“You sure it was Harper?”
“It’s him, all right. I talked to a Texas state trooper. He says the description of the kid fit the picture we put out to a T. Also Harper abandoned the truck and lit out when he realized he’d been seen.”
“We ran a check on the plates,” Williger added. “Truck was stolen four days ago near Scranton.”
Pearson exhaled a stream of blue smoke. “Like I told you, I’ve worked on more homicide cases than I can count, and this one strikes me as an old story. Pair of young lovers, something happens to make trouble. They fight, boy kills girl. He tries to ride it out, but then he panics and skips.”
Jud had heard this speech often enough to be able to recite it himself. But he listened quietly.
Williger again spoke up. “The Barnaby case in Westlake last year. Same deal. Girlfriend threatened to break up with this guy, he choked her. Had all the same elements as this one.”
“Like I also told you,” Pearson said to Jud, “you work on this stuff long enough, you’ve seen it all at least once.”
“What if Harper didn’t do it?”
A tolerant smile crossed Pearson’s face. “We’ll worry about that when we get him.”
“Sure,” Jud said. “See you guys later.”
They said goodnight and he left the office.
He walked out of the stationhouse and drove home. When he got there he drank a beer while he undressed, and then fell into bed, too tired even to bother with the shower he’d promised himself.
But sleep would not come for a long time. His head was filled with ghostly faces in old, grainy photographs that faded in and out as he thought about them, one after another.
3
In the morning Jud got into his cruiser and headed out toward Route 5.
When he pulled into the driveway the Jeep was parked in front of the barn and the hound again came out to snarl at him. He left the patrol car next to the Jeep and went up the snowy walk to the house. He knocked, and Emmett Stark opened the door.
Jud was shocked by the old chief’s appearance. He looked drawn and pasty, and his hand trembled as Jud shook it. But he smiled at his visitor and said to come on in. Jud followed him into the kitchen, where Stark poured mugs of coffee for them, and from there they went into the workroom.
The potbellied stove was glowing, and the area was comfortably warm. The atmosphere was as masculine as ever, with the mounted animal heads and the rifles and fishing rods in their racks on the walls, but Jud noticed that the workbench appeared not to be in use. Something was going on with Stark; Jud sensed that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Instead of sitting at the bench, the old man led him to the leather sofa and chairs along the far wall.
They sat down, and Jud peered at him. “How you feeling, Chief?”
For a moment he thought the old chief would offer up a cheerful lie, but then Stark said, “Lousy.”
“What is it?”
“Heart again. I had a bad spell here a week or so back.”
“Angina?”
“Yep. That quack Reinholtz wanted to put me in Memorial, but I told him to go to hell. Once you get inside that goddamn place you’ll never get out. If I’m gonna die I’d rather do it here, on my own terms.”
“Who’s talking about dying?”
“Oh, there’s one person you can’t bullshit, and that’s yourself. I don’t have any illusions about what’s going on.”
“Maybe what you need is to get out of this climate.”
“Maybe.”
“What about going to Arizona to live with your son?”
“Yeah, well, that could be. If I get to feeling better I just might think seriously about it.”
Jud didn’t know what to say. Stark had always been a tough character, with a gruff way about him. To see him going downhill was depressing. But he tried to strike a note of optimism. “Be spring soon, things’ll change then. Lot of trout swimming around out there, waiting to get caught.”
Stark smiled. “Sure. I’ll be back in shape by that time.”
Jud sipped his coffee. He wanted to talk with the old man, but he didn’t want to put any strain on him.
Stark seemed to know what was on Jud’s mind. “How’s it going with the Dickens case—any line on where the Harper kid might’ve got off to?”
“No. Pearson’s got a dragnet set up like you wouldn’t believe. They think they spotted the kid in Texas, but they haven’t got him yet.”
Stark grunted. “They will, sooner or later. Police procedures are pretty good these days. There’s a lot better cooperation with the different agencies. Didn’t used to see that until the last few years. What else is happening?”
“I’ve been looking into the Donovan case, for one thing.”
“Kind of a cold trail, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” For a moment Jud thought about telling him of his visit to Westchester, but then he decided against it.
“You said there was nothing in the records?”
“No. But I’ve been asking around. Some people still remember Mrs. Donovan. Seems she was quite a swinger in her time. Mixed up with just about every young hotshot in Braddock.”
“Not surprised to hear that. Whenever you get a good-looking young married woman murdered, it’s either her husband or a lover who’s responsible, nine times out of ten. You want to know what I believe happened, I’d say John Donovan’s the one who swung that ax.”
“He had a good alibi, Chief. Out of town when it happened.”
“Maybe so. But if I’d been investigating it, I’d have worked Donovan over plenty. He could have gone back to the house and done it, then doubled back to wherever his business was that day. Later on he goes home and yells, oh my god, what a tragedy. Now that’s just a theory, but that’s what I would have gone after.”
“What about the lovers?”
“Same thing. If she was seeing other guys, I would’ve concentrated on them too, you can be sure of that.”
“Not many of the old force still around from those days.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Joe Grady’s about the only one who’s left.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He worked under you for a long time, Chief. What’s your opinion of him?”
“Why—you having problems with him?”
“Not really. But what do you think of him?”
Stark considered the question. “I’d say he was a pretty good cop. He’s got his limitations, of course. And being a thick-headed Irishman doesn’t help. Got a hell of a temper, and he was always too quick with a nightstick. But by and large, okay. Now, what’s going on?”
Jud smiled. “Still as suspicious as ever, eh?”
“Damn right. I was a cop myself too many years not to smell the smoke. What’s bothering you about him?”
“Some of the time I get the idea Joe’s going down a separate path. And he makes sure I don’t know where that is. He never accepted me, you know. Never got over my getting this job instead of him.”
“Human nature, isn’t it? He spent all those years waiting for me to retire, and then when I did I picked you to succeed me instead. You wouldn’t exactly expect him to love you, would you?”
“No, I suppose not. For that matter, I don’t suppose he’s overly fond of you either, under the circumstances.”
“You’re right about that. Joe figures I stuck it to him. I tried to make him understand, too. Had a long talk with him, explained how the job called for new blood. Pointed out he’d be retiring himself before long. But it didn’t seem to make much of an impression on him. So if he’s giving you a hard time now, I’m not surprised.”
“What do you know about his personal life?”
“Well, he’s got two grown kids, a boy and a girl. One’s in Buffalo, the other lives in Detroit, I think. I forget which one is where. Both married, with kids of their own.”
“How’s his marriage?”
Stark pursed his lips. “Kind of a truce by now, I gu
ess. Was a time when they used to fight like hell. Peggy’s a strong-willed woman, and Joe liked to hit the sauce pretty good when he was younger.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, yeah. In the last couple of years he seemed to quiet down a lot. But he was a hellraiser in his day. Lot of times he’d come in smelling like something died. And every now and then he’d go off on a bender. Sometimes for as long as a week. I came that close to firing him more than once.”
“Ever know him to play around with the ladies?”
“Yeah, that too. Joe always had something going.”
“Would you remember any of the women he was seeing?”
“Oh, Christ, Jud—that was years ago. Like I said, he’s reformed with age. I’d have to think if I knew who any of his friends were. Is it important?”
“No, I was just curious.”
“If I can come up with anything, you want me to let you know?”
“Yeah, if something occurs to you, call me.”
“You know, Jud, it might be good if I gave you a little advice.”
“On what?”
“This Donovan business, if we can get back to that for a minute.”
“Yes?”
“Seems to me you could get your tit in a wringer, messing around with that one.”
“That so?”
“You think about it. Your chances of cracking it are just about zero. Not after all these years, and especially with the way the original investigation was loused up. If you ever did it’d be a miracle. Or the biggest stroke of luck you could think of.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Sure I am. So in the meantime, you go messing around in that pile of shit, some of the things that crawl out could bite you.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
Stark raised his coffee mug, then abruptly set it down. His face contorted, and his breath came in shallow gasps.
Jud leaned toward him. “Hey, Chief—you okay?”
The old man nodded and dug into his shirt pocket, coming up with a plastic vial. He fumbled it open and took out a small white pill, popping it into his mouth. After a minute or so his breathing returned to normal.
Jud put his hand on Stark’s arm. “What was that, nitro?”
“Uh-huh. I’ll be all right, soon as I rest a bit.”
“You want me to stick around?”
“No, no—you get on back to work. I appreciate your coming by.”
“Sure you’re okay?”
“Hell, yes. I’m gonna get a nap, and that’ll fix me up. Doc told me I just can’t overdo it, is all.”
Jud got to his feet. “Don’t bother to walk out with me—you stay here and take it easy.”
Stark’s voice was weak. “Yeah, I’ll do that. So long, Jud.”
“See you later, Chief. Take care of yourself.”
When he got back into the car Jud looked back at the old house, and then at the Jeep and the snarling hound. He had a feeling that one way or another, Emmett Stark wouldn’t be around here much longer.
4
When the bell rang to signal the end of the period, Frank Hathaway peered out at the class. He’d deliberately waited until the last possible moment before giving them homework, because that would make it all the more annoying. They’d think they were getting away without an assignment, and here he was with the good news. “Before you go,” he called out.
The rustle of gathering books and papers stopped and the students turned toward him, displeasure showing on their faces. They waited.
“Read chapters ten through fifteen,” he commanded. “I’ll give you a quiz on the material tomorrow morning.”
To his satisfaction a collective groan rose from his pupils. They’d been reading Jack London’s Call of the Wild, and plainly found it boring. But then, anything above the intellectual demands of a comic strip would have had the same effect. They streamed out of the room grumbling to themselves.
Hathaway touched the controls on his wheelchair, sending the machine into a turn toward his desk.
“Mr. Hathaway?”
He stopped and looked back. Betty Melcher was approaching him. “Yes, Betty?”
“Could I talk to you for a minute?”
“Of course.” He indicated a vacant chair nearby.
She sat down and crossed her legs, letting her skirt slip up well past her knees. “I wanted to talk to you about my grade.”
“Yes? What about it?”
“Well, with what I’ve been getting in the tests and on my homework, I’m about at a B level, is that right?”
“I’d have to look at my grade book, but I’d say yes, that’s probably about what it is.”
She sat back in her chair, arching her back a little. She was wearing a tight red sweater that buttoned down the front, and the top was open enough so that he could see the swelling of her breasts. Melcher had a nice body and a way of moving that he found extremely provocative. From the first day of class last fall she’d been teasing him, giving him little glimpses of her thighs, bending over so that he could see down the front of her blouse, looking at him with a wanton expression on her face.
“I was wondering,” she said, “what it would take to improve it.”
He smiled. “Why the sudden interest in higher grades?” The fact was, she’d always played up to him more than any of the others in the class. Which was why she was at the B level. Actually her test scores and her homework weren’t worth more than a C.
“Oh, I just thought it’d be nice to finish the year with a good record.”
“Come on, Betty—what’s the real reason?”
An impish smile crossed her face. “Can you keep a secret?”
The idea of sharing a confidence with this nymphet had an erotic effect on him. “Of course.”
“My father promised to buy me a new car if I made honors. An A in your class would do it.”
“I might have known.”
Her smiled widened. “It’s a good reason, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps. At least you’re honest about it.”
“So what would it take?”
He studied her. She moved again under his gaze, thrusting her chest out a little more boldly this time and moistening her lips as her eyes locked on his. Careful, he thought. Don’t read something into this that might not be there. “I guess it would take some extra effort.”
She nodded. “Okay. It’s pretty important to me. I’d do anything to get it.”
“Anything?”
She uncrossed her legs and then crossed them again, the skirt riding up even higher. “Anything.”
He felt himself respond. Despite his resolve, she was getting to him. And from the look on her face, she knew it. He let his gaze slide down to her breasts and then back up to her eyes. “Maybe we could work something out.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Hathaway.”
He tried a probe. “How would you feel about my giving you some special instruction?”
“You mean like in private? Sort of like tutoring?”
“Something like that.”
“Sounds great.”
Maybe it was his condition. Maybe it was the idea that from the waist down he was dead—at least, she thought he was—that was making her bold. She could entice him because she thought he couldn’t do anything about it anyway, so she was safe. Was that it? He’d have no way of knowing short of asking her, unless—
“We could meet someplace,” she said. “Outside of here.”
He let his guard down another notch. “I think that would be delightful.”
“So do I.” She tilted her head, still holding him with that knowing look. “You live in an apartment, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I could come over some day after school.”
It was time to test her a little. “Might give people the wrong idea.”
“Who’d have to know?”
“No one, I suppose.”
She smiled and moved her body
once more. “And I’d never tell.” Then she stood up, her breasts now at his eye level. “You just say when. The sooner the better.” She turned and treated him to a rear view as she strolled out of the classroom.
The brazen little bitch.
Did he dare? Well, why not? After all, it wasn’t only the Betty Melchers of the world who considered him helpless; everyone else did, too. So what was wrong with a student so eager to learn that she stopped in at his home for an extra assignment or to discuss the material they were reading? That is, if anyone were to discover she’d been there, which probably wouldn’t happen at all. In fact, there was no reason for anyone to know a thing about it. This would be just between the two of them.
The fact that Sam Melcher would never know what his daughter was up to made it all the more alluring.
But he’d have to be extremely careful. No matter what happened, she could never be allowed to guess the truth about him. After all, it was possible for him to be only partially paralyzed in the lower part of his body, wasn’t it? At least, as far as she knew? Another of their little secrets.
Which would hide his secrets.
A bell rang signaling the next period, which he had free. He touched the controls and the wheelchair whirred its way out the door and down the hall.
5
From Stark’s place Jud drove out to Empex headquarters on Old North Road. The sun was higher now, and the air was cold but crisp and invigorating. He parked in one of the spaces marked VISITORS and when he got out of the car he could hear the flag on the pole in front of the building snapping in the wind.
This was one of the more modern structures in Braddock, three stories tall, a center section with a wing off each side, all of it clad in gray glass. There was no name on the building, only a small bronze sign out front. Jud had been here once or twice before, but he’d been driving a patrol car in those days; it seemed a long time ago.
The receptionist looked up and greeted him pleasantly when he stepped into the lobby, asking if she could help him. He told her he wanted to see Mr. Campbell and she lifted a telephone and spoke into it.
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