House Infernal by Edward Lee

by Edward Lee

  I hope this isn't a bunch of crap, he thought.

  This far north, he was surprised how hot it was-over eighty. He was even sweating when he crossed the lot and pushed into the small brick building.

  The local cop behind the booking desk had a goatee just like Berns'. Hope that's not a bad omen. He flashed his badge and ID. "I'm looking for a sergeant named-"

  "Lee. That's me. And you must be the captain from New Hampshire." The sergeant was slim, in a dark blue police uniform. The Maine accent instantly rubbed Berns the wrong way, and so did the goatee, even though Berns had one himself. Just doesn't look right on a uniformed cop.

  "You want some coffee? It's really lousy."

  "Sure," Berns said. Anything. "And I gotta tell you something. The roads in Maine suck. I feel like I've been driving on square wheels since six this morning."

  Sergeant Lee looked at his watch. "You drove? You guys got a helicopter; why didn't you take that?"

  "Loaned it to Manchester PD for the Fire Quackers Parade."

  Lee arched a brow. "Well, you made good time. And you're right, the roads here suck, but I think they're worse in New Hampshire. You guys ever going to get with the program and start a state income tax?"

  "Probably about the same time Maine gets the death penalty."

  Did Lee have a limp? How tough can duty be in this postage stamp tourist town? Berns wondered. He took the cup of coffee and winced at the first sip.

  "Funny you should mention the death penalty, Captain." Lee grabbed a ring of keys like you'd see in the sheriff's office in an old Western movie. "That's what part of this guy's spiel is about."

  Berns tossed his crumpled sports jacket over a chair below a poster: WELCOME TO THE LOWEST CRIME TOWN IN THE PINE TREE STATE. "I don't follow you. Your teletype said you've got him cold on molestation and attempted murder of a child. I don't have shit on him. What's his name? Freddie Jackson?"

  ,Johnson.,,

  "My people ran a check and say he's never been a resident of New Hampshire."

  Lee shrugged. He seemed to relish every sip of the awful coffee. "He's itinerant-a Waterman. Let me put it this way, Captain. The guy's white trash, just goes from town to town working for any boat that'll hire him. But here's the rub. He wants to cop a plea-in reverse."

  "Look, I'm brain-dead after driving all friggin' day on your shitty roads. I saw more lynx and porcupines than people, and three hundred miles of spruce trees have got me half hypnotized. Spell it out for me."

  "He's confessing to a couple of sixty-four's in your ju- ris, Captain. Wammsport."

  "The two women-"

  "Right, one was a nun and one was some kind of church custodian. That happened a couple months ago, didn't it?"

  Berns nodded.

  "Johnson wants to confess to that. Says he'd rather die by lethal injection in New Hampshire than do life with no parole in Maine at Warren. How's that sound to you?"

  "It sounds more fucked-up than a tube of crickets. Lemme see this guy."

  Lee jingled the keys on purpose, unlocked one service door, then took Berns down a long hall with a bare cement floor. Berns frowned at another poster that read LUBEC POLICE-TO PROTECT AND SERVE. "Let me ask you something, Sarge. How many murders do you get up here in this rough and tumble town of yours?"

  "None. Ever. Barely any severecrime. We're a pretty vigilant police force, Captain. The thing two nights ago with Johnson was the closest we've ever come to a hardcore murder."

  "Burying a little girl? Yeah, I'd call that hard-core."

  Lee was shaking his head. "We were all over him, just minutes after the nine-one-one. Took the scumbag down before he even got three shovelfuls of dirt in the hole."

  "He say why he wanted to bury the girl?"

  "Oh, yeah. Said he did it for the same reason squirrels bury nuts."

  Berns felt an inner twinge.

  Lee stopped to unlock another door. "State PD's crime shrink says he seems for real, wants to MMPI him. But the psychologist from Washington County detent thinks he's Gansering."

  "Doesn't make sense to Ganser-"

  "In reverse? Damn right it doesn't."

  A row of three jail cells extended past the next door. Two cells were dark but in the third sat a lean, cockily grinning man in orange prison utilities. Thirties or forties, it was hard to tell with watermen; the elements weathered their faces prematurely. Long, greasy blond hair, cleanshaven, and Jesus, Berns thought-a gold tooth up front.

  "Freddie, this is Captain Berns, from the Rockingham County Sheriff's Department in New Hampshire," Lee said.

  "Hey, Captain. You think you could get me a TV in here?" Johnson's tone was cool, easygoing. "I been watchin' paint peel in here for a couple of days."

  "It's called domestic behavioral indoctrination, Freddie," Berns said. "They're just breaking you in, see? You'll be watching paint peel for the next fifty years, so you might as well have a taste now."

  Johnson slumped on his cot. "Aw, now, man-that ain't cool. I'm tryin' to give you something and you're already steppin' on me. And you dudes wonder why folks call cops pigs."

  "Oink, oink." Berns glared through the bars. "Listen. I just drove all the way up the coast of Maine to listen to you. Please don't tell me I've wasted my time. Why am I here, Freddie? Make it good."

  Johnson stood up from the cot and held out his hands, gold tooth flashing from the amped-up grin. "I wanna do you a big favor and confess to-"

  "And don't slide me any bullshit about confessing to the Wammsport murders. You could've heard about that anywhere. Shit, I've got no reason to even believe you ever even lived in Wammsport."

  Johnson looked offended. "The boarding house on Fifth, man. Room three, a bill and a quarter a week. I paid three months in advance, by the way-ask my landlord, Mr. Cotton. Told him I'd be traveling. Oh, and I used to drink at Abny's all the time, too."

  "All right, so you know the name of a bar. Who'd you work for?"

  "I was a day-hire for any boat that needed help. Ask anybody on the town dock if they heard of me. Old redneck named Desmond hired me most 'cos he had the biggest boat. Peekytoes and Jonahs run best in the spring."

  "What the hell's that?"

  "Crabs, man. Sweeter than blue. Shit, the guys who owned the crabbing boats all wanted me 'cos whoever I went out with got the most crabs." The white teeth shimmered. "See, I know the secret."

  "What's that?"

  "The bait, man, the bait. I never tell no one this but, shit, since my goose is cooked now, I'll tell you. You use cat food for Jonahs and salmon scraps for Peekytoes. You do that" Johnson pointed-"and you'll fill every trap you drop."

  "I drove all the way up here for you to tell me about crabs?" Berns tried to sound disgusted. So far, though, the story was level. "Five seconds before I walk out."

  "I'm trying to confess to the nun thing, Captain. It's no jive."

  "Right, those two nuns-"

  "Only one was a nun, I think."

  Still. He could've heard that somewhere. Berns spoke like an irate father scolding his child. "Don't insult me by trying to confess to the nun thing. We already caught the three guys, and they all confessed."

  Johnson sat back down and winked. The big smile never left his face, to the extent that Berns was amazed. How can this loser be so happy when he knows he'll be getting life with no parole?

  "Shame on you, Captain. You are a card, you know that?" Then Johnson laughed. "It wasn't three guys, it was just two: me and another dude, a boat hand. And one chick."

  Another wink.

  "The state shrink says you're Gansering, Freddie. That means you're lying through your face to snatch a lower sentence."

  Johnson shook his head in disbelief. "You need to eat more fish, Captain, 'cos fish, they say, is brain food. I don't want no lower sentence-I want a higher one. I want capital murder in a state that'll execute me."

  "I'm leaving, Freddie. You're full of shit."

  "What? Are you crazy?"

  "No, Freddie, but that
's what you want the jury to think-because only a crazy guy would want to be executed for a crime he didn't commit."

  Berns started for the door.

  "I don't believe this shit, man. I killed those two galsstripped 'em naked and cut their throats! I'm handing myself to you on a silver platter, man!"

  Berns turned back around. "Then tell me why you buried that little girl two nights ago." He tried to surprise him.

  Johnson calmed down, cocked his head. "I didn't bury her. I tried to bury her." He edged a shoulder toward Lee. "Until John Law here and his town clown supercops rained on my parade."

  Berns lit a cigarette right beneath the NO SMOKING sign. "Who would do something like that? What kind of man would rape a ten-year-old girl and then try to bury her alive?"

  Johnson's smile switched to a sneer. He jumped up and banged the bars so hard both Berns and Lee flinched, hands instinctively hovering over their holsters.

  Just now, the happy-go-lucky crabber looked scary. "I ain't no kiddie-diddler, pig. I ain't a sicko, and I didn't do nothing sexual to that girl."

  "I'm supposed to believe you took her clothes off but didn't molest her?"

  "She had to be naked, man-it was part of the thing, see?" Johnson banged his fist against the bars. It had to have hurt yet he betrayed no sign of pain. "Fuck you, man. I'll just hang myself in Warren. Why should I give you credit for a double-murder when you treat me like this? Bet you ain't been doing nothing your whole career except writing traffic tickets for tourists and scarfing free coffee."

  "Won't argue with you there, Freddie."

  And I resent you, man, for sayin' I'd do something sexual to a kid. You got doctors who can tell that I didn't, and you damn well know we didn't do anything sexual to the nun either, and that other woman last spring."

  Berns gave him a long look.

  "They can't be sexually tainted, but I don't expect you to get that. And I bent over backwards to be careful with the little girl. She was unconscious the whole time, 'cos I didn't want her all terrified and shit. I made it so she'd have smothered to death underground, never would've regained consciousness."

  Berns glanced to Lee, who stood with his arms crossed. "He's not pulling your leg on that one, Captain. He knocked the girl out with ether he stole from a veterinarian. He must've been casing the trailer park she lived in because he knew when her parents would be gone. Knocked out the fifteen-year-old brother baby-sitting, then knocked the girl out, both with the ether. He already had the hole dug in the woods."

  "How'd he get fingered?"

  Lee smiled. "Next-door neighbor saw him hauling the girl out the window, so he called nine-one-one." He looked to Johnson. "Pretty bonehead move, Freddie. Maybe you're the one who should eat more fish."

  "Damn straight," Johnson said and got his smile back.

  "And the good news is the girl didn't remember anything that happened. Didn't even remember getting snatched or being in the hole. Shrink says she won't be all screwed up in the head later. I guess we at least have to give Freddie some credit. For a flaked-out demented sociopath and would-be child-killer, he's pretty considerate. Oh, and here's something. When we searched Freddie's pad, we found forty grand in cash."

  Berns raised a brow. "That's righteous bucks, Freddie. How's an itinerant crabber get forty grand?"

  The big shuck-and-jive smile returned in full. "Let's just say that my boss appreciates loyal employees."

  "Tell the Captain your boss' name, Freddie," Lee urged.

  "Eosphorus," " Freddie said. "But trust me. You wouldn't understand."

  Eosphorus? What the hell is that? "Back to the girl you tried to bury," Berns said. "What do you mean, she had to be naked?"

  Johnson lay back on the cot, crossed his feet. "The revelation of her innocence, Captain. It's an epiphany, see? It's transpositional. We'd call it a precursory oblation."

  Epiphany? Oblation? Berns wondered.

  Johnson held up an elucidating finger. "And you already know-the nun and the church woman? Their bodies were naked, too. And I killed 'em on March twentieth, the night before the vernal equinox. But I'm just trying to make it easy for you, Captain. You wouldn't understand what I'm all about, so just leave it ... and charge me with capital murder." He shrugged in the bunk. "I'll take a polygraph any time you say. Type me up a confession. I'll sign it right now."

  What's making this guy tick? Berns wondered. He's not crazy, and he's not fucked-up from drugs. What gives? "So you had two accomplices for the Wammsport job?"

  "That's right. Another dude and a chick."

  Berns whipped out a notebook. "Names."

  "Uh-uh. It was me who did the cutting anyway. They just helped. Forget them. It's me you want. They were just help on the side. Adjuncts."

  Johnson's recent selection of words began to bother Berns. "Equinox, adjuncts, oblations-shit, Freddie, that's a mouthful for a guy like you, and it bugs me. They can't be sexually tainted? You talking about sacrifice? Is that what this is all about-you're some kind of Satanist?"

  "Let's just say that I'm an Eosphorian, man." Johnson winked again.

  "The occult, huh?" Lee remarked. "He's got a pretty creepy looking tattoo, by the way."

  "Ohs yeah?"

  "Freddie, you want to show the Captain your tattoo?"

  Johnson hopped back up. "Shit-yeah, man. I'm proud out it," and he unbuttoned his utilities, dragged his arms out, and began to drag them down past his waist.

  Berns signed. "I did not drive all this way to see this guy's dick, Sergeant."

  "Freddie, please. just the tattoo. I'll Taser anything else you whip out."

  "I believe you would, Sarge." Johnson grinned. "I believe you would."

  Johnson pulled the utilities past his navel and stopped just above his pubic hair. "Check it out..."

  The tattoo, the size of an index card, was between Johnson's navel and crotch:

  Berns didn't know why but there was something sinister about it. "See what I mean?" Lee said, then, "Art show's over, Freddie. Hoist 'em back up."

  "Is that cool or what?" Johnson shouldered back into the jail-cell pajamas.

  "It looks new."

  "Got it less than a year ago. Hurt like hell, too, and I think the chick doing the work was digging that."

  "Fine. So what is it?" Berns asked.

  "It's ... my trademark, man." That gold-toothed grin seemed to hang in the air. "And that's all you need to know. So how about it? I've leveled with you. Level with me. You gonna help me out?"

  "Believe it or not, I'm thinking about it," Berns told him.

  "I mean, come on. You guys are cops. Cops hate the idea of murderers having rights, and I'm a murderer. Dudes like you believe all hard criminals should be executed without trial-save tax dollars for better things. Get the shit out of the gene pool, right?"

  Berns and Lee traded smiles.

  "You're speaking our language, Freddie."

  "Well, here I am. I confess to the Wammsport murders. Transport me to New Hampshire and charge me. I'll plead guilty and deny my appeals. And since I'll be on death row I'll be on the PC block. They'll punch my ticket in a month, and I'll have a smile on my face."

  Berns stroked his goatee. I don't think this scumbag is lying....

  For the first time, Johnson seemed distraught. "Captain, in two days they're gonna haul me out of here and take me to my arraignment. Then my ass lands in centralprocessing at the Warren supermax until my trial. Warren's the worst state cut in the East-I'll be hamburger there after five minutes."

  "I know," Berns said.

  Johnson's eyes beseeched Berns with an earnest plea. "Help me out, man. And you get the collar for busting a guy who murdered a nun. You'll be the local hero."

  "You really do want to die, don't you?" Berns leaned closer. "Why? You're not crazy. You're not suicidal."

  Johnson sighed, as if exhaling cigarette smoke. "When the party's over, it's over, man. That's my philosophy. But don't make me off myself in Warren. Help me out, Captain." Freddi
e paused, grinning again. "Who knows? You might be rewarded someday."

  Berns let his thoughts tick. Then he said this: "I'm going to come back and see you in a week, Freddie. And in the meantime, I'm going to ask the Sarge here to request an arraignment delay for pending evidence analysis. I'll fax up your confession tomorrow, and you sign it, and then I'll talk to the New Hampshire state attorney's office and have them prioritize your charge. Then your smiling redneck ass gets to stay in this cushy cell until you're transported to protective custody in New Hampshire. How's that sound?"

  Freddie's grin turned huge. "I knew you were a cool guy!"

  "You can thank me at your execution."

  "Damn straight!"

  Lee added, "And maybe I can even scrounge up a TV so you won't have to watch any more paint peel."

  Johnson clapped his hands and whistled. "You guys are the bomb!"

  "When I come back here next week, I'll have some more questions, all right, Freddie?" Berns said.

  "Hell yes, Captain."

  "I'm gonna want to know about your accomplices on the Wammsport job."

  Johnson leaned forward on the cot, hands clasped. "Captain, those flunkies don't matter for shit. I did the cutting. I'm the murderer. I don't even know their last names-that's how we worked. You want descriptions, I'll give 'em to you, but you won't be able to find 'em anyway."

  .Why?"

  "The day after the murders, we all split."

  "All three of you left the state?"

  "That's right. That's what we agreed, and we agreed not to tell each other where we were going. I'm the guy you want. Those other two? Ain't nothing but a pair of pissant rednecks. They could barely even hold down jobs-I had to buy their fuckin' beer!"

  Berns looked at him.

  Freddie's tooth flashed like a mint commercial. "But when you come back to see me? I'll tell you all about the blood."

  "Okay, Freddie. Don't fuck me over on this one."

  "Ain't gonna happen, Captain. See ya next week."

  Berns and Lee returned to the front office. "Are you okay with that arraignment delay?" Berns asked.