Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) (31 page)

"Another one?"

"Look, Colin, you're very sick. You need help. I feel responsible bringing you here to the Fork, so the least I can do is stop you. And I will." He pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Colin. "Let's go peacefully, okay?"

Colin didn't want to give Mark a reason to shoot him. Jesus, it would be so easy. If Mark killed him, he could blame all the killings on Colin and with his past, nobody would doubt it. On the other hand, if he went with Mark, let them arrest him, he might never get out. He didn't have alibis any more than Mark had. Except last night... unless... He couldn't even contemplate Annie's death, but he had to know. "Mark, tell me who was killed. Humor me."

Mark shrugged, the gun still pointing at Colin's chest. "They found her body in her car this morning, swastika carved in her chest."

"Who?" he shouted.

"Babe, of course. You killed her last night, didn't you?"

Colin wanted to weep with relief. Then suddenly he realized that from the moment he'd accepted Mark's offer of a job, he'd never had a chance. It had all been carefully planned, and Babe's murder was the final nail in the coffin. After what she'd written about him, no one would believe he hadn't done it. Any more than they'd believe Mark was the killer. If only he could find a motive. In jail he wouldn't find out anything. Annie was his alibi, but he couldn't bring her into this. Her career would be destroyed.

Colin made his decision. He doubled over and slammed his head into Mark's gut, knocking him backwards. The gun fell to the floor and skidded out of sight. Colin was going for it as Mark pulled him down by his ankle. They rolled over, and Mark shot a right to the side of Colin's head. Colin kneed him and Mark let go, grunting. Colin started to get up but Mark tackled him around his calves. They fell forward, Mark on top. He grabbed Colin by the hair, pulled hard. Colin shoved both elbows up into Mark's ribs. He let go of Colin's hair, and Colin snapped over on his back. Sitting partway up, he got Mark on the chin with a right cross, then used a left hook just to make sure. Mark fell back, eyes closed.

Colin looked around for the gun. He found it under a table and scooped it up, checked Mark to make sure he was breathing, then ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top he slammed the door, threw the bolt, and ran through the empty offices to the front. He lifted an edge of the green shade. Coming down the street was a white police car, its siren silent. The car pulled into the curb in front of the Gazette. Colin dropped the shade, ran back through the building, and into his office. Grabbing his windbreaker from his chair, he hastily put it on, shoved the gun in his belt, pushed up the window, and climbed through. Once outside he closed the window and, keeping low, ran to the back edge of the yard.

He pushed through the hedge into the next property. Laundry was drying on a line and a cool breeze lifted a sheet that slapped him across the face, twisted around his body. He disentangled himself, made his way across that yard and into the next. He had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do. All he knew was he had to find a place to hide, to plan.

Jesus, he was pissed off Hallock hadn't come back. And then he had it. If he could just get to Wood's Motel, he would try and talk Liz Wood into letting him stay in Hallock's room until he returned. If she didn't know who he was, he had a chance. He would say he was Hallock's cousin or old friend. But getting there was not going to be easy. The motel was off the main road just outside of Seaville proper, and he couldn't take the chance of being seen. He would have to stay in the yards, then cross the main drag at a point just before the turnoff to the motel. The best way to do that was at night. Now he had to find a place to hide until sundown. And then he saw the familiar doghouse and remembered the story he'd done three weeks ago. Elsbeth Kiske's German shepherd had been killed by poisoned meat. Colin had interviewed Mrs. Kiske, who'd taken him outside, shown him where she'd found Pencil, the dog, then shown him the big doghouse her late husband had made. He remembered admiring it, saying it was big enough for a person to live in, remembered getting a wan smile out of Mrs. Kiske. And now here he was and there it was, the perfect hiding place.

He ducked down behind a maple. There was no sound except that of birds and insect life, a breeze rustling the leaves. It was approximately six yards from the tree to the doghouse. Colin made a dash across the yard. Dropping down on all fours he crawled inside, hoping Mrs. Kiske hadn't gotten another dog.

----

"Shit," Hallock said, standing at the door of his room, suitcase in hand, looking at the phone as it rang. If he answered it he might be late for his plane. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he was already seven minutes behind schedule and he didn't know what he'd do if he had to spend another hour, let alone a night, in this burg. But the only person he could think of who might be calling him here was Fran. And after hanging up on him she wouldn't be calling unless something was wrong. He dropped the suitcase and crossed to the phone.

A thin, quaking voice said, "Is this the chief?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Is this the chief from Seaville?"

Hallock wondered what other chief would be staying at the Breezeway Motel in Miami Beach in June. Then he recognized the voice. "Mister Conway?"

"Yessir, that's me. Ruth Cooper's daddy."

He pictured Elmer Conway, eighty-five, white-haired and stooped, his face and hands covered with age spots, and still he was Ruth Cooper's daddy. Hallock wondered if he would always be a daddy to his children. "What can I do for you, Mr. Conway?"

"Well sir, I did what you asked."

Hallock waited for Conway to go on, but there was nothing happening on the line but some static. "Mister Conway?"

"Yessir?"

"What is it you did?" He looked at his watch, swore silently. Now he was eight minutes behind schedule.

"Well sir, you remember when you were here?"

Hallock shifted from one foot to the other. "I remember."

"Was that yestiday?"

"That's right."

"Seems like longer ago than that, don't it?"

"Time flies," Hallock said and added to himself, when you're having fun!

"Yeah, that's the truth."

The line seemed dead.

Hallock said, "Mister Conway, are you there?"

"Yessir."

He took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. "Mister Conway, what is it I can do for you?"

"Well sir, after you left us yestiday, me and Mildred put on our thinking caps, so to speak. We did what you asked, Chief."

"You mean you thought of something that might be helpful in solving Ruth's murder?"

Elmer Conway sucked in his breath as if this were the first time he'd heard of his daughter being murdered. Hallock could have kicked himself for being so insensitive.

"Mister Conway?"

"Yessir?"

"Why don't you tell me about it?" he urged gently.

"Yessir. Well, me and Mildred spent all of yestiday and all of last night—that is, all of last night when we was up—thinking about what you said. And we come up with just one thing. You see, Ruthie was a ordinary person, just like Mildred and me. What I mean by that is she didn't go in for fancy living and business like that. She was a plain person. A good person."

Hallock heard the old man's voice break on the last word and knew he couldn't rush him. He sat down on the bed and waited.

Finally Conway pulled himself together. "What I'm trying to say, Chief, is that she didn't go out a whole lot, her and Russ. But once in awhile they give themselves a treat. Maybe go to a movie, or go down-island to the Mall, do a little shopping. Sometimes they went out to dinner, maybe five, six times a year."

Hallock wondered why the old man was so intent on making his daughter's life seem so drab. He looked at his watch again, realized he wasn't going to make his plane, kicked off his shoes, and leaned back against the pillows.

Conway went on. "But there was this one time when her and Russ decided to really celebrate. Russ had got a promotion. He worked for Volinski Insurance Company. Still does. Anyways, Russ got this promotion, and he and Ruthie decided to go all-out on a celebration. So first they go to Simpson's for some steamers and a lobster and—you remember Simpson's?"

"I do."

"You're pretty young to be remembering Simpson's. I'm talking twenty-five years ago."

"I'm not as young as you think, Mister Conway."

"Oh. Anyways, they go to Simpson's for a good meal 'cause of Russ's promotion. And then they decide to go to this nightclub over to Seaville. Now you understand they ain't the jet set or anything."

"I understand."

"Well sir, the nightclub's real crowded and somehow it caught on fire."

Hallock sat straight up.

Conway continued. "Don't think they ever found out what started that fire. Anyways, Ruthie and Russ was in there with about a hundred other people. But they got out okay. Twelve people died though. You remember that fire, Chief?"

"I remember. Look, Mister Conway, you've been real helpful. I have to hang up now and get this information to Seaville."

Conway went on as if Hallock hadn't spoken. "See, that was the only thing out of the ordinary me and Mildred could think of. It's not like a person's in a fire every other day, if you see what I mean, Chief."

"I do, and I agree with you. You've been real helpful," he said again. "I have to go now, Mister Conway."

"Should we keep on thinking, Chief?"

Hallock recognized the man's reluctance to let him go, as though keeping the connection open somehow negated his daughter's death. "Yes, sure, Mister Conway. And you call me in Seaville if anything occurs to you. That's the second number I gave you."

"Yessir. I called that one but the lady said you wasn't back yet. So then I called this-here number."

"Well, I'm leaving today. Good-bye, Mister Conway, and thank you." Hallock hung up before Conway could say anything else. Then he punched out Maguire's number. Still busy. He thought a moment, then called the Gazette. It rang three times before a man answered. The voice sounded familiar, but Hallock couldn't place it. He asked for Maguire.

"He's not in today," the man said. "Who's calling?"

"Who's this?" Hallock asked.

"Special Agent Schufeldt," he said. "Who's this?"

Hallock withdrew his ear from the phone as if it had been burned, then slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle. He sat on the edge of the bed wondering why Schufeldt was at the paper, answering the phone. Had something happened to Maguire? Had there been another murder? And what about Griffing? Was Schufeldt at the paper to arrest him? Had someone there remembered that fire twenty-five years ago? By some miracle had Schufeldt put it all together? He had to get back.

Quickly he stuffed his feet into his shoes and made for the door. If he missed the next plane out, he'd catch the one after that, and if he couldn't get on that one, the one after that would have to do. Because police chief or not, nothing was going to stop him from being there at the end of this one. Nothing.

LOOKING BACK—50 YEARS AGO

On Sunday of this week Professor Albert Einstein, who received worldwide notoriety a few years ago for his Theory of Relativity, visited Seaville. According to a well-founded rumor, Professor Einstein may become a summer resident of Seaville. While in town he made several inquiries regarding the hiring of a cottage on the waterfront during the summer.

THIRTY-TWO

Annie sat in the first pew of her church. The late morning light set off the large mural above the altar as if it were specially lit. She liked coming in to the church at this time of day. It was quiet and she was able to meditate. But today she couldn't concentrate. Every time she tried to focus, expand, zero in on her higher power, she thought of Colin, their night together. And it made her uncomfortable, sitting here in church, thinking of him, of their lovemaking. Not that she believed God would mind. Her God was a loving God who wanted her to be happy again. But replaying scenes of the night before made her feel embarrassed here in church. It was an old idea, an old prudishness. Still, she couldn't shake it, couldn't go beyond the ideas her mother had imparted to her: Church and sex don't mix.

Her thoughts shifted to Steve Cornwell. Did he know that Colin had spent the night? If not, it wouldn't be long before he did. But Colin might leave Seaville. He hadn't said so directly, but the possibility was clear. And if he did? Was she supposed to follow him as if she had no life of her own? She smiled to herself thinking, Who asked?

It was crazy sitting here wondering about a life that included Colin. They'd spent one night together, something thousands, maybe millions of people did all the time, never to see one another again. But she wasn't any of those people. Making love with Colin was special, important. For her there was nothing transient about it. And that was dangerous.

She couldn't expect him to feel the same way. Most men didn't. But Colin didn't seem like most men. She felt as if she'd known him for years, perhaps always, then reminded herself that that was only a feeling, not a fact. Still, what she'd experienced the night before had been incredible, the depth of feeling overpowering.

That was what frightened her. She cared. She trusted him. And she was totally vulnerable. Enough, she told herself. Standing, she stretched, trying to remember when last she'd felt so tired. But what a good tired. She left the church and walked toward her office.

Peg was just coming out. "Oh, there you are. I came as soon as I heard," she said.

"Heard what?"

Peg looked stricken. "You mean you don't know?"

"Is this a game?"

"Annie," she said seriously, "it's Colin."

She felt her knees give way and grabbed hold of Peg's arm. There was no way she could go through another death; it would finish her.

"Are you okay?"

She went into her office, unable to ask Peg to tell her what she meant.

"Annie," Peg called after her, "did you hear me?"