Death in the Secret Garden

by Forrest, Richard;

  Rocco entered the bank. He dropped to one knee and the short gunfight began.

  Rocco bent over Wiff as he handcuffed the wounded man.

  ‘Run that back,’ Lyon asked. ‘Start when you come through the door. Do we have a different camera angle?’

  ‘We got angles up the spangles,’ Rocco said as he fast-forwarded the film to another preselected position.

  When the frames began again they had a better view of the weapon as it fell from Wiff’s fingers and slid across the floor.

  ‘It went to the left,’ Bea said. ‘Toward Rebba Dirk at the deposit slip counter and near where Skee dropped down at Wiff’s order.’

  ‘It comes around to Skee, doesn’t it?’ Rocco said. ‘But you know, we never did identify that man and woman in front of the center teller. Needless to say, I was occupied with taking down Wiff and later on the wound in my backside. The unknown couple must have slipped out before the back-up cars arrived.’

  ‘They could have actually been in on the hold-up,’ Lyon mused.

  Rocco nodded. ‘It’s possible, although we never could get Wiff to implicate anyone else. What was it you said out at the state forest about a woman and the crossbow?’ Rocco asked Bea.

  ‘That a slender woman could have fired the thing as easily as a man.’

  ‘True,’ Rocco agreed, ‘but assuming that Rebba did get Wiff’s gun, which has been identified as firing the murder shots, why would she? What possible motive would she have to kill a teenager, a whore, and a church secretary?’

  ‘I think we have a division of labor here,’ Lyon said. ‘Rocco locates Skee, while Bea and I make a valiant attempt to interview Edward Dirk and his mother.’

  At the Dirk home Lyon let Bea take the lead.

  The two women were of equal height and build. Their personalities were entirely different except for their mutual stubbornness.

  Rebba stood rigidly in the doorway. The door was only open as far as the safety chain would permit. ‘You cannot come in. I thought I made that quite clear the last time you were here.’

  ‘We must talk to your son,’ Bea countered strongly.

  ‘I consider this harassment. If need be, I will get a court order. For some reason, the Big Buddy organization poisoned your husband against Edward. You all seem to have this obscene desire to frighten him.’

  ‘Oh, Rebba, stop that,’ Bea said. ‘You know it’s not true.’

  ‘I warned you. I’m going to close and lock this door and then call Judge Styles to get me a court order.’

  She tried to slam the door. Bea winced as it crashed against her foot.

  Lyon wondered if he should tell this stubborn woman that Judge Styles had decided to take up permanent residence in the Murphysville Nursing Home.

  ‘Let me tell you something, Rebba Dirk,’ Bea said in a low voice. Lyon recognized the tone. It was usually reserved for political opponents who were treading on one of her cherished ideals or projects. ‘I am chair of the State Senate Social Services Committee,’ Bea continued. ‘If you do not let us in, I will make a phone call to the commissioner. Within the hour you will be swamped by hordes of social workers armed with all sorts of legal documents. Believe me, Rebba, one thing you never want is to be attacked by social workers investigating the welfare of a child. Not in my state, you don’t.’

  Rebba blinked. Edward hovered in the background. Her voice changed slightly, preparing to negotiate. ‘Why are you so concerned about this?’

  ‘Someone tried to kill my husband today,’ Bea said. ‘And for obvious reasons that pisses me off.’

  ‘I can understand that. But what does that have to do with Edward?’

  ‘Your child saw something in the woods the day Boots Anderson was killed.’ Bea held up an envelope of suspect photographs. ‘We think he saw who did it.’

  ‘It frightens him to talk about it. You saw how scared he gets.’

  Bea waved the envelope of pictures. ‘Give us five minutes. We want to see if he recognizes any of these men.’

  Rebba seemed to be pondering the balance of an invasion by social workers versus her son’s possible fright. She evidently decided against the social workers and the chain fell away from the door. ‘Five minutes. Not a second more. Edward is extremely sensitive, so try and not frighten him.’ She opened the door and stood aside. ‘What happened to your arm, Mr. Wentworth?’

  ‘It’s from an incident earlier today.’

  ‘Someone shot him with a crossbow,’ Bea said.

  ‘A crossbow?’ Rebba Dirk drew out the words as if their origin was from some strange and exotic language. ‘A crossbow?’ she repeated.

  Edward retreated before them. He went around the couch and stood with his back against the wall. He clutched a paper bag with both hands.

  ‘Where is the crossbow you bought with the money Mrs. Wentworth gave you for your pellet gun?’ Rebba asked.

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘A man saw me shooting cats and took it away from me.’

  ‘We can make him pay us for it, Edward,’ Rebba said. ‘You know how hard money is to come by. We can get him to pay for it just like the Wentworths did for your pellet gun.’

  ‘He already paid me for it.’

  ‘Oh? How much did he pay you?’ Rebba asked.

  Edward stepped around the couch and emptied his pockets on the cushions. Handfuls of First Cavalry Division patches covered the seat. ‘The man who lives in the tree gave me these for the crossbow.’

  Bea spread the enlarged police mugshots over the patches. ‘Which one of these is the man who lives in the tree?’ She did not look at the pictures to avoid leading his answer. She knew that Spook’s photograph was the second from the left.

  ‘This one,’ Edward said without hesitation as he picked up Skee Rumford’s picture.

  Skee turned over in bed and brushed at the object pressed against his cheek. ‘Come on,’ he mumbled without opening his eyes. ‘Give me a couple of minutes’ sack time and we’ll rock and roll again.’

  ‘Time to get up, duck butter,’ Rocco said softly as he pressed the barrel of his service revolver deeper into the young man’s cheek.

  Skee’s eyes snapped open to stare into Rocco’s hovering face. ‘Oh, shit!’ he mumbled.

  ‘You aren’t exactly a rocket scientist when it comes to evasion, are you?’ Rocco said. ‘With you a getaway means a quick jump into some woman’s bed. It was only a question of figuring out which girlfriend.’

  ‘How’d you know who?’

  ‘Let’s just say that the widow Mildred was high on my list.’

  Awakened by Rocco’s voice, Mildred opened her eyes. She saw the pistol and screamed. It was a loud piercing yell that startled both men. Rocco stepped away from the bed.

  ‘Get him, Skee!’ Mildred screeched. ‘Beat him up!’

  ‘For God’s sake, woman!’ Skee said. ‘The man has a gun. He is, like, nine feet tall, and he is the man. What do you want me to do, knock him out with my dong?’

  Rocco shook his head as she sat up. ‘Mildred, Mildred, you have harbored a fugitive, which is not a very bright thing to do. Both of you, get your clothes on. We’re taking a trip to my office and we will not pack a picnic lunch.’

  It was another half-hour before he had them dressed and delivered to police headquarters. He turned Mildred over to a policewoman for processing and booking. Rocco took Skee into his office and shoved him down on the couch. He turned on his small tape recorder and placed it on the edge of the desk.

  ‘Have you ever heard the rumor that I am not a very nice person?’

  Skee shrugged. ‘Any cop as big as you gets that word out and around.’

  Rocco nodded. ‘As it should be. Now, you must understand my position with you. I am very embarrassed. Not only have you escaped my jail, but people are getting killed in my town. Three women have been shot, and in one way or another, you are connected with each of them.’

  ‘I didn’t kill them.�
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  ‘I figure you were out in the woods with Boots Anderson.’

  The prisoner stared ahead without answering.

  ‘Have they ever told you what I do in here when I desire the cooperation of my … guests?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Imagine my methods. Just let your imagination run wild. However, I shall give you one small hint. I usually let my methods fit the personality of the recipient. Do you understand what I say? In other words, I tailor my doings to your particular circumstance.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘Did I say that, duck butter? Just let your imagination run wild and think on what I just said.’

  Skee was obviously thinking. His brow furrowed until his hands slowly cupped his testicles as if to protect them from a massive blow.

  ‘Are you letting your imagination run wild?’ Rocco asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Have you anything to tell the good chief?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Think on it some more,’ Rocco said as he stared at Skee’s cupped hands.

  After a huge intake of breath, Skee’s words poured out in a jumble. Rocco held up a hand for him to stop and then had him start at the beginning.

  ‘OK. I was with Boots the day she was killed. She drove out to the state forest before her shift started. I went out there on my motor scooter to meet her. It was a thing with us on nice warm days. We did it, like, lots of times out there. Well, we did it. On the blanket like before. That’s all. And then I left while she was kinda snoozing on the blanket.’

  ‘Clothed?’

  ‘She was naked as a jay bird. She liked to sunbathe like that.’

  ‘When you left she was asleep, naked?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did you see anyone as you left the state forest?’

  ‘Only the little kid riding his bike.’

  ‘What little kid?’

  ‘The paper boy. You know. The Dirk brat.’

  Sixteen

  The tableau of adults in the Dirk living room reacted in different ways to Edward’s identification of Skee. Rebba regarded her son with concern. Bea was confused, because Murphysville was a small town. Most residents knew nearly everyone at least by sight. This would be particularly true for an active young boy with a paper route who would certainly be aware of anyone who lived in a tree house.

  Lyon rapidly reviewed several alternatives until he reached an inescapable conclusion that had been festering for hours. ‘Tell me about your paper route, Edward.’

  ‘What does that have to—’ Rebba began until silenced by Lyon’s raised hand.

  ‘The paper route, Edward,’ Lyon pressed. ‘Tell me now.’ Although the request was delivered in his normal voice, it was an obvious command.

  The boy looked at him for a moment before beginning an answer that was delivered with flat effect. ‘They dump a pile of newspapers by our door before I get home from school,’ he began. ‘I fold them for throwing and then load them on my bike carryall. I chuck them at the walk or porch of everyone on my route, except for Friday when I do the collecting.’

  ‘Tell me about that route,’ Lyon said in a low voice.

  Rebba Dirk seemed poised to interrupt, but then fell silent as she gazed intently at her son.

  ‘The route, Edward?’ Lyon repeated.

  The boy’s emotionless delivery was gradually replaced by a creeping nervousness. ‘Ah, well, it goes down this street and then past the Catholic church and then up Beacon.’

  ‘Saint James is across the street from the Catholic church. Does the office at Saint James get a paper from you?’

  ‘That lady yelled at me and said I couldn’t just throw it on the stoop like I do with everyone else. I got to go all the way into her office with it.’

  ‘I see. And then you go down Beacon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ashley Towers lived down that way. Did she get a paper from you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You killed the woman in the forest, didn’t you, Edward?’ Lyon said in a non-accusatory tone.

  The boy shook his head violently. ‘No! The man in the picture did it.’ He shook Skee’s mugshot for a moment before he dropped it to grab Spook’s photograph. ‘They wore pointy hats and laughed when she crawled in the dirt.’

  ‘Which one?’ Bea asked.

  ‘Both of them. There were two of them. I couldn’t do anything. I’m just a kid.’ He began a deep asthmatic wheezing and looked imploringly at his mother. ‘Mama.’ He clutched his paper bag and dropped the photographs, which fluttered to the floor.

  ‘You are evil!’ Rebba yelled at Lyon. ‘What possessed you to say such a horrible thing?’

  Bea looked at her husband with consternation.

  ‘You were in the bank during last year’s robbery,’ Lyon said to Edward. ‘We didn’t see you on the film because you weren’t tall enough then to be seen behind the deposit counter.’

  ‘Of course he was there,’ Rebba said. ‘He was with me. That robbery traumatized him into a terrible asthma attack that nearly killed him. That’s why we don’t need more of this ridiculous business. The whole question of a court order is settled. I’m getting one today!’

  ‘When the gun slid across the bank, you picked it up,’ Lyon said. ‘Your mother didn’t see you because she was on the floor on the other side of the counter. You shot Chief Herbert and then hid the gun. Perhaps you put it in a book bag or small backpack.’ Edward’s only answer was the continuation of his wheezing.

  ‘You need your inhaler,’ his mother said as she dashed from the room.

  ‘Today you went to the woods looking for eagles to kill with the crossbow. You saw my hot-air balloon when it was launched from Nutmeg Hill. You thought I was coming to stop your killing, didn’t you?’

  For the first time that day the boy’s face became animated as it convulsed into an ugly anger. ‘You had no right to make me stop! They’re just birds. A dead one would have made the biggest grave in my cemetery and you wanted to stop me!’

  ‘You shot at me with the crossbow,’ Lyon continued. ‘The police found it in the woods where you dropped it when you saw them coming. The police found your fingerprints all over the bow.’ He told the lie in a matter-of-fact manner, which was then verified by the truth in the boy’s face.

  Rebba returned in a rush, grasping the white inhaler as if it were a poison antidote. Her son moved away from her as she approached. ‘I don’t want it.’

  She took another step toward Edward. ‘You know how …’

  ‘Be quiet,’ the boy said to his mother in a strange voice that stopped her stock-still.

  ‘You started out killing small birds,’ Lyon said. ‘Then you graduated to larger pets such as cats and dogs. After you killed one, you took the body to the state forest where you buried it with ceremony in your secret garden.’ He began slowly to close the distance between them. ‘And you had the bank robbery gun hidden away because you knew that one day killing pets wouldn’t be satisfying.’

  ‘Children don’t murder,’ Bea said. ‘And he’s only a little boy.’

  ‘But some do,’ Lyon said. ‘Don’t they, Edward?’

  ‘Yes,’ the boy answered.

  ‘You killed all three of them, didn’t you?’ Lyon said. ‘You came across Boots in the forest, but the other two were on your paper route.’

  ‘I went out there to bury a cat and I saw the woman and the guy doing it without any clothes on. When he left on his motor scooter I shot her.’ He put a hand inside the paper bag.

  ‘Tell me about the red-haired lady called Ashley,’ Lyon said.

  ‘She used to make me peek at her naked, and then she’d laugh and call me the town’s littlest pervert. She didn’t laugh when I shot her.’

  ‘And the lady at the church?’

  ‘She was always getting me in trouble by complaining to the newspaper that I was late or cheating on the money.’

>   ‘He couldn’t shoot arrows at you,’ Rebba implored. ‘He might try, but he would never be able to hit anything with a crossbow.’

  Edward glared at his mother. ‘I can. The man in the tree house who gave me the patches showed me how to work it. He said I was good. He said I could kill people with it when I was grown. He said I could go in the army and shoot people with a gun or arrows just like he did. That’s why I gave them all an army patch. That way they’d think some army guy was doing it and not me.’

  A car screeched to a halt in the drive. Bea glanced out the window to see Rocco hurry toward the house.

  ‘The gun’s in the bag, isn’t it?’ Lyon said.

  Rebba stared blankly at her son with a look that slowly changed to mounting horror. She dropped the inhaler and folded her arms tightly across her chest to begin a muted cry: ‘No, no, no.’

  ‘You have the gun in there?’ Lyon repeated.

  ‘Want to see it?’ Edward snatched the small handgun from the bag.

  ‘Everybody down!’ Rocco boomed from the doorway.

  Lyon and Bea dove for the floor. Rebba remained standing while she rocked slowly back and forth.

  ‘Drop it!’ Rocco ordered.

  Edward smiled at the police chief. ‘You are very big. You will need two.’ He fired twice, hitting Rocco both times in the center of the chest. The large police officer had reflexively drawn his weapon as he fell, but it slithered from his hands as he collapsed.

  ‘Your turn, Big Buddy,’ Edward said as he turned to Lyon.

  ‘Oh, my baby,’ Rebba said. ‘Let’s do your inhaler and you’ll feel better.’

  ‘No, thank you, Mommy. I am going to shoot Mr. Wentworth.’

  ‘No!’ Bea was on her knees, holding Rocco’s large handgun in her right hand while her left steadied her wrist. ‘Drop the gun and go to your mother,’ she said softly.

  Edward smiled again. ‘I am going to shoot my Big Buddy in the head. Then I am going to shoot you in the tummy and watch you crawl.’ He placed the barrel of the revolver against the side of Lyon’s head.

  ‘Please …’ Bea wailed.

  ‘With sugar on it?’

  ‘Please with sugar on it, yes, yes, yes,’ Bea said.