Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel)

by Sandra Scoppettone

"Now. Where were you the night of May twenty-ninth?"

  Barbecue stared at Schufeldt, his eyes dead-looking, as if he were on drugs.

  "You hear me, Riley?" Schufeldt yelled. "You deaf or what?"

  Barbecue shook his head.

  "What? You're not deaf or you didn't hear me?"

  "Neither."

  "So why don't you answer the question?"

  "You tol' me to shut up."

  Schufeldt dropped his feet to the floor, came forward, and slammed his fist on the desk, papers flying. "Goddamn you, you turd, you knew what I meant."

  Barbecue didn't flinch. "Huh?"

  Schufeldt whirled around, facing Hallock. "This man was doing fine till you came in."

  "What's that supposed to mean, Special Agent?" Hallock needled.

  Schufeldt snapped to his feet. "Okay, that's it. Go on, get out of here, Riley."

  "I can go?"

  "That's what I just said, didn't I?" His face was turning the color of June strawberries, a vein throbbing in his temple.

  "Yeah, that's what you said, Special Agent."

  "Get out!"

  "I'm goin'." Saluting Schufeldt and Hallock, he made his exit.

  Schufeldt, his hands hanging at his sides like two ham hunks, towered over the chief, who remained sitting. "You're supposed to cooperate with me, Hallock, not thwart me."

  "Thwart you? I wasn't thwarting you, Special Agent."

  "That's just what I mean, you fuckin' asshole," he screamed.

  "I don't understand. I did what I could to get the suspect to answer you," he said innocently, pressing his nails into his palms to keep from laughing.

  Schufeldt stuck a finger in Hallock's face. "You better cut it out, Hallock. I'll get you for interfering in an investigation. Now I'm goin' out for a walk, give you time to think this over, get yourself together. And when I come back we're gonna question those men out there, understand?"

  "Perfectly."

  Schufeldt slammed out.

  And then Hallock started to laugh and kept on laughing until there were pains in his sides and tears running down his cheeks. He was having a good day, after all.

  LOOKING BACK—50 YEARS AGO

  The Seaville Fire Department is to be modernized in keeping with other departments on the Island. A delegation representing the Fire Department requested that the Trustees replace the present chemical and hose apparatus with a modern piece of motor fire apparatus. Also, that they be equipped with new wheels and pneumatic tires, replacing the present solid rubber tires, and that a suitable piece of racing apparatus be purchased for the use of the Department.

  EIGHTEEN

  The Higbees were Catholics, and the funeral was held on Wednesday morning at the church on Colin's corner, the Blessed Sacrament. It had been delayed because of the holiday and the mandatory autopsy.

  News of a small child's murder could not be contained within the district. Reporters from Newsline, The New York Times, The New York Post, and The Daily News were all present, as were reporters from the major television networks.

  Colin watched as Connie Collins from NBC taped her lead-in. Again he was hurtled back in time, to Chicago and the murders of his family. He inhaled deeply.

  "You okay?" Sarah asked.

  "Yeah. I guess I really hate the whole circus atmosphere."

  "Just doing their jobs, pal," Mark said.

  Babe was covering the funeral, so Colin wondered if the remark had been pointed.

  "Let's go in," Sarah said.

  For Colin it was the first time he'd been in a Catholic church in years. There was a period, home from college on vacation, when he would go to Mass with his mother. But when he graduated, he considered himself an adult with ideas of his own and stopped attending.

  Then, the past year, when he'd been living with his mother, she'd gotten on his back about going. They'd had a blowup over it and said things to each other they were sorry for later.

  He said, "I haven't gone in years, why should I go now?"

  She said, "To pray for the souls of your dead family."

  He said, "You expect me to believe in a God that allowed two innocent children and an innocent woman to be slaughtered?"

  She said, "Maybe if you'd been going to church in the first place it wouldn't have happened."

  He said, "Go to hell, you goddamn bitch."

  Later he'd apologized to her, and she'd mumbled something which he'd taken for an apology. She never asked him to go to church again.

  The Higbees hadn't come in yet. Colin knew they would enter by a side door after everyone else had been seated. He thought it was a strange practice, the family entering last as if they were the stars of a show. But the star of the show was already there. Her small, beautifully appointed casket rested on a gurney just below the altar. Colin felt a surge of grief, like the swelling of a wave. Two small caskets and one large were suddenly as real to him now as they'd been three years before. For a moment he felt dizzy, sure he was going to have an attack. Then it passed and he was left with the feeling of sorrow he'd known intimately since that terrible morning in Chicago.

  Maybe he shouldn't have come. But he'd felt it was important to support the Higbees, especially Chuck. All through the weekend he'd thought of calling the man, stopping by his house. But Higbee didn't even know him. And what would he say, unless he told the truth about his own family? So in the end he'd done nothing. This was his only way of showing he cared, understood. It didn't matter that Higbee wouldn't note his presence.

  Sarah gently tucked her hand in his. Tears sprang to his eyes. He didn't want to cry, fearful that once started he wouldn't be able to stop. For diversion he concentrated on the church, the other people. The Blessed Sacrament was small but pretty: the usual stained glass windows and mahogany pews. Wood carvings and brass ornaments decorated the altar.

  The pews were almost filled. Chief Hallock and Charlie Copin sat near the back, one on each side of the aisle. Down a few pews was Fran Hallock with both daughters and one son. In front of them was Burton Kelly. Colin imagined Kelly as a teenager—awkward and painfully thin, keeping close to the wall when he walked through the school halls, his books held as a shield against attacks from bullies. The only difference now was Kelly knew how to hide it better. Colin had learned he worked for Seaville Water & Light as a clerk, and had lived with his mother until she died, two years before. He and Mark had speculated on whether Kelly could be the killer. They decided he wouldn't have the nerve or imagination. Still, Colin couldn't dismiss the idea altogether, and he wondered if his reason for that had anything to do with Annie.

  Gazing around at the rest of the crowd he spied a lot of familiar faces—Carl and Grace Gildersleeve; his mailman; Babe, her red hair neat in its French braid. He watched her arm make short, palsied movements, then realized she was taking notes. Disgusted by what his profession forced people to do, he looked away from her, across the aisle to Steve Cornwell. Even sitting, he towered over the man beside him. In the next pew were Tug Wilson, Raymond Chute, Debbie Van Tuyl from the bank, the Klipps who lived across from him, the—he stopped, thinking this was exactly what he was doing when Mary Beth Higbee was being murdered. Identifying people. It made him feel sick. A spate of coughing and rustling drew his attention.

  The Higbees were filing in. The mother first, then the daughter, and behind her the father. Colin's throat tightened. The immediate family was followed by others; grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Father Dominick and three altar boys appeared from a door at the back and the Mass began.

  When it was over the pallbearers carrying the casket filed out first, the family next, and then the others. On the sidewalk Colin watched as the reporter from Newsline and the man from ABC jostled each other trying to get a statement from Chuck Higbee. For a moment Higbee looked at the reporters blankly, his chest swelling as he gasped for air. Colin thought Higbee might lash out, but his wife put a hand on his arm and helped him into the waiting limousine.

  People formed small groups,
talking softly. Joe Carroll slammed the back door of the hearse, the sound recalling memories Colin had tried to forget.

  Neither he nor the Griffings were going to the cemetery, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. The hearse pulled away. Cars followed, yellow flags attached to their aerials designating their right to be in the procession. When the first car passed, Colin got a glimpse of Higbee, his head on his wife's shoulder, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  A man next to Colin said to a woman, "You'd think the father would have a little dignity. Besides, he should be taking care of his wife, it's harder on her."

  Colin wanted to tell him he was wrong. It hurt the father just as much, perhaps more, because he felt responsible. Wasn't he supposed to guard his children against such eventualities? He admired Higbee not giving a damn what people thought, experiencing his grief now instead of later like Colin had.

  When the cars were gone the small groups began breaking up, dribbling away. Hallock and Copin stood on either side of the church, watching. Colin knew they were hoping to get an idea, a clue. He started toward Hallock but was stopped by a furious expression crossing the man's face. Then Colin saw the scruffy figure of Jim Drew approaching the chief.

  "Get the hell away from me. Drew," Hallock spat.

  "But, Chief," Drew pleaded, "I gotta talk to ya. Gotta tell ya about it."

  Frantically, Hallock glanced around, then relaxed some, seeing that the reporters had left. He motioned to Copin with a nod of his head.

  Copin took Drew by the arm. "Come on, Jim, let's go."

  "But I gotta talk to the chief. It's important. I gotta tell him about the little girl."

  "Yeah, yeah, we know. Let's go for a walk, you tell me about it, okay?"

  "I... I guess."

  Copin and Drew started down Main Street toward the town. Colin looked back at Hallock. A muscle was jumping in his cheek.

  Mark said, "Everybody's got a breaking point. I guess Hallock just couldn't hear a fake confession about the murder of a little girl."

  Colin wondered what Hallock would think of his story, the murders of his children and wife. He wished he could tell him but knew that was a Pandora's box he'd better leave closed.

  Wednesday afternoon Annie said to Sarah, "I'm having dinner with Colin on Saturday night."

  "1 think that's great," Sarah said.

  They were sitting in Annie's office in the basement of the parish hall. The room was small and comfortable, with a new couch, flowered curtains, an oak desk and chair.

  "Is it?"

  "What do you mean?" She wished she could have a cigarette but the Please Don't Smoke sign was staring her right in the face.

  "I guess I mean, is it really great to be going out with Colin Maguire? Is there something I should know about him?"

  "Know about him?" Sarah fussed with her hair, twirling a curl.

  "He's intelligent and very nice but there seems to be, oh, I don't know, something odd about him. No, that's not right. It's not that he's odd or weird, he's—guarded."

  "Guarded?"

  "Sarah, why are you repeating everything I say?"

  "Repeating everything you say?"

  "See? You're doing it again. And please don't say, 'doing it again.'"

  Sarah laughed. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm distracted," she lied.

  "Is it Mark?"

  "No."

  "Is everything okay between you?"

  "Fine."

  "Why don't I believe you?"

  Sarah shrugged. "I'm dying for a cigarette, that's what you're picking up."

  "If you'd give up the vile things then you wouldn't be distracted when you come here."

  "True. But I'm not giving them up, so lay off," she gently chided. "And Mark and I are okay. It's tough sometimes. I wonder if he's thinking about her, missing her."

  Annie nodded and thought of Bob. What would she have done if Bob had had an affair? It was impossible to imagine.

  "He says he loves me and that he doesn't miss her or anything. Still, I can't help wondering from time to time. Trusting him again is going to take awhile."

  "It's bound to."

  "And he understands that." She smiled dreamily, thinking back. "Sometimes Mark's so sweet and thoughtful. He sends me love cards in the mail. You know the kind I mean?"

  "Yes." Bob had sent her cards like that. She recalled one that had said 'Life is just a chair of bowlies.' There was a picture of an overstuffed chair with hundreds of bowls in it. Inside he'd written, "For my darling. I can't tell you how much I admire what you're doing. I long to be the preacher's husband. Love you forever." But forever had turned out to be never.

  "What is it?" Sarah asked.

  "Nothing."

  "You were thinking of Bob, weren't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, Annie," she said sympathetically. "I feel like a dope worrying about Mark and Amy. I should be grateful I still have him."

  "Just because my husband died doesn't mean you don't have a right to feel insecure, Sarah."

  "I know."

  "No, you don't."

  "No, I don't."

  They laughed, reached out and squeezed a hand.

  Sarah said, "You were talking about Colin." She didn't really want to go back to that subject, but Annie was her friend and didn't often ask for anything.

  "I was just wondering what it was I detected in him, as if he had a secret or something. Dumb, I know."

  Sarah wanted to tell her that it wasn't dumb, in fact, was perceptive, but her loyalty had to be with Colin on this. If he wanted to tell Annie about Nancy and the children that was fine. It wasn't her place to tell her. Still, she had to say something. "He has a few problems. Nothing serious."

  "Like not being able to ride in a car with anyone?"

  "Yes."

  "What's that about?"

  "Why don't you ask him, Annie?"

  "I will."

  "He's a terrific guy. We've known him for ages. He and Mark went to the University of Michigan together."

  "Did you know his wife?"

  Sarah was startled. What had Colin told her? She nodded, hoping Annie would clue her in.

  "Was Colin driving the car?"

  Obviously he'd said Nancy had died in an automobile accident. But what should she say now? "Maybe you'd better ask him."

  "So that's why he can't be in a car with someone else." It was said more to herself than to Sarah. "What was she like?"

  "Nancy? I don't know. I liked her, but I didn't know her that well. They lived in Chicago and we only saw them a few times a year. But when we did we had a lot of fun. And our kids liked their kids and..."

  A look of surprise had come over Annie's face.

  "Oh, shit. He didn't tell you about the kids, did he?"

  "No. How many?" Annie asked quietly.

  "Two."

  "They died with Nancy?"

  "Yes." At least that much was true.

  "Oh, poor Colin."

  "He's suffered terribly." After a moment Sarah said, "I think it's great you're going out with him. For both of you."

  "Thanks. I have to admit I feel slightly nervous. It's been a long time since I dated. I've even found myself worrying about what I should wear." She laughed. "High-school time."

  "I don't blame you. I always hated dating, didn't you?"

  "Loathed it."

  A knock at the door made Annie look at her watch. "Just a minute," she called. "It must be Mrs. Ludwig, a little early."

  "I have to run anyway. If I don't speak to you before, have a good time Saturday. He's really an awfully nice person."

  It was not Mrs. Ludwig waiting in the hall; it was Burton Kelly. "Burton, what are you doing here this time of day?"

  He glanced at Sarah, then back to Annie, obviously not wishing to answer the question in front of Sarah.

  "Never mind, come on in."

  Annie and Sarah said their good-byes. Inside her office, Annie told Burton she had a two o'clock appointment and asked him what she could d
o for him.

  "I'm going to come right out with it, Annie. I like you very much and I always enjoy talking with you. Some of our talks have been very edifying. You're an amazing woman."

  "Thank you." She felt extremely uncomfortable, wished she could deflect him somehow, but didn't see a way.

  "I'm not just saying all this to flatter you." Kelly's sandy hair lay in neat strands across his large head. "I'm only trying to throw a little light on the subject. You know, of course, that I've never married?"

  She nodded.

  "People around here think it's because of my mother. Because I lived with and took care of her until she died." He laughed, but it sounded like a snarl. "Well, it's not true. I haven't married because I've never found anyone suitable to marry."

  Uh-oh, Annie thought.

  "As you well know, the rate of divorce in this country is extremely high. I have no intentions of becoming one more statistic. Marriage is a very serious proposition. And I would never enter into it unless I was totally sure about the woman and my feelings for her."

  She had to say something. "I think that's very wise, Burton."

  A thin film of sweat covered his forehead like a veil.

  "Is it too hot in here?" she asked. "Should I open a window?"

  "Yes. Yes, that would be nice. But let me do it."

  Annie watched him move stiffly across the small room as if he were a robot. How could she keep him from saying what seemed inevitable? She felt helpless, out of control, and prayed Karen Ludwig would arrive.

  "There," Kelly said, "much better." His mouth twitched several times and he tried to pass it off as a smile. "All right, where was I? May I sit down?"

  "As I said, I have a two o'clock appointment. She's late but she should be here any second. Maybe you should come back later, as we planned."

  "I'd like to go on now. I'll come right to the point. I would be greatly honored if you'd have dinner with me on Saturday night."

  Annie was so relieved she almost sighed audibly. Then she realized that even though it was a dinner invitation instead of a proposal of marriage, she still had to reject him. "That's very nice of you, Burton, but I'm afraid I can't."

  "Why?" he demanded, eyes growing cold.

  "I have other plans." Immediately she was sorry she hadn't made another excuse. This way would only allow him to ask for another time.