Mike Shiller believed there was evidence to be found in Leimbach’s house. Maybe there was some kind of weapon. Maybe there was chloroform. Maybe there was Meg’s pillowcase of Halloween candy, which had never turned up.
“Donald had told us that Leimbach was always fooling around with Sharon,” Mossbacher explained, “tickling and teasing her. He said Leimbach couldn’t keep his hands off her. Mike had no doubt that Leimbach was guilty. And there’d been that fountain pen and those phone calls. Then that hand in his car. So we ripped everything apart. We searched the basement and the other rooms. We weren’t too careful about what we broke.”
But they found nothing. There was some excitement at finding girl’s clothes but they belonged to Leimbach’s daughter. The house was extremely neat. Dishes had been put away; clothes were on hangers or in bureaus; newspapers were in a pile in the blue recycling container. Instead of quitting their search, the men grew angry.
“Mike kept saying that the fact that we didn’t find anything didn’t mean shit,” said Mossbacher.
So the men proceeded to wreck the house. I’m sure there was more involved here than the certainty that Leimbach was guilty. There was also the weeks of frustration and knowing nothing, weeks of accumulated anger. The men were upset and wound tight. They were ready to vent their feelings on anything and it was almost chance that let that thing be Leimbach’s house.
“They started throwing dishes around,” said Mossbacher. “I guess I did too. One guy smashed the microwave, another guy started pulling everything out of the cupboards—food, you name it. Mike and Charlie Potter pushed the refrigerator down the basement stairs. Jesus, what a noise it made. They had a waterbed and one of the guys kept stabbing it and water came through the ceiling, a real waterfall. They put a kid’s bed through a window. Guys were laughing. Some of them really got off on it. I mean, why bust the TV? It got perverse.”
Mossbacher was asked if Shiller had told them to do this.
“We all did it. Nobody needed to tell us.”
Luckily a neighbor called the police and luckily there was someone at the police station to take the call. Chuck Hawley responded with two other officers and forced Shiller and the rest to get out of the house.
“You should be on our side, not his!” shouted Shiller. “Don’t you have kids?”
Chuck was holding on to Shiller’s arm and Shiller pulled himself free. About twenty people stood along the curb. On either side of Leimbach’s front walk was a border of white stones poking out of the snow. Shiller bent over, grabbed a stone, and threw it at the picture window.
“The window completely shattered,” said Mossbacher, “almost exploded. There’s a hedge in front of the house and it got covered with glass. The curtains were blowing. It was a real mess. Chuck Hawley was fit to be tied. He put the cuffs on Mike. And he wasn’t too gentle about tossing him into the back of the cruiser either.”
Later, when all was known, it was seen as ironic that at the same time Mike Shiller and the others were destroying Leimbach’s house, Dr. Malloy had gone to his brother’s house. He was by himself and he had to break in through a back window. The next day the doctor said he hadn’t understood why Donald had begun to accuse Paul Leimbach, that the men had always been friends. He couldn’t see why his brother was acting the way he was, and he hoped that he could find some reason for his behavior. And perhaps he had other suspicions, almost unarticulated suspicions, though he later denied this. But who knew if those denials were one hundred percent true? Of course, Dr. Malloy had often been in his brother’s house but he had rarely been upstairs and he had never seen the attic.
—
Franklin held his notepad on his knee because Donald Malloy wanted it where he could see it. The beam of Franklin’s light had grown dim. He couldn’t see to write and his pen clogged in cold weather. But he wrote down what words he could. He didn’t want to make Donald angry. In the dark he could barely discern the other man’s shape beside him. Donald made Franklin write down basic facts about his life: when he had been born in Rochester, the years he had worked in Buffalo, the years of his failed marriage.
“Somebody did something to upset me,” said Donald. His voice was tight, as if he could barely keep from shouting.
“What happened?”
“Somebody sent me a hand, a hand in a shoe box. There was a picture of Janice with it. And on the back of the picture Janice had written, ‘With love.’ That Marxist girl sent it.”
“Harriet Malcomb?” Franklin wondered if he could believe Donald about anything.
“Do you remember Janice’s eyes? I hated her eyes.”
“Was it a joke?”
“It upset me,” said Donald. “It wasn’t a real hand, just a mannequin’s hand. The box had a ribbon around it.”
“Did you give it to the police?”
“Why’d she send it?” said Donald, more to himself than to Franklin. He stirred on the bench and it shook slightly. “It must have been the hand they found at your house, the hand that was meant for Sadie. It couldn’t have been a joke.” He paused, then spoke angrily. “Why aren’t you writing this down?”
“I am,” said Franklin, writing Harriet’s name in the dark.
“Don’t lie to me!” said Donald.
They sat quietly except for Donald’s heavy breathing. Donald’s pistol lay in his lap.
“Whoever sent me the hand knows that I’ve been protecting someone. It’s my duty to protect him—even my mother said that. It’s lucky she’s dead now, that she’ll never know. Do you have any idea how terrible this has been?”
Franklin moved his legs and a pain shot through his ankle. “Who is it, who are you protecting?”
“Can’t you see who’s guilty?” said Donald, raising his voice. “Don’t be so stupid!”
“Who is it? Leimbach?”
“Leimbach’s a fool!” Donald’s voice was almost a squeal.
“Is it your brother? Allen?”
“He makes me ashamed!”
“Allen abducted his daughter?” Franklin was afraid of the man sitting next to him.
“People think he’s so good. Doctor this and doctor that. My mother protected him and I protected him too. But he’s an animal. He’s like rotten fruit.”
“Nobody knew,” said Franklin. He wished he could see Donald’s face, but he turned off his light. Better to save it for later, when he might need it badly.
“How can you write if the light’s off?” said Donald.
“The batteries are almost gone.”
“Here, use mine.” Donald turned on his light and set it on the bench. Its strong beam cut across the path and into the leafless trees. Franklin could see that Donald was smiling, a vague, fatuous smile.
“My brother’s clever,” said Donald. “Of course, I knew about it. I’ve always known about his bad habits.”
“The lie detector test will expose him,” said Franklin, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible.
“Allen wants to hurt me,” said Donald. “He’ll make the test say that I did everything.”
“But you’ve been protecting him.”
“I’ve always been the good brother,” said Donald. “I tried very hard. Again and again I covered up for him. Why’d she send me the hand? Didn’t she see it was Allen?”
“Was your brother involved with Janice McNeal?”
“Of course he was,” said Donald, raising his voice. “Can’t you understand anything?”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s not a nice story . . .” Donald stopped.
Franklin waited for Donald to speak. From far away he could hear shouting. The bright light made Donald’s yellow boots shine. “Can you help me get down the hill?” asked Franklin.
“Wait a minute,” said Donald. “You’re trying to rush me. Why aren’t you writing this down?”
> “I am, I am,” said Franklin, writing some words on his pad. “Was it a man’s hand or a woman’s hand in the box?”
Donald grabbed his pistol and turned violently. “You’re messing with me!” He swung the pistol, hitting Franklin on the side of his head. Franklin slid off the bench and tried to protect his head with his hands.
“Don’t you know I could kill you?” shouted Donald.
Franklin rubbed his face. It was numb with cold and he could feel nothing. He knelt on the ground.
Donald kicked at him. “Get up here and do what you’re supposed to!”
Franklin dragged himself back up onto the bench. With Donald’s light he hunted around for the notepad and pen. Every move hurt his ankle. Locating the pen and pad, he sat up again.
“I don’t like you,” said Donald. “I’ve never liked you. I was glad when your wife died.”
Franklin wiped the mud from his pen. He tried to speak calmly, without showing his anger. “Okay,” he said. “Tell me about your brother and Janice.”
“That woman hurt him,” said Donald after another pause.
“What did she do?”
“Shhh,” whispered Donald. “She hurt him with her hand. She grabbed him and hurt him.”
“I thought he liked it,” prodded Franklin.
“He never did. That’s a lie to say he did.”
“Your brother?”
“Allen. She would reach into Allen’s pants and pull out his little boy. Then she would yank it and squeeze it. She said she liked to see it shoot. He hated it.”
“Then why’d he let it happen?”
“Because part of him was sick. I already told you that.”
“But he kept seeing her.”
Donald was still whispering. “That was his sickness.”
“Did he kill Janice?” Franklin realized that his face was bleeding. He wiped his cheek on the sleeve of his coat.
“When she grabbed him again, Allen took her throat. He squeezed her just like she squeezed him, but he squeezed her until she didn’t make any noise.”
“What about her hand?”
“Hands follow their appetites. One hand’s dirty and one’s clean. He took the dirty hand.”
“Does he still have it?”
“Of course. They’re all together.”
Franklin shivered. Donald was hunched forward and his voice was hushed. Franklin could see the pistol next to Donald’s leg but he was afraid to reach for it.
“What about Sharon?” asked Franklin. “Was she dirty too?”
“She had dirty thoughts,” said Donald.
“Did you touch her?”
“I never touched her!” Then, more quietly, “Allen touched all the girls.”
“Did Allen stop Sharon on the road?”
“Her bike was broken and he stopped. He had touched her before and he was afraid. He asked if she was going to tell. She wouldn’t answer him. He hadn’t wanted to touch her but she made him. She wanted to show him her fur. He was afraid she was going to tell. She was friends with Sadie Moore. She might tell Sadie; she might even tell Aaron. Aaron had been asking questions about his mother. So Allen told her to promise not to tell but she wouldn’t answer. Then he covered her mouth. She tried to scream and he wouldn’t let her. He held on to her mouth. When Sharon was little she was nice but she wasn’t nice anymore. She was getting too big to be nice. She made him touch her, then when he touched her, she pretended it was his fault. And her fur smelled on his fingers. It made his hand dirty. She would grow up and grab men like Janice did. My brother wanted to save her from that. He wanted to make her into a church.”
In the distance someone was blowing a whistle.
“You’re not writing,” said Donald angrily.
“I am,” said Franklin. “These are shorthand notes. I can put it all back together later. What about Sharon’s hand?”
“Don’t you see.” Donald lowered his voice. “It’s the hand’s fault. It likes to grab and squeeze. It eats. Hands eat. It’s covered with piss and shit, even worse things. It likes touching them, rubbing itself in them.”
“What did he do?”
Donald laughed very quietly. “You know what he did.”
“He cut off the hand?”
“It’s how you get rid of the filth. The left hand’s the bad hand. He needed to clean them, clean all the girls.”
“And Meg’s hand?” asked Franklin.
“All the hands are together.”
There was a hollow thumping noise and with horror Franklin saw that Donald was patting the side of his attaché case.
“Are they there?” whispered Franklin.
Donald made a soft clucking noise with his tongue. “Shall I show them to you?”
Franklin tried to keep from thinking about the attaché case but his mind would go no place else.
“Why Meg and Karla?” insisted Franklin.
“They weren’t any better,” said Donald. “They came into the pharmacy. My brother saw what they were like. They had dirty thoughts. They stuck out their little chests, their little titties. I could see them. They laughed and flirted. They showed their bare legs. They also wanted to grab little boys. And besides, Sharon was lonely. Allen had to get her company, girls who were as bad as she was. Girls with fur. But he didn’t want to hurt them, he wanted to make them better.”
“How did he get them?”
“In his car. He pulled up beside them and squeezed them and put them in the back.”
“Why didn’t they run?”
“Why should they? The car had orange triangles on the doors. He was a Friend.”
“And Sadie as well?” Franklin could hardly say her name. Its hugeness filled him with sorrow.
“She’s bad. She came into the pharmacy. She hurt herself and I had to touch her leg. Aaron was with her and they asked questions. But she only pretended to hurt herself. She wanted me to touch her leg. She wore a ring with a dove. Aaron must have made her bad. He wanted to make her like Janice.”
“Allen didn’t take her?”
“He tried. I don’t want to talk about it.”
It wasn’t quite hope that Franklin began to feel; more of an open space that was taking shape before him, and Sadie stood in that space. “So he didn’t get Sadie?”
Donald raised his voice. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it!” He paused, and when he spoke again, he spoke quietly.
“The girls love each other and they love their filth. Have you seen the way they smile? You don’t think those are real smiles, do you? Allen thought no one would find out. He thought only my mother knew. But he’s bad. Didn’t he have a bad daughter? And she got it from him. Now my brother’s built a church with three girls. You might think they’re dead but they’re not. They move and they shine. They sparkle in the light. All the filthy words have been made clean. You know how there are good numbers and bad numbers? All the good numbers protect them. My brother prays there. He wants to be made better, but the badness goes right to the bottom of him. Not even knives could scrape him clean. I should tell the police about him. But he’s my brother. I’m supposed to love him.”
“What about Jaime Rose?” asked Franklin, writing Jaime’s name on his pad.
“He was like Janice. These people, their faces are masks. They smile and look happy. They pretend to like you. D’you know how ugly the skull is when you take the skin away? That’s when you see the teeth. Their real faces are like that. My brother settled him, all right. Jaime reached into Allen’s pants. He squeezed Allen’s little boy and he was going to tell about it. Allen couldn’t let that happen; he took him back to the beauty shop. That name, it’s almost funny. A filth shop, a cunt shop!”
“And Barry?”
“Oh, he’ll die soon. He told after I explained to him that he couldn’t, that it would be w
rong to tell. He has to be taught how to be silent. My brother will fix it. He’s a good fixer.”
“But Allen’s dangerous.”
Donald chuckled. “Oh yes, he’s very dangerous.”
“He should be stopped.”
“Oh, I agree. He’s made himself dirty, very dirty.” Donald paused. “It’s cold, but not too cold, don’t you think? Once Allen is gone and the others are gone, then things will be better. We don’t have much time. Isn’t it awful, this rushing around? We must make it quiet again. People are afraid of death, but they’re wrong. Death is very quiet. The girls sit so quietly. Sometimes I think they’re praying.”
“You should talk to the police.”
Donald laughed. “They’ll never believe it was him. You see, he always seemed like the good one. He did so well in school. But I’ve seen him when he was sleeping, when he grinds his teeth. I’ve watched him when he didn’t know I was watching.”
“You should talk to Ryan Tavich.”
“You’re trying to trick me,” said Donald.
“No,” said Franklin. “I’m your friend.”
“You pretend to be writing but you’re not writing anything.” Donald snatched the pad from Franklin’s knee and shone his light on it. There were scratches on the paper, half letters only.
“You’re trying to make a joke of me!” shouted Donald, throwing the pad onto the snow.
“It’s in my head,” said Franklin. “I’ll write it later.”
Donald made a hissing sound. “I could make you believe me.”
“I believe you.” Franklin felt desperate. “I’ve got it all.” He heard a click, then another as the clasps of the attaché case sprang up.
“Here, look!” said Donald.
Franklin twisted away, pushing his good leg against the ground. Donald held the light in one hand and something awful in the other. Franklin jerked away. Then he sprang forward out of the lean-to, grabbing the side and pushing forward again on his good leg across the path. He stumbled against a tree and fell onto his stomach. He began crawling through the snow. The beam of Donald’s light cut through the air above him. Franklin crawled between the trees. He crawled over a log and collapsed.
The Church of Dead Girls Page 40