Night of the Ice Storm

by Stout, David;

  “Alas, Jenifer, that kind of bullshit goes on at most papers.”

  “I guess. I heard some of the old cranks on the copy desk complaining about having to edit stuff for the reunion program along with the regular stories.”

  “More bullshit.” Marlee chuckled, then thought of something. “Excuse me a minute.” She stood up, looked toward the copy desk a couple of hundred feet away to see who was there. Then she sat down and dialed.

  “Copy desk. Weir speaking.”

  “Gil, is it true what I heard? That you guys are a bunch of old cranks?”

  Jenifer Hurley blushed, lowered her head to make herself invisible.

  “Marlee! What’s up, dollface?” said the voice on the phone.

  “Never mind the ‘dollface,’ you old fart. How are you?”

  “Not bad, doll. What’s up?”

  “You folks have been handling a bunch of stuff for the reunion program, I hear.”

  “That’s right, doll. Some of it’s so bad, it even turns me off. And I’ve seen everything.”

  “I know. Have you seen anything written by Ed Sperl?”

  “Sure, doll. What do you need to know?”

  “Was he doing something for the program about old crimes? Or a particular old crime?”

  “For the reunion program? Lord, no, doll. That wouldn’t make sense even for this place.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Hold on, doll. I have a list of the pieces for the program. Just hold on.”

  While Marlee waited, she looked at Jenifer Hurley. Jenifer’s eyes were bright pools, her face taut with concentration.

  “Marlee,” Gil Weir said, “Ed did several things for the program, but nothing like you mentioned. He did a Chamber of Commerce puff piece and another puff about how the city is wooing high-tech business to take the place of steel. Plus a couple of little bios: Charlie Buck, Grant Siebert—you remember them.”

  “Okay, Gil. You’re sure that’s it?”

  Marlee could see that Jenifer was impatient for her to hang up.

  “Sure I’m sure, doll,” Gil Weir said. “I have the complete list of reunion stories right in front of me. From Will Shafer himself. And I know there’s nothing else coming, ’cause the programs are being printed tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Gil.”

  “Don’t bother to read the stuff, doll, unless you’ve got insomnia. They killed what would have been the best thing in the program.”

  “Oh, what?”

  “Ed Sperl wanted to do a cute little piece about what people were doing on the night of the ice storm. The Chamber is gonna sell T-shirts with the slogan ‘I Survived the Great Ice Storm.’ Trying to market the town’s bad weather instead of fighting the image.”

  “Well, who killed the story?”

  “Will Shafer and the publisher, I hear. Will said stories like that were trite. You ask me, it could have been a nice read. Remember all those babies who were born exactly nine months after the big New York blackout in the sixties?”

  “I remember.”

  “I hear Will and the publisher didn’t want Ed going around and asking people how they were spending their time that night. Who knows? Maybe a lot of people were in strange beds.”

  “Could be. Thanks again Gil.” Marlee hung up.

  “Why did you ask that about Ed Sperl?” Jenifer asked.

  “I just had a reason to be curious. Why?”

  “I don’t mean to pry. Yes, I do. Please, tell me why you asked that. Then I have something to tell you.”

  “Oh. Okay. I was talking to a cop last night, a guy I met through my column, and he mentioned that Ed Sperl had been bugging him about an old case, one the cop happened to have been in on years ago.”

  “What case?”

  “It was twenty years ago. A priest was killed in the basement of a house.”

  “Go on, go on, go on.”

  “Easy, girl. So I asked my cop acquaintance why Ed wanted to know about it.”

  “And he said?”

  “For an article. Ed Sperl was supposedly doing research for an article.”

  “Now isn’t that interesting. Because he wasn’t doing it for the reunion program, obviously.”

  “No.”

  “And he wasn’t doing it for the Gazette.”

  “Oh? How do you know that?”

  “Will Shafer told me.”

  “Oh. How did you happen to ask him?”

  “Because a couple of weeks ago, when I was in the basement of the records building, I ran into Ed. I asked him why he was there, and he gave me some bullshit answer about looking up old crime statistics.”

  “Oh, Ed didn’t give a damn about stories like that,” Marlee snorted.

  “Of course not. And there are no crime stats where he was burrowing.”

  “Well, for sure Ed was interested in the case of that priest. And I even thought he might have been doing it for one of those pulp crime magazines. So I called Grant Siebert in New York—you don’t know him, he used to work here and he’s coming back for the reunion, and he’s an editor for a true-crime publication—but Grant said Ed wasn’t doing anything for him.”

  “What made you call this guy Grant?”

  Marlee felt herself blushing and hoped it didn’t show. “I know Ed talked to him earlier, about the reunion, and I thought … I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that Ed had worked out a deal with him.”

  “This is all very strange,” Jenifer said. “I heard you say something about something being killed. What was that?”

  Marlee told her.

  Jenifer sniffed derisively and said, “That sounds like Will. He’s so uptight on stories like that.”

  Marlee thought for a moment. She didn’t want an argument with Jenifer, but she had to defend the editor. “Will’s judgment is usually on the mark. Really. I can remember newspapers doing stories about a bunch of babies being born nine months after a power failure or a big blizzard or something that kept people marooned. Sometimes, the statistics turned out to be not quite accurate. And Will’s right: the story’s been done before.”

  Jenifer frowned and said, “Hmmph.”

  Marlee remembered something she hadn’t told Jenifer. “I had lunch with Ed’s ex-wife, right after the funeral. His first ex. She said they were going to get back together.”

  “Ha!”

  “And that Ed was coming into some money. That’s what she said.”

  “Could he have been doing a book?”

  “I doubt it, Jenifer. A book takes discipline, and I just can’t see Ed doing that.”

  “No, especially since he was half-drunk or hung over all the time. Jeez, Marlee, I saw how much he put away at your party.”

  The party. Yes, something about the party had been blinking in the back of Marlee’s head. Now she knew what it was: how Ed Sperl had stood at the table, listening to old tapes, going through old pictures. As if he really cared.

  Oh! The string of sick jokes about the death of that priest. On the tape from Grant’s farewell party.

  “Are you okay, Marlee? You look …”

  “I’m okay, I think. We have to sort some things out. God, this is all so strange.”

  “Isn’t it, though?”

  “And all of a sudden Ed’s dead by his own hand.”

  “Bullshit,” Jenifer said.

  “What?”

  “Trust me, Marlee. Ed didn’t kill himself.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m just an amateur psychologist, Marlee. But Ed didn’t seem depressed to me. A red-nosed drinker and a bum, yes. But not depressed. I’m not sure he was deep enough to be depressed.”

  Marlee shook her head. “It does seem odd. Let’s assume Olga was telling me the truth, that Ed had said he was going to come into some money. That doesn’t sound like someone planning to kill himself, does it? Heck, Jenifer. He was shot with his own gun. He must have done it.”

  “No. I think I have good instincts. All my instincts say he didn’t.”


  “Have you told anyone?”

  “No. What can I say? That my instincts tell me something? Who can I say that to?”

  Marlee thought for a moment. “There may be someone. Listen, what time are you getting out of here today?”

  “Fourish.”

  “Look, my car’s been towed to a garage for some work, so I need a ride home. Okay? And there’s something we should listen to.”

  Twenty-six

  Jenifer Hurley had a red Toyota that she drove a little too fast. In the ride to Marlee’s house, they talked about Marlee’s car and Jenifer’s car and whether it was better to buy new or used. Marlee knew Jenifer was getting ready to ask her something.

  Finally Jenifer said, “You’ve known Will Shafer a long time.”

  “Longer than I want to remember.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  “As a person or as a newspaperman?”

  “Either. Or both.”

  “Oh, boy. Kind of stiff, but decent. He had a hard time, when he was younger. Folks were poor. Only way he went to college was on a Gazette scholarship. That helps explain why he’s a lifer at the Gazette—like I am, I suppose. As an editor, he’s the same way: good, decent, kind of stiff.”

  Jenifer said nothing.

  “What made you ask?” Marlee said.

  “It’s just that, I don’t know, I’ve had this feeling. When I’m with him sometimes, he seems like he’s somewhere else. Like something’s tearing him apart, you know?”

  “Hmmm. Maybe he’s not the same around me. Or I’m so used to him I don’t notice. Bottom line, he’s management but he’s fair. You remember where my house is?”

  “Yep. I met Will Shafer’s wife at your place. At the party.”

  “Karen. Very smart woman, very lovely person. It says something good about Will that he’s married to her.”

  As soon as Marlee got out of the car, she was greeted by barking.

  They went inside. Nigel said hello with slurps and tail-wagging, and Marlee apologized to Jenifer for the dog’s indiscreet sniffing. Then Marlee put the dog out, poured two glasses of chilled white wine, and got out her tape recorder.

  “Remember I said I wanted to listen to something? It’s the recording from Grant Siebert’s farewell party. From twenty years ago.”

  “God, I was still in Mickey Mouse pajamas. I already heard it, you know. At your party.”

  “Yes, I do know. And what I remember is Ed Sperl looking at pictures and fiddling with the tape recorder. See, I was sitting on the porch, looking through that window right there, and I saw him. He was right about where you’re standing now.”

  “There were a bunch of pictures and tapes that night.”

  “Yes, but the tape from Grant Siebert’s party had the stuff about the priest. The window was open, and I could hear. People around the table were talking, and when they talked about Grant, my ears perked up.” Marlee stopped, felt her face get warm. “Anyhow, I didn’t know there was anything on here that meant much, but let’s listen.”

  “Do you think Ed Sperl might have been gay?” Jenifer said.

  “My God, what a thing to ask. Why?”

  “Hey, why not? Stranger things have happened.”

  “But Ed was married …”

  “Twice.”

  “And he fathered a child.”

  Jenifer chuckled, a trifle patronizingly. “So what? Maybe the fact he bailed out of two marriages should tell us something.”

  Marlee let a long gulp of wine cool her throat as she thought that over. “He was always making crude remarks about gay people. Remember, at my party?”

  Jenifer shrugged, raised her eyebrows. “Could have been a smoke screen. I mean, anymore I’m never surprised when someone is gay. And look at how he died: shot in his own car, in a parking lot of a tavern way the hell away from here.”

  “Oh, you think he might have been meeting someone way over near Horning because he didn’t want to be seen with him here?”

  “I’m saying it’s possible. Suppose he was gay. That would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well, it could, although I don’t know about the money angle. And you said you didn’t think he killed himself.”

  “Lovers’ quarrel maybe?” Jenifer shrugged. “I’m not saying I have it all worked out yet.”

  “Let’s listen to the tape.”

  “You could donate that recorder to the Smithsonian.”

  “It still works.”

  Marlee pressed the play button:

  “ …elected to leave Bessemer for a larger city on the Hudson, are here in the bosom of your friends—”

  “He hasn’t any!”

  “Shhh.”

  “—to drink, make merry and get some cheap gifts …”

  “Not cheap …”

  Marlee and Jenifer sipped wine, and Marlee refilled their glasses as the tape played.

  “It sounds like you people were stoned out of your minds,” Jenifer said.

  “Oh, we were. Or a lot of us were.”

  “In closing, Grant, what else can we say, except break a leg and …”

  “That wasn’t a bad send-off,” Jenifer said.

  “No, especially considering how snotty Grant was to some people,” Marlee said. “I think young newspaper people were different then. Any excuse for a party.”

  “And this is what Ed Sperl was so interested in?”

  “Oh, no. A little later there’s a lot of foul talk about that priest. Listen.”

  The tape spun on; sometimes Marlee could not tell which sounds were voices and whispers and furniture bumping from twenty years before and which were electronic hissings from the recorder itself:

  “… time on the city desk, you tell me. I heard a dark rumor at headquarters, on deep background, that the priest wasn’t just golfing down there, if you get my drift.”

  “So? You’re the one who’s supposed to have the terrific police sources.”

  “That was Ed Sperl needling Will Shafer,” Marlee said. “They didn’t like each other even back then.”

  “… work on your personality, Ed.”

  “Could it have been a fag deal?”

  “Oh, yuk!”

  “That’s my friend Carol Berman, that last voice,” Marlee said. “The other voices right there I’m not sure of. Now, all this stuff about homosexuality was never publicized.”

  “But some reporters knew, obviously. Or Ed Sperl did.”

  They listened again:

  “You bastard.”

  “The guy’s dead, for God’s sake.”

  “They held a mass of the resurrection, but it didn’t work.”

  “Old joke,” Jenifer said.

  “Yes, it was old even then.”

  Bump, bump of tables and chairs.

  “Betcha whoever did it is long gone.”

  “Still hacking away.”

  “You sick bastard.”

  “… yuk …”

  More mutterings and bumping.

  “… a double mortal sin.”

  “… Two for the price of one.”

  The laughter was far away and fading. “No doubt about it,” Marlee said. “A little alcohol makes a farewell party seem like more fun than it is. Pot helps, too.”

  “I just can’t see you doing pot.”

  “I don’t anymore.”

  “How many of these tapes do you have?”

  “Damn, I don’t know. Mostly I recorded them for the people who were leaving, you know?”

  “A nice thing to do.”

  “Like most souvenirs from farewell parties, the tapes probably got put away somewhere and forgotten. A lot of people were leaving the Gazette back then. Lots of parties, lots of tapes.”

  “But Ed was interested in this tape, you said.”

  “So, should we play it again?”

  “All right.”

  But Marlee was suddenly reluctant. Hearing the tape had left her depressed, as though it didn’t matter whether one left Bess
emer or stayed, because life could be pointless after a while if one was alone too much.

  Marlee was glad when the phone rang. “Go ahead and listen,” she told Jenifer. “I’ve heard enough.” Rather than pick up the phone in the kitchen, Marlee went into her bedroom.

  “Hi, Marlee. Ed Delaney here. I just called to see how you made out with your car.”

  “Oh, hi! They took it away this morning. Your friend Rick was real nice and gave me a break on the towing charge. Says the car’ll be ready tomorrow.”

  “Good. You can rely on whatever he says. So how are you doing otherwise?”

  “Fine. I’ve been listening to a twenty-year-old tape recording. Oh, it’s of a farewell party at which Ed Sperl made some filthy jokes about that priest.”

  “You told me he made some bad jokes at a party you threw not that long ago.”

  “He sure did.”

  “Marlee, this is totally off the record, okay? I told you I thought the diocese was just as glad we didn’t solve that case. I’ve always wondered if it was another priest that did it.”

  “My God. Could that be?”

  “Sure it could.”

  Another thought—more like a bad marriage of two thoughts—came to Marlee. “Is there any chance at all that Ed Sperl didn’t kill himself?”

  “I haven’t heard any suspicions otherwise. Why?”

  “Because the person who’s been listening to the tape with me, another reporter, she thought maybe Ed didn’t.”

  “And what’s her reasoning?”

  “She, it’s not reasoning exactly. It’s her instincts.”

  There was a pause, and when Ed Delaney’s voice came back, he sounded annoyed. “Marlee, the ruling was suicide. That’s what the medical examiner over in Horning found.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “I hear the ‘but’ in your voice.”

  “Could you check? Unofficially, I mean?”

  “I suppose I could make a call or two. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “One of his ex-wives called me one day, and I bought her lunch. She said she and Ed were going to get back together, and that he was going to come into some money.”

  “From where?”

  “God knows. But that doesn’t sound like someone who was about to kill himself. Does it?”

  “I don’t know. What else are you thinking?”