by Al Lamanda
“Did he resist at all?”
“Resist? He couldn’t wait to go for a ride,” Reese said. “He claimed he hadn’t been in a car since Korea.”
“So he walked to church from his house?”
“He said he couldn’t remember.”
“Walking or church?”
“Both walking to church and being in church. The whole morning.” Reese said. He paused to look at Peck. “There’s something else. The man has a dozen large chef’s knives in a kitchen drawer, rope under the sink and a box of latex, rubber gloves.”
Peck looked at Reese. “I think we should go talk to the man.”
In the absence of a conference table per say, they made do with the spare desk in Peck’s office. Reese and Peck sat opposite Muse, while Bender sat at his own desk in the background.
Acting as the primary investigator, Reese began the interview. “Mr. Muse, do you have any idea why we asked you to come with us?”
Muse blinked at Reese as if trying to shake the cobwebs from his brain. “I don’t even remember who you are or where I am,” he said.
“You’re at the Dunston Falls police station, Mr. Muse,” Reese said. “And I’m Lieutenant Reese of the Maine State Police.”
“Why am I here?”
“We asked you to go with us, remember?”
Muse shook his head. “Why?”
“There have been some recent events which need clearing up.”
“Events?” Muse looked at Peck and Reese through watery, bloodshot eyes. “What kind of events?”
Peck made eye contact with Muse, searching for something in the fog and haze that reflected back at him that said the man was coherent. “Two women have been murdered. A third nearly murdered and a police officer lost his life saving hers,” Peck said.
“So?”
Reese leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk. “So we want to know where you’ve been the past three days.”
Muse shrugged. “Why do you care where I been? I didn’t kill them. I didn’t kill nobody.”
“It would be great if we could just believe everybody at face value, Mr. Muse,” Reese said. “But unfortunately, police work doesn’t work that way.”
“I don’t give a rat fuck how it works,” Muse said. “Hey, could I have a chocolate bar? I love chocolate bars.”
“No,” Reese said.
“I saw on the TV once, an episode of Dragnet,” Muse said. “They were talking to this fellow like you is talking to me now and that fellow asked for a lawyer.”
“You don’t need a lawyer,” Reese said. “You’re not under arrest.”
Muse stood up. “If I ain’t under arrest, I’m going home.”
“Sit down, Mr. Muse. I’ll get you your chocolate,” Peck said.
Bender opened a desk drawer where he removed a chocolate bar and gave it to Peck. “Is this okay?” Peck said, sliding the bar toward Muse.
Muse picked up the bar, ripped off the wrapper and took a bite. He chewed gleefully and smiled at Peck.
“Mr. Muse, we need you to tell us about the last three days,” Reese said. “Where you were and what you were doing.”
Muse bit off another piece of chocolate. “I think I was home.”
“Think?” Reese said.
Muse chewed chocolate and looked at Reese. Muse’s confusion was apparent in his eyes. “I ain’t sure. I might have gone out for something, a walk, but I don’t know. Why, is it important what I was doing?”
“It will help us clear up some missing pieces in our investigation,” Reese said.
“Missing pieces? Like what?” Muse said. He munched on the chocolate, seemingly not paying the slightest bit of attention.
Reese glanced at Peck, and then turned to Muse. “Do a lot of cooking, Mr. Muse?”
“Waddaya mean cooking?” Muse said.
“In the kitchen,” Reese said. “It’s where you prepare your food. You do cook, don’t you Mr. Muse?”
Muse bit off another piece of chocolate as he thought. “Sometimes I cook, when I have food.”
“Is that why you have a dozen, foot long kitchen knives?” Reese said.
“I…don’t know.” Muse’s eyes appeared even more confused.
“You don’t know. It’s your kitchen, Mr. Muse,” Reese said.
“Then I guess them knives must belong to me,” Muse said. His eyes were beginning to glaze over. “You guys are hurting my head.”
“What about the rubber gloves and rope under the sink, they belong to you, too?” Reese said.
“I don’t know,” Muse said. “Probably.”
“What do you use them for?” Reese said.
Blood suddenly dripped from Muse’s nose. “I’m getting a headache,” Muse said and rubbed a spot above his nose.
Peck turned to Bender. “Get a paper towel for Mr. Muse.”
Bender reached into his desk for a box of Kleenex, but before he could pass it to Peck, Muse jumped up from his chair and grabbed his head.
“What the hell?” Reese said.
Holding his head, Muse doubled over and gasped for air. “Ah…….God……… Help me,” he cried.
“Jay, get Doctor McCoy,” Peck shouted.
Bender ran from the office.
Reese and Peck stood up. Peck gently touched Muse on the shoulder. “I sent for a doctor, Mr. Muse.”
Muse looked up at Peck, gasped loudly, screamed even louder and then his eyes rolled back in his head exposing the whites and he passed out to the floor.
Reese looked at Peck. “Maybe he’s allergic to chocolate,” Reese said.
Muse was resting comfortably on a bed in the tiny, hospital emergency room when Peck and Reese approached McCoy, who was making notes on a chart.
“How is he?” Peck said.
“His vital signs are all normal,” McCoy said. “For a man in his mental state and physical condition.”
“Which is what?” Peck said.
“I don’t know,” McCoy confessed. “There’s no alcohol in his blood. Drugs, neither.”
Reese looked at Muse, who appeared sound asleep. “Then what the hell happened to him?”
“My guess would be a migraine. I can’t be certain until I run some tests and blood work. Maybe some tests for allergies.”
Reese looked at McCoy. “Migraine? You mean a headache?”
“Yes.”
“That must have been one hell of a fucking headache,” Reese said.
McCoy set the chart on a table and stuck his pen into his shirt pocket. “Most migraines are just that, one hell of a headache.”
“When can we resume our interview?” Reese asked.
“He should be fine as soon as he wakes up as long as you don’t go bouncing him around too much.”
“How long will he be out?” Reese said.
“Four, maybe five hours. I gave him a sedative.”
Reese looked at Peck. “I’ll go check on my men, see if they made any progress. Care to tag along, sheriff?”
“Go ahead. I want to talk to the doctor.”
In the lounge, Peck and McCoy drank coffee as the sat at the table. Several candles provided enough light for McCoy to write on a chart.
“That man is so confused he doesn’t know whether to wind his ass or scratch his watch,” Peck said, which drew a smile from McCoy.
A generator suddenly came on and the lights flickered to life. McCoy blew out the candles.
“Is it because of the headaches?” Peck said.
“That could be. Migraines can be very disorienting as you found out. I’ve been doing some reading. Some people report they see a tunnel with blue light. Others claim hallucinations.”
Peck lit a cigarette and studied McCoy for a moment. “Linda Boyce told me she has these headaches. She also said the man who murdered Peterson looked to her as if he also had a headache. Now Muse.”
“I’m not following you, Dave. What’s your point?”
“What are the odds there are four of us suffering migraines in a town this size at the s
ame time?”
“Actually, I would say they’re about normal.” McCoy said. “The nineteen fifty eight report from the Surgeon General’s office stated that about three percent of the American public suffers from migraines. That would make some fifteen people in our town suffering the same as you are. Small consolation if you’re one of the fifteen.”
Peck stared at McCoy.
McCoy smiled. “Dave, I want you to take it easy for a few days. Maybe you should back off and let Reese handle things. Spend a few days at home doing nothing and thinking about nothing. More than your body, your mind needs a rest.”
“Go home and do nothing while a murderer runs loose?”
“One day then. Just one good night sleep in your own bed away from the office,” McCoy insisted, “might be just what you need.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Peck said. “Sleeping in my own bed sounds like a pretty good idea.” Peck stood up from the table and turned to the lounge door where he paused. “As long as I’m here, is it okay if I look in on the Boyce woman?”
“It’s okay, except she isn’t here,” McCoy said. “She was fit enough so Lieutenant Reese had her moved to the logging camp for her own protection.”
“Yes, that’s the smart move,” Peck said and opened the door. He paused to look at the doctor. “Say Tom; let’s keep these headaches between us for now.”
“You’re my patient, Dave,” McCoy said. “I couldn’t reveal your medical records without a court order, anyway.”
Peck nodded, exited the lounge and closed the door behind him.
Kranston was behind his desk when Peck entered the town manager’s office after leaving the hospital. As Peck approached his desk, Kranston glanced up from the document he was writing on and acknowledged Peck with a slight head nod.
“I’m usually not here this late,” Kranston said, shuffling a mound of paper in front of him. “But with everything that’s happened, I’ve fallen behind.”
Peck walked to the chair opposite Kranston’s desk and sat down. “I need to talk to you, Ed.”
Kranston glanced up at Peck. “Sure, Dave. Just give me a moment to sign off on this.”
Peck watched Kranston stack papers into a folder. Holding the folder Kranston said, “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Me.”
Flipping the folder closed, Kranston said, “You? I don’t understand.”
“There’s no other way to say it, so I’ll come right to the point,” Peck said. “I’m no longer fit to be the chief law enforcement agent for your town.”
Kranston quit fooling with his papers and gave Peck his undivided attention. “What are…I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
“I have reasons I’d rather not go into just yet,” Peck said. “But I can no longer serve as sheriff of Dunston Falls.”
Kranston stared at Peck for several seconds before responding. “What the hell does that mean, reasons? What reasons? Is it these murders? Because if it is, I’ll assume responsibility for the delay in…”
“It isn’t the murders, Ed. Not directly, anyway. It’s me. I have a possible medical condition which might make it dangerous for me to continue with my duties.”
“A dangerous medical condition? I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
“Just what it sounds like, Ed. Continuing with my duties could pose a danger to myself and others. That’s all I can say right now.”
“I’m shocked, Dave,” Kranston said. “Stunned. I don’t know what to say.” He slid open the top drawer of the desk and removed a pack of gum. “Have you discussed this with Doctor McCoy?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?” Kranston said as he removed the wrapper from a stick of gum and placed it into his mouth.
“He’s recommended I see a specialist as soon as the phones are back and he can call Maine Medical Center.”
“I see. This is so sudden I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say, Ed,” Peck said. “Reese is a good man and he will catch this guy. Jay has come a long way and will make a fine sheriff. I’ll stay on until my appointment at the hospital and help Jay get acclimated.”
Kranston nodded his head at Peck and stood up to shake his hand.
“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to tell Jay myself,” Peck said.
“Of course,” Kranston said.
Peck turned and walked to the door and opened it. “Good night, Ed,” Peck said and exited the office.
Still standing, Kranston stared at the door until the closet door in the far corner of his office opened and McCoy stepped out. As McCoy approached the desk, Kranston lowered himself to his seat and opened a second stick of gum.
“We have a problem,” McCoy said. “A big fucking problem.”
Kranston looked up at McCoy and stuck the second piece of gum into his mouth. “Yes, we do.”
“How do we handle it?”
“We wait.”
“Not for too long, I hope.”
“How long is too long?” Kranston said.
McCoy lowered himself into the chair vacated by Peck and silently made eye contact with Kranston.
“Because I don’t know what that is anymore,” Kranston said.
SEVEN
With a glass of scotch and a cigarette for company, Peck sat on his sofa for the first time since the ice storm began. A fire crackled loudly in the woodstove, warming the living room. Several candles burned on the coffee table, illuminating the living room with dim, iridescent light.
Lost in thought, Peck was not aware the full moon rose earlier until he noticed its bright light cascading through the living room window. He stood from the sofa and walked to the window to look out. Brightly lit snow fell gently to the ground, reflecting so much moonlight you could almost read by it. He thought the scene looked perfect in its simplicity and felt beckoned by it. With a sudden desire to feel the cold, crisp night air, he opened the window and filled his lungs. Never had he smelled anything as sweet, as crisp and invigorating.
Turning away from the window, Peck grabbed his jacket, gloves and wool hat.
Peck found a quiet bliss in riding a snowmobile through the moonlit woods without purpose or direction. The ride did not involve police work or destination and he took the midnight run just for the sheer enjoyment of the experience. Even the loud roar of the snowmobile engine seemed to fade into the background.
He crossed a frozen stream and slowed to a stop near a thicket of trees. He dismounted, removed his helmet and lit a cigarette. Snow fell gently all around him and all sound was lost to the ear in the cushion of nature. He felt at ease and relaxed for the first time since the storm. Maybe McCoy was right, that the stress was building up to a boil and he needed a night of relaxation.
Three hundred yards to Peck’s immediate left, the man in the ski mask walked through two feet of snow to a snowmobile parked behind a giant, pine tree. He paused for a moment to listen to the stillness around him. Sound traveled extremely well at night and he thought he heard something. He reached for a rifle strapped to the snowmobile in a side holster.
The rifle was a bolt action 7MM with a scope and he threw the bolt to chamber a round, and then raised the rifle to his shoulder. As he peered through the scope, the man in the ski mask scanned the woods and spotted Peck. Seen through the cross hairs, Peck tossed his cigarette into the snow, and then mounted his snowmobile.
Just before Peck started the snowmobile, he hesitated and peered into the surrounding woods as if searching for something.
The man in the ski mask lined up Peck’s face in the cross hairs of the scope. He watched Peck stare into the woods and his finger tightened around the trigger. As the man in the ski mask was about to pull the trigger, Peck’s face suddenly relaxed and he started the snowmobile.
The man in the ski mask watched Peck drive away on his snowmobile, then lowered the rifle. There would be other days.
Peck found himself traveling on a snow-covered
dirt road not far from the logging camp. At a clearing on a hill that overlooked the camp, he slowed to a stop and dismounted.
From a saddlebag, Peck removed a thermos and filled the cap with hot coffee. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the snowmobile to enjoy the quiet of the moment. Snow fell lightly around him and the stillness in the woods had a magical affect on his stress-filled mind. As he sipped from the thermos cap, Peck felt the tension melt from his neck and back and shoulders. All at once, he felt at ease.
Off in the distance, something suddenly caught Peck’s eye. Unable to make out what it was, he moved away from the snowmobile and peered through the darkness. There was something, but he couldn’t tell what. He turned the handlebars of the snowmobile, aimed its powerful headlight and clicked it on.
Peck set the thermos cap on the snowmobile seat and stared into the beam of the headlight. Something in the distance caught the light and reflected it back to him.
“What the hell…?” Peck said to himself.
Slowly, Peck started walking away from the snowmobile. After just thirty feet, he stood in two feet of fresh snow. His eyes followed the beam of light from the snowmobile headlight.
Something was out there, but he couldn’t tell what it was from this distance. Walking toward it, there was no way to judge just how far away the something was. He broke into a slow, clumsy jog. After a hundred yards, his legs burned from the effort of trudging through knee-deep snow. He paused to catch his breath, and then continued.
As he got closer, the terrain became a step hill and running through the snow became more and more difficult. He slipped and fell, but bounced back up and continued with ice and snow stuck to his face and jacket.
After six hundred yards, Peck gasped for air. His lungs were on fire and his legs were cramping badly, but he refused to stop. For some unknown reason, he had to see whatever that was in the beam of light.
He fell again and used it as an excuse to catch his breath. As he lay on his stomach, Peck peered into the beam of light and thought his imagination had run wild. Several hundred yards away there appeared to be a wall of brightly gleaming silver.