Downes waited in silence as Gary tilted his head back.
After a moment, his head sagged sideways until his cheek almost touched his shoulder. Gary's head was swimming. Fatigue loosened his grip on the Crusader's Cross and the chain slipped out of his hand and dangled just off the floor.
Can you feel the cross in your hand?" Downes asked.
"Uh huh."
"Good. Gary, I'm going to teach you a trick you can do with that cross because of your special powers. It's a trick us ordinary folks can't do and it's called 'projection transfer." That's Sandy's cross. She was wearing it when she was killed. I want you to project your supernatural mind into that cross and tell me what Sandy saw and what the killer saw. Let yourself go."
Gary let his mind run loose but the picture on the screen was scrambled.
"Do you see Sandy?" Downes asked.
"I'm starting to see them more along. You know, after I walked by," Gary said in a voice so heavy with fatigue that his words were slurred. "She ... she's ... He's holding her."
"All right," Downes said, suddenly excited. "This is what we want."
"He's hanging on to her."
"Like she's trying to get away?"
"Yeah. It seems like she slapped him."
"Sandy fought back?"
"Uh huh. And then ..."
"Yes, Gary. Concentrate. Use your powers."
"His right hand. It's like it was going down."
"Dropping or ... ?"
"Like he was hitting her."
"This is what we want. This is it, Gary. Now, we know he grabbed her and pulled her back and she whipped around. That's what you saw as you passed by.
Then she hit him and he hits her with his right hand.
Now I want you to look for one more thing. At this point, the unknown man is hitting her. It had to be with something. Something in his right hand.
What is he using? It's very important. I want you to look at his right hand through Sandy's eyes and tell me what you see."
Gary concentrated as hard as he could. What would it be? Then he remembered what the two women said at the wedding about the girl's face being chopped up.
What was it they said the killer used?
"I'm trying, but I can't picture it."
"If anyone can, you can, Gary. You have a power that no one else has. You are the man with the power."
Gary opened his eyes. "It's almost there, but.. ." Downes thought about the location of the head wounds. He stood up.
"Picture it, Gary," he said, unconsciously moving his right hand up and down. "Tell me what's in his hand."
Gary closed his eyes and recalled the autopsy photograph that Bob Patrick had shown him, just before he used the black light. Then, he remembered what the lady at the wedding had said.
"It's shiny," he said suddenly.
"Huh?"
"It's metal shiny."
"Like a ... like what? Shiny like a knife blade?"
"Yeah, shiny."
"You've got knives, Gary. Is it like a knife you own?"
"Not a knife."
"Not a knife?"
"
He chopped her up. Chopped her with a .. . a hatchet."
Downes's heart leaped. "What kind of hatchet?"
"I can't see the blade, but it seems like a hatchet."
There was a drawer in the long interrogation table. In it were pens, paper and a ruler. Downes took the picture of Sandy from Gary's right hand and replaced it with the ruler.
"Take hold of this ruler."
Gary did as he was told.
"Gary, you are unbelievable. I've never seen anyone with your powers. Now, to me, this is a ruler, but with your supernatural mind, you can use 'projection transfer' to transfer this ruler to the hatchet. Do you have it?
Can you feel the shiny, silver hatchet?"
Gary nodded.
"All right. Here's where you do your thing. I'm gonna stand and so are you. I'm gonna be Sandy, so I'll squat down some, and you're gonna let that hatchet lead you to strike like the killer did, so we can see how Sandy was killed.
"Okay, stand up and keep your eyes closed. I'm right in front of you. Only now I'm Sandy. Are you read y?
Gary nodded.
"Let it flow, Gary. First hit. Where was it?"
Gary brought his arm up sluggishly. "Top of the head," he said, as his arm slowly descended.
"This is great. Then what?"
Gary saw It all. His arm swung sideways.
"Another to the right side," he said. "And another."
Blood was spraying from Sandy's face as the blade sliced into it. Gary's arm rose and fell. Her face was breaking up as she fell back, flying away like shards from a fractured mirror. Gary stopped.
"What's the matter?" Downes asked.
"I don't like her face like this."
"What do you mean?"
"The blood."
"You can see her face chopped up?"
I I I "Yes.
"Where is the killer, Gary?"
"Over her."
"Can you see his face?"
"No."
"Try hard, Gary."
"I can't see it."
"Okay, guy. You're doing fantastic. Hang in there.
I've never met anyone with powers like yours. So, let's use those powers. Let them flow through Sandy's medallion. Let God help you see that hatchet. Can you see It?"
"Yes."
"Okay. The killer took the hatchet away. Where is it now?"
"He ... he threw it away."
"Where, Gary?"
"He threw it 'cause of the blood. He didn't want to see all that blood."
"But where did he throw it? Help us find it. Project yourself into that hatchet."
Gary's head wobbled. He wet his lips.
"He's running to a dark place because he's scared."
"Someplace dark? But where?"
"Just dark. I don't know."
"Come on, Gary. Don't let me down now. Use your special powers."
"I'm trying, Sergeant, but he's too far from Sandy to see him."
"You mean he's out of the park?"
"Yeah. She can't see him."
"Where is Sandy?"
"By the well."
"How did she get there?"
"She ... she ran."
"Okay."
"Then, after he chopped her, she was by the well."
"You saw that?"
"Yeah."
"Is there much blood on the killer?"
"Yes."
"Did the killer clean off that blood?"
"I can't see. He's too far away."
"Okay. One last try at something. Why did the killer murder Sandy? Do you know why he did it?"
Gary thought about the girl at the dorm and the girl at the Stallion and how he wanted them to love him.
Maybe the killer asked Sandy to be his girl and she said no, like the girl at the bar.
"He wanted Sandy to be nice to him, but she said no."
"To be nice?"
"To love him, but she wouldn't love him and he got mad."
"Like you got mad at Karen Nix?"
"Yeah." Downes should have been exhausted, but he was so elated he did not feel the fatigue.
"Did I help you?" Gary asked .
"Oh, yeah. You've been a big help."
"Can I go home now?"
"Not just yet."
"Why?"
"Gary, I'm gonna be honest with you. We have a problem here."
"What problem?"
"The problem of how you know so much about Sandy's murder."
"I seen it with my powers."
"Well, that's probably it, but that wouldn't explain one thing. Bob Patrick told me what he saw on your hands."
Gary's eyes widened.
"What did you see, Gary?"
"B ... blood."
"Why do you think you saw the blood?"
"I don't know."
"Blood doesn't just appear on someone's hands.
Where did it come from?"
Gary understood what Downes was suggesting and he started to squirm on his chair.
"Oh no, Sergeant. I couldn't of done that."
"Do you know what you just said, Gary? You said couldn't." You didn't say "I did not kill that girl." Why didn't you say, flat out, that you did not kill Sandy?"
I .. . I don't know."
"You were drunk that night, weren't you?"
"Yeah."
"And you told me that you don't remember everything clearly because you had too much to drink."
Gary nodded.
"Think about it. Why did you say 'couldn't' instead of 'didn't'?"
Gary looked at Downes with pleading eyes and asked, "Do ... do you think I killed that girl?"
"I don't know, Gary. I wasn't there. Only Sandy and her killer were there. But you'd know in your heart, if you did it. Even if you couldn't remember with your conscious mind, because you were so drunk, your subconscious mind would know."
"I . I don't remember killing anyone, Sergeant.
Honest. If ... if I did, I don't remember."
Gary licked his lips. Could he have killed Sandy and forgotten? Could he have done the things he saw on the movie screen?
"Well, Gary?"
"I ... I couldn't have done that," Gary said, desperately. "No, no, I couldn't. Could 1?"
"I don't know, Gary. Why don't we talk about that?"
PART FOUR THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME
Chapter ELEVEN.
Peter was so depressed that he did not fall asleep until two-thirty in the morning, giving him a grand total of two hours sack time before he was wrenched out of bed by the ringing of the phone.
"Hello," he rasped as he squinted at the clock.
"Pete, it's Steve Mancini."
"Steve? Aren't you on your honeymoon?"
"I was. Donna and I are on our way back to Whitaker. Gary's been arrested."
"He didn't get arrested for peeping again?" asked Peter. He had told Steve about Gary's arrest and Steve had saved Gary's job. He had also decided to keep the information about the arrest from Donna and Gary's parents.
"Gary is charged with murder, Pete. It's that girl at the wishing well."
"Holy shit!"
"I won't be back in Whitaker until eleven or so. He needs a lawyer, right away. The cops will make minceeat out of him if they get Gary alone."
"Steve, I'm very sympathetic. I mean, Gary seems like a nice guy, and I was glad to help him out, but I'm not your man. I've been handling criminal cases for what? Two months? The only case I tried by myself was a suspended license charge, and I lost it."
"I'm not asking you to take the case. I just want you to make certain that Gary doesn't do anything stupid before I talk to him."
1. "Why don't you call Amos or someone else with more experience?"
"No offense, but I doubt Geary is sober at this hour and the attorneys who practice criminal law in Whitaker make Bozo the Clown look like Perry Mason. You're the only one I can trust to do this the right way."Peter had met some of the other lawyers who practiced in the Whitaker criminal courts. Mancini was right. They weren't all that swift. And Steve only wanted Peter to baby-sit with his brother-in-law until he got back to town. It was the least he could do for one of the few people in Whitaker he could call a friend.
"What do you want me to tell Gary?" Peter asked.
"You'll do it?"
"Yeah, yeah. Come on. Brief me."
"I owe you big."
"And don't forget it. So, what should I do at the jail?"
Peter stood when Gary stumbled into the room where Peter's abortive interview with Christopher Mammon had taken place. In the weak rays of dawn, Harmon's face seemed drained of color. There were dark circles under his eyes and his uncombed hair was mussed from his brief steep.
"I'm Peter Hale, Gary. I helped you out when you were arrested at the college. Do you remember me?"
Gary nodded.
"Why don't you sit down."
Peter indicated the metal folding chair on the other side of the wooden table. Gary shuffled forward. A sour odor assailed Peter as soon as Gary drew close. It was a unique combination of fear, sweat and disinfectant that Peter had come to associate with the incarcerated. He pushed himself back from the table to widen the distance between himself and the prisoner.
"Are they treating you all right?" Peter asked.
Gary nodded. "When can I go home?"
"I don't know, Gary. I think you'll have to stay for a while."
"I don't like it here."
"Yeah, well, no one likes jail."
"Can't you get me out?"
"I'm not going to be your lawyer, Gary. Steve Mancini asked me to help out until he comes back. He's driving here from Portland, right now. He should be in Whitaker by noon and I'm sure he'll come see you."
"Sergeant Downes said I was helping to catch the killer. He said I was a good detective. Why won't he let me go?"
"Maybe the sergeant can't let you out. You're charged with a pretty serious crime. I think you'll need a judge's permission."
"Will Steve ask the judge to help me?"
"You bet," Peter answered. Steve had told Peter that ball was not automatic in a murder case. If the state opposed release, there would have to be a hearing. Gary looked so pathetic that Peter did not have the heart to tell him that he might not be able to get out of 'all.
I "I don't like jail. I'm all locked in. And I don't like the people here. They scare me. They call me names and say things about that girl. They say I'm going to die in the electric chair. They say my brain will boil and melt."
"Gary, there is no electric chair in Oregon. Those men are teasing you. Ignore them."
"I can't. They say it all the time. Please get me out.
You got me out when I was arrested before."
"That was different. I just happened to be walking through the campus when you were caught. I really didn't do anything. Sergeant Downes decided not to arrest you. If you'd been charged, I wouldn't have been your lawyer." Gary looked so sad that Peter asked, "Have you talked to the police?" in an effort to distract him.
"Uh-huh."
"How long did you to k to them?"
"A long time."
"An hour? Two hours? Can you tell me the exact time?"
"It was a really long time. I got sleepy. I ate three burgers."
"And you were talking to the cops all that time?"
Gary nodded.
"Why do the police think you killed Sandra Whiley?
Did you tell Sergeant Downes you killed her?"
"No. I just seen the girl killed."
"You saw the murder?"
"Part with my eyes and part with my mind."
"I'm not following you. What do you mean, you saw part of the murder with your mind?"
"I got these powers. Supernatural powers. I never knew I had 'em, but I do. Sergeant Downes showed me how to use them to see who killed Sandy. I was real tired, but I did it to help. Now I'll lose my job because I can't go to work. Mom will be so mad."
"I'm sure someone will talk to the college about your job and your mom won't be mad. She loves you. She knows it's not your fault you can't go to work. Now, try to think about why you're locked up. What do you mean you saw Sandy killed?"
"With m' powers, I can close my eyes and see what y happened in the past."
"You mean you make it up?"
"No, I really see it happen. Only a few people got my powers. Sergeant Downes said I had the best powers of anyone. Better even than those people on TV."
"What did you tell Sergeant Downes you saw using your powers?"
"I seen Sandy being killed."
"Did you see who killed her?"
Gary shook his head. "It was dark. I couldn't see his face. But I seen him do it."
"How much of the evening can you remember when you on't use your powers?"
Gary looked sheepish.
"I don't remember a lot of it too well. Everyone was buying me drinks because of the wedding'i'm going to ask you a serious question and I want you to try real hard to answer it."
Gary sat up straight and concentrated so he could give Peter the right answer.
"Is it possible that you killed that girl, but you don't remember because you were drinking?"
Gary licked his lips. He looked very frightened.
"I ... I don7t think I killed her."
"You don't think you killed her? That's not the same as being sure."
"I ... I couldn't have killed that girl," Gary said uncertainly.
"Then how do you know so much about the murder?
I don't buy this superpower stuff. I want you to be honest with me. Did you do it?"
Gary swallowed. He was chewing his lip and looking around the narrow room as if trying to find a way out.
I "Gary?"
Gary's head swung back slowly toward Peter. There were tears in his eyes.
"I want to go home."
"Try to stay on track, Gary. We were talking about the murder."
"I don't want to talk about that no more. I didn't do nothing bad. I'm a good boy. I want Mama. I want to go home."
At eight o'clock Sunday morning Becky O'Shay called District Attorney Earl Ridgely at home and asked him to meet her at his office. When he arrived at nine-thirty, Becky was waiting for him. Ridgely's spacious corner office looked out on Wishing Well Park and the slow meanderings of the Camas giver, but O'Shay had no interest in the scenery. She sprang to her feet as soon as her boss walked in.
"We got him," Becky said excitedly. "He confessed.
We have motive ..."
"Slow down, Becky. Who are you talking about?"
"The man who killed Sandra Whiley. We nailed him."