Loonies

by Gregory Bastianelli

  He looked up at Steem. “Did he confess to The Pillowcase murders from long ago?”

  Steem looked from Wickwire to Treece, and then back at Brian. “Letch used a pillowcase in these murders because he knew The Pillowcase had been released from the Wymbs Institute, and it was a convenient way to place blame.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Wickwire opened the folder in his hand again. “We got a hold of Letch’s birth certificate from Pennsylvania,” Wickwire said. “When The Pillowcase murders occurred in New England, Mathias Letch was only around five years old.”

  Brian’s mouth dropped open. “So that means The Pillowcase is still out there.”

  Chapter 30

  FROM THE DEATHBED

  The following Wednesday, Brian kissed Darcie before leaving for work to put the finishing touches on what would be his best issue yet as editor of The Hollow News. As he looked at his wife, he could see all the tension gone from her face. She looked relaxed. And once this issue was put to bed, he would feel the same. Sure, there were still the court proceedings and trials to come, but after that he was actually looking forward to the mundane pace the weekly paper usually offered before that day they opened the trunk.

  “I promise,” he said to Darcie as he held her in his arms at the front door. “Things will be back to normal, and I will be around whenever you need me.”

  “Once I have this baby,” she said smiling. “Things will never be normal again.”

  He laughed, kissing her again before heading down the front steps. At the bottom, he turned to face her. He was still grinning.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “I’ve been thinking. After all the work the State Police, Noah, The Silhouette, and myself did during this whole case, you were the one who held the key that put the final piece of the puzzle in place.”

  She laughed at that. “Not bad for a pregnant, out-of-work teacher.”

  As he headed for his car, she called out to him and he stopped.

  “And now that this is over,” she said. “You need to quit smoking.”

  Once he got over the surprise, he laughed again. “I promise.”

  After deadline at the office that afternoon, Brian leaned back in his chair, grateful the work of the past few days was on its way to the printers. It was a gratifying feeling.

  What still bothered him was the knowledge that the real Pillowcase was still out there somewhere, not accountable for the grisly crimes he committed. Sure, Steem had said the man might be long dead after all these years. But Brian thought it was just as possible he was still walking around, maybe still here in Smokey Hollow, living a normal life. Could such a killer lead a normal life? Apparently Dr. Wymbs believed so. He thought the man was normal enough to release him into society, and for all anyone knew, the man hadn’t killed again. Maybe there was some method to Wymbs’ madness.

  Brian gazed out the window onto Main Street, at the people milling about downtown. How many? he wondered. How many people out there walking around were former patients at the Mustard House? And were any others dangerous, like Mathias Letch and The Pillowcase? It gave him a chill just thinking about it.

  Treece came to visit Brian in the afternoon. He had a feeling he knew what the chief wanted. He had agreed to keep quiet about Noah’s true identity until after this week’s edition was out and they had a chance to talk.

  “Thank you,” Noah said when he entered Brian’s office.

  “How did you find out who you were?”

  Noah sat down. “My father,” he began, and then halted. “I mean, the man I grew up thinking was my father, was a heavy drinker and abused prescription meds. When I was a teenager, he blurted something one night in a drunken stupor. He had always told me my mother was dead, but I had my doubts. He would never talk about her, or her family, if she even had any. So one night when he was drunk, I took a blood sample from him and had his DNA tested, along with a sample of my own blood.” He took off his chief’s hat and held it in his hands, looking at Brian with sad eyes. “That’s how I found out he wasn’t my real father. It was then I decided to become a policeman. I wanted to find out who I was and where I came from and how I got to be where I was. When I was a cop I did a lot of research in my spare time.” He laughed. “If you thought Corwin Dudle was obsessed, you should have seen me. I eventually traced my supposed father to his days as an orderly at the Wymbs Institute, and I was determined to get a job on the Police Department here.” He laughed again. “I didn’t think it would be as police chief, but hell, it worked out.”

  Brian thought about how many times he had doubted Noah’s ability as a detective. He couldn’t have been more wrong about the man. He had proven to be more of an investigator than Brian had ever imagined.

  “What happened to Treece, the orderly?”

  Noah dipped his head. “He died, drowned in a bathtub, all messed up on booze and drugs.” He looked at Brian. “I didn’t feel sorry for him. My mother literally died from the heartbreak caused by my disappearance. My one regret is I didn’t find my way back here in time to save her.”

  “And that’s why you bring flowers to her grave,” Brian said, his heart touched.

  “And always will.”

  “Now comes the big question,” Brian said. “When do you let the world know that Timmy Birtch is alive and well?”

  Noah was silent for a moment, fidgeting with the hat in his hands. “Before I do anything, I need to take a trip.”

  “A trip?”

  “To Florida to see Chief Pfefferkorn. I told you how my unsolved disappearance haunted his whole career. When he trained me as his replacement, I couldn’t tell you how many times I wanted to reveal the truth to him, to ease his anguish. It tore me apart to keep it secret, but it was necessary for me to accomplish what I needed to do.” He smiled. “So I’m going to fly down there and visit him, and tell him everything. He deserves it. God knows I could use some time off. And when I come back, I promise to let you have the exclusive on the story.”

  That pleased Brian. “And will you become Timmy Birtch again, and change your name back?”

  Noah stood up. “Yes, I will. To honor my mother.” He placed the hat back on his head. “Chief Birtch. Has a good ring to it.”

  “Yes it does,” Brian said.

  “I think you’re going to miss the excitement this case brought.”

  Brian laughed. “In time, maybe. Right now, I look forward to things quieting down. And who knows, I’ve been thinking I could write a book about it. There’s a huge market for true-crime books these days.”

  “Do you think anyone would believe a story like this is true?” The chief smiled.

  “It’s certainly not your everyday case.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing myself as the hero.”

  Now it was Brian’s turn to smile. “You know who I think is the real hero here?”

  “Don’t say Capt. Steem.”

  “Oh no,” Brian said. “I think Corwin Dudle would be the hero in my book. He really pieced the puzzle together. He dedicated his whole life to it. That wall in his basement had almost the whole picture. It’s what eventually helped solve the case. He was just missing a piece or two.”

  “Well, there’s something that Capt. Steem found out that might change your mind.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It turns out Corwin Dudle spent some time as a patient at the Wymbs Institute.”

  Brian’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t believe it. He mulled this over and a thought popped into his head.

  “What if Corwin had himself committed there in order to further his research?”

  Noah shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “The lengths that man went to as The Silhouette, it wouldn’t surprise me at all. That’s the angle I’d like to approach if I write my book. I like him as my hero.”

  “Speaking of heroes, there’s another reason I stopped by today,” Noah said. “I came to deliver a bit of sad ne
ws.”

  This town has had enough of that, Brian thought. It didn’t need any more.

  “Rolfe Krimmer passed away during the night.”

  Oh no, Brian thought. He really liked the old man, and he had saved Brian’s life at the theater.

  “What happened?”

  “Appears to be natural causes. Died in his sleep.”

  Brian shook his head. Just when things were getting back to normal, now the town had to deal with another death. “I guess they’ll be looking for someone to pass the Boston Post Cane on to.”

  “Except he broke it over Mathias Letch’s head.”

  Both men burst into laughter, and it felt good, considering the disheartening news.

  Noah pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

  “I found this in his bedroom at the rooming house.” He fanned the letter in his hand. “It’s from Rolfe and was addressed to me. I read it. I thought about it all day, wondering what to do with it.”

  Brian looked at him curiously.

  The chief offered the letter to Brian.

  “I’ve decided to do nothing about it,” Noah said. “But I want to give it to you to read and give you an opportunity to decide if it’s worth doing something about.”

  “What does it say?” Brian asked, taking the letter.

  “Just read it,” Noah said. “And then decide for yourself.” The chief left his office.

  Brian read the letter and then went out to the back parking lot. He needed to have one last cigarette before he quit for good, for Darcie’s sake and for the baby. He tapped one cigarette out of the box and threw the rest into the dumpster. He lit the cigarette, sucked the smoke into his lungs, feeling how it soothed him. He would miss it, but it was for the best.

  He looked at the letter in his hand from Rolfe Krimmer and then flicked on the lighter and lit one corner. He held the burning paper in his hand as long as he could, feeling the heat from the flames inch its way toward his fingers. When the flames got too close, he dropped it, waiting till the fire consumed the last corner of the letter before stamping out the ashes.

  Brian was stunned by what the old man had written. But like Police Chief Noah Treece, soon to be Police Chief Tim Birtch, he decided not to do anything about the fact that in the letter, Rolfe Krimmer had confessed to being The Pillowcase.

  THE END

  Gregory Bastianelli is a New Hampshire native and graduate of the University of New Hampshire. He worked for nearly two decades at a daily newspaper where the highlights of his career were interviewing shock rocker Alice Cooper and B-movie icon Bruce Campbell. He is the author of the novel Jokers Club. His stories have appeared in several genre magazines and anthologies. His novella, Lair of the Mole People appeared in the pulp anthology Men of Mystery Vol. II. He lives in Dover, NH. Author photo credit: Christine Brickett

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book wouldn’t have been possible if not for the nearly twenty years I spent working at Foster’s Daily Democrat, a small newspaper in the New Hampshire town where I grew up. I owe a special gratitude to all the wonderful people I worked with in that time span, and all they taught me. Any deficiencies in the skills of the reporter in this story are my own doing. I would like to thank Christopher C. Payne and his staff at JournalStone for the great work on this book, especially Dr. Michael R. Collings, who edited it; and Wayne Miller who did the cover art. I also want to acknowledge the special assistance of Karen Hendrickx with this story. Thanks to my Aunt Robbie for the unending support she’s had for my writing over the years. Special love and appreciation of course to Jenna, Brett, Bailey, Jacoby, Casey, Erica and Jace for the enjoyment they bring me. And to Cherrie, whose story I’m still trying to write. Finally, thanks to all the loonies in my life.