Leimbach wasn’t accused of anything but he was asked to account for his movements. Everybody was very polite, or tried to be. They were in a corner of the police station, since Louise Golondrini was still in Chief Schmidt’s office. Chuck Hawley was there. He said that Leimbach wore dark pants, a dark turtleneck, and a dark jacket. Almost like a commando, my cousin said. Leimbach claimed to have been driving around Aurelius for about three hours. During the first hour Jamie Fendrick had ridden with him, but then Jamie had to go to work bagging groceries at Wegmans. So from two-thirty to four-thirty, when the police picked him up, Leimbach had been alone.
Had he known Karla Golondrini?
No, he had never met her.
He was shown her picture. Did he recognize her?
He couldn’t recall having seen her before.
Karla’s mother was brought in to see if she recognized Leimbach.
She didn’t recognize him. Then she asked, “Is that the man who took my baby?” She started shouting and a policewoman had to get her out of the office.
“Why am I here?” asked Leimbach. “It’s absurd.”
Ryan brought out the piece of paper with Leimbach’s name written on it in a dozen colors. Earlier in the day Ryan had tried doing the same thing—tracing a name over and over. “Janice” was the name he traced. He realized that whoever had written Leimbach’s name had spent at least an hour doing it.
“You dragged me in here because of this?” asked Leimbach.
“You weren’t dragged,” said Ryan.
Lieutenant Marcos said, “You must see that we have to investigate all the possibilities.”
Ryan knew everything depended on Leimbach’s car. If any trace of Karla was found, then Leimbach would be arrested. If his car was clean, he would be released, although that wouldn’t necessarily mean he was innocent. Already people who lived in the area that Leimbach claimed to have been patrolling were being asked if they had seen him. And some had noticed a car with an orange triangle on the front doors but hadn’t noticed the make or seen who had been driving.
At some point a lab technician came into the office and spoke to Marcos in a whisper.
“Did you spill something in the car?” asked Marcos.
“I got a Coke and a hamburger from McDonald’s and I spilled part of the Coke,” said Leimbach.
“And you cleaned it off with water?”
“I stopped at a gas station and got some water, yes.”
“And it was only the spilled Coke that you cleaned off?”
“Of course.”
At six o’clock Leimbach was sent home.
Around the same time a red wool scarf was found in the snow in the northwest corner of Lincoln Park. It was brought to the police station and identified by Louise Golondrini as belonging to Karla. Police roped off that area of the park and searched it inch by inch, even sifting the snow through a screen. After two hours, they found a pen, a silver Cross fountain pen, about ten feet from where the scarf had been found.
“They were excited it might belong to the guy who snatched Karla,” said Ryan. “Although on the other hand, maybe it didn’t.”
The only place in town that sold Cross pens was the office-supply store where Florence Martini worked, Letter Perfect, on Jefferson Street. It was suggested that the pen might belong to her husband—soon to be her ex-husband. He had told the police that he’d been home most of the afternoon but had driven over to Wegmans to do some shopping around three.
Lieutenant Marcos drove to Martini’s house with the pen. Martini said it wasn’t his. Though he had a Cross pen, it was a chestnut color with gold trim. Marcos asked if he could see it. Martini searched through his desk. He had an office in the downstairs den. His wife stood in the doorway.
“I can’t find it,” said Martini. “It’s probably at school.”
“Didn’t I give you a silver one as well?” asked his wife.
“No,” said Martini, “you never did.”
Marcos visited the owner of Letter Perfect, Noah Frankenmuth, around nine. Frankenmuth lived on Butler Street. He was painting an upstairs bedroom and was annoyed at being disturbed. He had a toy dachshund named Fritz that kept dashing around Marcos’s ankles. Marcos was afraid he might step on it.
“I have a computer list of people who bought Cross pens back at the store. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“No,” said Marcos.
They drove to the store. Frankenmuth checked his computer files, then printed out a list of twenty-five people who had bought Cross pens in the past two years. Five of the pens were plain silver. One of the people on the list was Paul Leimbach’s wife, Martha, who had bought the pen the previous February. “She said it was a birthday present,” said Frankenmuth.
Marcos drove over to Leimbach’s house. He drove quickly, sliding on the corners.
The Leimbachs lived in one of the newer houses on Myrtle Street, a Cape Cod with a large picture window facing the front yard. They were watching television.
“Looks like mine,” said Leimbach. “At least I had a silver one. I lost it sometime this summer. It was a present and I felt bad about losing it. Where’d you find it?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” explained Marcos.
Later Marcos said he had been tempted to arrest Leimbach then and there, but he restrained himself. He still hadn’t told Captain Percy what he had learned, so he drove back to the police station.
Percy was not pleased. “Now he’s been tipped off,” he said. He assigned a man to investigate the other four people who had bought silver Cross pens. It seemed clear, however, that the pen belonged to Leimbach, which didn’t prove he had been the one to drop it in the snow. Two troopers were sent to talk to people in Leimbach’s office to see if he had mentioned losing a pen.
—
It snowed more that night. The police gave up their search of the park about eleven-thirty. By then there wasn’t a square inch of snow that had not been trampled. And Donald Malloy had been quite thorough, leading twenty members of the Friends across a hundred backyards. All through Aurelius the snow had been tromped on, turned into slush, made muddy. But that night another six inches fell. Yards, sidewalks, and the city park were all covered with fresh snow. On Monday morning there was no sign that a search had taken place.
Forty
It was hard to think that Thanksgiving was a week away. We had so little to feel thankful for. The previous Thanksgiving I had made a small turkey and invited Franklin and Sadie. This year I had no plans. School would be closed, of course. I thought of driving to Utica and having Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant by myself, but that would have felt like a betrayal of my friends in Aurelius, as if I were having fun in secret.
Jaime Rose was buried on Tuesday. At first I was going to go to the funeral, then I didn’t. I didn’t want to be looked at. Half a dozen times at night my phone would ring; when I answered no one was there. This disturbed me and I had my number changed. Later I found out that others were getting calls, too, but at the time I thought I was the only one.
The funeral was a small affair. Cookie Evans went and some friends of Jaime’s drove up from New York. And his mother came from Clinton. Barry went, though his mother told him not to. Aaron and Harriet went with him. And there were a few total strangers, who went because Jaime had been killed in such an awful way. A plainclothesman made a list of the mourners. Ryan said there was the chance that Jaime’s murderer might show up.
Also on Tuesday Shannon and Jesse were released on bail. They were never charged with anything in connection with Jaime, just the attack on a policeman and the break-in, though Ryan felt these charges would be dropped. The police were divided over whether Jaime was the victim of a homosexual love affair that had gone wrong or if there was a connection to the missing girls. This put even more pressure on the gay population of Aurelius. Gay men as far away
as Norwich were questioned. But I recalled how Franklin had talked to Jaime on that day when Irving Powell’s house was surrounded by members of the Friends of Sharon Malloy. Many people had seen Jaime and Franklin together and someone might have been afraid of what Jaime would say. And Barry had been with them as well.
Captain Percy made much of the call to Mrs. Sanders on Saturday night. She said that a man’s voice told her that Barry had fallen down the front steps and had broken his leg. And so she rushed home. Some people thought the call had been a prank but Percy felt certain that the person responsible for the disappearances had made the call. And he stressed to Ryan that it indicated that someone had known that Franklin wasn’t at home and where Mrs. Sanders was to be found.
Percy also brought Aaron to City Hall and questioned him with Ryan. Percy sat on one side of the desk and Aaron sat on the other, while Ryan stood by the door. Aaron kept glancing at him and each time Ryan thought how much Aaron disliked him.
Percy began by saying that he knew that Aaron had returned to Aurelius to discover who had killed his mother. He also knew that Aaron had questioned Janice’s neighbors and that the assault on Sheila had been because she had refused to tell him something about Janice. Then he stared at Aaron as if expecting him to disagree.
“You’re a clever guy,” said Aaron.
“Don’t be cute,” said Percy. “Did you talk to your mother before she was killed?”
“We talked on the phone about twice a week.”
“Did she say anything about the men she was involved with?”
“She might say that she had met a man she liked but she’d never mention any names.”
“Do you have any idea who this professional man might be?”
Aaron stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his arms on his chest. “Maybe Tavich, maybe you.”
“Could it have been Dr. Malloy?”
“Possibly.”
“But your suspicions are more precise than that.”
“Possibly.”
“Aren’t you friends with Sadie Moore? She was almost abducted the other night. By not telling us what you know, you’re risking her life.”
Aaron looked away and didn’t say anything. Percy asked him a few more questions, to which Aaron replied uncommunicatively. Then he sent Aaron home.
“He thinks he can find this person by himself,” said Percy.
The interview had depressed Ryan. “Either that or he doesn’t trust us. Did you ever know Janice?”
“Do you mean was I involved with her? Of course not.”
“She had that same kind of stubbornness.”
For a few days it seemed that someone was stalking Barry, then it stopped or perhaps Barry was mistaken. He claimed to have heard his back door rattling or the front doorbell ringing when his mother hadn’t been home. And there was something about a car driving by slowly but Barry couldn’t remember the make. It had been blue or cream-colored—he wasn’t sure. And there were phone calls, someone on the other end of the line who refused to speak. But surely he could have been called by someone other than his potential murderer. Many people were receiving anonymous calls. Later we learned that members of the Friends of Sharon Malloy were making phone calls to harass people they imagined to be suspects. This turned out to be Donald Malloy’s stratagem. He claimed that if pressure was put on a number of potential suspects the guilty one might crack. What wasn’t clear, however, was whether the Friends were making all the calls.
Aaron felt that the phone calls to Barry were important and he made it his business to find out what Barry was hiding. With whom had Barry been involved in high school and what had the man done to frighten him? The police didn’t know anything about this, nor did Franklin. But Aaron knew and I knew, though we had no names. Aaron took Barry back to his apartment after Jaime’s funeral and scared him. Barry said that Aaron even slapped him. Barry was extremely upset and talked to me about it soon after.
“But what did you say to him?” I asked.
“Nothing. I refused to tell. I only said what I’d told you before, that he was ‘a professional man.’ I never thought Aaron would hurt me. He completely lost it.”
At the time I didn’t realize the significance of that term for Aaron, but he became quite ferocious and as a result Barry gave Aaron the man’s name.
—
On Monday ten girls were withdrawn from Knox Consolidated by their parents. The oldest was sixteen, the youngest was twelve. All went to stay with relatives in other towns. About fifteen girls had already been withdrawn and their absence made visible holes in our classes. Karla Golondrini had few friends but many acquaintances. There was more weeping on Monday and this was made worse by the presence of TV reporters. There was even the suggestion that the school should be closed till the matter was over. But Harry Martini argued that the children had to have a place to go. If they were in school, at least they were safe, whereas if they weren’t in school, who knew where they would be? Lou Hendricks said, loud enough to be heard by many people, that since Harry Martini had been visited twice on Sunday by the police, perhaps he had his own perverse reason for wanting the girls to be kept in school. I thought this quite unfair, as did many others. But some, I realized, didn’t.
Nobody blamed the families who took their children out of school or left town completely. I’m sure others would have done the same had they been able. At school there was less shouting in the halls and less conversation in the teachers’ lounge. The silence spread to other places as well. At Wegmans one saw fewer people talking to one another. The restaurants were nearly empty, the movie theater deserted. The various reading groups, sewing groups, garden groups, and travel groups all stopped having meetings. Only the video stores did well, and the pizza parlors, at least those that delivered.
On Wednesday there was a service for Karla at the Good Fellowship Evangelical Church. It was called a Service of Hope. Many people attended and the building was packed. Louise Golondrini spoke about her daughter, how she liked dogs and collected Barbie dolls and wanted to be a nurse. How she would never harm anything and fed stray cats and put crumbs out for the birds. How she loved Aurelius and how important her friends were to her. And how everyone was praying for her safe return. I was glad I hadn’t gone; I wouldn’t have been able to bear it.
Karla’s picture took its place on the telephone poles and store windows. Someone noticed that all three girls had long hair and many girls suddenly cut their hair short, as if that would protect them.
The police were very discouraged. Searches were made, experts were asked their advice. Captain Percy had lost a lot of his self-confidence. “If you have any ideas, any suggestions, you only have to tell us,” he said on more than one occasion. It was proposed that lie detector tests be given to a number of people. Percy was not keen on this, saying they weren’t completely reliable, but he didn’t close the door on the possibility.
The owners of the other four silver pens were traced. Two lived out of state. One lived in Aurelius but was in Florida for the winter. The fourth lived in Norwich and worked for the drug company. In any case, all four had their pens. It was at this point that Percy arranged to have Leimbach watched twenty-four hours a day. This was a closely guarded secret, but again, secrets were hard to keep. Once more Captain Percy was urged to permit lie detector tests. Leimbach would receive one, other people also. “Hell,” said my cousin, “they were ready to test the whole town.”
Among the Friends there was much complaint. Donald Malloy said that Percy should be thrown out of town and somebody else brought in who could do the job right. He was vehement about this. Dr. Malloy still had faith in Percy, or at least he didn’t criticize him in public. His brother, however, complained to the mayor, Bernie Kowalski, urging him to take charge. And Donald talked to Will Fowler, the city manager, who carried out the daily business of running Aurelius.
“Wh
ere’s your sense of responsibility?” he asked Fowler.
Fowler, however, supported Percy. Percy was a professional, which was how Fowler saw himself. It was amateurs like Donald who made trouble. Not that Fowler said this, but he said we were going through a hard time and patience was required of everybody.
Whatever spirit we had as a town was gone. Our general contentment was like a tissue torn away to reveal what had always existed: uncertainty and fear. The men and women who were supposed to lead us quarreled with each other. The best among us were suspected along with the worst. And winter was fast approaching. Every day we had a minute or two less sunlight and every night the streets were empty except for policemen and the patrol cars of the Friends.
At the time, I thought that the person responsible for the disappearances must have felt invincible. We were his toys and could do nothing. But beneath his sense of omnipotence, what were his fears? Three girls had disappeared and he had nearly taken Sadie. Didn’t he ask himself where his craving would stop? And when he took risks, was it to taunt the police or to offer them opportunities for his capture?
On Wednesday afternoon Chuck Hawley knocked a paper bag off Ryan’s desk onto the floor. Picking it up, he glanced inside to see if anything had been disturbed. The police station was full of people coming and going. A press conference had been held in the morning. Afterward Chief Schmidt had tried to coordinate efforts with the Friends. They were complaining of harassment, while the police said the Friends were being too aggressive with their questioning.
In the paper bag was a pink parka, neatly folded clothes, and a mannequin’s hand on top.
“Shit!” shouted Chuck.
The Church of Dead Girls Page 37