Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) (36 page)

"Maybe she's at a friend's."

Colin leaned against the wall trying to hide his anxiety from Hallock. "Let me think. Moffat. She has a friend named Moffat."

"Which one? There are a lot of Moffats on the Fork. Hey, you okay? You look white as a sheet?"

"I'm okay. It's Peg Moffat, I think."

"Tim Moffat's wife?"

"Yes. I think Annie said that was his name."

Hallock reached for the phone book under the night table. Finding the number, he dialed.

Colin watched and waited, his mouth dry, breathing shallow. He could not fall apart now, would not.

"Is this Peg Moffat?" Hallock asked. "Well, this is Waldo Hallock. I'm fine, thanks. Listen, Peg, I'm trying to get in touch with Annie Winters. She there, by any chance? Uh-huh. I tried her at home just a few minutes ago. You have any idea where she might be? Uh-huh. I see. Well, thanks. You, too." He hung up. "Peg said she went to a meeting, then went home. She talked to her for a minute after the meeting, and Annie told her the same story she told you about being followed. Anyplace else she might be?'

"I warned her about Mark, told her to get away from him. Maybe she did."

"Listen, maybe she's down at the station. Maybe something happened with her and Griffing and that asshole Schufeldt did something right for a change. She could have been in his car when I passed."

"How can we find out?"

"We can go there. Ask."

"I can't. Schufeldt's looking for me. That's what happened to this place. He shot it up thinking I was in here."

"You kidding me?"

"No. He stood in the doorway and blasted this room like he was at target practice."

"Jesus, what a stupid fuck. Okay, listen. I'll go down there, see what's what. Then I'll come back for you and we'll go over to the paper. I want to see if anybody in Griffing's family bought it in that fire. And then I'm going to go after the bastard." Hallock slipped into his jacket, put his gun in his belt. "You lie low here, Maguire. Don't use the phone."

"I won't. But what if it rings? What if Annie's trying to get in touch with me?"

Hallock ran his thumb down the side of his long nose. "Don't answer it. You can't trust Liz. I'll get back fast as I can."

As he went out, Hallock flipped off the lights, leaving Colin in darkness. The storm seemed stronger than ever, wind and rain rushing the room like a berserk presence. Hallock grunted as he fought to close the door.

After he'd gone, Colin carefully made his way toward the bed, felt around for his gun, shoved it in his belt, then lay down. He told himself he didn't have to go with Hallock to the paper. Dr. Safier had said over and over that he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to do. But he wanted to help Hallock find Annie. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself in the car with Hallock. Almost immediately his breathing changed to quick short takes. His eyes snapped open as he dispelled the image.

How the hell could he do it? But he had to. This time he wasn't drunk; this time he had all his faculties; this time he wasn't going to let down a woman he cared for.

What if his fear immobilized him? But the whole thing was fear of his feelings, and Safier said they couldn't kill him. He wasn't going to die from shaking or sweating or shallow breathing. What if he passed out? Would that be the worst thing that could happen? He'd tell Hallock there was that possibility and—oh, Maguire, you tricky guy.

No, he couldn't tell Hallock, couldn't create that loophole for himself. He'd go and he'd survive—if it was the last goddamn thing he ever did.

LOOKING BACK
—75 YEARS AGO

The movie program to be presented Saturday night at the Seaville Opera House is said to be remarkably good. Owing to many requests that have been made to see the "Lost in the Alps" picture which was shown several months ago, the manager has secured it for Saturday night. The manager, Joe Eldredge, has been in the city this week, and his pictures are carefully selected and all who have witnessed the past exhibitions know that they are of the very best, and they tell their own story better than words can do.

THIRTY-SIX

He couldn't believe it. This was special. He couldn't imagine why he'd waited so long. Well, maybe it was like eating. Saving the best for last. No, not last. She wouldn't be the last. No way.

The best part was her being a minister. He could just imagine how crazy they'd go. Things look bad in black and white. And he could hear them: "How could he kill a minister?" "Nobody's safe if he could murder a minister." "He must be a monster!" M-O-N-S-T-E-R! Like hell. Turnabout is fair play and that's all there is to it.

Would she catch on? Or would he have to lay it out for her? Girls were dumb. Didn't matter if she was a minister or not. Where was it written that ministers weren't dumb? What the hell, he was getting off the point. Time's a wastin'. Get on up there.

He got out of Annie's car. Outside the garage he pulled the heavy wooden doors closed, walked slowly up the steps. Later he'd put her back in the car and junk it somewhere. There was still plenty of time left. Hours and hours of beautiful, dark night.

He pulled open the big door, stepped inside, then slid it back in place, locking it behind him. On his desk he flipped on the radio to his favorite rock station, turned the volume up loud. Bruce Springsteen. Yeah. Then he walked toward the room where she was waiting. The clacking of his boot heels on the wooden floor sounding like tiny drums announcing his entrance.

He stood in front of the glass door, looked in. Her back was to him, arms tied behind the chair, gag in her mouth and blindfold around her eyes. She'd never get away. Not from him. Not again. Once is enough, thank you. Ashes to ashes, windy dust.

He opened the door and went in, his long, sharp knife in his hand.

LOOKING BACK
—25 YEARS AGO

On June 10th the nightclub Razzamatazz burned to the ground in the worst fire in Seaville's history. Firemen battled the blaze from 10:30 until 3:00 in the morning. Before the club was built there was a strong debate as to whether there would be ample parking places. The club has been in operation only six weeks. Fire Chief Roger Grathwohl says the reason for the fire remains a mystery, but he would suspect faulty wiring. Twelve people lost their lives in the fire.

THIRTY-SEVEN

"What the fuck you doing here, Waldo?" Schufeldt asked.

"Since when isn't a citizen allowed into his local police station?"

Schufeldt's cold blue eyes became slits. "So, what d'you want?"

"Information."

Laughing, Schufeldt said, "You kidding me or what?"

"Something funny about wanting information?" Hallock knew he wasn't likely to get anything out of this creep but he had to try.

"Yeah, I guess there is something funny."

"Such as?"

"You wanting info from me. It's the other way around, Waldo."

He didn't bite.

Schufeldt's barrel chest puffed up like an inflated toy. "Just can't get it straight, can you? I'm in charge here now. You can't come trying to get information out of me. I do the asking. You got it, Waldo?"

Hallock tasted bile in the back of his throat. "You saying an ordinary citizen like me can't get cooperation from the officer in charge? Is that what you're saying, William?"

Blood rushed into Schufeldt's cheeks like shots of dye. "I think you better beat it."

"Where's Annie Winters?" he asked abruptly.

Schufeldt's baby face hardened. "Who wants to know? Maguire?"

"I want to know?"

"Are you planning on going to church or what?"

"You know where she is?"

He didn't answer.

"How about Griffing? Where's he?"

"I want to know where Maguire is, Waldo. How come he was staying in your motel room? You two queer for each other or what?"

Ignoring the question, Hallock said, "Real nice the way you shot up the room. I wonder how it would've gone down if you'd killed Maguire."

"I could get you for harboring a fugitive. We have an APB out on Maguire. Yeah, maybe I'll just book you, Waldo."

"What if I told you I didn't know Maguire was in my room?"

"I'd say you were a goddamn motherfucking liar. And then I'd book you."

"So book me, Schufeldt, go ahead," he challenged.

"Where's Maguire?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"You left your wife for him, didn't you?"

"You going to book me or tell me what I want to know?"

"Neither, cutie-pie. Too bad you're not my type." He cackled crazily.

Hallock waited for the laughter to subside. "You're a riot, Schufeldt. I'm telling you something. Anything happens to Annie Winters, I'm going to make it known that you're personally responsible. I have reason to believe she's in danger. Now if you know where she is, tell me. Otherwise—"

"Otherwise nothing, shithead. Get the hell outta here before I throw you in the slammer."

Hallock could see that Schufeldt meant it. He couldn't afford to push the moron any further. As he turned to leave, Schufeldt's voice stopped him.

"Lemme clue you in on something, Waldo."

Hallock waited but didn't turn around.

"Anything happens to Annie Winters, I'm gonna get you for being an assessory."

The words chilled him. Schufeldt had given himself away. He had no idea where Annie was. Hallock turned, gave Schufeldt a baleful gaze. "Accessory, William, accessory." He walked out before the other man could respond.

The rain was still coming down, hitting the pavement like BB pellets. Hallock wrenched open his car door, saw Charlie Copin sitting in the passenger seat.

"Hey, Chief. You okay?"

"Fine."

"Couldn't help hearing what was going on in there." He shook his head as if to say he knew what an asshole Schufeldt was. "You're looking for Annie Winters, huh?"

"I'd like to know where she is," he acknowledged.

"That's just it, Chief. She took off. Mark Griffing was with her trying to find out where Maguire was, and she threw this kettle of hot water at him and ran out the door."

"Did Griffing follow her?"

"No. He says she almost ran him down. We got there about three minutes later. Griffing was kind of stumbling around the lot, holding his head. We took him over to the hospital. Needed stitches."

"He there now?"

"Don't know. That was about an hour or so ago."

"And Annie Winters?"

Copin shrugged. "Like she dropped off the face of the earth. We got an APB out right away, and Al's been patrolling since we dropped off Griffing. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of her. You think she's with Maguire someplace, Chief?"

Hallock wished he could confide in Charlie but felt it would be easier on him not to know. "Just can't say."

"You think Maguire's guilty?"

"No. Listen, Charlie, I gotta go. Thanks for the tip about Annie Winters.

"No sweat, Chief." Copin opened the car door. The rain roared. He started to get out, then looked back at Hallock. "I gotta tell you, Chief, the guys all miss you. That Schufeldt is one dumb pecker- head."

Hallock smiled. "Thanks, Charlie."

Copin gave him a three-fingered salute.

When the door was shut, Hallock started the motor. It was clear Griffing didn't have Annie an hour ago, but that didn't mean he wasn't the killer. And it didn't mean he didn't have her now. He wanted to talk to Griffing, find out how his mother died. He would go to the hospital first, then try his house. If Griffing wasn't either place, that would be the time to worry about Annie.

----

She felt as if she were choking. The gag, a piece of dirty sheet, was between her lips, tied at the back of her head. Annie willed herself to think of something else, anything but the gag.

Mark. Oh, why hadn't she trusted him? Okay, he was wrong about Colin, but he wasn't there to hurt her. Mark had been such a good friend, always there when she needed support, love. How could she have thought he was a killer? And her fleeting doubts about Colin. It was her basic distrust of people, Bob dying, leaving her alone. But that was over now. She had herself, and if she got out of this she was going to love again, take the risk. She simply couldn't go on the way she had. Look where mistrust had gotten her. Oh, funny, Annie, really funny! She couldn't look: Another piece of sheet covered her eyes.

He'd taken over the wheel after ordering her to pull into Stuart Lane. The first thing he'd done was to tell her to move to the passenger side, then he carefully climbed over the seat and slipped in behind the wheel. It was then that he'd pulled out the two pieces of dirty sheet, one for the gag, the other to blindfold her. Then he'd bound her wrists with rope.

For a moment she'd considered leaping from the car. But even if she'd managed to get the door handle open, jump, what good would it do her? He'd stop the car and drag her back; she was helpless with no hands, no vision.

They'd driven for about ten minutes and then stopped. She'd heard him get out. Then her door was opened. She'd felt his hand on her arm, heard him ordering her to get out. Rain slashed at her face. He'd told her to hurry, and guided her across the gravel driveway. She'd stumbled several times, her ankle growing more painful every moment. "We're going up some steps," he'd said.

She'd figured it was his place; she'd been there two or three times. The climb had tortured her, the ankle feeling as though it would crack. He'd opened a door, the hinges squealing, then closed it behind them. They moved along a wooden floor. Another door opened and he'd shoved her inside. Untying her wrists, he'd roughly pushed her into a chair and tied her hands behind her. Then he'd left, shutting the door.

Now she tried to move her wrists, but with each movement the rope tightened, scraping her skin. She was unable to free herself. The only possible chance she had was if he untied her. She couldn't believe that this was the way her life would end. If only he'd take the gag from her mouth so she could talk to him, she might persuade him to let her go. But that was arrogant, she thought. None of the others had succeeded; why should she?