“And that’s how you saw those four dying?”
“Yes. I would never have told them if I hadn’t been angry about the land. But that is how I saw them. Call it witchcraft if you want, or extrasensory perception, or any of the other names they have for it.”
“Has this ever happened to you before, Miss Gaze?”
“It’s been happening all my life.” She tried to laugh, but it came out a sob. “I saw my mother lying dead before me. I saw a battlefield with my lover’s body.” And then she held up her wrists. “You see this? You see these scars? Sometimes you get so you can’t stand it any longer. You lock yourself in this old house and never see anybody any more, but that doesn’t help—they only call you a witch then. And sometimes when it gets really bad you take a razor and slit your wrists and try to change the life that you’ve seen before you. Try to say, Look, I cheated you after all! I’m dead ahead of my time!”
“Say it to whom?”
“To God, to Satan. Does it matter? Can you tell me if this thing is a gift or a curse? Can you?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Gaze,” he said quietly, because there was nothing else to say.
“Be sorry,” she told him, turning tearfully away. “Be sorry! Maybe that’s a beginning! Nobody’s ever been sorry before.”
“Goodbye, Miss Gaze,” he said, rising from his chair. “I’ll come to see you again.”
Outside, it was beginning to rain. The ferris wheel was still turning, but there was no one on it.
“Funny thing,” Fletcher said the following morning. “I’ve been talking to the firemen, and I’ve found one who thinks he caught a glimpse of O’Brian just before the roof fell in on him.”
Leopold put down the paper he was reading. “What?”
“This fireman, Captain. He says O’Brian was just standing there, not trying to escape at all. He looked as if he was waiting for a bus, the fireman said. And then the flimsy roof started to give, and he never had a chance.”
“As if he were waiting for a bus….”
“Or under a spell, huh, Captain?”
“Yes,” Leopold said. “Or under a spell.”
He sat for a long time alone in his office, gazing out the window and trying to fit the pieces together. Two men were dead, two others were threatened.
Did it have to be Stella Gaze? Was there no other answer?
“I’m going back out there, Fletcher,” he called into the intercom.
“What for, Captain?”
“Maybe I’ll take a ride on the ferris wheel. Who knows?”
The place was deserted when he reached it, and he stepped carefully over the blackened pieces of wood that littered the area. Here and there puddles remained, from yesterday’s rain or the firemen’s hoses. It might have been a battlefield, after the army had moved on.
“Captain Leopold!”
He turned at the sound of his name and saw George Quenton strolling toward him with another unlit cigar between his fingers. “You don’t even have any customers for your ferris wheel,” Leopold observed.
“In this county the schools reopen the day after Labor Day. Down in New York they get another week of business. But what the hell—how much money could I make with a rusty ferris wheel?”
“Could you take me up in it?”
“What?”
“The wheel,” Leopold said. “Could you take me up in it?”
“Someone has to stay on the ground to operate it. But we could sit in one of the cars on the ground.”
They did that, and Leopold felt the metal armrests under his hands, with their layers of paint chipped and worn. “It’s pleasant here today,” he said.
“What about her?” Quenton asked, gesturing toward the little cottage with his unlit cigar. “Will you arrest her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Until that moment, Leopold couldn’t have put it into words. It was more of a feeling than anything else. He was almost surprised when he heard his voice say, “Because it rained yesterday.”
“Rained?” The seat was rocking gently in the breeze. “What does the rain have to do with it?”
“Everything,” Leopold said. “You see, this was never a case for me. There was never any murder. The deaths of Held and O’Brian were both accidents.”
“That would be quite a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”
“Not as much so as it might seem. I didn’t say no crime had been committed.”
“But what crime was there, other than the deaths?”
Leopold watched a cloud pass hesitantly over the sun. “Arson,” he replied. “I think you three plotted to burn this place for the insurance.”
“You couldn’t prove that.”
“Otto Held’s death was an accident. But it fit the pattern of Stella Gaze’s prediction. Business had been bad all summer, so you three decided to make another prediction come true. Felix O’Brian set fire to the place after closing on Sunday night. The scheme was that he’d remain in the burning building, to be rescued or dash to freedom at the very last moment. That way, it would look as if the witch’s second prediction had almost come true. If arson was suspected, people would think of Stella Gaze, not of an insurance fraud. Only O’Brian waited a moment too long, and the roof fell in.”
“Your visions are almost as vivid as that woman’s, Captain.”
“A fireman saw O’Brian a moment before he died, just standing in there. And we have plenty of proof of arson. As well as proof that your business was bad.”
“Would we burn down the place before our biggest day?” Quenton asked.
“You might if the weatherman was predicting rain. Which he was. You figured you had nothing to lose but a thin rainy day crowd. And you had all that insurance money to gain.”
“Are you arresting me?”
“Not at all,” Leopold said. “I’ll turn over my ideas to the Arson Squad and let them take it from there. We can build up a pretty good case against O’Brian, but it might be tougher to prove that you and Smith had knowledge of it. I hardly think he’d have been acting on his own, though. Maybe you two were even supposed to rescue him and decided to let him burn, to fulfill the prophecy. When I met Smith at the fire, he claimed he didn’t know where O’Brian was. Later, he told us O’Brian had sent him home and was closing up the place. I just think Smith might tell us something if we confront him with that bit.”
“All right,” Quenton said. He got to his feet and hopped to the ground.
“Don’t go running off after Smith,” Leopold advised with a slight smile. “They’re already questioning him.”
“Whatever you say, whatever theories you have, the fact remains that they died the way she predicted.”
“Yes,” Leopold admitted. “Yes.”
“Doesn’t that prove she’s a witch?”
“We will need more evidence. But I will be interested in you and Smith. In how you die.”
He left Quenton standing by the ferris wheel and walked away, down toward the house of Stella Gaze.
He found her in bed, wrapped with blankets despite the warmth of the day. There was an empty bottle of sleeping pills by her side, and he knew he had come too late to help Stella Gaze.
There was a letter by the empty bottle, addressed to him. He opened it and read it through twice. Then he crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket. It would do nobody any good, least of all Stella Gaze. Later he would burn it, and perhaps that was what she had expected, anyway.
There was a noise from outside the window, and Leopold saw that Quenton had started the ferris wheel turning. The man lit his cigar and stood for a time watching it turn.
And from the window of Stella Gaze’s house, Leopold watched him watching it.
(1966)
The Oblong Room
IT WAS FLETCHER’S CASE from the beginning, but Captain Leopold rode along with him when the original call came in. The thing seemed open and shut, with the only suspect found literally standing over his victim, and on
a dull day Leopold thought that a ride out to the University might be pleasant.
Here, along the river, the October color was already in the trees, and through the park a slight haze of burning leaves clouded the road in spots. It was a warm day for autumn, a sunny day. Not really a day for murder.
“The University hasn’t changed much,” Leopold commented, as they turned into the narrow street that led past the fraternity houses to the library tower. “A few new dorms, and a new stadium. That’s about all.”
“We haven’t had a case here since that bombing four or five years back,” Fletcher said. “This one looks to be a lot easier, though. They’ve got the guy already. Stabbed his roommate and then stayed right there with the body.”
Leopold was silent. They’d pulled up before one of the big new dormitories that towered toward the sky like some middle-income housing project, all brick and concrete and right now surrounded by milling students. Leopold pinned on his badge and led the way.
The room was on the fourth floor, facing the river. It seemed to be identical to all the others, a depressing oblong with bunk beds, twin study desks, wardrobes, and a large picture window opposite the door. The Medical Examiner was already there, and he looked up as Leopold and Fletcher entered. “We’re ready to move him. All right with you, Captain?”
“The boys get their pictures? Then it’s fine with me. Fletcher, find out what you can.” Then, to the Medical Examiner, “What killed him?”
“A couple of stab wounds. I’ll do an autopsy, but there’s not much doubt.”
“How long dead?”
“A day or so.”
“A day!”
Fletcher had been making notes as he questioned the others. “The precinct men have it pretty well wrapped up for us, Captain. The dead boy is Ralph Rollings, a sophomore. His roommate admits to being here with the body for maybe twenty hours before they were discovered. Roommate’s name is Tom McBern. They’ve got him in the next room.”
Leopold nodded and went through the connecting door. Tom McBern was tall and slender, and handsome in a dark, collegiate sort of way. “Have you warned him of his rights?” Leopold asked a patrolman.
“Yes sir.”
“All right.” Leopold sat down on the bed opposite McBern. “What have you got to say, son?”
The deep brown eyes came up to meet Leopold’s. “Nothing, sir. I think I want a lawyer.”
“That’s your privilege, of course. You don’t wish to make any statement about how your roommate met his death, or why you remained in the room with him for several hours without reporting it?”
“No, sir.” He turned away and stared out the window.
“You understand we’ll have to book you on suspicion of homicide.”
The boy said nothing more, and after a few moments Leopold left him alone with the officer. He went back to Fletcher and watched while the body was covered and carried away. “He’s not talking. Wants a lawyer. Where are we?”
Sergeant Fletcher shrugged. “All we need is motive. They probably had the same girl or something.”
“Find out.”
They went to talk with the boy who occupied the adjoining room, the one who’d found the body. He was sandy-haired and handsome, with the look of an athlete, and his name was Bill Smith.
“Tell us how it was, Bill,” Leopold said.
“There’s not much to tell. I knew Ralph and Tom slightly during my freshman year, but never really well. They stuck pretty much together. This year I got the room next to them, but the connecting door was always locked. Anyway, yesterday neither one of them showed up at class. When I came back yesterday afternoon I knocked at the door and asked if anything was wrong. Tom called out that they were sick. He wouldn’t open the door. I went into my own room and didn’t think much about it. Then, this morning, I knocked to see how they were. Tom’s voice sounded so…strange.”
“Where was your own roommate all this time?”
“He’s away. His father died and he went home for the funeral.” Smith’s hands were nervous, busy with a shredded piece of paper. Leopold offered him a cigarette and he took it. “Anyway, when he wouldn’t open the door I became quite concerned and told him I was going for help. He opened it then—and I saw Ralph stretched out on the bed, all bloody and…dead.”
Leopold nodded and went to stand by the window. From here he could see the trees down along the river, blazing gold and amber and scarlet as the October sun passed across them. “Had you heard any sounds the previous day? Any argument?”
“No. Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Had they disagreed in the past about anything?”
“Not that I knew of. If they didn’t get along, they hardly would have asked to room together again this year.”
“How about girls?” Leopold asked.
“They both dated occasionally, I think.”
“No special one? One they both liked?”
Bill Smith was silent for a fraction too long. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I told you I didn’t know them very well.”
“This is murder, Bill. It’s not a sophomore dance or class day games.”
“Tom killed him. What more do you need?”
“What’s her name, Bill?”
He stubbed out the cigarette and looked away. Then finally he answered. “Stella Banting. She’s a junior.”
“Which one did she go with?”
“I don’t know. She was friendly with both of them. I think she went out with Ralph a few times around last Christmas, but I’d seen her with Tom lately.”
“She’s older than them?”
“No. They’re all twenty. She’s just a year ahead.”
“All right,” Leopold said. “Sergeant Fletcher will want to question you further.”
He left Smith’s room and went out in the hall with Fletcher. “It’s your case, Sergeant. About time I gave it to you.”
“Thanks for the help, Captain.”
“Let him talk to a lawyer and then see if he has a story. If he still won’t make a statement, book him on suspicion. I don’t think there’s any doubt we can get an indictment.”
“You going to talk to that girl?”
Leopold smiled. “I just might. Smith seemed a bit shy about her. Might be a motive there. Let me know as soon as the medical examiner has something more definite about the time of death.”
“Right, Captain.”
Leopold went downstairs, pushing his way through the students and faculty members still crowding the halls and stairways. Outside he unpinned the badge and put it away. The air was fresh and crisp as he strolled across the campus to the administration building.
Stella Banting lived in the largest sorority house on campus, a great columned building of ivy and red brick. But when Captain Leopold found her she was on her way back from the drug store, carrying a carton of cigarettes and a bottle of shampoo. Stella was a tall girl with firm angular lines and a face that might have been beautiful if she ever smiled.
“Stella Banting?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Captain Leopold. I wanted to talk to you about the tragedy over at the men’s dorm. I trust you’ve heard about it?”
She blinked her eyes and said, “Yes. I’ve heard.”
“Could we go somewhere and talk?”
“I’ll drop these at the house and we can walk if you’d like. I don’t want to talk there.”
She was wearing faded bermuda shorts and a bulky sweatshirt, and walking with her made Leopold feel young again. If only she smiled occasionally—but perhaps this was not a day for smiling. They headed away from the main campus, out toward the silent oval of the athletic field and sports stadium. “You didn’t come over to the dorm,” he said to her finally, breaking the silence of their walk.
“Should I have?”
“I understood you were friendly with them—that you dated the dead boy last Christmas and Tom McBern more recently.”
“
A few times. Ralph wasn’t the sort anyone ever got to know very well.”
“And what about Tom?”
“He was a nice fellow.”
“Was?”
“It’s hard to explain. Ralph did things to people, to everyone around him. When I felt it happening to me, I broke away.”
“What sort of things?”
“He had a power—a power you wouldn’t believe any twenty-year-old capable of.”
“You sound as if you’ve known a lot of them.”
“I have. This is my third year at the University. I’ve grown up a lot in that time. I think I have anyway.”
“And what about Tom McBern?”
“I dated him a few times recently just to confirm for myself how bad things were. He was completely under Ralph’s thumb. He lived for no one but Ralph.”
“Homosexual?” Leopold asked.
“No, I don’t think it was anything as blatant as that. It was more the relationship of teacher and pupil, leader and follower.”
“Master and slave?”
She turned to smile at him. “You do seem intent on midnight orgies, don’t you?”
“The boy is dead, after all.”
“Yes. Yes, he is.” She stared down at the ground, kicking randomly at the little clusters of fallen leaves. “But you see what I mean? Ralph was always the leader, the teacher—for Tom, almost the messiah.”
“Then why would he have killed him?” Leopold asked.
“That’s just it—he wouldn’t! Whatever happened in that room, I can’t imagine Tom McBern ever bringing himself to kill Ralph.”
“There is one possibility, Miss Banting. Could Ralph Rollings have made a disparaging remark about you? Something about when he was dating you?”
“I never slept with Ralph, if that’s what you’re trying to ask me. With either of them, for that matter.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It happened just the way I’ve told you. If anything, I was afraid of Ralph. I didn’t want him getting that sort of hold over me.”
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