Loonies

by Gregory Bastianelli

  The old man laughed. “Time, that’s all I got left.” Brian remembered Rolfe Krimmer saying the same thing. Probably something most old people related to. “Why the interest in that old case, sonny? Writing a book or something?”

  “No,” Brian said, though the idea intrigued him. He then told Mr. Kreck about the murders in Smokey Hollow.

  “You don’t think this guy has started killing again do you?”

  “I don’t know,” Brian said, and he didn’t.

  “God, that was fifty some odd years ago. Where the hell’s he been hiding all these years?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Brian meant to say this to himself, but realized he had spoken it into the phone.

  “Well, I hope not,” Kreck said. “I still picture to this day seeing the bodies with those pillowcases. Gives me the creeps thinking about it.”

  “I know what you mean,” Brian said, and he did. He still had the image of the pillowcase on Ruth Snethen’s head. He couldn’t shake it. Especially since it had shown up in that dream the other night.

  When Brian sat in his office, putting the stories together for that week’s edition, he felt grateful for what he had to work with, even though there were still too many missing pieces. But that was the newspaper business. Every article was incomplete. All you could do was go with what information you had at the moment. He had two murders to write about and the arrest of the town’s assistant fire chief for the Mustard House arson.

  Of course, he had to make sure he put the Dump Fest preview on the front page. But the whole top of the edition was devoted to the grim news unfolding in town. He felt bad about putting the story on the Knackerman inside, but the photo of Hester Pigott at his work table was better hidden inside the newspaper. There was enough graphic material on the front.

  Brian decided not to mention the pillowcases. He partially did this as a favor to Steem, hoping to smooth things over with the State Police captain. Steem was appreciative when Brian called to let him know. He wouldn’t use the term happy; he doubted Steem knew happy, but he could tell in the captain’s voice that he was relieved.

  But part of it was out of necessity. Brian didn’t have enough information on the old serial killer to really bring that angle into the story of the recent murders. Keeping the information on the pillowcases quiet also gave him a slight advantage over the other reporters. None of the other media knew that detail, and he figured Steem would keep it that way.

  Taking a break, Brian walked to Wibbels’ Fruit Market and Real Estate to see if Leo was there. When he walked in, the owner was near the back of the shop opening a crate of fruit with a crowbar. As he walked down the rows of fruit and vegetable displays, he saw the sales clerk behind the counter—the man with the glasses he had seen on the second-floor porch at the rooming house.

  “Hello, Mr. Keays,” Leo said over the screeching sound made when he pried the nails loose from the crate cover. “Need some last minute information about the festival?” The man was smiling.

  “No, I’m all set with that. Already have it laid out in tomorrow’s edition.”

  “Front page?”

  “Of course.”

  The man clapped him on the shoulder. “Good to hear. You don’t know what this means to the town.” He set the crowbar down on a nearby counter.

  “I guess I don’t,” Brian said, though he didn’t think Leo was really listening.

  The man grabbed the crate and began walking down one of the aisles. Brian followed.

  “So, to what do I owe this visit?” He set the crate down and began scooping the cranberries into a bin.

  “I’m sure you are aware Ruth Snethen had been living in a house you’ve been trying to sell.”

  “Of course. The State Police asked me a few questions about that.”

  “Yes,” Brian said. “I heard. You told them you didn’t know she had been staying there.”

  “That’s right. I represent a lot of houses in town, several of them vacant. Real estate’s been a bit slow in this economy. Hadn’t had a showing at that one in several weeks.”

  “I gather that.”

  “That’s why you got such a good deal on your house.” Wibbels flashed his smile.

  “And I certainly appreciate all the help you provided.”

  “You and Darcie like the house?”

  “Very much so,” Brian said. “Of course, with the exception of the trunk in the attic.”

  Wibbels grin evaporated. “Unfortunate. I should have done a more thorough check of the house before listing it.”

  “Hindsight,” Brian said.

  Wibbels stopped what he was doing and looked at Brian with his squinting eyes. “So what did you come see me for?”

  At that moment, Brian wasn’t really sure. Everything Wibbels said corroborated what Steem and Noah had told him. Ruth Snethen broke into the vacant house and had been basically living there. Obviously the woman had feared for her life and didn’t want to stay at the retirement complex she had moved to after Brian bought her house. And as it turned out, she had good reason to be afraid.

  “I guess I’m just double checking my facts,” Brian said. “Want to make sure I have everything accurate.”

  Stepping outside, Brian looked up and down Main Street. It was quiet. He looked up at the marquee of the cinema. The “Y” and “C” were still there, but the “Y” was crooked and looked like it was barely clinging to the marquee, as if a strong breeze would knock it loose. The problem was, there was no breeze. It was another hot day, too many for this early in the summer. And there hadn’t been rain in a while to cool things off.

  Brian saw Jonas Fitchen in the window of his taxidermist shop, setting up a stuffed fox. The display of glass eyes stared out the window. Don’t watch me, Brian thought. It made him think of Marshall lying in that tiny coffin in the graveyard beyond the cemetery. He wondered if Simon Runck was still at the county jail, or if anyone had posted bail for him by now. Since the murder of Ruth Snethen took place while Runck was in county lockup, it paid to reason he was not involved in the murders, at least not directly. But he had burned down the institute.

  Time to pay Noah a visit. He walked to the police station. The chief was in his office and welcomed him. Even though Brian had talked to him first thing in the morning, he still asked about any new developments.

  “Got something you will be interested in,” Noah said with a smile.

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Brian whipped out his notebook.

  “Looks like our former assistant fire chief has quite a history.”

  Brian looked up. “As in?”

  “Apparently, the fire department he worked at before he came to Smokey Hollow had a string of unsolved arsons.”

  “Where was that?”

  “Up north in Coos County.” Noah named some town Brian had never heard of. “Mostly abandoned houses and small buildings. No injuries. But no one was ever caught. At least a dozen cases of arson. They stopped when Runck left there.”

  “So he’s a regular firebug.” Brian thought that odd since the firefighter had told him he was afraid of fire. He had said that he’d moved to Smokey Hollow because he thought it’d be a safe town with little activity. Brian looked at Noah. “Any unsolved arsons in this town since he’s been on the department.”

  “Two,” Noah said, “not counting the dumpster blaze at the shoe factory the night Marshall was hung.”

  “That was obviously a ploy to get Runck and the others out of the station. So what are the two?”

  “The Mustard House fire, of course,” Noah said.

  “And the other?”

  The chief grinned. “That’s what I thought you’d be interested in.”

  Brian leaned forward in his chair.

  “The other arson was a fire at your house, back when Ruth Snethen lived there.”

  Chapter 14

  VISIT WITH A FIREBUG

  Brian wanted to see if Simon Runck would grant him an interview. Noah had some
connections at the jail and said he’d make a call and see if it was possible. In the meantime, Brian paid a visit to the fire station to see Chief Warren Shives with the news Noah had given him.

  “There was no connection to Simon concerning those arsons up north,” Shives told him. “There were no suspicions. Otherwise we never would have hired him. It does explain a few things about the fire at the Wymbs Institute, though.”

  “Such as?”

  “I was out of town the night of the blaze,” Shives said. “Simon took the initial call and was in charge when the first crews got to the scene. In a small town like this, with any kind of a serious fire, a mutual aid call goes out to surrounding towns immediately.”

  “And that didn’t happen here?”

  Shives shook his head. “Simon delayed the call for mutual aid. And delayed calling me. By the time I got to the scene, Simon had already given the surround-and-drown order, giving up on any real attempt to save the structure.”

  “Of course,” Brian said. “He wanted the place to burn to the ground.”

  “That’s apparent now. Never would have suspected it.”

  “Tell me about the fire at my house.” That’s what most concerned Brian.

  “A small blaze. Started by the bulkhead in back of the house. We got there right away and quickly had it contained. Minimal damage.”

  “And it was arson?”

  Shives nodded. “That’s what the state fire marshal determined. They and the police investigated it. They came up empty.”

  “And Runck was never suspected?”

  Shives seemed offended. “No reason to. He was a great employee.”

  “Hmm,” Brian thought, looking at his notes from what Noah told him. “How long ago was the fire at my house?”

  Shives tipped his head back, closing his eyes for a second. “About seven years,” he said upon opening them.

  Brian scribbled dates down, forming a timeline in his notes. “And how long had Runck been on the force before that.”

  “Couple years.”

  “And he came right here from the fire department up north?”

  Shives hesitated. “No,” he said. “Not quite. It was about four years after he left that department.”

  Brian looked up. “Where did he work between then?” He wondered if he worked at some other firehouse and committed other arsons.

  Shives shrugged. “Not really sure.”

  Brian lowered his notebook. This sounded odd. “What do you mean not sure?” He looked at his notes, flipping back a page. “There was a four-year gap from when he left his last firefighting job and started here, and you don’t know where he spent it?”

  “That’s right,” Shives said, his voice stern.

  Brian slumped back in his chair. “Was it on his resume?”

  “I didn’t see his resume.”

  Now Brian was dumbfounded. They had hired Runck as an assistant fire chief. That was a pretty important position. “Why not?”

  Shives leaned forward over his desk. “Listen, I don’t do the hiring around here. All municipal positions are hired through the Board of Selectmen’s office.”

  “The selectmen?”

  “Yes,” Shives said, sitting back. “So if you want to know any more than what I can provide you, I suggest you talk to Eldon Winch.”

  Brian certainly intended to. As he got up to leave, he thought of one more question and turned back. “Did Runck have his ventriloquist dummy when he worked for that other fire department?”

  “Yes,” Shives said, a curious look on his face. “Had it for some time from what I’ve heard.”

  Brian wondered if Runck brought Marshall to the interview process, grinning a bit at the thought. He would ask Winch that as well.

  When he left the station, he got a call from Noah telling him an interview with Runck was set up at the county jail. It was only a half-hour ride up Route 113, and Brian managed to smoke five cigarettes on the ride and down a cup of coffee.

  Now as he sat on the other side of a plexi-glass window waiting for Runck to arrive, his nerves were jittery. He doodled in his notepad. When Runck was led to the seat on the other side of the glass, the man seemed nervous as well.

  Brian picked up the phone to connect with the man opposite him. “Hello, Assistant Chief Runck,” he said, hoping that extending the aura of authority would encourage the man to cooperate.

  “No more, I guess,” Runck said, his voice sad. His eyes looked bloodshot. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping well.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” Brian said.

  “I’ve really made a mess of things,” he said. “It just got out of control.”

  “They know about the other fires,” Brian said, taking a gamble, not knowing if Steem had already spoken to Simon about the arsons. “The ones in the town you used to work for.”

  Runck showed little reaction, though his eyes dropped. “That was a long time ago. I was younger then.”

  “But you don’t deny you started them.”

  He looked up. “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I was more like an accomplice.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Marshall always started them. He liked fires. He was obsessed.” He looked up, making eye contact with Brian. “I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me.” His eyes pleaded for understanding.

  “You couldn’t stop him, could you?”

  Runck shook his head. “No. Marshall was stronger than me. I never liked fire. That’s why I became a firefighter, to stop fires. But I couldn’t stop Marshall.”

  Brian remembered watching the interrogation footage with Steem the night Runck was arrested. He had wondered then if it was all an act. Now he felt certain it wasn’t.

  “Did you stop setting fires when you came to Smokey Hollow?”

  “Yes. I had gotten better.”

  “You had gotten better? I thought Marshall had the problem.”

  Runck’s brows dipped as his eyes narrowed. He looked confused. “I meant we got better. The two of us. We stopped setting fires. I mean he stopped.”

  “What about the fire at Ruth Snethen’s house? Where I live now.”

  The large man sat back in his chair, his shoulders slumped. He looked like a child caught in a lie and trying to figure a way out of it. He let out a long sigh. “That was Marshall again. I thought we had overcome it, but he had a relapse.”

  “Why? Did something happen?”

  Runck leaned forward, his face almost hitting the glass. “It wasn’t his fault! He was tempted.” His voice rose, prompting concern on the face of the jail guard standing nearby.

  “Tempted by what?” Brian asked, relieved that the guard made no attempt to interrupt their conversation.

  “Not what, who.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone convinced Marshall to set the fire. I tried to talk him out of it. You have to believe me. We had made such progress.”

  “Who wanted him to set the fire?”

  “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. Marshall was very secretive. He said it would be dangerous if I knew.”

  “Is it the same person who told you to set the fire at the Mustard House?”

  “Told Marshall,” he corrected. “Yes, Marshall said it was the same person.”

  “And you don’t know who this person is?”

  “No. I never spoke to him. He only spoke to Marshall.”

  “But you know it was a he?”

  “That’s what Marshall said. A man spoke to him, in private.”

  Brian was frustrated. If only Runck could see that the man had to have talked to him. But in Simon’s world, Marshall was his own identity, with interactions separate from him. “Did this man want the fire set because the trunk was in the house?”

  Runck looked at him through the glass. His face was pale. “I swear I knew nothing about that trunk. And I didn’t kill Dr. Wymbs either.”

  Of course he hadn’t. It was obvious to Brian and the
authorities that all three murders were committed by the same person (The Pillowcase?) and Runck was here the night of Ruth Snethen’s murder.

  “Have you heard about the other murders?” Brian asked.

  Runck’s hands twitched and he almost dropped the receiver. “Yes. There’s a lot of talk about it in here amongst the guards.”

  “Do you know who might be involved?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “The culprit is still on the loose. A lot of people are worried.”

  “That’s why I told them I didn’t want to be bailed out.”

  “Told who?”

  “Chief Shives and the others at the department. They wanted to pool money to bail me out, but I didn’t want any part of it.” He leaned forward again and his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “It’s not safe out there.”

  “Who are you afraid of?”

  Runck looked around him, and then faced Brian. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out. That’s why Marshall was killed, to keep him from talking.

  “Because Marshall knew the person who told him to set the fires?”

  “Exactly.”

  This was no help, Brian thought. “I’m sure you’ll be safe in here.” He was about to end the conversation when he thought about something. He flipped back a few pages in his notepad. “Simon, you said you and Marshall got better and stopped setting fires till he had a relapse.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you get treatment somewhere?”

  His question was met by a stone face. Color flowed back into the man’s cheeks.

  “It’s good if you got help,” Brian said, trying to allay the man’s concerns. “There’s no shame in that.”

  “We got better,” was all the man said.

  “Simon, there was a four-year gap between your last firefighting job and the time you got hired at the Smokey Hollow Fire Department.”

  The man thought for a moment. “Sounds about right.”

  “Was that when you were getting treatment?”

  Runck bit his lower lip. It looked like he was struggling to hold back his response. “Yes,” he finally said.