On Tuesday morning Special Agent William Schufeldt sat behind the only wooden desk in the squad room, facing Chief Hallock. Schufeldt was a beefy man, at first giving the appearance of someone who still had to lose his baby fat. But there was no fat on him. Schufeldt was like a well-trimmed roast. His eyes were small and blue, and when he leveled his gaze they were hard, like shooting marbles.
Hallock looked into those eyes and felt a wintry chill even though the thermometer was registering a comfortable seventy. He didn't like Schufeldt, and not just because he'd come in on the case, acting like he ran the place, treating Hallock like an inferior, generally hot-dogging all over; he didn't like him because the guy wasn't likable. There was something missing, Hallock thought. An important ingredient, maybe soul. Whatever it was, Hallock couldn't warm up to him and didn't want to.
"Let's take it from the top," Schufeldt said. "Danowski, Gloria."
Hallock tried not to show his irritation. This was the fifth time Schufeldt wanted to review the cases. Nothing new had developed since the first time they went over them, inch by inch, word by word. The chief opened the folder on his desk, picked out the autopsy report. "Why don't you just read it?" he asked evenly.
Schufeldt cocked his head to one side, an arrogant smile threatening to bloom. "I wouldn't have to be here if that's all I was going to do, Waldo."
It angered Hallock that this guy called him by his first name. He knew it was an interrogating technique designed to make the suspect feel inferior. Besides, he could be Schufeldt's father. In turn, Hallock never called him anything. "It seems pointless for me to read it aloud to you."
"Nothing I do is pointless, Waldo. There are things I hear when someone reads to me that I don't pick up when I read to myself. You understand, Waldo?"
There was no way he was going to answer. Hallock's eyes locked with Schufeldt's; the younger man's gaze, steady and chilly, was set for eternity. Hallock looked away. Angry with himself, he began to read aloud.
Schufeldt scratched at yellow lined paper from time to time. When Hallock finished the autopsy report, Schufeldt lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair, springs creaking. "Husband's statement," he ordered.
It went that way all morning until Hallock had finished what they had on Mary Beth Higbee, which wasn't much.
Schufeldt said, "Do you have a list of sex offenders, Waldo?"
"Yeah."
"Let's pull 'em in."
"What for? These aren't sex crimes."
"Some guys get their jollies funny ways, Waldo. I heard about a guy likes to be put in a coffin, just lies there while the broad stands next to the casket. He gets off that way. It takes all kinds, Waldo. There's another guy beats his meat while some girl pisses on his feet. I could tell you plenty, Waldo."
Hallock ignored the invitation. "I don't see what sex offenders have to do with these murderers. None of them were raped."
"You're not listening, Waldo. Some turkeys don't have to rape to get off. Maybe slitting the Cooper broad's throat was what did it for our boy. Or strangling Danowski. Then there's pederasts can only do it with kids. But maybe this scumbag needs to kill kids to get off."
"There's no evidence to support that theory," Hallock said stiffly.
Schufeldt let out a cackling laugh. "You grow up out here, Waldo? I mean, you're from the North Fork, right?"
Hallock knew Schufeldt wanted him to feel ashamed of that fact. He wasn't. "Born and raised," he said proudly.
"I knew it. There's more to life than what goes on in this finger of land, ya know. People out here are cut off from the real world. You're like children believing in Santa Claus and that."
Hallock wanted to knock him on his ass. Instead he ignored Schufeldt's deprecations and went back to the original point. "None of the sex offenders we know have any M.O. that would link them up to our killer."
"How d’ya know? Let's say a guy usually takes a girl behind some bushes to cop a feel suddenly gets a new idea. Maybe seen a X-rated movie or read one of these porno books are all over now, you can buy 'em in your local drugstore. Maybe another guy that flashes year in year out gets bored, needs bigger thrills. Chills an' thrills, Waldo, that's what it's about for some of 'em. What I'm trying to bring out, Waldo, is there could be an escalation. Bigger and better, more and more. In other words, a guy can go from pinching asses to slitting throats overnight. There's no knowing. So we gotta investigate. See what I mean, Waldo?"
"You want to interview all sex offenders, is that it?"
A razor-slit smile cracked his face. "That's it."
Hallock went to a file cabinet. "A waste of time."
"Remains to be seen, Waldo."
As he went through the files he told himself to cool it, but when he threw the folder onto Schufeldt's desk the contents spilled, fanning out like a deck of cards. "Sorry," he murmured grudgingly, but went back to his chair instead of tying to straighten out the papers.
"What're you giving me this for?" Schufeldt asked, feigning innocence.
He could feel his blood pumping hard. "You said you wanted the sex offender file. That's it."
"No, you don't listen, Waldo. I said we should pull in the sex offenders. I didn't say nothing about wanting to read the file. What good's that gonna do me? When the creeps come in, that's when I read their sheets and that. You know these guys, you pull 'em in. Me, I'm goin' to lunch now." Standing, he stretched, arms spanning the length of the desk, then adjusted himself in his polyester brown pants. A tan sport shirt hung loosely outside them concealing his .38. "Where's a good place to eat, Waldo? That Paradise joint you sent me yesterday sucked. Had a burger tasted like shit."
"Try Whitey's down on the dock," he told him perversely. Everybody knew Whitey's was a sucker joint for tourists and the food all tasted like it came out of a microwave, which it did.
"Thanks, I will. Be back around two, take a stab at these sex offenders. See ya, Waldo."
When Schufeldt came back from Whitey's, Hallock knew there'd be hell to pay but he didn't give a damn. The satisfaction he felt thinking about the man eating one of Whitey's expensive cardboard meals was worth it.
Hallock straightened out the papers and brought the file back to his own desk. Then he picked up the receiver on his Portacom and told Al Wiggins, who was out on patrol, to come on in. There were thirteen known sex offenders on the North Fork, and two of them were over seventy and hadn't done a thing in two decades. He'd be damned if he'd bring in either of them. Talk about getting off! He'd stake his career that Schufeldt wanted the sex offenders brought in because that was how he got off. Damned hotshot going at this thing ass backwards. Bullshit, the whole goddamned thing was bullshit. Well, he wasn't going to sit still and twiddle his thumbs while the boy wonder was interrogating a bunch of sex nuts. He was going to take some action on his own. And what Special Agent William Schufeldt didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Hallock met Fran in the bookstore. They had a date for lunch. Fran knew last-minute things came up for Waldo, so she always met him where she didn't mind waiting.
Martha Terry, who owned the shop, greeted Hallock when he came in. "'Lo there, Chief. Any news?"
He knew she meant the murders. Feeling sheepish, he shook his head. As always he was taken aback by Martha's face. Years before she'd had an attack of Bell's palsy that left her with a droopy eye and mouth on her right side. She looked like two different people if you saw her first in one profile, then the other. "Fran here?"
"In Used." She pointed to the rear of the store, where there were shelves and shelves of secondhand books.
He thanked Martha, and made his way to the used book section. Fran had her back to him, head bent over a book. Hallock quietly stood behind her, whispered, "How about a quickie, lady?"
She jumped. "Sex in the stacks?"
"Why not? Give old Martha a show."
Fran laughed, her blue eyes luminous. "You're wicked, Waldo."
"That's me, Wicked Waldo!" He grinned at her, pushed his hat back. "What've
you got there?"
She glanced down at the book. "Oh, this is an old one by Shirley Ann Grau. The Keepers of the House."
"How-to book?"
"Oh, honestly, hon'. It's a novel. Sometimes I think I'm married to an illiterate."
"Well, not all of us went to college."
"Junior college," she said disparagingly.
"So? Still more education than I got."
"You're self-educated," she said, touched his cheek.
"Yup, a self-educated illiterate." He smiled. "Come on, I'm hungry."
"Me, too."
At the counter Fran waited to pay for the book while Hallock stood near the door. A woman and child were ahead of her.
The woman said to Martha, "Well, this was some lousy holiday weekend, wasn't it?"
"How's that?"
"I don't know about you, Martha, but I'm scared stiff all the time. I won't let Paulie out of my sight." She put a protective arm around the boy. "I don't know what kind of police we got here. Seems like they're just sitting around on their duffs."
Martha glanced uncomfortably toward Hallock, then back to the bill she was writing. "That'll be four-eleven, Mrs. Rowland."
She opened her purse, rummaged around. "Maybe we should just impeach the chief or something, I don't know. It makes you feel so helpless. Arthur says these local police don't know diddly-squat about catching a murderer. Arthur says—"
Hallock didn't wait to hear what else Arthur said. He left the store, walked down the block and stopped in front of Rita's Jean Shop. His hands were clenched at his sides and he'd begun to sweat.
Fran came out of the bookstore, saw where he was, and ran to him. "Oh, Waldo, don't let her get to you."
"It's not her. I mean, not her alone. What I'm trying to say is, if she thinks that way then there must be others—lots of them."
"Even if there are, you know you're doing the best you can."
"Maybe my best isn't good enough."
"Your best is always good enough."
"I don't know," he said sadly. He thought of Schufeldt. He didn't want to tell Fran about him, but knew he would. "C'mon, let's go. Where's your book?"
"I left it."
"Ah, hell."
"It doesn't matter, hon'. I'll get it another time."
"Sorry."
"It's okay. Where are we going?"
"Out of Seaville, that's for sure. Let's drive down to Mattituck, go to Crawford's, have a steak."
"Sounds good."
"Where's your car?"
"Round the corner." She put her arm through his, held her chin up, proud to be with the chief of police.
The lunch crowd at Crawford's had thinned out by the time they got there. The place had a rustic look—cedar-shingled walls and hunting trophies. Tables were covered in brown-and-white checked cloths, salt and pepper shakers were in the shape of bears and deer.
Hallock wished he wasn't in uniform. He got a few stares. Some hostile ones, he thought. Fran said he was paranoid. He would have liked a martini, but didn't dare. That's all he'd need, Schufeldt smelling liquor on his breath, making a fuss.
"Stop eying my drink," Fran said.
"I'm not."
"The hell you're not. Oh, have something, Waldo. Never mind about that twerp."
"I have to mind, Fran. One false move and Schufeldt would be happier than a pig in shit to tell Carl Gildersleeve."
"I hate that expression." She wrinkled her nose.
"Well, it's true. He would."
"Never mind about him. Tell me about your plan."
Hallock took a sip of his club soda, and decided it tasted better than those fancy carbonated waters costing three times as much. He knew he was stalling. The plan involved Fran, and it meant her sacrificing a lot of time. He didn't know if she'd go for it, but he had to give it a try. "I guess I told you I think the A stands for either the killer's last name or first."
She nodded.
"Well, I was thinking we could go through the phone book and list all the A names, both first and last, then call those people with a questionnaire we make up that'll sort them out. You know, find out which ones are women if it's an initial, which ones are old, housebound, crippled, etcetera. Narrow them down, get them into categories by age, jobs, stuff like that. I think we'd have something, Fran. It'd be a start anyway."
"That's a swell idea, hon', but you can't spare any of the men for that kind of thing, can you?"
"I wasn't—"
"Two steaks, one plain, very rare; one marinated, medium," the waitress interrupted, putting the rare one in front of Fran. "Will there be anything else? Another drink?"
They shook their heads.
"What were you going to say before she brought our steaks?"
"Boy, this looks great," Hallock said.
"I can't help feeling guilty having steak for lunch."
"Why? Don't you think you deserve it?"
"We shouldn't be spending the money, Waldo. I mean with Cynthia needing all that dental work."
Hallock reached across the table, put a large hand over her smaller one. "Tell me this: If we were here for dinner instead of lunch, would you be feeling this way?"
"Maybe not. It's just that having a drink and a big steak for lunch seems decadent somehow."
"You're just like your mother."
"What's that mean?"
"Rules and regulations. Don't wear white till after Memorial Day, always put the toilet seat down after you go, only have steak for dinner."
Fran laughed. "I see what you mean."
"Good." He patted her hand. Hallock knew how much Fran loved to eat and marveled that she never gained an ounce. "Now dig in."
They both attacked their steaks in silence for a few minutes. Then Fran said, "So go on about your plan. You were telling me about the phone book thing."
He kept his eyes on his plate, fiddled with his baked potato.
"Waldo? What's up?"
He raised his head, the brown eyes with their downward slant appearing sad.
"Stop looking like a cur, Waldo."
"I'm not looking like a cur. Christ!"
"I know a cur when I see one. What I don't know is why you're behaving like one. You have something up your sleeve, don't you? Something you don't want to tell me."
"I want to tell you, I just don't know how."
She put down her fork. "You're going to do something dangerous, aren't you?"
"No, no, nothing like that."
"You sure?"
"Positive. I swear." He crossed his heart with his forefinger.
"Well, what then? You're making me crazy."
Hallock put down his utensils, ran his hand over his chin as if he were feeling for stubble. "Fran, the thing is, about those names in the phone book—I mean, well, you said it yourself."
"Am I supposed to know what you're talking about? I'd need a decoder ring for that one."
"Hold on, hold on. You said I couldn't spare anyone for that kind of work and you were right, I can't. But it needs to be done, the stuff with the phone book and—"
"I think I'm getting it," she said despondently. "Me. You want me to do it."
"You and some of your friends." He smiled crookedly.
"You have to be kidding, Waldo."
"I'm not. It wouldn't be so bad. Get the girls over, make a contest out of it."
"Oh, that's nice, that's real nice put that way. Like we're a bunch of ninnies who need to play games or something."
"Ah, no, Fran, I didn't mean it like that."
"And this lunch," she said, eyeing him suspiciously, "this damn lunch was to butter me up, wasn't it?"
"Not a bit. I just wanted to have lunch with my wife. Is that a crime?"
"Waldo Hallock, you'd better own up, because if you don't I'm walking right out of here and leaving you to get back to Seaville on your own."
He knew the jig was up. "Okay, I'll admit it. I brought you here to get you in the mood for my proposal, but I also just wanted to have lunch
with you. Because I like having lunch with you. Fran, listen, we've got nothing to go on. Not one goddamn clue. Except for the letter A."
"How do you even know it's an A? Maybe it just looks like an A."
"I've thought of that. But seeing it as an A is the best thing I've got. I'll admit it's a long shot, but I've got to try it."
"You mean I've got to try it."
"You and your friends. I don't expect you to tackle the phone book alone."
"Which friends?"
"Well, the ones you go marching with. Seems to me something like this would be right up their alley."
"Waldo, in case you don't get it, my marching friends are interested in human rights, not solving crimes."
"This is human rights. It's a human right not to be murdered."
"That's not even funny."
"Didn't mean it to be funny. Look, there's about twenty-five thousand names in the local book. If five of you took five thousand names each, you'd get the A's out of it in about a day or two. You should end up with maybe three hundred A-related names each. I'll have four new phone lines put in, and it probably wouldn't take more than three or four days to get through them with the questionnaire we'll make up. Then you'd have to sort them, get them into categories. After that, well, I'm not sure exactly how we'd approach it from there, but I'll figure it out."
"What you're saying, Waldo, is you want five women, me included, to give up a week of our time to try out a scheme you're not even sure will work."
"Dammit, Fran, you give up your time for stuff a lot less important than this."
"Like what?"
"Like every damn cause that comes down the pike, that's what! Save the whales, drunk drivers, nuclear plants, save the wetlands, planned parenthood, right to abortion—"
"You just wait a minute, Waldo. Are you saying those things are less important than running down some names in a phone book so you can maybe find some nut?"
"Some nut who's a killer, Fran, just don't forget that little point. I mean, you spend hours every week on stuff like getting sex education in the schools, which I could add is a little bit embarrassing to me, and when I ask you to do me, your husband and public servant, a favor, you go bananas."
"You call this going bananas? Oh, hon', you ain't seen nothin' yet."
The whole point of this lunch was slipping through his fingers. He had to calm down, do something quick. "Okay, okay. Let's not get all hot under the collar. I won't attack you, you don't attack me. Here's the deal. I'm asking you to do me a favor. You and some friends. I'm sure you can find some willing to help. I'm asking a favor of a wife for her husband. In other words, a love gift for a husband, and service to the community."
Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) Page 11