Pump Fake

by Michael Beck

"No, I don't remember him."

  A guard appeared in the doorway. "That's time."

  "I have to go, Harry."

  "Can you see if you can get me moved to Otisville? I hear it's nicer there. I don't like it here."

  "Sorry, Harry. I'm not able to do that." I stopped at the door. "Harry?"

  "Yes?"

  "You didn't do anything wrong with Father Bailey. When you were an altar boy. You won't go to hell. Little boys don't go to hell."

  "But I'm not little anymore."

  "Well, be good now and you might still get to heaven."

  "You think so?"

  "Stranger things have happened."

  CHAPTER 70

  The next day when I arrived at Decker's a truck was parked in the driveway and two men in overalls were fitting a new gate.

  "Needs to be bigger," I said as I drove past, "or I'll knock that one off too."

  I rang the doorbell. Decker was usually always ready, waiting for me. I couldn't hear any movement inside so I retrieved a spare key from under a gnome in the front garden. I could hear a TV as soon as I opened the door.

  I followed the sound. Decker, wearing only a pair of blue boxers, lay snoring on the couch in front of the TV. Beer bottles and a nearly empty whisky bottle lay on the coffee table.

  I nudged him but he didn't move. "Decker. Wake up, Decker." If Coach could see him now.

  His comeback game against the Dolphins was in six days, and here he was dead drunk. An open letter lay on the table, with a note and a newspaper clipping sitting on top of it. The newspaper clipping was an obituary.

  Maxwell, Matthew.

  May God Forgive you

  2/8/86 - 21/12/12

  I picked up the letter.

  Toby,

  We shouldn't have done it. It was wrong. I'm sorry.

  Matt

  I pulled out my cell and called Mole. "I need you to find out if Matt Maxwell has died in the last couple of days."

  "So another one's bit the dust?"

  "It looks like it."

  "That just leaves Decker and Kyle King, doesn't it?" he said.

  "Ah huh."

  "I'd be getting a mite nervous if I was in Decker's shoes right now."

  "You don't own any shoes."

  "Nice of you to point this out to a legless man."

  "You're welcome."

  "Here it is. Yeah, you can cross him off. The police found him after an anonymous phone call two days ago."

  "Did it say how he died?"

  "No. It just says there were no suspicious circumstances."

  "Yeah, I'm sure."

  I hung up and started shaking Decker. He stank of booze and sweat. "Decker wake up."

  He mumbled something indecipherable.

  "Decker, goddamit, wake up."

  Groaning, he sat up and put his head in his hands. "You saw?"

  "Yeah."

  "You were right. I didn't want to believe it but you were right. How could they have done that? They were my best friends? I trusted them."

  I snatched the whisky bottle away as he reached for it.

  "You've had enough. What was I right about?"

  "It's obvious, isn't it? You read the note. They did something to Ashley."

  "You don't know what?"

  Decker shook his head as he ground the palms of his hands into his eyes. "No. I was asleep in the other room. They were my best friends. I trusted them."

  "Tell me exactly what happened."

  "Like I told you, Ashley and I got together in the bedroom that night, and I fell asleep."

  "After you made love?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you rip her panties?"

  "God, no. It was nothing like that. We loved each other."

  "Then what happened?"

  "I heard some noise and woke up and someone was shouting. I ran into the living room. The front door was open and the guys were standing there screaming Ashley's name. They said she had gone nuts and had run outside. The snow was unbelievable and the wind so strong it took two of us to shut the door. Visibility was zero.

  "I knew I wouldn't have a chance of finding the cabin, once I was out there. So I found three climbing ropes, joined them together, then tied the end around my waist, and I went after her."

  "But you never found her?"

  Decker hung his head and didn't move for a long time. "I lied. I did find her."

  "Was she alive?"

  "Yes, but she was in a bad way. It took me twenty minutes to find her. She was in just her skirt and sweater, no shoes. She couldn't stand up so I had to carry her. But it was impossible. The snow was up to my thighs and I could barely move on my own, let alone carry her. I was only wearing jeans, boots and jacket.

  "Pretty soon, I was as nearly as bad as Ashley. I kept falling over and in the end I couldn't pick her up. So...I left her...I left her."

  He took a big, shuddering breath. "I thought I could come back for her. I thought if I kept trying to carry her we both would die. If I could get back to the cabin, I could come back with the others and we could carry her. That's what I told myself anyway.

  "Somehow I managed to get back to the cabin, but I could barely stand. I wanted to go straight back but the guys said I needed to thaw out, that I wouldn't be any good out there in that condition. So I changed into thermals and ski clothes, and then went out with Franklin. I went back to where I thought I left her but she wasn't there. It may have not been the right spot.

  "I couldn't tell, everything looked the same. I looked and looked but I couldn't find her." Decker's eyes were desolate. "I shouldn't have left her. I should have stayed with her."

  "Then you both might have died."

  "You wouldn't have left her, would you? You would have stayed with her even if it meant dying."

  "No one knows what he will do in situations like that. You nearly died yourself."

  "You didn't answer my question. Would you have left her?"

  I ignored his question. "Did Ashley say anything to you when you found her?"

  "No. She could hardly move and was barely conscious."

  "You mentioned the others. Did that include Kyle King? Was he there?"

  "Yes."

  "Why did you lie? Why did you protect him?"

  "Kyle, even back then, was very persuasive. He said he was planning on going into politics like his father and this would ruin any ambitions he had. He said that we didn't need him. That the three of us could tell the police what happened. It was no one's fault, just a tragic accident. I had no reason to disbelieve him. And when Franklin and Maxwell agreed, it seemed like the right thing to do. He was a friend and I didn't want to wreck his future."

  He laughed bitterly. "Can you believe it? I grew up with these people. They were like brothers to me and I trusted them completely." He held up Maxwell's note. "But they lied to me. They all lied to me. They did something to Ashley and used me to cover it up. I can't believe I've helped protect them all these years. I'm glad Franklin and Maxwell are dead. They both deserve to rot in hell. But King is the worst. I can see that now. King was the real evil one."

  "What do you mean?"

  "When I came back the first time, it was King who said I needed to rest before going out again. Don't you see? He was trying to delay me. He didn't want me to find Ashley. And it was his idea that only Franklin and I go out to search for Ashley. He said we needed two people at the cabin in case we got into difficulties. But we would have needed at least three people to carry Ashley if we found her. I shouldn't have listened to him, but I was cold and tired and wasn't thinking straight."

  "But didn't you think it was suspicious when you heard Ashley was missing her panties?"

  "No. We'd just made love so I thought she might have left them in my room. I didn't say anything because of her father. I knew Ashley would hate for her father to know what we did. Later, when they still hadn't turned up, I didn't think much of it. There were a lot of people at the cabin, doors were left open and there was a gale blow
ing through the house. I thought they might have just blown away. I had no reason to think it was suspicious. Remember, I had my three friends who all told me the same story. I believed them."

  "Why do you think Maxwell and Franklin agreed to keep Kyle King out of it, especially if he was guilty of something criminal? They could have been left taking the entire rap for what happened."

  "That's easy. Money. Kyle said his dad would be real grateful for any help. And he was. How do you think Maxwell was able to afford that Ivy League education or Franklin to pay off the mortgage on his parents' ranch?"

  "And you?" I said quietly.

  He shook his head. "I didn't want any. It seemed like blood money, even though it wasn't." He looked into my eyes with dawning awareness. "It was blood money, wasn't it?"

  I didn't have to answer.

  "How did Kyle get away without the police seeing him?" I said, after a long pause.

  Decker grunted. "Kyle's a dead set bastard, but such a good organizer he could supervise open heart surgery on himself while sitting his SATs. He called his dad and a copter flew up that morning to pick him up as soon as the storm cleared. He told Maxwell and Franklin to wait an hour, and then call the police. Maxwell and Franklin told the police they couldn't get phone coverage until then, which was quite plausible considering the mountains and the storm. What was I to do, betray my friends? I didn't think it mattered anyway. Ashley's death was an accident and no one's fault. To tell the truth, lying about King's presence didn't even concern me. I was too upset over Ashley. All I could think about was her. All I could think about was..."

  "That it was your fault?"

  Decker nodded. "I left her behind. I said I'd come back for her and I didn't. I've always felt like it was my fault." He stared up at me, his face hard. "It wasn't my fault. It was King's. He can't get away with this. I've got to go the police."

  "Are you prepared to do that? You know the headlines this will get?"

  "I can't let him get away with it."

  "Get away with what? Maxwell and Franklin are dead and you were asleep. No one is ever going to tell us what happened that night. We don't even know a crime was committed. At the moment, I don't have proof of anything. Maxwell's note could be him apologizing for backing the Saints against the Turbos for all we know.

  "A photo of a girl with a tattoo and a pair of panties won't put Kyle behind bars. No court would accept the panties as evidence on their own, as there is no way to prove they were the actual panties from that weekend. Even if the semen on them turns out to be Kyle's, he could say that he had sex with Ashley on their date. And even if the photo that shows Ashley's FF tattoo places him in the cabin that weekend, we still don't have a crime.

  "The autopsy showed no signs of rape or violence. Misleading a police investigation is probably the only thing we could get him for, which is nothing. No, we don't want to go public with this yet. Kyle's starting to get scared, and people who get scared make mistakes. He doesn't know it yet, but the greatest danger facing Kyle is himself."

  "If the panties and photo are no good, then why was someone trying to kill you?"

  "I didn't say they were no good. I said they wouldn't convict him of anything in a court of law. But there's another court that is more judgmental than any jury. And that's what Kyle King is deathly afraid of."

  "What court is that?"

  "The court of public opinion. Can you imagine what would happen to his career and his image if even a hint of this got out? The beauty of that court is there doesn't even have to be a crime to ruin him. Ashley's family history alone will convict him in the court of public opinion."

  Decker frowned.

  "Ashley's family history? What are you talking about?"

  I opened my mouth then closed it. Right. He didn't know. "Um."

  "What?" Decker said.

  "You better have another drink."

  CHAPTER 71

  "What's your plan with this place?"

  Detective Sanders stood next to the ladder I was on, watching me clean out the gutters of my parents' house. I dropped a handful of leaves and mud on the pile next to her.

  "What plan?"

  "Well, now that you've caught Cupid, do you plan on selling or moving in to it?"

  "The jury is still out on whether Cupid has been caught." I continued scooping out the debris from the gutters.

  "You got Father Bailey, and I hear that you have some other guy who was an accomplice. What do you mean the jury is out?"

  I climbed down the ladder. "It's a long story. Did you learn anything?"

  "Why do you want to know about this Matt Maxwell character?"

  "That's another long story."

  "You want me to pass on police information? I don't care if the story is long or short but I need to hear some story."

  "You know how I'm looking after Troy Decker?"

  "The Turbos quarterback? Yes, you told me that. What's he got to do with Maxwell?"

  "Maxwell and Decker were childhood friends and I think he might have known who was threatening Decker. I need to know if his death was suspicious."

  "I checked Maxwell's file and there were no suspicious circumstances. It looks like he committed suicide."

  "There's a lot of that going around," I murmured, thinking of Franklin.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. How did he do it?"

  "They found him in the bath tub with an empty vial of sleeping pills and a bottle of whisky next to him. The autopsy results aren't back yet so we don't know if he OD'd or drowned. But you know his history. He was up on child sex charges and had lost his family and job. If there is one person who had a reason to kill himself, it would be Maxwell."

  "He had even more reason than that," I said, thinking of Ashley Hunter.

  But the Maxwell I had seen did not seem the suicidal type. And there were two people, at least, who probably wanted him dead more than Maxwell had ever wanted to kill himself. Maxwell had been the only person, apart from Kyle King, who knew what happened in that cabin.

  Had Kyle King finally decided that was one too many? Or had Broncos-cap struck again? Now there was only Decker and King for him to go after. I wondered if Broncos-cap knew Kyle King was at the cabin that Thanksgiving weekend? And that Kyle King should be at the top of his list. If he didn't know, wouldn't it be good if he found out?

  "What do you mean?" said Sanders, "and why are you grinning?"

  "Never mind."

  Sanders frowned. "Last time you told me to never mind, two people got killed and I got demoted."

  "Kat, I'm a hundred percent certain you won't be demoted this time. Well, seventy-thirty might be more accurate. But who's counting?"

  Sanders left. My cell rang as I was packing away the ladder in to the back shed.

  Fulton. "We've identified the last two victims from the basement. Lisa Davies, a thirteen-year-old from New Jersey, who went missing in 2004. The other was Bridgette Giles, the thirteen-year-old from Manhattan that Harry Smith was found guilty of abducting and killing. We're questioning Harry Smith as we speak. It looks like you were right."

  "Hmm."

  "What? I thought you'd be happy. You thought that Father Bailey couldn't have done the killings on his own, and now you've been proved right. Smith and Bailey were working together."

  "Have you spoken to Smith?"

  "No. But I've seen the tape of his police interview when he went down for Anna Gilliam."

  "And did he strike you as a criminal mastermind?"

  "Hardly. He's so stupid he has to get naked to count to twenty one. But that doesn't make him not guilty. How many geniuses do you think are living behind bars? That's why they get caught. In the end they all do something fucking stupid."

  "Smith couldn't beat an eight-year-old at snakes and ladders. How do you think he could plan all those murders and also control and frame Father Bailey?"

  "Tan, it was you who bought this guy to us. You said Bailey couldn't do it on his own and you were right. Remember, they f
ound that Christmas snow-globe in Smith's home with Bridgette Giles' fingerprints and blood on it. And then we find Bridgette Giles' remains in Father Bailey's basement. How can Smith not have anything to do with it?

  "It all makes perfect sense. Bailey groomed Smith as an altar boy. You said it yourself. Who knows what sick things he did to Smith growing up? Then, when Smith turned eighteen, Bailey takes him on their first kill, your parents. Or, who knows? Perhaps Smith was the ringleader. He knew Bailey intimately, so he probably saw the first symptoms of Alzheimer's. He knew he had the perfect patsy to take the fall for all the sick things he had in mind. Bailey's Alzheimer's may have been the perfect catalyst for Smith to begin his killing spree."

  "How many of the female victims disappeared from their homes?" I said.

  Fulton had no answer.

  "That's right," I said. "None of the victims were taken from their homes. It was too great a risk. Cupid was too smart to do that. Bridgette Giles disappeared while walking home after lacrosse practice. Care to tell me how Smith got his hands on the Christmas snow-globe?"

  "You know they covered this in his trial, Tan. The theory was that he snuck into her bedroom before he took her because he was infatuated with her. This emboldened him to snatch her."

  "Doesn't it strike you as odd that this was the only female victim he stole something from? Why Bridgette? Why not the others?"

  "I don't know. He could have had some special obsession for her."

  "I don't think so. He was infatuated with all of them. Do you know what Father Bailey was doing to all of those altar boys?"

  "You mean...?"

  "Yes. Every week at confession."

  "Fuck. I thought that complaint from one of the parents might just be the tip of the iceberg. I'm glad the fucker is dead. And that's terrible about the altar boys, but it doesn't change anything. Just because Smith got molested as a kid doesn't give him the right to go around offing people."

  "Have you ever wondered why Father Bailey had only the teenagers in his memory book? Why not the men that he and Smith were supposed to have killed? I'll tell you why they aren't in there. Because he didn't kill them."

  Again Fulton had no answer.

  "Smith never saw Father Bailey with a girl." I spoke into the silence. "Doesn't that strike you as odd? The priest molested only boys, but has a basement full of dead girls?"