The footsteps pounding down the staircase echoed in the hallway.
He heard a groan from the room in front of him. Treece lay on the floor. Brian went to his side, helping the chief to his knees. Noah was rubbing the back of his head.
“What the hell hit me?”
Brian groped around the floor, trying to find the flashlight. His hand touched a long, hard object, and he grasped it. It wasn’t the flashlight. He held it in front of him. There was enough moonlight in the room for him to see what he was holding.
A human rib.
A light flicked on. Noah had found the flashlight.
When the beam illuminated the bone in his hand, Brian let go, and it clattered to the floor.
“What the hell?” the chief said, still rubbing his head.
“Look,” Brian said, pointing to a corner of the room now illuminated by the flashlight beam.
Noah turned and trained his light on the corner. It shone on the ceramic pot of bones that had once belonged to Hester Pigott.
“Who hit me?” Noah said, looking back at Brian.
“It was Sister Bernice. But she’s not a she.”
“What?”
“She’s a he.” He helped the chief to his feet. “And he’s getting away. We’ve got to catch her. Him.”
The two raced down the hallway and down the staircase. Outside they found the tunic of the nun’s habit. Noah picked it up and threw it back on the ground in disgust. The church bells were still ringing.
The two of them looked beyond the parking lot for movement. Brian thought he heard footsteps on pavement, but the sound was overtaken by the ringing.
“Why are those damn bells ringing?” Brian yelled.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Noah said. “I thought that was just ringing in my head. Come on.”
They ran toward the church. When they opened the door and entered, they saw why the bells were ringing.
Father Scrimsher hung by the neck from the bell tower rope, a chair tipped on its side near his dangling feet and a rosary on the floor.
Chapter 28
IN A DARKENED PLACE
Someone ran through the shadows.
Brian had turned from the twisting body of Father Scrimsher, hanging from the bell-tower rope, and seen a dark figure running down Main Street.
“There he is,” he said, turning to see Treece staring at the body of the man who was his father. “He’s getting away!” Brian grabbed Noah’s arm. The chief spun around and looked at him.
“I’ve got to call this in,” Noah said, dazed.
“We’ve got to get him,” Brian said. “We don’t even know who he is.”
Noah turned and looked at the body. He looked at the priest’s face, the eyes bulging, the tongue extended out of his mouth. “I can’t leave this,” he said. “I’ll call Steem.”
“It might be too late,” Brian said, his heart pulsing with urgency. They were so close, they couldn’t stop now. Who knew where Steem and Wickwire were and how long it would take them to get here. Already the murderer’s footsteps were fading into the quiet night.
“Wait,” Noah said, dialing his phone while still staring at the corpse.
But Brian was already gone.
He ran down Main Street, past empty storefronts, till he got to the intersection with Hemlock Avenue, where the newspaper office was. His eyes scanned the area, looking for movement. No one was about, except a solitary figure on the opposite side of the street, staggering along on the sidewalk. He was tall and thin, not at all like the man Brian was chasing.
It was the Somnambulist.
Had the murderer taken a side street? Where had he disappeared to? Damn! What had happened to him?
Brian crossed the street, looking through the windows of the storefronts, either vacant buildings or businesses long closed at this hour. The glass eyes in the taxidermist’s shop window watched him. Too bad he couldn’t ask them what they had seen. The faceless mannequin heads in Wigland seemed to turn and follow him down the sidewalk. They wouldn’t be much help either. He tried the doors to a couple of businesses, but they were all locked.
Sherman Thurk shuffled down the sidewalk toward him. The Somnambulist didn’t keep his usual steady course. He weaved, like a drunk coming out of the pub. Brian thought he might trip on his own feet and fall face first on the pavement. When he got closer, Brian grabbed the tall man by his shoulders.
“Are you okay?” Brian asked.
There was no recognition behind his eyes.
“Do you hear me?” Brian said. “Are you awake?”
The Somnambulist looked down at Brian. At least he saw him.
“Are you asleep?” Brian asked. He couldn’t tell. “Did you see anyone come this way?”
The Somnambulist seemed dazed. “Someone ran into me.”
“Did you see who?”
The Somnambulist shook his head. “A big man. He knocked me down. He didn’t even say ‘excuse me.’ No one has any manners these days.”
“Which way did he go?” Brian shook the man’s shoulders. He still wasn’t sure if Thurk was awake or asleep, but he wanted the man to focus. “Did you see which way he went?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was knocked to the sidewalk. He didn’t even help me up.”
“But where did he go?” Brian was frustrated. He was so close.
“I’m not sure. I saw him go through a door.”
“A door?” Brian questioned. “Which door? Did you see which door he went into?” Brian glanced down Main Street. There were too many damn doors. He couldn’t try them all.
The Somnambulist shrugged his thin shoulders. “I don’t recall.”
Brian let go of the man, and the Somnambulist continued down the sidewalk. Brian watched his slow shuffle. Then an idea popped into his head.
“Wait!” he yelled.
The Somnambulist didn’t stop. He continued slowly down the sidewalk. Brian sprinted toward him and got in front of him, putting his hands to the man’s chest to interrupt his movement.
“Let me check your pockets,” Brian said, not waiting for permission. He shoved his hand into the Thurk’s right front pocket. Nothing. Then he tried the left front pocket and felt something solid. He pulled it out.
A black plastic letter “Y.”
It was one of the letters from the movie theater marquee. It must have finally fallen.
Brian looked up at the vacant eyes of the Somnambulist.
“Thank you,” he said, letting the man go. Thurk shuffled down the sidewalk.
Brian tossed the letter aside and ran to the theater, stopping before its entrance. The door was ajar a crack. This was the second open door he had encountered tonight. He could hear muffled voices inside, and something else. Music?
He opened the door and entered.
His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness of the theater lobby before him. He wished he had Noah’s flashlight. As he waited, the shapes of empty candy counters and a deserted popcorn machine formed before his eyes. He saw the doorway to the theater and went through it. A beam of light projected above him toward the screen. The noise of the movie playing bombarded his ears.
Why was a movie playing? The theater was closed.
He thought about Rolfe Krimmer. He must have come tonight to watch the leftover movie. He surely had no idea a killer was on the loose.
Brian went to the right aisle, looking down the rows of empty seats. He saw no movement. The image on the screen was dark but lighted enough of the seats for him to survey the area. He walked down the aisle, turning his head right to left, scanning the padded seats on either side of him.
On the screen, a man walked up a staircase.
Brian stopped, listening, but the soundtrack prevented him from hearing much else. He continued down the aisle. A loud crash of violins made him to jump. He looked up at a bloody scene on the screen.
Something moved behind him, and Brian started to turn.
A large dark shape rose from behind a row of seats.
Arms wrapped around him, and he had no time to scream, not that there was anyone to hear him over the cacophony on the movie screen. An arm tightened around his neck, and for the second time tonight he found his breath cut off.
No! he thought. Not again.
The arms were powerful, and he pulled at the one wrapped around his neck. It was like a vise. Hot breath breathed onto the back of his neck. He dug his nails into the arm, trying to pry it loose. It was no good.
He began to feel lightheaded and gasped for breath. The arm dug into his neck, crushing against his esophagus. Fluid filled his throat as he struggled to breathe. The muscles in his neck strained, and he felt as if they were about to collapse. He could no longer see what was on the screen. Its flickering light seemed to come through a long black tunnel.
Is this what dying felt like?
He had come so close, he thought. Now he was going to die without solving the mystery.
Blackness started to descend over his vision, like someone drawing a shade on a window. He felt like giving in.
He heard a loud crack, like someone snapping a branch over their knee.
Air flowed into his lungs, and the dots of light he had been seeing winked out. He dropped to his knees, dizzy but able to breath, taking huge gulps of air as his head cleared. An arm grabbed him, helping him to his feet.
A bright light flared from behind.
“Don’t anybody move!” came a loud voice.
Brian looked up and saw Sgt. Wickwire standing in the aisle, both hands on the gun pointed toward him. Capt. Steem’s bald head could be seen behind him.
Brian stared at the floor and the unconscious body of the man who had been Sister Bernice.
Then he looked at the man who held his arm—Rolfe Krimmer, holding his Boston Post Cane in his other hand, the crack in its middle visible in the light.
Chapter 29
INTERVIEW WITH A MADMAN
The following day, Brian found himself in Treece’s office at the police station along with Steem and Wickwire. The detectives had been filled in on everything Brian and Noah had discovered about the connection between the church group-home and the Wymbs Institute. Noah had said nothing about his true identity, and Brian kept quiet, figuring he’d get a chance to talk to his friend about it. There would be time later for that.
“He’s confessed to everything,” Steem said.
“All the murders?” Brian asked.
“No, not Leo Wibbels’ murder. We’re still sure that was Eldon Winch. He must have been worried about Wibbels coming forward about their arrangement with Dr. Wymbs and the patients from the institute. Winch probably figured the death would be blamed on whoever was responsible for the string of slayings.”
Brian looked at the captain. “Except he didn’t know about the pillowcases.”
“Exactly,” Steem said, pointing at him. “And that’s why it was important to keep certain crime-scene details out of the press.”
“You’re welcome,” Brian said. “So who is he?”
Wickwire opened a file folder he had in his hand. “His name is Matthias Letch. Originally from Pennsylvania. Former patient at the Wymbs Institute when he was a teenager. Spent a few years there before being released and going home to his parents.”
“What was he there for?” Brian asked.
“He was a brilliant student but apparently had a thing for killing small animals. Dr. Wymbs treated him and then he went home. But it appears the treatment wasn’t very successful.”
Not surprising, Brian thought, considering some of the other patients released from the Mustard House.
“His parents decided to send him back to the institute,” Wickwire continued. He closed the file. “They put him on a train for Smokey Hollow and he never showed up. Disappeared. The family hasn’t heard from him since.”
“So how did he end up as Sister Bernice? And what happened to the babies?”
Steem looked at Treece and nodded. The chief turned to Brian. “We’ve got a treat for you.”
Brian glanced up, curious. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re going to show you something,” Steem said. “You actually provided a lot of valuable information on this case, despite my misgivings about you.”
“Thanks,” Brian said. “I think.”
“So we’re going against protocol to show you something,” Steem said. “Chief Treece suggested you deserved it.”
The four of them went to the interrogation room. Noah turned on the video monitor and punched a couple of buttons. A picture appeared on the screen, showing the large, ugly, bald man seated in the interrogation room, hands and feet shackled. Steem sat opposite him with Wickwire standing nearby. Brian sat and watched the tape.
“What happened to the real Sister Bernice?” Steem asked on the video.
Letch hunched his shoulders. “I met her on the train on my way to Smokey Hollow,” he said in his gravelly voice that Brian should have realized all along belonged to a man, not an old woman. “We chatted the whole ride. It was a long trip. She told me all about herself and her new assignment with Father Scrimsher at St. John’s Church.” Letch kept his head lowered so Brian couldn’t see his eyes. “I got the idea of disappearing. When we left the train, I offered to carry her bags to the church. Then I took her into the woods and killed her. I chopped her body up with a fire axe I had stolen from the train and threw the remains into the pond. Then I put on her clothes and became Sister Bernice.”
“And Father Scrimsher never suspected? He didn’t realize you were a man?”
The big man shook his head. “Aren’t most nuns ugly anyway?” He laughed, a disturbed cackle. “It’s not like there’s anything feminine about them.”
Steem and Wickwire exchanged glances on the tape. The captain looked back at Letch.
“Tell us about the babies,” Steem said. “The babies that the girls up at the group home gave birth to at the institute.”
“Those girls were filthy,” Letch sneered. “They were wicked girls. The babies in them were evil.”
The devil’s spawn, Brian thought. Isn’t that what the orderly told Sherman Thurk? The orderly named Treece? He looked at Noah.
“What did you do with the babies?” Steem continued his questioning.
Letch chuckled. “I was responsible for making the arrangements for bringing the babies to the Catholic orphanage.”
“But they didn’t make it there, did they?” Steem asked.
Letch shook his head. “After delivery, I took them from the institute.” He lifted his head enough so now his eyes were visible. They were vacant, like shark eyes. “I smothered the babies and brought them back to the church and put them in the trunk.”
There was silence. On the tape, neither of the State Police detectives spoke. The four of them watching the tape were just as quiet, soaking in what they were hearing.
After a while, Steem cleared his throat and continued with the interrogation.
“Why did you have to kill the babies?”
“I wanted to protect Father Scrimsher. Those girls were rotten. And the babies evil, they needed to be disposed of.”
“How did the trunk end up at Ruth Snethen’s house on Ash Street?”
“Once the group home closed, I didn’t want to hold on to the trunk anymore.” He paused. “It frightened me.”
“How did it frighten you?”
“I could hear the babies crying at night.” Letch bit his lower lip. “I was afraid of them, afraid they might get out of the trunk. I worried Father Scrimsher would hear the cries. So I asked Nurse Snethen if I could store the trunk at her house.”
“Was that because you planned to have her house burned down and destroy the evidence?”
“Yes,” Letch said. “I threatened to expose Marshall if he didn’t torch the house. You had to talk to Marshall, you couldn’t talk to Simon. Marshall was the one who liked to start fires.”
“And you got him to burn down the institute to cover up yo
ur murder of Dr. Wymbs?”
“Yes. I was afraid the doctor would learn about what really happened to the babies. I did it to protect Father Scrimsher. And it was easy to convince Marshall. I assured him it would wipe out all the records at the institute and the personal files of its patients.”
Brian listened as the man spoke with such calculated reasoning, yet it all sounded mad.
“And you murdered Nurse Snethen and Hettie Gritton as well, because they knew you had taken the babies away?” Steem asked.
“That’s right. I had to eliminate all traces of what happened.”
“And you killed Corwin Dudle, the chimney sweep?”
“He was getting too close,” Letch said.
Brian’s heart sank as he heard this. Poor Corwin.
“And I wanted to kill that damn reporter, too.”
Even though Brian was watching it on the screen, it gave him a chill to hear those words. The monster could have come after Darcie.
“Did you kill Timmy Birtch?” Steem asked.
Brian glanced at Noah, who stared intently at the screen. Even though the chief had already seen this, his eyes seemed fascinated by what was unfolding before him.
“No,” Letch said. “Father Scrimsher told me that he thought Timmy was his child. That Timmy’s mother had seduced him even though it was against God’s will. So I spoke to an orderly at the institute who had helped with the deliveries of the babies. He always wanted to have one of the babies. He kept asking if he could keep one, but I told him they were evil. So I went to him and said he could save Timmy if he took him away from his damned mother. The child could escape the evil with his help.”
Brian saw Noah bow his head.
“I didn’t want to hurt the boy,” Letch said. “He wasn’t like the others. He was Father Scrimsher’s offspring, so he had to be good.”
Steem got up and shut the tape off. Wickwire turned the lights on.
“That’s the meat of the matter,” Steem said. “The interrogation goes on for quite a while, but nothing important came up during the rest. The man is quite insane.”
Brian exhaled, his insides unsettled after watching the tape. But something bothered him. Something was missing.
Loonies Page 29