Loonies (33 page)

Noah shook his head. “He’s at the bottom of the chimney. Owner came home and found him. We can see his body through the open flue.” He paused. “There’s a pillowcase over his head.” The chief looked down.

“Damn,” Brian said, and he felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes. “I know why he was killed.”

The chief looked up. “What?”

“Dudle was The Silhouette.”

The chief’s eyes grew wide. “When did you find that out?”

“The other day,” Brian said, not trying to be too specific. He spotted disappointment in the chief’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I promised him I’d keep it to myself. He didn’t want to come forward.” Sure, keep telling yourself that, he thought. “But there’s more. Lot’s more. And Steem’s going to want to hear it.”

Noah led him into the house, to the living room where a crowd of officers were gathered. Steem looked at him, and he flushed.

“What the hell is he doing in here?” the captain yelled.

“He’s got some valuable information,” Noah said.

All eyes were upon him, but he couldn’t speak at first. His eyes were drawn to the fireplace. Dangling out of the flue, above the grate, was Corwin Dudle’s arm. Its hand was open, blackened by soot, fingernails forever dirty. Maybe the mortician would finally be able to get them clean for the man’s wake. But considering Dudle’s profession, he’d probably wanted to be cremated.

“Well,” Steem said. “What is it?”

Brian snapped out of his trance and told Steem everything he knew. He talked about the work Dudle had been doing all these years as The Silhouette, starting with the discovery that The Pillowcase was a former patient at the Mustard House and that Dr. Wymbs had released him. He described the basement at Dudle’s house, just around the corner from here. He gave them all the details the chimney sweep had gathered, about other former patients who were now citizens of Smokey Hollow. Brian described his interviews with some of those patients, telling them about Ivy Mockler hearing babies crying at night, and Sherman Thurk spotting someone taking away a live baby.

When Brian was finished, the looks on Steem’s face ranged from amazement to anger. Even Wickwire’s usual stolid face became animated as Brian had spun his tale. Noah just looked frustrated.

Steem turned to Wickwire. “Get on the horn,” he said to his subordinate. “I want a warrant to enter the victim’s house.” Wickwire left the room.

Steem turned back to Brian, looking like he was about spew some vitriol at him, but then changed his mind and clamped his mouth shut. He probably figured it would be a waste of time.

“Step outside for now,” Steem said to him. “But don’t go anywhere.”

Brian waited out by the driveway with Alvin.

“What time do they think this happened?” he asked the officer.

“The homeowner said he had made an appointment for the chimney sweep to come over between noon and five. The owner came home around four o’clock.”

“Broad daylight,” Brian said. The Pillowcase was getting brazen. The other murders had been committed under the cover of darkness. He looked up at the roof. God, the killer must have climbed the ladder and strangled Dudle right up there before stuffing him down the chimney like Santa’s sack of toys.

“Hard to believe no one saw anything in the middle of the day,” Alvin said, as if reading his mind.

Brian looked up and down the street. He spotted at least half a dozen “For Sale” signs in front yards on both sides of Cricket Lane. All the signs had a picture of a beaming Leo Wibbels.

“Yeah, hard to believe,” he said, looking up at the man on the water tower.

They entered Corwin Dudle’s house on Horseshoe Lane. Brian felt eerie being in the dead man’s house, even more so than on his last visit. In the basement he flicked on the light to illuminate the room, especially The Silhouette’s masterpiece on the back wall.

“Wow,” Noah exclaimed in wonder like a young boy.

Steem and Wickwire were silent. The captain approached the back wall and stopped, his eyes taking it all in. He put his hand on his chin, tapping his index finger against the side of his head. Furrows ridged along his bald scalp.

Brian didn’t say anything, just let The Silhouette’s wall speak for itself, since the dead man couldn’t. He was forever in the shadows now.

“This is incredible,” Noah said, breaking the silence.

It was, Brian thought, thinking about all the work that had been put into it. He looked at the wall, at the pictures of the people he had spoken to, the newspaper clippings, the locations where certain events had occurred—St. John’s church, where Father Scrimsher spoke to Dr. Wymbs about his secret, Thrasher Pond, where the rib cage was pulled up by the fisherman; Timmy Birtch’s house, where the poor young boy was taken in the middle of the night; the sites of the recent strangulations; and Brian and Darcie’s house, where the trunk of baby skeletons was opened. Babies that he now knew had been at the Mustard House.

Steem turned to Wickwire. “I want photos taken of this wall, and we need to catalogue all this information.” He looked back at the wall. “And then we are going to talk to some of these people.”

Noah left the house with Brian, while the two State Police detectives remained behind. Brian was grateful to be out of that basement. The place seemed lonely without Dudle. He deserved better than his fate for all the work he had put into his pet project.

“I wished you had come to me,” Noah said. “You could have trusted me.”

Brian felt bad. “I know. I was trying to protect my source.” He thought about Dudle’s body in the chimney. “I guess I screwed that up pretty bad.”

“You can’t fault yourself for that,” Noah said. “Don’t worry. We’re getting closer on this thing.”

We?
Brian thought. Maybe this would help the case for Steem and Wickwire, but he doubted it would make much difference for the police chief.

“I’m going to go,” Brian said.

“Keep in touch,” Noah said. “Don’t leave me in the dark.”

“I won’t.” But he didn’t tell the chief what his next stop would be.

He drove down Cemetery Road and took a right onto Breakneck Hill Road. His car lugged a bit on the steep upgrade but settled once the road leveled off at the top. When he got to the water tower, he parked and got out. He looked up, putting his right hand on his forehead, trying to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Hello,” he called out, squinting up at the man on the water tower, Nyle Potash.

“Hi,” the little man said, looking down at him. “What brings you up here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Brian said.

Potash laughed. “This is kind of therapy for me.”

“I see.” Brian looked at the town below. It was a reverse image of the view he had had a few weeks back from the Mustard House on the other side of the hollow, same downtown storefronts, just from the opposite side. He looked back up at Potash. “I was wondering if I could chat for a minute.”

The man shrugged. “Sure. Come on up.”

That wasn’t quite what Brian had in mind. He looked at the metal ladder reluctantly. It had rust spots and loose flakes of paint. He stepped over to it, grabbing onto a rung, and began climbing. Brian never had a fear of heights like Potash, but still the thought of falling wasn’t reassuring. He kept his eyes ahead, focusing on each rung as he grasped it, not releasing one hand until made sure the other one had a firm grip on the next rung. Before he knew it, he was at the railed catwalk ringing the tower.

“Quite a view,” he said as he sidled up to Potash at the railing.

“Yes, it is,” Potash said. “I come here quite often.”

“I know. I’ve seen you up here, though I didn’t realize it was you at first.”

“Dr. Wymbs suggested it as a way to face my fear.” He smiled. “I feel a bit safer on this than in the hot air balloon at the Dump Fest.”

“This thing is a bit steadier,” Brian said, though he had some doubt about its sturdiness, considering the rust. “Have you been up here quite a while today?”

The man nodded. “Most of the day. I have a lot more free time now that the fruit market is closed.” He frowned. “I suppose I could make better use of my time by looking for a new job.”

“Yeah, that’s too bad. I’m sure something will turn up.”

“Times are tough.” He looked at Brian and his smile was back. “Of course, I guess I can save some money by not paying my landlord, since he’s in jail.”

Brian laughed. Then the two men were silent for a bit.

“So what is it you wanted?” Potash asked.

“I was wondering if you saw anything while you were up here?”

Potash’s eyes from behind his glasses glared back. “Anything?”

Brian scanned the roads below, trying to get his bearings, looking at the rooftops. When he spied Cricket Lane and the house with a ladder leaning against the back, he pointed. “There.”

Potash followed his finger but said nothing.

“A man was murdered on that roof a few hours ago. A pillowcase was put over his head and his dead body was shoved down the chimney.”

Potash’s face whitened, and he grimaced.

“Did you see it?”

Potash didn’t look at him, gazing toward the house on Cricket Lane. Finally, the man nodded. “Yes,” he said, almost a whisper.

“What did you see?”

He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with his fingers before putting them back on. “Just like you said. I saw the chimney sweep on the roof, standing over the chimney, running his brush down inside it. I could even hear him whistling, the sound carried all the way up here.” He paused. “And then I saw another man climb up the ladder. I thought at first he was a helper…he had something in his hand.” Potash’s voice started to shake. “And then—he crept up behind the chimney sweep. The poor bastard didn’t even know anyone was behind him. Maybe the whistling covered the sound. The chimney sweep turned around at the last second, but as he did the man put a pillowcase over his head and began choking him.” Potash took a deep, strained breath and looked at Brian. “I yelled out. I screamed for him to stop.” Potash’s hands gripped the railing, knuckles turning white. “I don’t know if he heard me or if he just didn’t care. Then the sweep’s body went limp, and the man picked him up and put him head first down the chimney.” He released his grip on the railing and bowed his head. “If he wasn’t already dead, I’m sure the fall down the chimney killed him.” He shook his head. “It was horrible. But that wasn’t the worst part.”

Brian felt breathless listening to the man’s story. He felt horrible for Corwin Dudle. What a miserable way to die. He hated hearing about it, but he needed to hear more. “What was the worst part?”

He turned to Brian. “I think maybe the man did hear me yelling, because he looked up at me. I never felt so scared in my life. I thought he was going to come up the hill after me.”

“Did you recognize him? Was he someone you might have seen at the institute?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “He didn’t look familiar.”

Brian was disappointed. “What did he look like?”

“It was hard to see from the distance. He was a large, bald man.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, I really couldn’t tell much else about him.”

“Did you see where he went after?”

“No. He climbed down the ladder, and I lost sight of him. Too many trees. That’s why I’m still up here. I’ve been too afraid to climb down. Kept worrying he recognized me and might be waiting for me.”

“You can’t stay up here all night,” Brian said. “And you need to tell the police. You’re the first one to witness anything.”

“I know,” Potash said. “I’ve been thinking about that. But I’ve been afraid, remembering what happened to those other people, Dr. Wymbs, Nurse Snethen, and Hettie Gritton. Thinking about their horrible deaths and knowing that I saw the monster that committed them. And knowing he saw me.” He shook. “It gives me chills thinking about it.”

“But you know what you have to do,” Brian said.

He nodded.

“Let’s go then,” Brian said. “Because even I don’t like being up here.”

The climb down was more harrowing than the climb up, mostly because in order to secure his footing on each rung, he had no choice but to look down. He was grateful when his feet touched ground. He stepped away from the ladder and looked up. Potash still stood by the railing.

“Coming?” Brian yelled.

“I’ll be right down.”

Brian had turned and begun walking toward his car when he heard a loud thump.

He looked back and saw Nyle Potash’s body on the ground, split open like a watermelon.

“I think the fear of what would happen to him at the hands of The Pillowcase was greater than his fear of heights. And he just jumped.”

Brian was in Treece’s office, explaining to Noah, Steem, and Wickwire what had happened at the water tower. Two bodies were now on their way to the morgue, and Brian’s nerves were unhinged. He wished he had a cigarette; instead, he was downing cups of black coffee that sank in his belly like mud. He gave what little description Nyle Potash had given him about the killer, but it wasn’t much.

“Maybe this Potash recognized the man from his time at the institute,” Steem said. “He might have been too shaken to say so.”

Brian looked up at the captain. “So scared that jumping was the better option?” He shook his head. It was crazy.

“We need to talk to some of these other people,” Steem said to Wickwire, who nodded. “Maybe this guy wants to get rid of anyone who would recognize him.”

“He’s trying to erase all traces of himself,” Noah said.

“I wonder how he knew about Corwin Dudle,” Brian said. “I only found out about him a couple of days ago.” He looked from face to face, seeking an answer that would make sense.

Steem rubbed his chin. “This guy’s well imbedded in this community. He knows what’s going on. That’s why he’s always a step or two ahead of us.” He looked at Brian. “You better stay home and watch out for yourself.” He turned to Wickwire. “Let’s go.”

After they left, Noah and Brian were alone. “You okay?” the chief asked.