AND A TIME TO DIE

by Walter Erickson

  The phone rang, scaring hell out of me. I reached for it, hoping it was Eddie Westphal. But it wasn’t. It was Frank Kopf.

  “Bad news, Doyle,” he began, voice low and strained. “Eddie Westphal’s been shot.”

  “Eddie?” I said, stunned, scarcely understanding.

  “Found sitting in his car early this morning. News just got to me. They got him to the hospital, but it doesn’t look good. They don’t think he’s gonna make it. Sorry, buddy.”

  The room spun around. “Are you sure it’s Eddie?” We grab at anything, deny all, push it away.

  “It’s Eddie,” the raspy voice said kindly. “He had an envelope in his lap, addressed to Matt Doyle. Investigating officers had no idea who Matt Doyle was, that’s why it took so long to get to me. There was one of our composites and a clipping inside, a newspaper story from eight years ago. Sonofabitch highlighted a quote from you. You said whoever killed Maggie Swain was crazy.”

  “My god, Frank,” I whispered. “Is that what this is all about?”

  I told Frank that Leon had just been here, and hung up, shaking violently. My fault! It was all my fault. The sonofabitch was mad at me for something I said eight years ago. The sonofabitch killed Eddie Westphal just to send me a message!

  A siren went off in my head. Alarm bells. Kelley! I had to warn Kelley, tell her not to come near the office!

  With trembling fingers I dialed her number. No answer. Where the hell could she be that she couldn’t answer her phone? Her voice came on, asking sweetly to leave a name and number and she’d get back to me.

  I hung up, thoughts swirling. I tried to remember my first conversation with Leon. In my mind’s eye I heard it all again, the whisky voice, slow and soft, and now that I think about it, now that I hear it again, amused. You ain’t the Matt Doyle used to be with Homicide, are you? And my offhand reply, the reply that had set all in motion. A long time ago, Leon.

  I had gotten them killed, all of them, Maureen and Bobby and Ed. He’d taken time from his whore rage to get at me, to teach me a lesson, and I didn’t see it. The shot on the expressway was a threat, a message, and I didn’t see it, didn’t understand it. Gripped by overwhelming despond, I sat there, unable to move, unable to think. I called Kelley again, and again no answer.

  Sweating now, stomach churning, on the brink of hysteria, I opened the desk drawer and reached inside. My hand felt the cool grip of the Colt Python. The touch calmed me a little, cleared my head. I took the Python out of the holster and held it in my trembling hand, felt its weight, felt its power. I held it up to my nose and smelled it, smelled the oil and the steel, smelled the grips. I loved that old piece of iron, loved what it represented. Law and justice. And yes, revenge and retribution.

  Steadier now, I spun the empty cylinder and snapped it back again. Forty-three ounces of superb craftsmanship, six inch barrel, almost a foot overall. I reached in the drawer for the box of cartridges and loaded it with loving care. Slowly, purposefully, I aimed at an imaginary target. Leon. But I knew that even were he in the room, I could not have seen him, could not have fired an aimed shot. My world was black, blacker than deepest despair.

  The phone rang, and I leaped to answer it. “Kelley!”

  “Hello, Mr. Doyle,” Leon said. “I just want to let you know I have your wife. I’ve been watching you for some time, ever since Maureen. You took Maureen from me, and now I’m taking your wife from you. That’s fair, don’t you think? A time to weep, Mr. Doyle, a time to weep.”

  Part of me wanted to hang up, part of me was scared to. “Leon,” I said as evenly as I could, fighting off nausea, “Kelley’s right here. If you call me again, I’m calling the police.”

  He laughed. “How delicious! Do you think they can find me? They’ve been looking for me for years, and haven’t found me yet. But you’ve made me change my plans. That composite has caused me inconvenience. I shall have to change my appearance. The police are closer now, closer than they ever would’ve been had you not interfered. I have to stop now before I wanted to. I have to start the game before I wanted to. This is my home town, and now I have to leave, take my pleasure somewhere else, become a stranger in someone else’s city.”

  “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Leon. Where’s Kelley?”

  “Your wife is in a safe place. I had to hit her pretty good, she put up a fight. She has a phone and a nine-millimeter in her bag. Somebody just called her. Was that you? Why don’t you call again and see who answers.”

  Gripped with fear, I could only say, “What do you want, Leon?”

  “I don’t want anything, Mr. Doyle. Just playing the game.”

  I wanted to scream, but didn’t. I had to keep calm. “What game?” I was having difficulty keeping my voice level. The crazy sonofabitch had Kelley and I didn’t know where. “What game, Leon?”

  “How many times have I talked to you, Mr. Doyle? Giving you clues, giving you insight. But you never got it. You never caught on. You never understood what the game was all about.”

  “LEON,” I shouted, “FOR CHRIST’S SAKE WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

  “That’s better. I don’t like it when you try to be cool. You gotta show some emotion.”

  “Leon,” I said, as calmly as I could. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want to play a new game, Mr. Doyle. I’m tired of the old one, it’s no fun when you win all the time.”

  I didn’t know how to handle this, I’d never dealt with a homicidal lunatic before. I didn’t want him to hang up. I didn’t want to threaten him, but maybe he hadn’t thought of the obvious. “I know who you are, Leon. I have your phone number written down here.”

  “No you don’t. If you did, the police would’ve been there. I leave clues and people throw them away. Very careless. If you’d called me on your cell phone you’d have a record of the call, but you didn’t, did you? You called me on your office phone, and so there’s no record. You see, I give you a chance, but you don’t take advantage of it. People aren’t very attentive, and that’s why I always win.”

  “Leon,” I said, “let me talk to her.”

  “Not yet. And my name’s not Leon, not in the phone book, not on my Social Security card, not on my apartment lease. Leon is just a name I gave Bobby Micelli. No reason at the time, just spur of the moment. I do lots of things spur of the moment.”

  “Why did you kill Bobby Micelli, Leon?”

  “He saw my face, didn’t he? Killed your partner, too, and left one of your composites and a newspaper clipping in his lap, but it didn’t matter. Even when I leave clues you can’t find me.”

  “Why didn’t you kill me on the expressway, Leon?”

  “I didn’t want to. I could’ve killed you plenty of times, but I didn’t want to. I wanted you alive, to play the game, a special game I made up after you made me kill Maureen. A special game for a special policeman. You can’t see. You’re blind. I want to see what you’ll do.”

  “Why did you kill Eddie Westphal?”

  “Just part of the game. I killed him because I wanted you to suffer, wanted you to know what it felt like. I followed him home one day, so I knew where he lived. Nothing planned, just followed him home. Then, last night, I waited for him outside his apartment building, and when he parked the car I walked up and shot him. Spur of the moment, really. Just another part of the game, of no great consequence.”

  “Where’s Kelley, Leon?”

  “Safe for now. I wanted your wife, Mr. Doyle, just like you wanted Maureen. I was watching for her, but couldn’t seem to make the connection, you know? Kept missing her. And then, this morning, there she was, just like that. I was watching your building this morning when I saw her leave. I followed her into the garage and stuffed her in the trunk. Just spur of the moment. Do you want to know about the spiders?”

  “All right, tell me about the spiders.” My mind was racing. I couldn’t think of any way to find out where he was calling from.

  “That was fun the first time. Your name was in the p
aper, it was your case, but you never solved it, did you? You see, I know who you are. Maybe you remember it, her name was Maggie Swain. That’s when I lost my virginity. My first. There were seven after that, then more you don’t know about. I took Maggie to a dump of a motel in Kensington. I choked her while we were having sex, then taped her mouth and tied her up. You should’ve seen her eyes when she came to and realized what was gonna happen. Just that one moment was worth all the trouble.”

  “Why did you kill her, Leon?” Keep him talking, keep him talking.

  “She was a whore, just like my mother. Kinda trite, I know. My father left and my mother had a whole succession of boyfriends. She told me they were my uncles, but I knew better. Just a little kid, but I knew better. When one of the boyfriends came over I had to sleep on the couch, but I heard them.”

  “Maybe that’s all they were, Leon. Boyfriends.”

  “It’s all the same, Mr. Doyle. I lay there on the couch, listening to them laugh, hearing the sounds. I hated it, hated her for making me listen to it. Sometimes I like to think my mother being a whore had nothing to do with it. Anyway, I sat there on a chair and watched her. Maggie I mean. I was just watching her eyes. She started to cry, but she couldn’t because of the tape. All she could do was make little grunting sounds, and jerk her body around. You wouldn’t have known she was crying if it weren’t for the tears running down her face. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back and slit her throat. Then I jacked off on her, just to show her. You ought to try it sometime, Mr. Doyle, it’s the most intense sensation in the world, it just lifts you up, you know? When I started to leave I saw a little rubber spider on the floor, musta been lost by some kid. Cleaning people are quite careless in those kinds of places, Mr. Doyle. Anyway, I picked the spider up and shoved it in her snatch. A stroke of genius.”

  I was running out of questions. I had to keep him talking. “There’s an eight year gap between Maggie and Driscoll, Leon. Did you stop?”

  “There are quiet times, Mr. Doyle, then something happens, could be anything, a look, a remark, something trivial. I left Philly after the first episodes and traveled around, Ohio, Michigan, the West, got back five, six weeks ago. Spent some time in Miami. Ever been to Miami? Lots of whores, high priced ones in the big hotels, streetwalkers in the neighborhoods. They’re all the same except for price. ”

  “How many did you kill during your wanderings?”

  “Two, one in Cleveland, one in Miami. Didn’t leave a spider. Spiders are my hometown signature.”

  “Why did you kill Louise Driscoll? She wasn’t a whore.”

  He snorted. “The hell she wasn’t. I met her on the Internet. There’s a lot of sex on the Internet, you don’t have to look hard for it. She called herself Salome. What a bunch of crap. She posted a message she was looking for a few good men. I sent her some mail and she got back to me. Probably nothing woulda happened to her if she hadn’t said something I didn’t like. I was in a quiet period, like I said. The last one was in Cleveland, two years ago. But she said something I didn’t like, so I decided to do her.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She asked how old I was, said she didn’t want somebody too young, said she didn’t want anybody thinking he was fucking his mother.”

  “She was only playing games, Leon.”

  “Was she?” he laughed. “Well, so was I. I thought I’d give the cops something to think about, so I tied her up different than I did Maggie and the others. I was gone eight years, but I figured they’d remember, so I changed things around a little. I left a spider because that was part of the game. I wanted them to think about it for a while, you know, is this the same guy or not? Pretty good, don’t you think?”

  “You had everyone confused, Leon.”

  He laughed again. “I did, didn’t I? And they’re still confused. They ain’t gonna catch me, Mr. Doyle. I leave them clues and they still can’t catch me.”

  Don’t stop, keep talking, maybe someone will come in, get the cell phone, call the cops. Maybe the number’s on caller ID. Straws. Straws. “Why did you kill Zobranski?”

  “I do believe we’ve gone over this, Mr. Doyle. That was a tough one. I never intended to kill Zobranski. She was my neighbor. I liked her a lot, in spite of what she was, and I think she liked me.”

  She was a neighbor? “What happened, Leon?”

  “Keeping me talking, are you? Well, that’s all right. I like to talk. When I was in town before, I used to run into her once in a while in Jack’s Place. I used to go there for a drink on occasion, and once in a while she’d come in while I was there. We got to talking, and we got to know one another. She was blond then, and kind of heavyset. When I came back I rented an apartment in town, and one day this skinny little thing with lavender hair is coming down the stairs while I was going up and she says hello, and it’s Maureen. We were neighbors.”

  He was in the house on Franklin Street!

  “Why did you kill her?”

  “Well, like I said, I never intended to, but one day I stopped in Jack’s and Bobby Micelli was asking about a blond heavyset hooker named Maureen who used to come in. When he said Matt Doyle was looking for her I remembered the name and decided to play a little game. I told him I knew where she was. I knew she wasn’t blond and heavyset any longer, but I didn’t let on. I gave you her name but not her address. All part of the game, you know? I saw a way to get a quick hundred. Then, afterwards, I thought about it. I figured you were gonna come looking for her right away, and I wondered if I could do the job and be out before you got there. I thought I could, but I didn’t know. There was only one way to find out. There wasn’t nothing planned, it was just spur of the moment. As it turns out, it wasn’t much of a game. I had plenty of time, I didn’t really have to kill her at all. You didn’t show up till hours later. You not only spoiled the game, you were responsible for Maureen being killed.”

  “Sorry, Leon.”

  “I accept your apology, but it doesn’t change anything. Anyway, after I did her, I watched for you from my window. I thought you were still with the cops. When a blind man and a woman and a guide dog came in, I didn’t think it could be you. Bobby didn’t say anything about a blind man.”

  “I’m sorry again we spoiled your game, Leon. Now tell me what you want.” I was getting weary of his voice. I was getting weary of him.

  He paid no attention to me, but continued his compulsive storytelling, justifying his actions. “I listened by my door,” he said. “I heard your wife call you Matt. When the cops came they called you Mr. Doyle. So I knew I had the right guy. Maybe someday you can tell me how you went blind. Anyway, I watched you leave the building and followed you. Cops all over the place and I just walked out. I asked the cop on the landing what happened, and he told me to move on, so I did, down the steps and out the door. Can you imagine? It was all I could do not to laugh. I followed you to your office building and checked your name on the directory. Now I knew where you were. That’s when it came to me. A whole new game. A blind man’s game. Now all I had to do was get you to play.”

  “You play the game very well, Leon.” God, how I wanted to tell Buster to go get help.

  “I do, don’t I? The cops talked to everybody in the building, me included, but I was pretty cool. In fact they talked to me again when they got my screen name from Comcast, but when I showed them I’d just gotten into town from Miami and was only surfing the Net looking for a little action, they seemed satisfied. Can you imagine? Driscoll is killed, and a guy who was in her files lives across the hall from another victim, and they don’t tumble. They talked to me three times, they were interested, they were suspicious, but in the end they were satisfied with my story. You see what I mean about playing the game?”

  “They have her hard drive, Leon. They’ll find a message setting time and place, and your email address will be on it.”

  “All part of the clues,” he cackled. “That’s why I have to leave. But it’s all too late, Mr. Doyle, all too
late. An hour from now I’ll be gone.”

  “Leon,” I said, as calmly as I could, “what do you want?”

  “I want you to come rescue your wife.”

  I sat there, stunned. Of all the things he could’ve said, this was the least expected.

  “I don’t understand, Leon. Spell it out for me.”

  “All right,” Leon said, and from the tone of voice he was enjoying himself. “You’re a blind man. I want to see if a blind man will come to rescue his wife, even though he knows he’ll be killed too if he does. Call it an experiment. I want to find out if you’ll let your wife die alone, knowing there’s nothing you can do to save her, or if you’ll come to rescue her, knowing you’ll die, but not willing to let your wife die without trying.”

  My stomach heaved. He was going to kill her, spread-eagle her to a bed and slit her throat. “Leon, you’re crazy,” I whispered hoarsely.

  He shrieked with laughter. “This is the best game I ever played! Think about it. I tell you where she is, I tell you I’m gonna kill her, and I invite you to rescue her. But you’re blind. You know you can’t rescue her. All you can do is join her. All you can do is not let her die alone. That’s the game. I’m betting you’ll come. I’m betting you’ll come to rescue her.”

  I could hardly speak. “Why Kelley, Leon?”

  “Well, it’s your fault I killed Maureen, isn’t it? I didn’t want to kill Maureen, I loved her, even if she was a whore. She smiled at me and talked to me. She treated me like a friend. I didn’t want to kill her, but you forced me to. So this is payback.”

  “Are you at the house on Franklin Street?”

  “Got the clues, did you? But the answer is no, we’re not at Franklin Street. Do you think I’d be dumb enough to kill someone in my own apartment? Do you remember my asking if you remembered Constance Delavaria? Well, that was a clue. That’s where we are. In the old warehouse where you found Delavaria. Don’t bring anybody with you. I’ll be watching. If I see a cop, I kill her right away.”