Show of Evil

  Vail snuffed out his cigarette and went to the urn for a cup of coffee.

  'You have to understand, ten years ago, Archbishop Richard Rushman was known as the Saint of the Lakeview Drive,' he began. 'He wasn't liked, he was revered. He was also one of the most powerful men in the state. There was as much Richelieu in him as there was John the Baptist; as much Machiavelli as Billy Budd. But to the average person on the street, to your average juror? He was a man who awed.

  'Aaron Stampler came here from a squalid little town in Kentucky. He was a true anachronism, a kid with a genius IQ and an illiterate mother and father, living in abject poverty in the coalmining hills of western Kentucky. He had to sneak to his teacher's house to read books - his father wouldn't permit books in the house except for the Bible. His father also insisted that he work in the place he feared more than anything else in the world. The hole. Shaft number five -I can still remember him talking about it - the deep-pit mines. When he finally escaped that prison, he came here. Rushman met him, took him in at Saviour House, which was a home for runaways and homeless kids. Stampler and the bishop grew very close.

  'Then Aaron got himself a girlfriend. They decided to live together. And that's where the story started getting fuzzy. Jane Venable contended that the bishop was upset because these two were living in sin, so he threw them out. They were living down on the wharves in a terrible warehouse called the Hollows - it was demolished years ago. The girlfriend left Sampler, and in anger and despair he went to the church and carved up the bishop like a Christmas goose.

  'Our story? Stampler left voluntarily. There was never any dispute between him and the bishop. He was in the library, thought he heard arguing up in the bishop's apartment, went up to check. When he looked into the bedroom he sensed that there was somebody else there. Then he blacked out, went into what's called a fugue state - he did it quite often, particularly under stress - and the next thing he knew, he was hiding in a confessional with the murder weapon, soaked with the bishop's blood. The girlfriend was Linda Gellerman.'

  'But that wasn't the real motive,' said Stenner.

  'No, there was another motive, much darker - both Venable and I knew about it - but neither of us used it in the trial.'

  'Which was?' Flaherty asked.

  'The bishop was a paedophile. His victims were a group called the Altar Boys. The bishop would direct movies of the Altar Boys seducing a young lady. Then he'd turn off the camera and step in and do the girl, the boys, whatever suited him. Aaron Stampler was one of the Altar Boys. Linda was the girl.'

  'Why didn't that come out in the trial?' Parver asked.

  'Too risky. And Venable and I agreed to destroy the tapes when the trial was over,' said Vail.

  'Why?'

  'To protect the bishop's good name,' Stenner said.

  'Christ, a paedophile?' St Claire said. 'Why protect him?'

  'You weren't there,' Stenner offered. 'He was loved by everybody. Raised millions for charity every year. Incredibly powerful man.'

  'And he was dead,' said Vail. 'The tape we both had was very risky. The bishop did not appear on it, it was just his voice. Too risky for either Venable or me to introduce it. It could've been construed by the jury as a desperation move and the backlash might've lost the case. Besides, I didn't need it. Our case was that Stampler suffered multiple personality disorder—'

  'Split personality?' said Flaherty.

  'A misnomer, but yes. Like Sybil. His alter ego was a madman who called himself Roy. Stampler was this sweet, almost naive backwoods kid. Roy was a psychotic killer. When Stampler became agitated or was abused in some way, Roy was triggered. He came out and did the dirty work. Stampler was in a fugue state and didn't know what was going on.'

  'So Roy was the other person in the room when the bishop was killed,' St Claire.

  Vail nodded. 'Venable was cross-examining Aaron and she triggered Roy. He came out of the witness box like a skyrocket, tried to choke her right in the courtroom.'

  'You set her up, Martin,' Stenner said.

  'Did she say that?'

  'I say it.'

  'How do you figure?'

  'You knew from taping Aaron all those weeks.'

  'Knew what?' asked Parver.

  'That hammering on those quotes in the books would cause the switch. You started in, then backed off the quotes. She took the bait, thought you were afraid to get into it, so she did.'

  'But you never bought it?' Stenner shook his head.

  'You gave Abel a real hard time on the witness stand over that there point. The fugue state 'n' everything,' Harvey St Claire said with a smile.

  'I don't remember it all that well,' Stenner said brusquely. 'Ten years does tricks to your memory.'

  'How about these here Altar Boys?' St Claire asked. There were five of them. Linda and one of them ran. Two others were killed. There were no witnesses to corroborate Rushman's voice, that's why neither of us would touch it in the courtroom.'

  'Killed?' Flaherty asked.

  'By Stampler-Roy,' Stenner said. 'We all knew that, too. Venable figured she had Stampler, anyway, why risk trying him for three crimes when one would do.'

  'After he was put away, it became moot,' Vail added. 'Part of the plea bargain was that I turned him up for all three homicides. It was an inclusive sentence.'

  'There's one more thing,' Harvey St Claire said, interrupting Vail's reminiscence. 'Found it in the bishop's library. His books're in a special collection over to th' Newberry. I didn't have any trouble when I got to page 489. The passage was marked for me.'

  'Was it recent?' Stenner asked. 'What I mean was, was it marked recently?'

  'I imagine Okimoto could tell us. Looked't' me like it'd been there a while.'

  'What was the message?' Vail asked.

  'It's from The Merchant of Venice? said St Claire:

  'In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil?'

  There was a minute or two of stone silence as Vail thought about the message. 'What plea so tainted and corrupt/But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,/ Obscures the show of evil.'

  It seemed obvious to Vail that the quote was directed at him. Was his defence of Stampler tainted? Corrupt? Did his defence obscure the show of evil? Was he just being paranoid? After the Stampler trial, Vail himself had considered the possibility that his clever tactics might have obscured the truth - what the Bard called 'the show of evil'. It had taunted him for months, forced him to appraise his career as a defence attorney, to ponder about the mobsters, drug dealers, cat burglars, and other miscreants who had been his stock-in-trade. In the past he had sometimes balanced the scales in his own mind - good versus evil, truth versus deceit - always tempered with the concept of reasonable doubt. But until now Vail had never given a moment's consideration to the question Shakespeare so eloquently posed to him: Had his voice been tainted and corrupt but seasoned with gracious and masterful conviction?

  Thinking back, Vail realized that Stampler himself had raised the question in Vail's mind ten years before, as he was being led away to Daisyland; a devious comment, perhaps made in jest, that had goaded Vail for months. Eventually Vail had assumed the inevitable conclusion: It was his responsibility, as an officer of the court, to provide his client with the best defence possible, and that he always had done brilliantly. And so, eventually, Vail had discarded all these ideas as abstractions.

  But not, as Vail now admitted to himself, until after they had influenced his decision to take the job as chief prosecutor.

  Now, in a frightening deja vu, Vail could make sense out of what was happening, for there was that one piece of the puzzle only he knew, a moment in time he had never shared with anyone, and never could share with anyone.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the phone. Naomi stepped out of the office and answered it at her desk. She came back a moment later.

  'It's for you, Harve. Buddy Harris at the IBI.'

  'What the hell's Bu
ddy want?' St Claire said, half aloud, as he left the office to take the call.

  'Kind of an obscure message, that Shakespeare quote,' Stenner said while St Claire was gone.

  'Yeah,' Vail answered. 'In the Rushman case, the messages always referred to the archbishop. Now who's he talking about?'

  St Claire returned to Vail's office, his face clouded by a frown.

  'We got another one.'

  'What!' said Vail.

  'Where?' asked Stenner.

  'Hilltown, Missouri. About thirty miles outside of St Louis. A white, male, age twenty-six. UPD man, delivering a package to a private home, was cut six ways to Sunday. Harris says St Louis Homicide is handlin' the case and they're playin' it real tight. Don't wanna give up too much to the press yet. Buddy says he was talkin' to a cop in East St Louis this mornin' about a drug case, the cop mentions they got a butcher job across the river. So Buddy calls the St Louis PD and they didn't wanna talk about it. They finally told him this UPD delivery man got sliced and diced. Buddy says it sounds like a repeat of the Gideon case.'

  'Did he tell them about Balfour?'

  'Nope. Didn't tell 'em anythin'. Just listened.'

  'Any name attached to this victim?'

  'Ain't been released yet. Can't find a next a kin. Buddy says they're obviously riled up over it.'

  'Well, surprise, surprise!' said Naomi.

  Vail was leaning back in his chair without moving. He stared at Stenner without blinking, deep in thought. Finally he said, 'If Stampler's behind these killings, how does he find these people? Gideon, Illinois? Hilltown, Missouri? You can barely find these places on the map.'

  'And if he is involved, how the hell's he doin' it from maximum security at the State Hospital?' said St Claire.

  'Maybe Stampler isn't behind it,' Stenner suggested. 'Perhaps it is a copycat who found about the Altar Boys.'

  'And waited ten years to move on it?' Vail said.

  'Maybe he's lazy,' Flaherty said with a smile.

  Vail leaned forward, put his elbows on the desk, clenched his hands, and leaned his chin on his fists. He stared at St Claire for several seconds.

  'Harvey, I want you to grab the red-eye to St Louis first thing in the morning and get everything you can from St Louis Homicide.'

  'I can't, boss, I'm in court in the morning. The Quarries case.'

  'Abel?'

  'I got two depositions tomorrow.'

  'I'm between engagements,' offered Flaherty.

  'Okay, you're on. Naomi, book Dermott on the early-bird, arrange for a car at the airport. Dermott, call Buddy and get some names of people you can talk to.'

  'Right.'

  'Naomi, get me Bascott at Daisyland. I want him personally. I don't care if he's in a conference with God, I want him on the phone now.'

  It took Naomi ten minutes to get the director of the state mental institution on the line. Vail had forgotten how disarmingly gentle his voice was.

  'Mr Vail,' he said after the usual salutations, 'Dr Samuel Woodward has been handling the Stampler case for the past, oh, eight years now, I guess. Uh… Stampler… is his patient and I would prefer that you speak to him directly if you have any questions regarding -'

  'What's Stampler's condition now?' Vail asked, interrupting Bascott.

  'Once again, I prefer to - '

  'Dr Bascott, I have a problem down here and I need some questions answered. If Dr Woodward is the man to talk to, then put him on the phone.'

  'He's on vacation, fishing up in Wisconsin. He'll be back tomorrow night. I'll have him call - '

  'I'll be up there day after tomorrow, first thing,' Vail said, and there was annoyance in his tone. 'Please arrange for me to interview both Woodward and Stampler.'

  'Mr Vail, you were, uh… Aaron's… lawyer. You haven't even been to visit him in ten years. I don't see that -'

  'Day after tomorrow,' Vail repeated. 'I'll see him then.' And he hung up. 'Damn it,' he said. 'I'm getting the runaround from Bascott. Naomi, arrange for the county plane to fly me up to Daisyland at eight o'clock day after tomorrow.'

  'Done.'

  At six o'clock that night, Stenner appeared, as he always did, at Vail's office door.

  'Ready to wrap it up?'

  'Yeah,' Vail said wearily. But before he could get up, the phone rang. It was Paul Rainey.

  'I can't put my finger on Jim Darby,' he said.

  'What do you mean, you can't put your finger on him?'

  'I was tied up in court all afternoon on a sentencing. Didn't have time to call until an hour or so ago. He's probably out with his pals. Give me until tomorrow morning, I'll have him there.'

  Vail hesitated for a few moments.

  'I'm sure I can locate him, Marty, I've just been snowed under.'

  'Okay, Paul. Nine A.M. If he's not here by then, I'll have the sheriff issue a fugitive warrant on him.'

  'That's not necessary.'

  'Paul, I'm trying to be fair. He could be on his way to Rio for all I know.'

  'Hell, he doesn't know there's a warrant out on him. He's out raising hell somewhere. I'll have him there in the morning.'

  'You accepted service, he's your responsibility. Have you thought any more about our conversation at lunch?'

  'I haven't even talked to him yet,' Rainey said, but there was a note of urgency in his voice.

  'See you in the morning,' Vail said before he cradled the phone. He looked up at Stenner. 'We have a murder-one warrant out against James Darby and Rainey sounds a little panicky. If he doesn't deliver Darby by nine A.M., I want you to take two of your best men and a man from the sheriff's department, find Darby, and bring him in.' Stenner nodded, but he looked pensive. 'What's bothering you?' Vail asked.

  'Poppy Palmer,' Stenner said. 'What about her?'

  'I was just thinking, maybe she panicked. Maybe…' He let the sentence hang ominously in the air. 'You have a morbid imagination, Abel.'

  'I've been a cop for almost twenty-five years,' Stenner said. 'It comes with the territory.'

  'What do you want to do?'

  'Go out there and put some heat on, see if we can get a line on her. Darby's facing murder one and she's a key witness.'

  'How about your depositions tomorrow?'

  'I'll work around them.'

  Vail thought for a moment and nodded. 'Okay,' he said. 'She's all yours. Go find them both.'

  Twenty

  The St Louis Homicide Division was almost devoid of people when Flaherty arrived at the downtown office, a stuffy room jammed with desks, telephones, file cabinets, and computers. Only two detectives were in the room: Oscar Gilanti, captain of the division, who was heading the investigation, and Sgt. Ed Nicholson, an old-timer who had the dignified demeanour and conservative look of an FBI agent.

  The two detectives were more pleasant than Flaherty had expected. The captain was a short box of a man, bald except for a fringe of jet-black hair that curled around his ears. He had deep circles under his eyes, his cheeks were dark with the shadows of a two-day beard, and his suit looked like he had slept in it, which he probably had. His deep voice was raspy from lack of sleep.

  'I gotta get back out to the scene,' he growled to Flaherty. I'm giving you Sergeant Nicholson here fer the day. Knows as much as anybody else about this mess. What was yer name again?'

  'Dermott Flaherty.'

  'Okay, Dermott, you wanna go anywhere, see anything, Nick'll drive yuh. I pulled a package for yuh - pictures, preliminary reports, all that shit. Autopsy won't be up probably till tomorra. We can fax it to yuh, yuh need it.'

  'I can't thank you enough, Captain.'

  'Hell, you know anything, we'd appreciate it. We can use all the help we can get on this one. Fuckin' nightmare.'

  'I can imagine.'

  'I'll be out at the scene, Nick. If Dermott here wants to come out, bring him along.'

  'Right.'

  The sergeant, obviously a man of habit, asked pleasantly if he had a weapon.

  Flaherty smiled. I'm an assi
stant DA, Sergeant,' he said. 'Things haven't got that bad yet.'

  The cop chuckled. He was an old pro, tall, very straight-standing, with a tanned and leathery face, gentle, alert eyes, and blondish hair turning grey. Nicholson unlocked his desk drawer and took out his 9mm H&K and slipped it into a holster on his belt. He also wore his badge pinned to his belt like an old western sheriff. He slid a thick file folder across the desk to Flaherty.

  'You might take a look at this picture first, give you a point of reference. Hilltown's about thirty miles down the pike, off to the northeast of US 44. The Spier place is a couple miles out of town, little frame house, one storey, two bedrooms, kitchen, den, and big bathroom, that's about it. Sets back in the trees.'

  He had picked out an aerial photo showing the house at the end of a quarter mile of dirt road that wound through scrub pines and saw grass. Behind it, the road connected with another country road that ended at a lake.

  'Calvin Spier and his wife - they own the place - are out in Las Vegas. Weren't due back until the middle of next week, but they're coming back now.'

  'Do the Spiers know him?' Flaherty asked.

  'Spier says no. Want to go out to the scene? It's a thirty-minute drive' - he winked - 'if I put on the flasher.'

  Flaherty nodded and said, 'You're the boss.'

  The drive was pleasant despite a misting rain. Nicholson, a social creature, spoke in a quiet, authoritative voice, filling Flaherty in on the prologue to the killing while the young prosecutor made a cursory examination of the package. The pictures confirmed his suspicion that this killing was a repeat of the Balfour/Gellerman murder.

  'Fellow owns a quick shop down the road from the road into the Spiers' place, lives behind it. He found him,' Nicholson said. 'Noticed the UPD truck through the trees when he got up yesterday morning. When it was still there at lunchtime, he strolled over to take a look. Front door was standing open. Then he heard the flies. Damn near had a heart attack when he saw that young guy in there all carved up like that. Plus he'd been dead about sixteen hours.'