Prayer for the Dead jb-1

by David Wiltse

  “You call that a burial?” Drooden asked.

  “Well, he didn’t just throw the skulls in there with the rest. What would you call it?”

  “You cut somebody up in your bathtub, flush his hair down the drain, and boil his bones-I doubt that you care enough about him to give him a burial,” said Drooden.

  Becker spoke for the first time. “He cared about these men very much. They were very important to him.” Becker looked at the forensic man, who was watching his smoke rise to the ceiling. “They were all men?”

  The forensic man nodded. “Pelvic bones look like it. We’ll know for sure later.”

  “He cared enough about them to keep them alive for a while,” said Becker. “He might very well care enough to give them the best kind of burial he could manage.”

  “Kept them alive while he did what to them?”

  “Watched them, for one thing.”

  “How do you know that?” Drooden demanded. Becker moved a hand toward one of the stones. “May I?”

  The forensic man removed a pair of disposable plastic gloves from his pocket and handed them to Becker.

  “Wait a minute,” said Drooden. He rounded on the forensic man. “Did I say anything could be disturbed yet?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You wait until I do, damn it.”

  The forensic man was standing at attention in the doorway, trying to figure how to get rid of the cigarette without leaving and without giving Drooden another chance to yell at him;

  “What have you found out about him from the neighbors?” Hatcher asked evenly. He moved slightly to screen Becker who was already holding one of the stones between his gloved fingers.

  “They liked him,” said Drooden. “Nice man, quiet, minded his own business. He distributed fruit cakes at Christmas, attended the annual Fourth of July barbecue one of them gives in his backyard. On Halloween the kids said he usually gave candy and acted like he was scared by every ghost and ballerina that showed up. The first year here he gave them fruit, but apparently someone set him straight and after that it was always candy. The kids think he’s fine. The adults don’t pretend to know him, but think he’s fine, too. Can you imagine Halloween at this house?”

  “Did they say anything about his girl?” Becker asked, straightening. He had replaced the stone.

  “No one knew about her. If she came here, they never saw her.”

  Hatcher looked at Becker, who nodded. The two men walked toward the door.

  “Finished, are we?” Drooden asked. He turned on the forensic man, who was snuffing out the cigarette between moistened fingers. “Clean it,” he said. “And Wilkins…”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You people better find out something we don’t already know.”

  Hatcher walked Becker to his car. Some of the neighbor-children were still gathered on a lawn outside the barricade, making a picnic of watching the police come and go.

  “What about the stones? Anything?” Hatcher asked.

  “Just gravel, I think. But fresh; it still had a dusting of pumice on it. Either it came right out of the rock crusher or else he got it somewhere before it got rained on and was washed clean. You might check on the local source for gravel, see where they’ve delivered in the last four years, cross-check that with precipitation reports, find out when and where he might have got it before it got wet.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “I think the stones were markers. Tombstones. His way of paying his respects. He might come back for more.”

  “More?”

  “You don’t think he’s through killing people, do you? He’s just warming up.”

  “But he must know we’re on to him by now. That’s why he walked out of the hospital.”

  “He’s not a criminal. Hatcher. He can’t just decide to lie low for a while. He doesn’t kill for profit.”

  “Why does he do it? Do you have any theories yet?”

  Becker hesitated.

  “Why not ask an alcoholic why he drinks? Because by the time he knows he has a problem, the problem is already most of his life. It would be easier if you find him and we’ll ask.”

  “We’ll find him. He’s got no credit cards, no money, thanks to our friend Eric. Who’s he going to turn to for help? We’re covering his girlfriend, the people he worked with. If he has any family, we’ll find them, too. We should have him in custody within forty-eight hours.”

  “Save that for the press release. This guy is not stupid. He only got caught this time because of the girl. He won’t make that mistake again.”

  “What tipped him off that we were on to him?”

  “Have you been to his office?”

  “The insurance company in Hartford? Not personally. Milch has talked to his employer.”

  “And?”

  “Good worker, low profile, not much snap to him, but he does his work on time and accurately. He was passed up for a promotion recently and they assume there was a natural resentment, but he didn’t show much.”

  “I want to go there. Can you arrange it?”

  “You can’t stay on this as a civilian. You know that, don’t you? Drooden snarls every time you show up as it is. It took me the better part of an hour just to talk him out of arresting you for entering the scene of a police investigation last night.”

  “So I won’t stay on it. How’s that?”

  “Who are you kidding? You’re already on it; you’ve swallowed the hook. You couldn’t leave now without ripping out your guts.”

  “Shall we see?”

  “Why else were you in there last night? For your own entertainment?”

  “I was helping Tee. Now he’s got you.”

  “I can get you back on temporary assignment. They’d love to have you.”

  “How about you. Hatcher? Would you love to have me?”

  “You’re good at it. I can live with you.”

  “Get me in to see the actuaries at Dyce’s insurance company.”

  “I’ll have to go with you unless you take temporary assignment.”

  Becker watched Drooden exit the house and speak into the radio in his car. The electric crackle of the response could be heard, loud but unintelligible, across the road.

  “We’d need a clear understanding,” Becker said.

  “Name it.”

  “I’ll work on it from this end, but I won’t go near him. I don’t want to be within miles of him.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “I mean it. Hatcher. I will not go down the hole for this one. You’ll have to find another ferret.”

  “I didn’t send you in after Bahoud. It just happened.”

  “I’m not going to debate history with you. All I do on this one is think, or I don’t have any part of it.”

  “Agreed. We love you for your mind alone.”

  “And try to stay away from me as much as you can, too.”

  “Finding Bahoud was little short of a miracle, I’ve told you that. I admired your work greatly. Nobody expected you to take him on yourself”

  “I was made certain promises then, too.”

  “We tried to keep them. It just happened.”

  “Well it won’t happen this time. You find another ferret. Because I’ll make you a promise, Hatcher. If I have to go down the hole, I’ll tie your arms and send you in in front of me.”

  “Or we could try something novel for one of your cases,” Hatcher said. “We could make an actual arrest and bring him back alive to stand trial.”

  Becker breathed with exaggerated calm and Hatcher feared he had gone too far. Hatcher did not fear most men, but he was afraid of Becker-he had seen him work.

  “What have you found out from the girl?” Becker said at last.

  “Very little of real use. We went at her nonstop for a couple of hours, but didn’t get much. The report’s being typed up now. She’s a weird one.”

  “I’m going to see her.”

  “What do you hope to learn we haven’t already go
t?” That was one of the qualities Hatcher disliked most about the man: He had no respect for the work of others but seemed to have to do everything himself, and in his own way. “She really doesn’t know much of anything about him. We will know more about him than she does by tomorrow.”

  “We’ll know more facts,” Becker said.

  “As opposed to what, guesses?”

  “Feelings, intuitions.”

  “Feelings? She thinks he’s a creep.”

  “She thinks so now. What else could she say after she discovered the bodies? It makes her look like a fool to have had anything to do with him. I want to know what she felt about him then, before, when she was sleeping with him.”

  “Good God, Becker. You want to know what he was like in bed? Is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You can’t learn anything by that. I mean, you can’t judge a person by his bedroom skill, if that’s what you want to call it.”

  “You stick to fingerprints and blood samples,” Becker said. “We’ve got all we’re going to get out of that. We know who he is already. I need to know why he is.”

  “We have psychologists to give us a personality profile.”

  Hatcher hated it when Becker grinned at him; he always felt he was being mocked.

  “I supply them with their raw data,” Becker said.

  Becker put the car in gear and drove away. Hatcher watched him go, knowing how close he had come to losing him. Hatcher hoped he still had the nerves for it.

  Helen knew all about this man before he even spoke to her.

  “It’s in your eyes,” she told Becker. “You have very kind eyes.”

  “Do I?”

  “They’re the mirror to your soul, you know.”

  “Window,” said Becker. “The eyes are the window to the soul. I think that’s how it goes.”

  “You know what I’m talking about, then,” Helen said. “I knew you would.”

  “It’s not a theory I put much store in,” Becker said. “Soulful looks are pretty easy to fake.”

  “But you’re not faking, are you? No. You see. I knew that. As soon as I opened my door and saw you standing there, I knew. I’m very good at that. I can take one look at someone and tell what they’re really like. It’s just a power I have.”

  Becker restrained himself from asking her where her power was when she sized up Dyce. It seemed an unnecessary cruelty.

  “What else do you see?” he asked. Becker wondered at the lack of information Hatcher had gotten out of Helen. She was primed and ready to talk. indeed he could see she was desperate to do so, the kind of woman who probably collared strangers in her need to unload her feelings. Hatcher would not have the skill or sense to play along with her and let her get there in her own time. She didn’t need a list of questions to get her going; all she needed was an ear and a stillness that could pass for compassion.

  “Strength,” said Helen. “You’re strong, aren’t you, very strong, but sensitive, too. Women must just love you.”

  Becker grinned boyishly.

  “But you’re shy, too, aren’t you?” she continued. “I can see that, yes you are, you’re shy. Do you know how I know? Because I’m shy, too, although you wouldn’t think so to hear me rattling on sometimes.”

  “Dyce was shy, too, wasn’t he?” Becker asked.

  “Oh, my, yes. Shy-and private? My goodness. I never knew anything about him, really, not really. Only what I knew by my intuition, you see. He never told me anything.”

  “That must have been very hard for you. You cared for him so much, but he just wouldn’t open up”

  “Did I say I cared for him so much? We were friends.”

  “I know you cared for him,” said Becker, smiling. “You’re not the kind of woman who would sleep with a man she didn’t truly care for.”

  “Well, no, I’m not, I certainly am not, you’re right.”

  “Although sometimes your emotions just get the best of you. I know what that’s like.”

  “Do you?” Helen stopped pacing and sat next to Becker on the love seat. Her knee touched his thigh as she turned toward him. “I thought you would.”

  “I’m not made of ice.” Becker looked her squarely in the eyes, holding her gaze. “Neither are you.”

  Helen exhaled quickly, as if she’d been punched. She was melting. She hoped he couldn’t see it, but he was so perfect, so much the man she needed right now, someone strong, someone who could understand.

  “Sometimes these things are too strong,” she said, casting her eyes down. “Sometimes they just overwhelm you.”

  “And no one’s to blame for that,” said Becker.

  “But I didn’t say I slept with Roger.”

  “You didn’t say you didn’t,” said Becker.

  She laughed and wagged a finger at him, allowing her knee to press firmly against his leg. She was being flirtatious, she knew that, perhaps even naughty, but sometimes a woman had to take a chance. He was so right for her.

  “Oh, I have to watch you,” she said. “You’re the sneaky kind.” She laid her arm on the back of the sofa so that it nearly made contact with his back. She wondered if he noticed. Some men would notice immediately, and others, like Roger, would be oblivious. It was hard to tell with this one. He was so contained. But so cute-and she knew he liked her. The other agents had not seemed to like her; she didn’t know why. They had acted as if her relationship with Roger was something dirty, something she should be blamed for, for heaven’s sake. She certainly hadn’t told them anything they didn’t need to know.

  “You’re a very attractive young woman,” Becker said.

  She swatted his shoulder lightly, remonstrating with him for such a bold remark.

  “You know that,” Becker said, tilting his head. “You probably hear it all the time.”

  “You,” she said, pushing his shoulder with one finger this time. She left the finger there,

  “It’s only natural that if a pretty woman and a healthy man get together…” He let it trail off, grinning at her. There was nothing lewd about the grin, she decided. He just liked to tease. She liked it, too.

  Helen smiled back at him, then demurely looked away. She wondered if he could feel her finger on his shoulder.

  “And Dyce was young and virile. Only natural.”

  “You mustn’t judge every man by yourself,” she said.

  “Oooo-oooh,” said Becker. “Something a little unnatural? Tell me.”

  “I can’t tell you that. What are you thinking of?” But she wanted to tell him very much. She had wanted to tell someone ever since it happened, but she could hardly bare her soul to the people at work. She would never hear the last of it.

  “Did he dress up?” Becker asked. He was chuckling, enjoying the idea. He wasn’t censorious at all; he could understand, even savor the oddness. It was kind of fun if you had some distance on it.

  “Worse than that,” she said.

  “Whips and chains? Boots?”

  “You’ll never guess.”

  “I’ll bet I can. I’ve heard of everything.”

  “You haven’t heard of this one,” said Helen. “I don’t think this has ever been done before.”

  “In the bathroom. In a tree. Hanging from the rafters.”

  “From the rafters?”

  “It’s been done,” he said. “You’d be surprised.”

  “I’d certainly be surprised by that.”

  “He bent over the sink and had you throw oranges at him.”

  Helen laughed and put her hand on his thigh for a moment before removing it.

  “People don’t do that,” she said.

  “I swear to you. I’ll bet Roger didn’t come up with anything new. Fun, maybe, but not new.”

  “I don’t know about fun,” she said.

  “Well, fun for him, anyway.”

  “Fun is not a word I’d use for Roger,” she said. “He didn’t seem to enjoy it so much as-oh, I can’t tell you.”

&nbs
p; “Not fun exactly. I’ll bet it was more of a serious thing with him.”

  “How did you know that?”

  She leaned forward again as if amazed at his brilliance and touched his thigh once more. Helen did not know what was making her so bold, except that if he left now she didn’t think she would ever see him again.

  “I didn’t know Roger, but from what I’ve heard, I’d have to guess it wasn’t as if he really liked sex for its own sake. More like it was a kind of ritual. Something like that.”

  This time she really was amazed. It was as if he could see right into her mind. Could he see into her heart as well?

  “That’s true,” she said. “I never thought of it quite that way, but that’s true, it was like a ritual. Or a ceremony.”

  “I’ll bet he wore something special,” Becker said.

  “Talcum powder,” she said, surprised at herself.

  “Talcum powder?”

  “And I mean that’s all.”

  With a giggle she got to her feet and waggled her fingers in front of him. Becker took her hand and she led him to the bathroom.

  “Come on, I’ll show you,” she said, clasping his palm tightly. When she described Dyce’s appearance, nude and covered in white powder, she clung to Becker’s hand the whole time, squeezing for emphasis and finally, when speaking of her fear and astonishment, putting both of their still-clasped hands on her chest.

  “I just didn’t know what to do,” she said, collapsing her head helplessly against him, leaning there for a second, then turning her head up to his, like a cat waiting to be stroked. She was pressing the back of his hand firmly into her breast.

  “What should I have done?” she asked.

  “Sometimes you just have to go along with things,” Becker said.

  “I knew you would understand.”

  “Did he do it again, or just that once?”

  “It was the only way he really could do it,” she said. “Is it wicked of me to tell you that?”

  Becker looked into her eyes and brushed his free hand against her cheek. For a moment he thought she was going to swoon.

  “You should tell me everything you need to,” said Becker.

  “I thought there was something wrong with me. Wasn’t I attractive enough by myself? Do you think there’s anything wrong with me?”