Adam picked up the pry bar and turned it in his hands, examining it at every angle and getting the feel of it. It weighed more than it looked. He tried to hold it the way he imagined the killer had held it up over his head. He tried to imagine how he would swing it. It wouldn’t require much force. A bit of a twist and the heavy, hooked end could crack a skull quite nicely.
He lifted it higher, getting ready to reenact a deathblow swing when he noticed the clerk at the end of the aisle. And he was watching. This time he looked…oh, perhaps concerned was an understatement.
“I think I found what I was looking for,” Adam said, bringing the tool back down without any more fanfare. “And it’s even on sale.” He pointed to the tag, smiled and retreated down the other end of the aisle.
He waited in the checkout line, tapping the pry bar into the palm of his hand. Suddenly, it occurred to him that this pry bar was exactly like the one he kept in his El Camino.
CHAPTER 56
Henry watched from the top of the ridge. They almost had the car out of the trees, enough of a hood showing that he could tell it was a late model sedan. Jesus! What a mess. Why was it that when it rained it had to fucking pour?
He found himself wishing it was some poor drunk bastard who drove all the way up and simply lost control and went over the ledge. He wished it could be that simple. He had driven up here only to prove O’Dell wrong. But now he couldn’t help wondering if they had just found Joan Begley.
He saw O’Dell leave her rented Ford Escort back behind the Meriden police blockade. They had the chain-link gate closed, padlocked and guarded down below at the entrance, but still it was a bit crowded up here along the winding road to the top of the peak. He waved to Deputy Truman to let O’Dell by.
“You found her?” she asked before he could say anything.
“I was standing here hoping that it was some drunk who took a wrong turn,” Henry confessed, leaning on the wooden guard rail.
They stood quietly side by side, watching the tow truck cable pull the car up over the rocks and brush, listening to the scrape of metal against tree bark.
Finally, when it was on level ground, Deputy Charlie Newhouse yelled at him from the tilted smashed-in front of the car, “No one’s inside, Sheriff.”
“Jesus! I don’t need this crap. Run the license plates.” But even as Henry said it he could see the rear one was missing.
“Front plate’s missing,” Arliss said.
“So is the rear,” Watermeier told him.
“You suppose it’s stolen?” Charlie asked.
“Better give the boys a call to bring out a mobile unit.” Henry walked around to the front, trying to get a look inside through the demolished windshield.
“Sheriff.”
O’Dell was still at the back of the car, waiting for him. When he walked around she pointed to the trunk, where a small piece of fabric had gotten caught and was sticking out.
“Shit!” he mumbled, and felt the tightening in his chest. “Charlie, reach in there and pop the trunk, and try not to touch too much.”
When no one moved, Henry looked up to find his two deputies and the tow truck operator staring at the trunk of the car.
“Charlie,” Henry said again.
This time the deputy obeyed, but when the trunk snapped open Henry found himself wondering, once again, why the hell he hadn’t retired six months ago.
He pushed the trunk wide-open and everyone remained motionless, wordless as they stared at the small body of a woman curled up inside. Henry noticed immediately that her wrists weren’t bound. Neither were her ankles. But then there was no need. The back of the head faced them, a mess of blood and tangled hair where she had suffered what had to be a deathblow. It had cracked her skull open, an impact of force that seemed overkill for such a small woman.
“You suppose it’s her?” he asked O’Dell.
“Hard to tell. All I have is a photo. The head wound definitely looks familiar.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” Henry swiped at his eyes. Jesus! They hadn’t fished all his victims out of the barrels yet and here was another one. “Arliss, call Carl and have him bring the mobile crime lab. And Dr. Stolz, too.”
“I think they’re probably out at the rock quarry, sir.”
“I know where they probably are. Call them and tell them to get their asses over here.”
“Sir? You want me to tell them that exactly?”
Henry wanted to throttle the kid. Instead he said, “Charlie, would you—”
“I’ve got it taken care of, Sheriff.”
Henry noticed O’Dell just standing there, staring as if she couldn’t believe it, yet she was the one who suggested he search the area. He moved in for a closer look, leaning into the trunk and under the lid without touching anything. He examined the area around the woman for signs of anything that may have been left. Anything to tell them whether or not this was the missing Joan Begley. Maybe he even hoped the weapon accidently got tossed in or dropped inside. But there was nothing. From this angle he could see the side of her face and there was something familiar about her. Yeah, she looked familiar but he hadn’t seen O’Dell’s photo of Begley.
He gently touched the woman’s shoulder, moving her only slightly to get a better view. But what he saw made him jerk away.
“Holy crap!” He bashed his head on the lid of the trunk. He stumbled backward, slipping and almost losing his balance. Almost falling down.
The others stared at the back of the woman again, trying to see what had spooked him.
“It’s that TV reporter,” he said, out of breath and hating that his chest felt like it would explode. “That one who’s been following me around everywhere.”
“What are you talking about?” O’Dell said, stepping in closer to the trunk but waiting for him.
He rolled his shoulders and brushed his hands on the sides of his trousers as if to prepare himself. Then he leaned into the trunk as little as was necessary. He hesitated for only a second before he laid his hand on her shoulder again.
“He took her fucking eyes,” he said, moving her enough for them to see her face. Just enough for them to see the hollow sockets where her blue eyes had once been.
CHAPTER 57
Maggie could hear her cell phone beep, warning her that the battery was low and reminding her that she had forgotten to charge it last night.
“Tully, I’m probably going to lose you pretty soon, so give me the bottom line. Were you able to find out anything by going through Sonny’s e-mails?”
“He talks about getting sick a lot as a kid and his mother giving him medicine that only made it worse. Dr. Patterson suggested—okay now, this could be a long shot, but I think I agree with her—that he may have been the victim of Munchausen’s syndrome by proxy. Are you familiar with that?”
“You think his mother purposely made him sick so that she could get attention?”
“Yes, exactly. Dr. Patterson is talking with the local hospital. She’s hoping her credentials might get someone to check hospital records for maybe five to ten years ago.”
“Could you check another name for me? Jacob Marley. See what you can find on him.”
“Jacob Marley?”
“Yes, he’s the funeral director. I think Joan Begley had pizza with him the night she was taken. It may have been exactly like he told me, a business dinner to wrap up funeral details, but when I visited him yesterday he seemed nervous and guilty about something. And he’s a Junior who hates to be called Junior.”
“If he’s the funeral director he would have had access to Steve Earlman’s embalmed body.”
“Yes, he seemed too prepared to talk about that. But he doesn’t fit the killer’s profile. And now you’re telling me I need to be looking for a hypochondriac who’s also a paranoid delusional maniac because his mother made him sick on purpose? That should be easy to spot.”
“Very funny, O’Dell. I’m trying to help you.”
“I know you are.
Sorry. It’s just frustrating.” She slowed the car, taking on more winding curves. “We just found another body.”
“Oh, jeez. Do you know if it’s Begley?”
“No, it isn’t her. It may have been her rent-a-car. They’re still checking it out. It was a local reporter with bad eyes.”
“Let me guess, he took the eyes?”
“Yes. And he stuffed her in the trunk of a car. I worried that he might do this. He probably got paranoid that she was following him, but according to Watermeier she’s been at the rock quarry every day and hounding him.”
Her cell phone beeped again.
“I’m going to lose you, Tully.”
“I’ll call if I find anything on Marley. Oh, and I’ll have Dr. Patterson call you if she finds anything out from the hospital.”
“The thing is it could take too long. If Joan Begley is still alive I have a feeling she won’t be much longer. This last kill means he’s getting panicky. And all we seem to have right now are too many missing imperfections, a whole lot of coincidences and some white, waxy paper from a butcher shop.”
“Butcher-block paper?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what it’s called. I’m guessing he has tons of it and uses it to wrap and temporarily store the body pieces. I keep thinking it’s got to mean something, but what? Any ideas?”
“I’m just wondering where you buy that stuff.”
“Well, not at the local Stop & Shop. We already checked.”
“Didn’t you say Earlman was a butcher?”
“That’s right.”
“Any sons?”
“No, I already thought of that. His shop closed when he died. Someone bought all the equipment but didn’t continue the business.” She almost drove through a red light, braking hard and drawing a honk from the driver behind her. Why hadn’t she thought about it before? Luc had said that someone bought all the equipment. “Why would you buy all the equipment if you weren’t going to have a butcher shop? Doesn’t that seem a bit odd?”
“I don’t know. You should see the crazy stuff people buy and sell on eBay all the time.”
“And how do you know what people buy and sell on eBay?” Another beep from her phone. “My battery really is running low, Tully. Before I go, two things—how’s Harvey? He’s not driving you crazy, is he?”
“Not at all. In fact, I think you may have to bribe Emma in order to get him back.”
“Don’t you dare let her get attached to my dog, Tully.”
“Might be too late.”
“Second, how’s Gwen doing?”
There was silence and she thought she had already lost him when he finally said, “I think she’s doing okay.”
“Will you do a favor for me and please check on her?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Thanks, Tully, and tell Emma she does not get my dog.”
“O’Dell, one other thing.” This time she could hear his tone change. “Cunningham asked me about you.”
Maggie felt her muscles tighten.
“He wanted to know if you mentioned anything to me about your vacation,” he continued, sounding serious, almost apologetic.
She knew Tully was a straight-shooter. He’d never lie, especially to Cunningham, and now, she had probably gotten both of them in trouble.
“What did you tell him?” she asked, gripping the steering wheel in preparation for his answer.
“I told him the truth, that you said something about daffodils.” Then he hung up before she had a chance to respond.
She smiled and pulled the car into a parking lot, trying to get her mind back on track and off a possible reprimand. Somewhere she had a city map, besides the one Tully had drawn for her. It was just a hunch, but then what else did she have to go on? She needed to find the county courthouse. She needed to find out who had bought all that butcher shop equipment, including what might have been rolls and rolls of butcher-block paper.
CHAPTER 58
Henry started to head out to the rock quarry, had almost gotten there when he decided to go back to downtown Wallingford. He needed a strong cup of coffee, but mostly he just wanted to stop in at the bookstore and see his wife. After the media got hold of this latest development there was bound to be a frenzy, especially with the latest victim being one of their own. He was beginning to believe he and Rosie could kiss goodbye the idea of retiring in this community.
He took the back roads, winding around the edge of the city with the car window rolled down. He drove slowly, trying to suck in the fresh air, trying to relax enough so that the tight fist, that nagging ache in the middle of his chest, would let up. It’d serve him right for being so lax about taking—or rather not taking—his blood pressure medicine. Here he had escaped being with his buddies on 9/11 only to get a fucking heart attack while driving through the Connecticut countryside.
He drove by St. Francis Cemetery, curving around the hill, when he noticed a man hurry behind one of the tall headstones. At first he thought he had imagined it. Maybe he was having a heart attack. But that didn’t make you see things, did it?
Henry pulled into the cemetery’s entrance and stopped the car. From this angle he couldn’t see the headstone without getting out. He sat there, wondering again if he had imagined it. If someone was in the cemetery there wasn’t anything wrong with that. People were free to come in and often did to place wreaths and flowers on the graves. So there was no reason to hide.
He backed out and pulled onto the road. Rosie would laugh at him, not about forgetting his blood pressure medicine, but about seeing ghosts. He glanced up in the rearview mirror as he started around another curve. Just as the cemetery started to disappear out of view he saw the man again. This time Henry pulled the car off to the side of the road, out of view of the cemetery.
He left the car and backtracked down through the ditch, keeping himself out of sight while he took the long way around. The cemetery backed onto a forest, and Henry could see a pickup parked deep between the trees where he knew there wasn’t a road.
Henry climbed up a steep incline, hoping it would hide him until he got to the trees. The mud and rock kept crumbling beneath his boots and he thought for sure the guy would hear him. Finally a windbreak of spindly evergreens allowed him his first look.
The man had his back to Henry, but he could see the guy had a shovel and was digging. Okay, so he was a grave digger. But then why did he hide when a car came by? And did they use shovels anymore to dig graves? Hadn’t he seen earth-digging equipment out here before? One of those miniature things with the claw? Yeah, he was sure that’s how they did it. In fact, he thought Vargus and Hobbs had a contract with several of the funeral homes.
Henry moved closer to get a better look. That’s when he realized the guy wasn’t digging a new grave, he was digging one up. Just then the man turned enough that Henry recognized him. It was Wally Hobbs, and he was hurrying away to crouch down behind a tall headstone as another car drove by.
CHAPTER 59
Luc hadn’t left the house all morning. Not even to get the newspaper. Ever since Agent O’Dell had left he had been pacing, trying to watch TV while he walked back and forth from one window to another with the baseball bat never leaving his hand. Scrapple had given up on him hours ago, finally settling down on his favorite rug. Except for a few ear perks now and then, the terrier was fast asleep.
Luc kept hearing vehicles up on Whippoorwill Drive. Maybe there was more commotion happening down at the rock quarry. He thought he had heard sirens earlier. On the midday local news there was mention of a car being found in Hubbard Park, but that was in Meriden, not down the lane. He wasn’t about to leave the house to go see. Ordinarily they wouldn’t be able to keep him away. But today…today he couldn’t seem to set foot on his porch without getting the shakes. Is this what he was turning into? An old man who couldn’t leave his house and then couldn’t even remember whether or not he had?
Agent O’Dell had asked him this morning if he would pleas
e consider calling Julia to let her know that he was okay. But if his daughter didn’t know about this mess, she wouldn’t need to know that he was okay. Or so went his reasoning. He knew he needed to call her. He wanted to call her. Ever since he had talked to her…jeez, what day was that? Was it a few days ago or had it been weeks?
He heard another car, only this one sounded like it was in his driveway. By the time he got to the door, Agent O’Dell was coming up the front porch. He opened the door for her and felt a flush of embarrassment when she saw the bat still in his hands.
“What’s the excitement down the lane?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “I couldn’t get hold of Sheriff Watermeier. You think you might be able to help with something, Luc?”
“Sure. I mean, I can try.”
She had a map in her hands and started spreading it out on his crowded coffee table. “You’ve lived around here for a long time, right?”
“Almost all my life. My wife, Elizabeth, was from Philadelphia, but she loved it here, too, so we stayed. Wish Julia would have loved it enough to stay, but…well, what can a father do, huh?”
“I wonder if you can tell me where Ralph Shelby’s property is.”
“Ralph the butcher? Ralph’s been gone a long time. What’s it been, maybe ten years. Jeez, I can’t remember. Didn’t I tell you this morning that Steve Earlman bought the butcher shop from Ralph? But now Steve’s gone, too. I told you that, didn’t I? Didn’t we talk about that this morning?”
“Yes, you did tell me. But Mr. Shelby’s property, the acreage where he lived, can you tell me where it is? It’s close by, right?”
“Sure, it’s up the road, past the Millers’ old sawmill. Mrs. Shelby died just a few years ago, but I think her son still lives out there.”
“Can you show me on the map?”