Show of Evil

by William Diehl

  'I did miss you last night,' he whispered as he walked past her.

  'It was your decision.'

  'That's right, rub it in.'

  He opened the office door and waved at those of the staff who were in the office. They finished phone calls, put away files, and dribbled into the room over the next five minutes, each pleasantly greeting Venable, though regarding her with respectful suspicion since she was considered a potential threat in the courtroom. They drew coffee from the big urn, doctored it, grabbed a doughnut from the box provided by Naomi, and settled down, some in chairs, some on the floor, waiting expectantly. Vail rarely called an emergency staff meeting like this. Only Hazel Fleishman and Bucky Winslow were absent; both were in court.

  The last to enter the room was Bobby Hartford, a tall, ramrod-straight black man from Mississippi whose father, Nate Hartford, a field rep for the NAACP, had been shot to death in front of Bobby. He'd been nine years old at the time. Now, at thirty-eight, Hartford was the oldest member of the Wild Bunch and its only married man (Fleishman was also married). He had about him an almost serene air despite his traumatic early years - Vail had never heard him raise his voice. He sat on the floor beside Flaherty.

  'I asked Jane Venable here today because she's deeply involved in what we're about to discuss,' Vail began. He turned to Venable.'This is what we call a brain scan. The rules are the same for all of us. If you have something to ask, clarify, or contribute, jump in anytime. You'll probably hear some challenges, some devil's advocacy, that's the way we do it here, okay?'

  He paused to take a sip of coffee and light a cigarette, blowing the smoke at the exhaust fan.

  'All right, here's the situation. I assume you've all read Dermott's report on the Balfour and Lincoln murders. You've also read the trial transcripts of the Stampler trial, so by now you are aware of the more than coincidental nexus of these crimes. And although the latest two killings are way out of our jurisdiction, we're going to become involved in this situation whether we like it or not. I'm convinced Stampler wanted me to know that he had conned us all - and he's still conning us. So when I went up to see him and his shrink, Dr Woodward, I wired myself. Taped the conversations I had with them.'

  'Was that legal?' Hartford asked.

  'We're not planning to use it in court.'

  'Not what I asked, Counsellor,' Hartford challenged.

  Vail regarded him balefully for a few moments, then shook his head. 'No, it wasn't.' Then he grinned. 'Want to leave the room when I play it?'

  'Oh, hell, no,' Hartford said with a laugh. 'I just wanted to know where you're coming from.'

  There was a ripple of laughter in the room.

  'Fear is where I'm coming from,' Vail said seriously. 'I fear this man. He is very dangerous. I hope I can convince you of that before this meeting's over. Before I play the tape, here's what we know. We know that Stampler hasn't had any contact with the outside world for ten years, no phone calls, no letters, no visitors. We know the killer is printing messages in code on the back of his victim's heads in blood, just as Stampler did. And the quotes are keyed to Rushman's old library books, which are now in the Newberry, just as Stampler's were. All those coincidences can reasonably be explained. Newspaper accounts, trial records, that sort of thing - none of that information is secret.

  'But we also know that whoever killed Balfour and Lincoln was privy to information that could only have come from Stampler. What the public never knew was that Rushman was a paederast. He had a group called the Altar Boys - four boys and a girl - whom he directed in pornographic videos, then stepped in and took his pleasure with the girl or one of the boys, or all of them, whatever suited him. Stampler was one of the Altar Boys. He murdered two of them. But Alex Lincoln got away. So did Stampler's girlfriend, Linda, who was the young lady in the group. She later became Mrs Linda Balfour. Now they're dead and the MO is exactly the same as the murders Stampler committed.'

  'There is one difference,' Stenner interjected. 'This killer takes trophies - like mementoes of his tricks. He took a stuffed toy that belonged to Linda Balfour and Lincoln's belt buckle. My feeling is the copycat is a true serial killer.'

  'He also left a Polaroid shot of Linda Balfour's body when he killed Lincoln,' Flaherty said, 'so there would be no doubt he committed both crimes.'

  'None of the information about Rushman was ever revealed in the trial,' Vail went on. 'There were two tapes of one of the Altar Boys sessions. Jane and I each had one and we both erased them after the trial.

  'Our theory is that Stampler is triggering this killer, but we don't know how he's doing it or how he originally made contact with the surrogate. I think somewhere in my conversation with Stampler he dropped a clue, something very subtle to let me know he's the real killer.'

  'Why?' Meyer asked.

  'Because he's playing games with me. He's a psychopath. I think you better listen to the tape before you ask any more questions. Maybe I'm too close, maybe one of you will hear something I'm missing.'

  'Or maybe you're wrong,' Flaherty said, half grinning. 'Maybe he didn't plant a clue at all.'

  'You mean I'm paranoid, Dermott?'

  'Something like that.'

  Vail shrugged and smiled. 'Very possible. The question is, is my paranoia justified? You guys decide.'

  He punched the play button and the conversation with Woodward began. The group, including Venable, leaned forwards, rapt in the conversation, zeroing in on every word as Woodward described his almost decade-long experience with Aaron Stampler. The revelation that Aaron Stampler had become Raymond Vulpes created the biggest buzz among the group. Then well into the interview between Vail and Stampler/Vulpes, Dermott Flaherty abruptly sat up and said, 'Hold it! Stop it there.'

  Vail punched the stop button.

  'Back it up a little and replay,' Flaherty said.

  Vail snapped the rewind button, let it run a few feet, and punched Play.

  VAIL: Did Aaron and Roy ever talk about killing the old preacher…uh, I can't think of his name, it's been ten years.

  VULPES: Shackles.

  VAIL: Shackles, right.

  VULPES: Roy bragged about that one, all right. They really hated that old man.

  VAIL: That's an understatement.

  VULPES: Guess you're right about that. He was their first, you know?

  VAIL: So I heard.

  VULPES: Why, hell, Mr Vail, you probably know more about the two of them than I do.

  VAIL: Oh, I think not. How about the others? Did he talk about them?

  VULPES: You mean his brother and Aaron's old girlfriend, Mary Lafferty?

  VAIL: I'd forgot her name, too.

  VULPES: Lafferty. Mary Lafferty.

  'There's your clue,' Flaherty said. 'He repeats Mary Lafferty's name three times. I never knew about Mary Lafferty, that's why I didn't catch it at the time. And I didn't include it in my report, so you never knew about it, Marty.'

  'Catch what? What are you talking about?' Venable asked.

  'The name on the package that Lincoln was delivering when he was killed - the addresser was M. Lafferty. There's no way Stampler could know that, none of those details have been released to the press yet.'

  The revelation caused a flurry of conversation. St Claire was the most excited.

  'Ain't that enough to stall ol' Woodward in his tracks?' he asked. 'I mean, doesn't that prove Vulpes or whoever the hell he is knew about these killings?'

  'It makes no difference. I was Stampler's lawyer of record,' Vail said. 'I can't take any legal action against him, I can't even testify against him in court. Anyway, all we have at this point is circumstantial evidence and hunches, and I guarantee, it would take a lot more than that to stop Woodward. He regards Vulpes as his personal medical victory and Vulpes knows it. But you're right about the package, Dermott, Vulpes thought I knew about the return address. It was his way of letting me know that he was at least involved in the deaths of Alex Lincoln and Linda Balfour.'

  'There's someth
ing else,' Jane Venable said. 'Does the name Vulpes ring anybody's bell?'

  They all looked at one another and shook their heads.

  'Vulpes is Latin - it's the genus for a fox.'

  'The craftiest of all creatures,' Stenner intoned.

  'Another goddamn message,' St Claire growled.

  'Janie,' said Vail, 'I saw those red eyes you talked about - for just the flash of a second, I saw pure hate. I saw murder. I saw the damn four horsemen for an instant.'

  'Well, I've got a tidbit of information that should give us all a chuckle at Mr Vulpes's expense,' said Naomi. 'It's in the report submitted to the judge who signed the order for Vulpes's furlough.'

  'How did you get that?' Vail asked.

  'I went to a seminar once with the court clerk up there, she faxed it to me,' Naomi said, and winked. She flipped through the pages. 'Here it is, listed under the heading "Miscellaneous".' She looked up. 'Mr Stampler, it seems is phobic.'

  'Phobic? What kind of phobia?' Vail asked.

  'He's afraid of the dark,' she said, and snickered.

  'Afraid of the dark?' Parver said with disbelief. Flaherty broke into a hearty laugh as thoughts of the madman, cowering in the dark, flashed through his mind.

  'Afraid of the dark,' Naomi repeated. 'He's had special permission to sleep with the lights on ever since he was admitted to Daisyland.'

  'Is he still sleeping with the lights on?' asked Vail.

  She nodded. 'According to Doctors Woodward, Ciaffo, and Bascott, who petitioned for his furlough, it's called a nonaggressive phobic reaction. They attribute it to childhood traumas.'

  'According to Woodward, Raymond never went through re-experiencing; Aaron did,' said Parver. 'He says on the tape that Raymond doesn't suffer any of either Aaron's or Roy's psychological problems.'

  'So how come he picked up Stampler's phobia?' St Claire asked.

  'Because it's the one thing Stampler can't hide,' Vail said.

  'How could Woodward have missed it?' Naomi asked.

  'Because he wanted to miss it,' said Vail. 'Woodward's already got a spot on his wall for the Nobel Prize in medicine.'

  'Or because he wasn't looking for it,' suggested Venable, taking a more practical approach to the question. 'Stampler had been sleeping with the lights on for years and Raymond just kept doing it. That miscellaneous note in the report was probably part of an earlier evaluation.'

  'Afraid of the dark,' said Stenner. 'Makes perfect sense - the thing Stampler feared most in life was the coal mines.'

  'And nothin' could be darker than the hole,' said St Claire.

  'Except maybe Aaron Stampler's soul,' said Jane Venable.

  'I think I can answer one big question: I know how he tracked down Lincoln and Balfour,' Bobby Hartford said quietly. 'I'm going into my office and make a phone call. You guys can listen to it on Marty's speakerphone.'

  'Who are you calling?' asked Flaherty.

  'Minnesota Department of Motor Vehicles.'

  Hartford went to his office and dialled the number. A high-pitched, somewhat comical, voice answered.

  'DMV. Sergeant Colter speaking.'

  'Hey, Sergeant, this is Detective John Standish down in Chicago. How you doing?'

  'Good, neighbour, what can I do you for?'

  'We're looking for a witness in an old homicide case, dropped out of sight a couple of years ago. We just got a tip somebody saw him up in your neck of the woods. Can you run him through the computer for me?'

  'Got a name?'

  'Alexander Sanders Lincoln. White, male, twenty-six.'

  'Hang on a minute.'

  They could hear the keys of a computer board clicking in the background.

  'You're out of luck, friend. We had him up until 1991, then his licence expired. Wait a minute, there's an entry here - the Missouri DMV requested a citation report on him in November '91. He probably applied for a commercial driver's licence. He was clean up here.'

  'Good, I'll try Missouri. Thanks, Sergeant. You've been a big help.'

  'Anytime.'

  Hartford hung up. He dialled another number.

  'Illinois Department of Motor Vehicles, Officer Anderson. How may I help you?'

  'Hi, Anderson, this is Detective John Standish, Chicago PD.'

  'Morning, Standish, what's the problem?'

  'We've got an old warrant here, the statute's about to run out. Woman named Linda Gellerman, white, female, twenty-six. We got a tip she's back in Illinois. Run it through your computer, will you, see if she pops up.'

  'Gellerman? Two ll's?'

  'Right.'

  Another pause, then: 'Yeah. Linda Gellerman… married two years ago and had the licence reissued in her married name. That's Linda Balfour, 102 Popular Street, Gideon, Illinois.'

  'Hey, that was easy. I may take the rest of the day off.'

  Anderson laughed. 'I should be so lucky.'

  'Thanks, brother. Come see us.'

  'Yes, sir. S'long.'

  Hartford hung up and returned to Vail's office. He snapped his fingers as he entered and sat back down on the floor.

  'It's an old trick. Used to take down the licence numbers of Ku Klux Klanners, find out who they were, and call 'em on the phone, tell him we were FBI and they better keep their noses clean,' Hartford said. 'Put the sweats on 'em for a while.'

  'Stampler could have done it from Daisyland if he had access to a phone,' said Flaherty.

  'He doesn't have access to a phone,' Vail said.

  'How about the repair shop?'

  'No phone line.'

  'The killer coulda done it,' St Claire said.

  'I got the chills when he talked about Linda Gellerman,' Parver said. 'Two years ago she thought she had her whole life ahead of her.'

  'She did,' Naomi said. 'She just didn't know how short it was going to be.'

  'You think he's been faking all along, Marty?' Flaherty asked.

  'What do you believe, Abel?' Vail asked the stoic detective.

  'I don't believe there was ever a Roy, never have. I believe Raymond Vulpes is a myth. Stampler was and is a clever, cold-blooded, psychopathic killer.'

  'Could you be a little more explicit?' Venable said with a smile. The group broke into nervous laughter, relieving the tension that had been building in the room.

  'Hellacious trick, and I'd hate to prove it in court, but I agree with Abel,' said Vail. 'I think he's been pulling everyone's chain for the last ten years.'

  St Claire said, 'Everything that son-bitch does sends a message to us.'

  'Including his name - the Fox,' said Hartford scornfully.

  'Well, the new message is "Catch me if you can",' Vail said solemnly. 'Because tomorrow morning Raymond Vulpes will be leaving Daisyland for six weeks. And he's coming here. Abel, I want two men on the Fox - around the clock - not too close, but close enough to videotape him. Let's see who he talks to, who he contacts, where he goes.'

  'That's kinda flirtin' with harassment, ain't it?' St Claire asked casually, spitting into his baby cup.

  'No,' said Vail, just as casually. 'Harassment is if we drag him into an alley and beat the living shit out of him.'

  Vail's response caught everyone off guard. They had never heard their boss so vitriolic, so openly angry.

  'There's still the big question,' said Flaherty. 'How did he locate the serial killer and how does he trigger him?'

  'There's somethin' we're all overlookin',' said St Claire. 'There were twenty-three other tapes admitted into evidence in the Stampler trial.'

  'Twenty-three other tapes?' Vail said.

  'I remember that,' Venable said. 'Don't you remember, Marty? Judge Shoat wanted to review all the tapes Dr Arrington made with Stampler to justify the agreement to send Stampler to Daisyland.'

  'Hell, I forgot all about it,' said Vail. 'I never got them back.'

  'Molly Arrington did,' said St Claire. 'About a week after the trial ended. She's had 'em for ten years, if she kept 'em.'

  'Why wouldn't she?' Parve
r offered. 'Seems to me they'd be great research material.'

  'Which brings up a point,' suggested Venable. 'Maybe you've been going about this problem backwards.'

  'What do you mean?' Stenner asked.

  'Maybe Stampler didn't locate the serial killer,' Venable answered. 'Maybe the killer came to him.'

  Thirty

  'What say, Raymond?' Terry asked. 'Want to go down to the commissary, eat with the inmates once before you leave?'

  'I've gone ten years without eating with them,' Vulpes answered, 'why break my string now? I'll wait until we get downtown, have a hot fudge sundae and a hot dog.'

  Terry laughed. 'You and your hot fudge sundaes. Gotta lock the door behind me. Y'know, rules.'

  'Sure. What's one more hour, more or less. Besides, I got to pack up my tools.'

  'Right. I'm proud of you, Raymond.'

  'Thanks, Terry. I'm going to miss you.'

  'Me, too.' He laughed. 'Hell, you're the only one I can talk to around here, gives me an answer that makes any sense. I'll bring you back a Coke.'

  'Thanks.'

  Terry pulled the gate closed behind him and key-locked it. Vulpes listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway. He opened one of the cabinets in the repair shop, took out a VCR, and put it on his worktable. He then took a small screwdriver and removed four screws from each side of the machine's cover and slid it off. He placed the cover on its side, so as to obscure the machine from the doorway.

  He looked across the quadrangle at the purchasing office opposite his window. It was a small office run by three women. Two of them were standing in the doorway. The third, Verna Mableton, was pacing back and forth in front of the windows, talking on her portable phone. She waved the other two women on and they left. She sat on the corner of her desk and kept talking.

  Vulpes watched her without any expression. Occasionally he glanced at the door to the repair shop.

  Inside the VCR was a small, handmade computer. It was six inches long, four inches wide, and two inches deep and looked like a small keyboard with a tiny, oblong digital-readout screen above the keys. Beside it was a black box, three inches square and two inches deep. He took the two units out, laid them on the desk, and monitored the door while he attached the black box to the minicomputer with a two-inch piece of telephone wire.