Jack of Spades

by James Hankins

  Madeleine Wollner lay in her hospital bed, her right arm slightly elevated and heavily wrapped from forearm to fingertips in bandages and gauze. She was probably attractive at other times, but at the moment she looked tired, her blind eyes staring straight ahead, her eyelids half closed. But there was something about her, something Spader couldn’t quite put his finger on, that told him she was a strong woman. Maybe he simply assumed it because she survived without sight in this hard world, or because she had lived through her encounter with Galaxo. Whatever it was, Spader saw the strength in her, in the way she rested her good hand comfortingly on the arm of her husband, who sat in a chair beside the bed.

  Spader introduced himself and after a moment of small talk, which included his asking how they both were doing, he began to interview them. They answered his questions clearly and politely and never seemed annoyed at having to relive what must have been for the both of them the worst night of their lives. Spader took notes as Madeleine gave her account of what happened, from the moment she realized someone was in her house up until the time the intruder began to saw through her wrist. Spader marveled at her composure and, had all evidence not indicated otherwise, would have suspected she was still in shock. He couldn’t help but admire her. She’d been blind for the past twelve years, she’d been through more horror, pain, and trauma over the past half a day than most people face in three lifetimes, and she was obviously exhausted, yet she remained remarkably upbeat. She even said more than once how fortunate she’d been—fortunate to have survived, fortunate that her husband wasn’t more seriously hurt.

  When she reached the part of her narrative where Galaxo began to cut through her wrist, her voice started to shake. “And that’s when Tom came home.”

  “I’d gone out on a job,” Tom Wollner said. “I own a towing company and a call came in from a guy who said he was stuck on Route Ninety-One, up by Mount Tom. Madeleine didn’t want me to go myself, she wanted me to call one of my drivers, but I don’t like to do that late at night. Besides, I was wide awake and the other guys might have been sleeping, so I figured, what the heck. Anyway, I’d gone six or seven miles when I figured, to hell with it. I’m the boss. There’s got to be some perks that come with that. So I called Benny, told him to tow the guy, and went back home. When I got home…” Wollner’s voice cracked and he blew out a shaky breath. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Spader said. “Take your time.”

  Wollner went on to say that when he arrived home, he heard strange sounds—someone grunting loudly and another sound he couldn’t identify. He walked into the kitchen and saw what Galaxo—in his yellow mask and black running suit—was doing to his wife. He took a step forward but, when he saw Galaxo look up at him and stop sawing, he had the presence of mind to retreat a few steps and hit a panic button on his alarm system, one that automatically notified the authorities that the homeowner needed assistance. The alarm started to sound inside the house and Wollner returned to the living room just as Galaxo was rounding the corner. Galaxo came at him with something in his hand and Wollner threw a punch into Galaxo’s yellow mask, the blow staggering his attacker for a moment. Wollner followed up with two or three more punches, all to the mask, before Galaxo was able to hit him with what turned out to be a stun gun. Wollner went down, essentially paralyzed, and all he could think about was that he’d failed Madeleine.

  Madeleine picked up the thread. “Galaxo came back to me. I heard him walking toward me, slowly, then he stopped in front of me. I thought he might start in on me again. I had the sense that my hand was almost all the way off, though I couldn’t really even feel anything there anymore. I was surprised it didn’t hurt more. It did at first, but then not so much. Anyway, Galaxo just stood in front of me for a few seconds, breathing really hard. All the time the alarm’s going. I knew he was about to leave and I figured he’d just kill me, and probably Tom. But he didn’t. He told me I was one lucky bitch and he slapped me. Then I heard him walk over to Tom and I heard three blows. He hit him with something.”

  “A heavy wooden table clock,” Wollner interjected. “Knocked me out. Cracked my skull a little.” He gingerly touched the bandage encircling his head.

  “Then the man just left,” Madeleine said. “Walked out the back door, apparently. The police came soon after. I passed out after that, but I guess somebody applied a tourniquet, and an ambulance showed up. The rest of the night was a blur, and the next thing I know, I wake up this morning and they tell me there’s a good chance I’ll have full use of my hand eventually.”

  Spader wrote everything down. His cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the caller-ID screen, saw the call was coming from Ten Fed, and ignored it.

  “I still don’t know how the bastard got into the house,” Wollner said. “I know I set the alarm when I left, and I had to deactivate it when I got home.”

  Spader said, “I assume Galaxo picked the lock on your back door, made a phony call from his cell phone about being stuck on the highway, then when you turned off the alarm to leave to give the nonexistent car a tow several miles away, he slipped in through the back door and was inside with the door shut before you even closed the front door and turned the alarm back on. We think he’s done pretty much the same thing before.”

  “It’s my fault,” Wollner said, his voice cracking again. “If I hadn’t taken that call myself this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Stop that, Tom,” Madeleine said in a tone that allowed for no opposition. She squeezed his hand with her good one and smiled at him. “I just thank God you’re okay. You were very smart and very brave.”

  “Smart?”

  “If you had simply charged across the room to try to stop him, he could have zapped you with that thing and the alarm wouldn’t have gone off. He could have done whatever else he had planned for me, and then possibly killed you. You saved my life.”

  Wollner fell silent. Spader spent a few minutes asking more questions, similar to those he’d asked the previous surviving victims. They discussed Galaxo’s voice, which sounded like the cartoon alien, of course, but still would have the style of speech of the person under the mask. Spader asked Wollner about the voice he heard on the phone call requesting a tow, and he said it was a man’s voice but recalled nothing else about it. Spader asked Tom Wollner for detailed descriptions of Galaxo, and he asked Madeleine to make another attempt to remember his exact words, the choices he’d offered her. When he had learned all he thought he could about what the Wollners had seen, heard, and felt the night before, Spader moved on to his final questions.

  “Mrs. Wollner, did you ever go to camp when you were younger?”

  “Camp? You mean, like summer camp?”

  He nodded, then remembered that she was blind and said, “That’s right.”

  “Sure, I went for two years, when I was eight and nine. Why?”

  “Do you remember the name of the camp?”

  She smiled. “Camp Wiki-Wah-Nee. My brother went there before me.”

  His cell phone vibrated again. He looked down and saw it was the same number as a few moments ago.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to take this.”

  He pulled the phone from its case on his belt and stepped over to the far corner of the room.

  “Spader.”

  Detective Spader? It’s Detective Miller.”

  Miller? Did he know a Miller?

  “I made those copies for you a few weeks ago?” the caller said.

  Spader hurried to cover himself. “Of course, Detective Miller. Sorry, I was distracted for a moment. I’m interviewing a witness.”

  “Oh, well, sorry to disturb you, but I know you’re working hard on the Galaxo case and I was walking by your office and saw something on your desk here. A picture with a note attached. It’s with some mail for you, so I figured you hadn’t seen it yet and I thought it might be important.”

  Spader looked over at Tom Wollner and mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” Into the phone, he said, “So what is it?�
��

  “It looks like a photograph. Well, a fax of a photograph. There are a bunch of kids all lined up for a picture, maybe forty of them. A few of the kids in the front row are holding a sign that says, ‘Camp Wiki-Wah-Nee.’ ”

  Nice work, Gavin, Spader thought. Marilyn Easterbrook must have found her mother’s pictures, and Dunbar must have asked her to address her fax to both himself and Spader.

  “Listen, Miller, what I need to know is, are Galaxo’s victims are in the picture?”

  “Let’s see, uh, the kids’ names are written under their faces—well, their first initials and last names.”

  Madeleine Wollner made a soft sound, an exhalation or something, and Spader hoped she wasn’t starting to drift off into a pain medication–induced sleep.

  “Hmm,” Miller said, “I’m looking…hey, there’s a J. Golding on here. He’s one, right? Oh, and M. Yasovich.”

  Spader nodded to himself.

  Tom Wollner said, “Madeleine? What’s wrong?”

  Spader looked over at her. Her eyes were wide and she seemed to have stopped breathing. Spader wondered if he should call for a nurse.

  Miller was still talking. “And one of the guys off to the side, one of the older kids, he’s P. Lisbon.”

  Spader thought about asking Madeleine her maiden name to see if she was on the list, which he was certain she was, but she wasn’t looking very good at the moment. She seemed to be shrinking back into the bed. Spader was becoming alarmed.

  “Miller?” Spader said into the phone, “you see an S. Pendleton in the picture?” Spader held his breath. Madeleine’s lips were moving, like she was whispering something.

  “S. Pendleton?” Miller said. “Isn’t that the crippled one?”

  “Is he there?”

  “Honey,” Tom Wollner said to his wife, “should I call the nurse?”

  Spader watched Madeleine as he said, “Miller?”

  “Just a second…let me see here…looking…looking…sorry, Detective Spader, no S. Pendleton.”

  Spader frowned, taking his eyes off Madeleine. How could Pendleton not be in that picture? Spader had been so sure.

  “Oh, wait!” Miller said suddenly. “There he is, in the back row.”

  Spader smiled coldly. I knew it, you son of a bitch.

  “Madeleine,” Wollner said, “you’re starting to scare me. What’s the matter?”

  Miller’s voice came down the line. “Detective Spader? Want to hear any more of the names?”

  Spader watched Madeleine’s lips forming silent words. He stepped closer.

  “Detective Spader?” Miller said.

  “I think that’s all I really need to know, Miller, thanks.”

  He folded his phone closed and moved closer to Madeleine’s bed, watching her now panic-filled face. He moved his eyes to her restless, trembling, silently whispering lips.

  Wollner grasped his wife’s good hand. “For God’s sake, Madeleine, what’s wrong? What are you trying to say?”

  Spader took another step and he could hear Madeleine’s faint, faint whisper.

  “He’s here,” she said in a small voice. Then, louder, she said, “God help me, he’s come for me.”

  “Who’s here?” Wollner asked desperately.

  Spader reached the bed. “Mrs. Wollner,” he said, “who’s here? Please, tell me quickly.”

  Her face turned toward him, her lifeless eyes staring right at him. “He’s here. The man who attacked me is coming for me. I remember the scissor sounds now, from last night. I’d forgotten them, but I hear them again. He’s coming.”

  Wollner said, “I don’t hear anything, honey.”

  “Where is he?” Spader asked.

  A tear rolled down Madeleine’s cheek. Her lips trembled. “He’s just down the hall, coming closer. Please, God, protect me.”

  She reached out and clutched at Spader’s arm, but Spader pulled himself away and hurried to the curtain covering the door.

  “He’s right outside the room,” Madeleine hissed in a frightened whisper. “He’s there right now.”

  Spader drew his Glock with one hand and threw open the curtain with the other, badly startling a middle-aged woman walking by. She was leaning on the arm of a male nurse, who was helping her walk. Spader looked down and saw braces on both her legs, extending from her lower leg up to her hips. The braces were made of metal with leather straps attaching them to her legs, and when the woman walked they made a very faint metallic sound. What had Madeleine said? The scissor sounds.

  He turned back to the Wollners and said, “Mrs. Wollner, you’re going to be fine. That wasn’t the man who attacked you last night. You’re safe here. I have to go now, but I’ll speak with you again soon.”

  He hurried out of the room, flew down the stairs, and tore out of the hospital, into the night.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  As Spader ran for his car, his shoes clacking on the hard pavement of the hospital parking lot, he yanked his phone from his hip and speed-dialed Dunbar.

  “This is Dunbar. That you, John?”

  “Gavin, Pendleton’s the guy. I was right.”

  “What do you—”

  “He’s Galaxo. Pendleton is Galaxo. I’ve got it all figured out now. Where are you?”

  “Ten Fed, finishing up a report. I was just about to leave.”

  “Don’t. I need you to type up an application for an arrest warrant. I’ll tell you what to put in it.” Spader hid his discomfort about this. The last time he’d trusted a warrant application to someone else in a high-profile case, Eddie Rivers walked out of jail half a lifetime earlier than he should have, and two more innocent people died senseless, hideous deaths soon after. But Spader trusted Dunbar, who was already at the office, while Spader was far closer to Pendleton’s house.

  “Slow down, John,” Dunbar said. “What do you mean? How could Pendleton be the guy?”

  “He’s the fucking guy. He’s Galaxo. You seen the picture Easterbrook’s daughter faxed over to us?”

  “She faxed us a picture?”

  “You didn’t get it?”

  Spader reached his Crown Vic. He yanked open the door and slid behind the wheel. Two seconds later the engine turned over with a throaty growl.

  “I might have,” Dunbar said. “There are papers scattered all over this desk. Let me look…got it. Pendleton’s in this?”

  “Look in the back row.”

  Spader was flying up Chestnut Street now. A moment later, Dunbar said, “Got him. Damn, the son of a bitch lied to us.”

  “He sure fucking did,” Spader said.

  “I don’t know, though, John. Does that make him Galaxo?”

  Spader explained about Madeleine Wollner hearing a sound like scissors opening and closing when Galaxo walked, and then freaking out at the hospital when she mistook the sound of a woman in leg braces for Galaxo.

  “Shit, you might be right.”

  “Trust me, I’m right. You got a pen?”

  He recited everything that had to go in the application, and he told Dunbar to call him back and read it to him when he was finished, before he took it to a judge. Spader figured he might have offended Dunbar but, frankly, he didn’t give a shit at the moment. Besides, Gavin would probably understand. And if he didn’t, he’d get over it.

  “What are you gonna do while I’m doing the application?” Dunbar asked.

  “I’ll be on the Mass Pike soon. I’m heading to Pendleton’s house in Beverly and I’m gonna sit in front of it to make sure the asshole doesn’t go anywhere until you show up with the warrant.”

  Dunbar said nothing for a few seconds. “John, I’m not sure we have enough here. I’m not sure a judge is gonna issue a warrant based on this.”

  “We’ve got more than this. We’ve got all the other stuff that made me suspect the piece of shit in the first place. We’ll get a warrant.”

  Another pause, then, “And if we don’t?”

  Spader paused himself. “If we don’t, I’ll force the issue.”
Dunbar didn’t even ask what that meant. It meant Spader would knock on Pendleton’s door on a pretense, like needing to ask a few more questions relating to the case, then he’d say Pendleton spooked and attacked him or tried to escape, and the exigent circumstances were such that arrest became his only option.

  “How far from Pendleton’s are you?” Dunbar asked.

  “If I really push it, less than an hour.”

  “Let’s see,” Dunbar said, “it’s, what, eight twenty. Let’s hope Pendleton’s there right now and not out at a movie or, worse, doing bad things.”

  “He’s there. I got a guy watching him.”

  “I thought Sally dropped the surveillance.”

  “My guy’s private, working for me.”

  “Out of your own pocket, huh?”

  “I want this bastard. And I got him now. Call me when you finish the application.”

  He ended the call then immediately placed another. Artie Small picked up on the first ring. “Hey, boss.”

  “He still in there?” Spader asked.

  “Still in there. I just saw him wheel from the living room to some room in the back of the house, then return a few minutes later.”

  “Hear anything?”

  “He had an argument with his mother, something about her forgetting to buy enough Pepsi. Then they talked about what to watch on TV for a while. I gotta tell you, John, if I was this guy, living his life, I’d probably go nuts, too. I kinda feel sorry for him.”

  “You shouldn’t. I don’t. Matter of fact, I’m on my way over there to arrest him.”

  “Right now?”