“Maybe.”
“Uh, would you mind my asking how you learned that?”
“Some of her friends mentioned it. Seemed to me to be an unusual coincidence.”
“Yes, I should say so. Indeed it was.”
“Anything else you can think of that might be helpful for me to know?”
Baxter thought about it. “I’d take a good hard look at that drug angle, if I were you. No telling what might have been going on there.”
“Uh-huh.” Nothing specific, Jud thought. Just some vague implications. No wonder the students at Braddock High were so contemptuous of this little prick. “I’m sure she had plans for college?”
“Oh, yes. Had applications in at Hamilton, Colgate and Rochester. She was waiting for acceptances to arrive, as a number of our students are at this time of year.” He shook his head. “What a pity.”
“Thanks for your help, Mr. Baxter. I appreciate it.”
“Certainly, Chief. Anything I can do, you be sure to call on me. You said you wanted to speak with some of Marcy’s friends?”
“Yes. Can you tell me where I’d find Pat Campbell? I’m told she and Marcy were close.”
“Of course. Just give me a minute or two.” He swung his chair around to face a PC on the table behind him. He keyed the machine, and true to his word he had the information a few moments later.
He turned back to Jud. “She’s in American History this period.” He looked up at the electric clock on the wall. “It’ll be out shortly. She has physics after that, but we’ll have her excused.”
“Is there a place where we can talk?”
“Absolutely. There’s a small conference room just two doors down. You can use that if you like.”
“Fine,” Jud said. “I’ll wait for her there.”
On the way out of Baxter’s office it occurred to him that the last time he’d had a talk with a high school principal was when he was a student himself. He’d been called in after an argument with another kid that had escalated into exchanged punches. Jud had been nursing a black eye, which was humiliating.
It was funny the way some things stayed with you.
5
Pat Campbell was as Jud remembered her—a knockout. Her blond hair was long and slightly wavy and she looked at him with big blue eyes and he couldn’t help but notice what she did for her sweater. When he did he wished he were seventeen again. There were comfortable chairs in the conference room and she and Jud sat opposite each other. She crossed her legs, and from this perspective she looked even better.
“I’m really sorry about Marcy,” he said, feeling awkward.
The blue eyes immediately filled with tears. “It’s horrible.” Her voice was very small. “We were friends since first grade. I can’t believe this happened.”
“Sure. I know how you feel, believe me I do. And I’m sorry to have to ask these questions, but it’s important, okay?”
She took a tissue from the pocket of her skirt and wiped her eyes. “Yes, okay.”
“You say you and Marcy were friends for a long time. Did you see much of each other outside of school?”
“Oh, yeah. Sometimes we studied together, and a lot of times we’d stay over at each other’s house.”
He wanted to help her relax, get her talking. “I guess she had a pretty good sense of humor, from what I hear.”
“Marcy? She could be a riot when she wanted to. You’d be with her five minutes and she’d have you laughing. That’s why everybody liked her so much. One of the reasons, anyway. She was really a nice person all around.”
“Did you double-date much?”
“Oh, sure. She was going with Buddy Harper. I guess you knew that?”
“Yes, I’ve spoken with Buddy.”
“And we used to go out together once in a while.”
“How did they get along, would you say?”
“Fine. They were real close.”
“They ever fight?”
“Fight? Oh, I guess so. I mean, they’d have their squabbles now and then, but nothing serious.”
“You’re dating Jeff Peterson, right?”
“Yes.”
“I understand you and Jeff were with them at the dance Friday night?”
“We sat at the same table.”
“When you were together, did the subject of the headsman ever come up?”
“Yeah, it did. See, we had a discussion about it in English class that morning. The teacher—Mr. Hathaway—brought it up. We were studying Washington Irving and he talked about how Brad-dock had its own legend.”
“Did Marcy participate in that?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact she did. I don’t remember what she said, though. A lot of people talked about it.”
“And then you got into it again at the dance?”
“Yes. We were making jokes about it.”
“What kind of jokes?”
“Oh, like kidding around about how somebody ought to go over to Billy Swanson’s house with a hood on and scare him.”
“Why Billy Swanson?”
“Because in the class that morning he was saying he didn’t believe the headsman story. I think he made Mr. Hathaway mad. Hathaway was like cool about it, but you could tell he was pi—I mean, you could tell he was angry.”
“I see. You and Marcy used to confide in each other, didn’t you?”
“Sure, all the time.”
“She ever tell you she was worried about anything, or that anything was bothering her? Anything important?”
She was quiet for a moment. Then, “This is confidential, right?”
“Of course. Anything you tell me is.”
“I think—she had problems with her father.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Well, like, he drank a lot.”
“Yes?”
“And sometimes when he did, I guess he was pretty mean to her.”
“Mean to her how? Did he ever hit her?”
“Sometimes she—hinted at it. I don’t know for sure, but I think sometimes when he was drunk, he might have.”
“That’s pretty serious.”
“I know it is. But she never would have said anything, if there wasn’t something going on.”
“She never really came right out with it?”
“She was ashamed. I knew that. But at the same time, she needed to tell somebody. Even though she wasn’t all that specific, I knew what she was getting at.”
So it was possible Marcy had been abused by her father. Who was one of Braddock’s most respected citizens. And there was no way of proving it. In fact, even this kid who was telling him about it couldn’t swear it was true. And yet if it were, wouldn’t that make Ed Dickens—
Jud told himself to go slow, to think it through. “Any other problems you know about, with anybody else?”
“I don’t think so.”
“She ever worry about getting pregnant?”
Pat colored slightly. “That’s awfully … personal.”
“I know it is.”
She looked at the floor.
“Listen, Pat. I told you, anything you say will be kept confidential. All I’m trying to do is find out who killed her. You want to help with that, don’t you?”
Her gaze met his. “Yes, of course I do.”
“Then what about it—did she ever worry about that?”
“She did, you know, at first. But then she went on the pill and it was okay.”
“When was that?”
“Last year.”
“When she was going with Ron Carpenter?”
She seemed startled. “How did you know about that?”
“I know about a lot of things. It’s part of my job. Who else was there besides Carpenter and Buddy?”
“Nobody.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I am. If there was, I would’ve known it. She had to really care about somebody, you know? And with Ron and Buddy, she did.”
So Buddy had it right. Marcy�
��s lovers had been only two young men. But then again—“She ever talk about anybody else she might be interested in?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
“Who, for instance?”
“Oh, there’s a guy who’s a sophomore now, at Brown. His name’s Bob Waltham. Marcy always thought he was pretty cute. But he goes with Tracy Adams.”
“Yeah, I know him. Who else?”
“Nobody. Except I knew she was …” Her voice trailed off and she looked away.
“Yes? You knew she was what?”
“I knew she was interested in Jeff.”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. I mean, she never talked about it, but I could tell. The way she looked at him, the way she acted around him.”
“Did he know it?”
“I’m not sure. Probably.”
“You never discussed it with him?”
“No, never. I didn’t want him to think I was jealous. And besides, she was my best friend.”
“In your opinion, how heavily was she into drugs?”
A change came over her. The blue eyes hardened, and her chin came up. “I don’t know anything about that. As far as I could tell, she never touched anything.”
“Not even a little pot, now and then?”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about that. So the answer’s no.”
There are some people you get farther with by not pushing too hard. He sensed she was one of them. Even though she was just a kid, there was a streak of intransigence not far beneath that pink and blond surface. And anyway, he’d already learned a number of things from talking to her.
He stood up. “Thanks, Pat. I’ll be talking to you again. I’m sure you want to get back to your classes.”
She smiled. “Nope. They’re over for the day.”
6
The air in the gym was warm, maybe close to eighty degrees. With only a handful of onlookers in the stands the place seemed cavernous, much larger than on a game night, when the fans would pack every inch of space and the noise would be like rolling thunder. Now the shouts of the practicing players and the thump of balls bouncing off the lacquered floor and the fiberglass backboards echoed hollowly. Jud took off his jacket and draped it over his arm, leaning against a wall as he watched.
Peterson was easy to spot. He was a good-looking kid, even-featured and with short black hair. He wasn’t the tallest member of the team, but he was easily the most graceful. He took a rebound and passed, then moved downcourt, running with long strides that were deceptive; he was moving faster than he seemed to be. The ball came back to him and when he cut and accelerated he blew past the defenders for an easy lay-up.
Watching him, Jud could see why there was talk of Jeff going to one of the Big East teams on a scholarship—Syracuse or Georgetown or maybe Seton Hall. He and Billy Swanson were probably the best athletes in the school.
Braddock’s basketball coach was Fred Walsh. He’d been at BHS forever, or at least for years before Jud had joined the police department as a rookie. A lanky man with thinning red hair fringed with gray, Walsh was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt with WILDCATS printed on it. A whistle hung from a lanyard around his neck, and every few minutes he’d blow the whistle and run the team through another play.
At one point he caught sight of Jud and walked over to where he was standing. “Hey, Chief—want to shoot a few?”
Jud smiled. “Not today. Wouldn’t want to make your kids look bad.”
“We’ll take a chance.”
“Some other time, Fred.”
“Anything I can do for you?”
“I want to talk to the Peterson boy for a bit.”
“Sure.” Walsh didn’t ask why; he didn’t have to.
“You got a place that might be a little private, where we could be alone?”
“How about my cubbyhole?” the coach offered. “Go through the locker room and shut the door. After the kids are out of the shower I’ll send Jeff in there. Shouldn’t be long, practice is over for today.”
Jud thanked him and walked through the door under the stands that led to the locker room. It was even warmer in there than in the gym, the benches strewn with pieces of clothing and equipment and more of it hanging in the open lockers. The shower room was at one end of the area and apparently some of the kids were already inside. Clouds of steam were rolling out the door and Jud could hear shouts and laughter over the sound of water pounding onto the tile floor. He walked to the opposite end of the room to a door bearing a sign that said COACH and went into the tiny office, closing the door behind him.
There was a battered gray metal desk in the room, and shelves along two of the walls held a variety of junk—old basketballs and team photos from years past and sweatbands and an alarm clock. On another wall was a bulletin board with team rosters and newspaper clippings tacked to it. Jud sat down at the desk and waited, dropping his jacket and cap onto the floor and wishing it weren’t so damned hot in here.
Peterson came in a few minutes later, his face still flushed from the workout and the shower, his wet black hair combed back. He had on an open-necked white polo shirt and jeans and he seemed at ease.
Jud shook hands with him and told him to take a seat. “How’s it going, Jeff—think you’ll make the finals?”
The kid smiled. It was apparent that he was used to being asked about basketball and how the team was doing. “We’ve got as good a chance as anybody. The other night against Warren Falls we just blew it. We’re a better team than that. I hope we get to play them again.”
He wasn’t cocky, Jud realized, just confident. And much more self-assured than most kids his age. “You were with Marcy Dickens after the game, right? You and Pat?”
The boy’s face clouded. “Yeah, we sat at the same table with her and Buddy.”
“Terrible thing, what happened to Marcy,” Jud said. His manner was relaxed, but he was watching Jeff closely.
“Sure was. I hope you catch whoever did it.”
“Oh, we will. Sooner or later we’ll get him.” That sounded good, but Jud wondered just how much truth there was in it. Thus far the police, including Pearson’s team, hadn’t come up with a single lead. “You seen Buddy since then?”
“Yeah, I was with him for a while Saturday night. He’s plenty shook up.”
“Sure. He tell you I talked with him?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“How’d he and Marcy seem to you when you were with them at the dance?”
“Okay, I guess. Nothing unusual.”
“Anybody else with you?”
“Joe Boggs and Tina Ferrell part of the time.”
“How about Marcy—how was she?”
“Fine, I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except—”
“Yes?”
“Except maybe she wasn’t as, like, happy as she usually is.”
“Why would that be, do you know?”
“No idea.”
“What did you talk about, do you remember?”
For the first time in the conversation, Jeff seemed uncomfortable. “Yeah. And it was kind of strange. We were talking about the headsman. It came up in English class that morning, and at the dance we were joking about it.”
“So Buddy told me. Odd coincidence, huh? When you think about how Marcy died.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“I understand your teacher brought it up that morning.”
“Hathaway.” Jeff shook his head. “What a spook.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. The guy’s just—peculiar. And you know something? This morning he never said one word about Marcy. Nothing. Everybody in the school was talking about it, all the kids and the teachers. They’re really upset, you know? Mr. Baxter announced school’s closed tomorrow so anybody who wants can go to the funeral. But Hathaway never said a word. It was like it never happened.”
The English teacher’s part in all this had struck Jud as more than a little strange as well. It’d be interesting
to learn more about Hathaway’s apparent preoccupation with the legend of the headsman—whether the reason for it was as simple as his drawing an analogy to what the class had been studying. The power of suggestion.
“Where’d you go after the dance, Jeff?”
“Greasy Pete’s.”
“Lot of other kids there?”
“Oh, yeah. Billy Swanson and Alice Boggs, Joe Lombardi, Betty Melcher, quite a few.”
Lombardi was one of Jeff’s teammates. “How long were you there?”
“Maybe an hour or so.”
“You drive your car?”
“Yes.”
Jeff had an old Ford convertible, Jud knew. He’d seen him driving it around Braddock. “What time did you take Pat home?”
“Pretty late. Around two.”
“You go in the house?”
He shifted in his chair. “Yeah, for a while.”
That figured. The senior Campbells would likely have been in bed by then, which would have given Jeff and Pat a chance to be by themselves. “What time did you leave?”
“Uh, three, three-thirty.”
“And then?”
“And then I went home.”
According to Dr. Reinholtz, Marcy had died between midnight and 2:00 A.M. Unlike Buddy Harper, Jeff could prove where he’d been until much later than that on Sunday morning. “Let me ask you, Jeff. Anything happen that night, anything you might have thought about later you think I ought to know?”
“Like what?”
“Like anything. If there is, tell me. It’ll be confidential, just between you and me.”
The boy was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Honest, I can’t think of anything.”
“All right, Jeff, thanks. Anything you happen to think of that could interest me, anything at all, you let me know.”
Jeff said he’d do that. He left the office, obviously glad the interview was over.
After he’d gone Jud sat there for a few minutes, thinking back over their conversation. It was the damnedest thing, but he had the distinct feeling he was close to something. The trouble was, he didn’t know what. He wondered if it were true, that he’d learned something but hadn’t recognized it, or if police work was doing to him what it did to so many cops: getting him so nutty he saw hidden motives everywhere, shadows behind the shadows.
The Headsman Page 14