said, flashing the large-type headlines about the two murders.

She hugged him, kissing him on the cheek. “I know how much it means to you. I picked up a copy myself today.” Her smile faded slightly. “I almost didn’t want to read about those poor women. So tragic.” Her eyes looked moist.

Don’t, he thought to himself. Don’t ruin this for me.

“Then we won’t think about it the rest of the night,” he said. “Let’s just be a man and his wife going out on the town.” He thought for a second. “Or at least what amounts for a night on the town in Smokey Hollow.”

This meant the only restaurant in town, not counting the pizza joint and the breakfast diner. Cully’s Pub was the only place that served alcohol in Smokey Hollow besides the Odd Fellows Hall social club. It had only opened ten years ago, when the selectmen rescinded a longtime ordinance banning the serving of alcohol in the town. Thank god that had changed, Brian thought. He didn’t know if he could have lived in a town without at least one beer joint. And the fact that it was directly across the street from the newspaper office made it even more of a bonus. A nice cold beer always balanced off the stress of deadline pressure. Not that owner Hale Cullumber kept his beer very cold. And not that a weekly newspaper deadline was that much pressure compared to what Brian had been used to on a daily. But it’s different when you’re the one doing most of the work, and even a lukewarm beer made it worthwhile.

At Cully’s, the hostess sat the Keays in the center of the dining area. They looked over the menu, Brian going right to the beef section. He had crunched down a couple antacids to make sure his stomach would be ready for whatever he decided to send its way. He eyed the listing of the porterhouse steak and set his menu down.

He looked around the other tables, to see who else he might know in the place. He saw Eldon Winch and Leo Wibbels, along with their wives, at one table. That probably meant that the selectman would stop by their table to either praise him or damn him about the placement of the Dump Festival preview. It was on the front page, even though it was at the bottom. What could he expect? There was big news in town, no matter how much some people wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Fire Chief Shives and his wife sat at another table, reminding Brian he wanted to ask the chief why he and his firefighters tried to post bail for Simon Runck, considering how poorly his arrest reflected on the department.  Jonas Fitchen, the taxidermist, sat at a table by himself. Also sitting alone was the woman who always wore an obvious wig. This time it was chestnut. It looked like too much hair for her age. Brian had asked Beverly Crump about her earlier today, and she had told him that the woman’s name was Ivy Mockler and that she owned Wigland. Taking her wigs out for a test run must be her way of advertising her products, he thought. Though the creased, aged look of her face beneath all that youthful hair did not make for a pretty picture.