Pump Fake

by Michael Beck

"It's a gift," I agreed.

  * * * *

  "So, tell me, why we are going to see Kyle King again?" Bear said.

  "Do I need to list them? I think Kyle King had his bodyguard, Donovan, knock off Dr. Thomas to protect his alibi for that Thanksgiving weekend. And I'm certain it was Donovan who ran me off the road at Leadville and who took a shot at me."

  "So King hires incompetent help? Should we really hold that against him? We should give him points for sticking at it."

  "Okay, remind me to tell you that when he's taking a run at you?"

  "Why would he take a run at me? I don't go around offending people. People like me."

  "I know someone who doesn't like you right now."

  "And you're sure it was Donovan who knocked off Dr. Thomas?"

  "Yes. I have evidence."

  "Oh? Run that rock-solid evidence past me again."

  "I found a tooth pick under Dr. Thomas' bed."

  Bear shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. We were sitting outside a coffee shop inside Greenland Mall, waiting for the senatorial candidate. Kyle King was scheduled to arrive at 9:00 a.m. to check out new premises for another real estate branch. It was a busy Saturday morning which was good. Plenty of human shields. I felt Bear smiling at me.

  "What?" I said.

  Bear shrugged. "Nothing. I just know the real reason you want to see him."

  "And why might that be, Oh-Wise-One?"

  "You know."

  "I do, do I?"

  "Yes, and don't worry, I'm just as keen to hear you say it."

  "Say what?"

  Bear shook his head.

  "Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?"

  "Oh, I'll let you know. Don't worry about that."

  "You are the--"

  "Here he comes." Bear gestured me to silence.

  Kyle King walked through the mall like he owned it. Which, in all likelihood, he probably did. He smiled, greeted and waved at everything that moved or walked. Hell, he even had time to stop and pat a baby on the head. An elderly couple stopped him and he agreeably had his photo taken with them. If a dog had wandered past he probably would have fed and groomed it.

  Two men in suits walked beside him and behind them was Donovan, the ubiquitous toothpick still parked in the corner of his mouth. They unlocked the doors to an empty shop, whose windows were covered with newspapers, and disappeared inside.

  "Well, you gotta give him that. The guy has more front than Abercrombie's," said Bear.

  King stood in the middle of the shop looking at some plans that one of the suits was holding up. Donovan saw us and came towards us.

  "Hey there, Senator. Do you have a minute?" I said.

  Kyle held his hand up and Donovan stopped. I watched with amusement as Kyle tried to keep the smile stuck on his face.

  "Why hello there, Mr. Tanner. I'm afraid I'm in a meeting right now. Why don't you make an appointment with my secretary and I'd be pleased to see you?"

  "I'd love to, Senator." He wasn't going to out nice-guy me. "It's just that I have this pair of panties and I don't know what to do with them."

  King chuckled but his eyes flashed angrily. "My friend always likes having a little joke with me. Todd, can you give me five and we'll continue our meeting?"

  "Sure, Kyle," one of the suits said. He rolled up the plans while looking at me curiously. "We'll be in the coffee shop. Give me a call when you're ready."

  King turned to me as soon as the door shut. "What can I do for you, Mr. Tanner? I thought we'd had our conversation?"

  He was smiling. Mr. Good Guy was back.

  "The campaign's going well, Senator?"

  His smile faltered. "I'm not the senator yet."

  "Oh, but it's a done deal, isn't it? All the polls have you in front. I don't think there's anything that could stop him winning, Bear, don't you agree?"

  "There's one thing," said Bear.

  "Oh, yeah. That's right. There is that one little thing, isn't there? Only, it's not so little, is it? It's kind of the elephant in the room, don't you think?"

  "This is getting tiresome, Mr. Tanner. I've told you already. I was too sick that weekend to go the cabin. I know nothing about Ashley Hunter's death."

  "I suppose you've heard the bad news? Dr. Thomas died the other day."

  "Really? I didn't know. That's too bad, he was a great doctor."

  "Yeah, the best. Just the guy to know if you wanted a day off work. You know I went to see him?"

  "Is that right? How was he?"

  "Not too good. Dead, in fact."

  "That's a pity. I would have liked for you to talk to him so you could hear it from his own lips that I was sick that weekend."

  "Yeah, I bet you're devastated."

  "How did he die?"

  "The doctors think he died in his sleep from natural causes."

  "Well, he was eighty-four years old."

  "Yeah. It will be interesting what the autopsy shows."

  "Autopsy?"

  "Yes, I suggested to the Sheriff that an autopsy might be appropriate, and he agreed."

  "You just can't stop sticking your nose in can you, Mr. Tanner? You know what curiosity did to the cat?"

  "Yes, I do. It's lucky cats have nine lives, because I've already used up two. You don't happen to know anything about that, by any chance?"

  "Me? Of course not. You must be accident prone. Mr. Tanner, you're wasting your time here. There are two witnesses who swear I wasn't there. You even work for one of them. What more do you want?"

  "What more do I want? I'm not sure. How about justice for a girl left abandoned in the snow to die?"

  "She wasn't abandoned. We... They tried to find her."

  "Yeah. They did, didn't they? Why did the boys lie for you? Did you pay them? Was that it? Was it all about money?"

  "I think we've had this conversation before, Mr. Tanner. If you haven't anything new to say, I have some people waiting for me."

  "Something new? You want something new, Senator? I'll give you something new. The girl you attacked and left in the snow to die was your sister. How does that feel, Mr. Senator? You screwed and killed your own sister."

  "Bingo," said Bear quietly behind me.

  "What are you talking about? That's complete nonsense. You're crazy." King's smile was completely gone and his cheeks were white with anger.

  "You think so? Why do you think your dad paid Henry Hunter's insurance claim all those years for an injury he got when he was drunk on the job?"

  King waved it away. "So what? My dad is a generous employer, that's all."

  "Did you know that your Dad dated Tammy Hunter back in high school?"

  He was silent.

  "Yeah. Oh, and the insurance payments stopped when Ashley died. That's kind of curious, isn't it?"

  "That means nothing. All of this is bullshit. It doesn't mean a thing."

  "Oh, it's bullshit, is it? Well, how about this? I have DNA evidence that Ashley wasn't Henry Hunter's daughter. Yeah, you heard me right. DNA evidence. If you still doubt me, give Tammy Hunter a call. I talked to her yesterday and she admitted that Dedrick King was Ashley's father. So, how's that seat in the Senate looking now?"

  Kyle's fists were clenched tight at his sides and his face was ashen white. Slowly, he looked up, shaking his head from side to side.

  "It doesn't matter. That...that doesn't change anything. I never touched her and you have no proof I did."

  "No proof? Where did you think I got Ashley's DNA from?"

  I saw a flash of awareness appear in his eyes and, for the first time, something else. Fear.

  "Yeah, that's right. And I wonder what other DNA I might find on those panties? I'll let you know, okay?"

  * * * *

  We walked up to the roof of the mall where Bear had parked his car.

  "Well that's a sentence I'll never hear again," he said.

  "What?"

  "You screwed and killed your sister." Bear shook his head. "That was the real thin
g you wanted to confront him with, wasn't it? Do you think it's true?"

  "I don't know. But I'll think we'll find out now, don't you?"

  "You haven't left him any choice. If he did something wrong, you know he'll be coming after you now?"

  "That's what I'm counting on."

  My cell rang just as we arrived at Bear's car.

  "Remember Harry Smith?"

  "Hi, Mole. Remind me."

  "The Anna Gilliam case."

  "Oh, yeah. Harry Smith. The guy we caught who abducted the ten-year-old who was walking her dog to the shop with her sister. What about him?"

  "Well, guess who was an altar boy at St. Mary's?"

  "Harry Smith?"

  "You are astute."

  "You're kidding? What year?"

  "1992."

  Like Jesus Fernandez, I had no memory of any altar boy named Harry Smith, but I would have been only about nine back then so this was hardly surprising. "So he was there at the same time as Father Bailey."

  "It's a pleasure to see your mind working."

  "How old is he?"

  "Thirty-two."

  "So he was eighteen when the first girl went missing back in 1998."

  "Did you work that out yourself?"

  I stood silent, thinking. What did this mean? Could Smith, the man who had abducted Ana Gilliam, have something to do with the killings of all the young girls? Could Smith and Father Bailey have been working together? Two serial killers with a mutual, deadly interest?

  Did Father Bailey recruit Smith when he was just a boy? Perhaps he saw something in the young altar-boy that he saw in himself. So he fostered it, developed it. Did Smith, in league with Bailey, kill my parents and all the others? Could Smith be the mysterious, dark figure from Bailey's drawing that so terrified him? "Smith is in Rikers, isn't he?"

  "Yes. He's doing fifteen for Anna Gilliam's abduction and life for the murder of Bridgette Giles."

  "I remember now. The police found Bridgette Giles' prints in his home after we found Anna, didn't they?"

  "That's right. They picked up her prints off one of those glass Christmas balls that snow when you shake them. But that wasn't the killer. The killer was the bloodstain they found on the bottom of the snow-ball. It was Bridgette Giles' blood."

  "But they never found Bridgette's body, did they?"

  "No. But with the fingerprints and blood and being caught red-handed abducting another child, it was a slam dunk for the prosecution."

  "When did Bridgette Giles go missing?"

  "15 May 2008."

  "Two years before Geoff Symonds and Leah Spence were killed."

  "Ah huh."

  "How old was Bridgette?"

  "Thirteen."

  We were silent, the same thought I am sure occurring to both of us. Was Bridgette another of the unknown, murdered girls? Disappearing two years before Symonds put her right in Cupid's time frame.

  "Mole, if she is one of Cupid's victims then we should find a male victim in the same week she disappeared."

  "I'm on it," Mole said and hung up.

  Could Bridgette Giles be one of the bodies in Father Bailey's basement? Did Bailey and Smith strike up some evil alliance and bury their victims there? Was Smith the brains...the organizer, who fixed all the evidence so it would point to Bailey. And if this was the case, what were the odds of one of the sons of his victims, namely me, catching him almost by accident? Bear and I had only caught Smith because Ben Hiffaunhouse had asked for my help in finding his niece, Anna Gilliam.

  "What is it?" said Bear.

  I shook my head and called Fulton. "Tanner here. Have they identified all the bodies from the basement yet?"

  "Not yet. Why?"

  I pondered what I should say. Then went with the truth.

  "One of Father Bailey's altar boys is doing life for the murder of a thirteen-year-old girl. His name's Harry Smith."

  Fulton was silent for a moment. "You think Smith was working with Bailey?"

  "It's a thought."

  "It's a hell of a thought."

  "It explains how a man with Alzheimer's could get away with multiple murders. More importantly, it accounts for Jesus Fernandez' death. Bailey did the boy but Smith was more interested in girls."

  "You think Smith framed Bailey?"

  "It's possible."

  "What about the note that was found on Bailey's bed?"

  "Smith could have used any friend or associate to put it in the letters that the lawyer gave to Bailey."

  "When did Smith go to prison?"

  "Six weeks ago."

  "So he couldn't have done the Abrahams' murder."

  "No. Bailey may have done it on his own after he lost his partner. That also may be why he stuffed it up."

  "You know that after Bailey's suicide, Bensen is not looking at any other suspects. The case is closed."

  "What do you think?"

  "What prison is Smith in?"

  CHAPTER 69

  Harry Smith was small, about five-eight, with a slim build and thinning brown hair. He wore an orange jumpsuit. The whole time I spoke to him through the prison glass window, his eyes continually darted around, giving him the appearance of a frightened bird.

  I searched his face intensely but could still not remember him as an altar boy from Saint Mary's. "How are you, Harry?"

  "How am I? How do you think I am? I'm surrounded by murderers, criminals, sickos and degenerates."

  "You should fit right in."

  "Why do you say that? I'm not like them. I didn't do anything bad."

  Ah, the perennial prisoner's song. Here we go. "What about Anna Gilliam?"

  "I took her, but I didn't do anything to her."

  "Only because I got there first."

  "No, no. You're wrong. That's what I tried to keep telling the police. I wasn't going to hurt her. She was beautiful so why would I hurt her? I'd seen her walking to the shops before with her dog. She was always so happy and smiling. I thought we could be friends."

  "So you abducted her? You think she was going to be your friend if you kidnapped her?"

  He nodded intensely, quickly. "Yes. Once she got to know me she would forget that. I was just going to talk to her and then let her go. I just wanted to be friends."

  Yeah and I believe in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. "Just like you wanted to be friends with all those kids the cops found pictures of on your laptop?"

  "I just looked. That's all. I didn't know it was wrong."

  I stared at him in disbelief. Could he really be so naÏve? Forget naÏve. Stupid? "And I suppose you just wanted to be friends with Bridgette Giles too?"

  He shook his head vigorously. "I didn't know any Bridgette."

  "Bridgette Giles. The girl you killed."

  "I didn't kill any girl. I never hurt anyone. I don't like hurting people. That's why I don't like it in here. You get hurt a lot in here. Do you think you could help me get to a different place? I don't like it here. I want to go home." He started to cry.

  I watched in amazement. Was this the best acting I'd ever seen or something else?

  "You had Bridgette's snow-globe, with her fingerprints and blood on it, in your home. How do you explain that?"

  "I told the police. It was a Christmas gift."

  "A Christmas gift?"

  "Yeah, it was all wrapped up in Christmas paper. It looked really nice. It had a red bow around it."

  "And who sent it to you? Bridgette?"

  "Santa."

  "Santa?" Ookay.

  "I'm not a moron, you know. I know there's no Santa. But that's what the card said: 'To Harry, Merry Christmas, from Santa'."

  "Do you still have the card?"

  "No. I lost it."

  Sure. "Harry, do you know Father Bailey from Saint Mary's?"

  Harry glanced down, not meeting my eyes.

  "Harry?"

  "I promised not to tell?"

  "Tell what?"

  "I promised."

  "You promised not to tell ab
out all the girls you and Father Bailey killed?"

  He gaped at me, clearly shocked. "What girls? Father Bailey and I didn't kill any girls."

  "Then what was your promise?"

  "I can't tell. Father said I would go to hell if I told. I don't want to go to hell."

  "Harry, Father Bailey is dead, so you won't be breaking any promise. Once you're dead promises don't count."

  He considered this.

  Finally. "You won't tell anyone else?"

  "No. It'll be just between you and me."

  "All right then. Father Francis made me promise not to tell about the things we did together."

  I internally winced, understanding. "Harry, did Father Bailey touch you?"

  He nodded.

  "Did he make you do things, like touching him, and make you promise not to tell?"

  "He said if I told I would I would burn in hell forever. I didn't want to go to hell. So I didn't tell anyone. You're sure this doesn't count? I'm not breaking any promise?"

  "I'm sure. You're not breaking any promise. Did you ever see Father Bailey hurt anyone or kill anyone?"

  "No. He was a priest. He wouldn't do anything like that."

  "Did you ever see him touch other altar boys?"

  "No. It was always too dark."

  "Dark? What do you mean dark?"

  "You couldn't see anything in the confessional."

  "So when Father Bailey did things with you it was always in the confessional?"

  "Yes. He took all the boys' confession every week. Father Bailey made us. He said it would help us get to heaven."

  Every week? Jesus.

  "I bet he did. Did you ever see Father Bailey with little girls?"

  "Girls? Girls couldn't be altar boys." Harry stared at me like I was a simpleton.

  "No. Of course not. Did Father Bailey ever give you any presents? Like birthday or Christmas presents?"

  "No. never."

  "When did you see Father Bailey last?"

  Harry chewed on his thumbnail, thinking. "I don't know. A long time ago."

  "Did you ever see Father Bailey after you stopped being an altar boy?"

  "No. We moved away, and anyway I didn't want to be an altar boy anymore. Mass was fun but I didn't like going to confession. When we moved I still never told anyone because I promised Father Bailey."

  "Harry, do you remember another altar boy named Jesus Fernandez? He was Mexican and couldn't speak any English?"