“It could, but I don’t think it did.”
“Why not?”
“No evidence of it, for one thing. No drugs, no money, no nothing. But mostly the way it was done. Hanging’s not that common, you know. Not in a murder case.”
“I know. That bothers me, too. Any strangers in town lately, Sheriff?”
“You mean besides yourself?” The sheriff’s laugh was uneasy. “Hell, there’s always strangers in town, and these days you can’t tell the dope dealers from the priests. Campers going to the lake, hell, most of them look like they just blew out of the state pen. Eyes ain’t worth a damn in law enforcement anymore, not since folks quit getting haircuts.”
“You’re not much help, Sheriff,” I said.
“Maybe you need more help than I can give you, Mr. Tanner. Maybe you’re trying to make this something it’s not. Maybe the boy just got tired of living in the body God gave him. It happens.”
“I know it does,” I said. “I just don’t want to think it happened to one of us.”
I hung up and took a shower and got dressed and picked up my book again, determined to hole up until the funeral. Which reminded me to check to see if Starbright wanted to go. I looked WILD up in the phone book and was surprised to find a listing. The phone rang a long time before it was answered.
The voice on the other end was thick and indistinct. I asked to speak to Starbright. When she came on the line she told me she’d just gotten up. “We had a service for Billy last night,” she said. “We watched his spiritual core ascend. The trail was really pure.”
“The trail?”
“The path of transubstantiation. The spirit dwells in this kind of husk, see; sort of a shell. And when it leaves the body it casts off the husk, bit by bit, and if you’re tuned in, I mean, if your mind is locked onto the cosmic fact and is open to the oneness of the life and the death of the person, you know, well, you can see the path of the ascension. It’s kind of like a space shot, you know?”
“And you saw Billy ascend?”
“I sure did. It was far out.”
I believed it. “Want to go with me to the funeral, Starbright?”
“I told you, we already had our service.”
“I know, but maybe you should go to this one, too.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s Billy’s child in your belly. Because his people ought to know you’re carrying it.”
“Why?” she repeated.
“I don’t know. So they can help you out if you ever need it. So they know the line’s being carried on. So they know the newest limb on the family tree.”
“Well,” she said dubiously, “if you think so.”
“I think so.”
“What should I wear? The only clothes I got are … well …”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you a little before one.”
“Okay.”
“Starbright?”
“Yes?”
“Was anyone else at WILD real close to Billy? Anyone except you and Zedda?”
“I don’t think so. Mostly it’s just women here.”
“Were there any women he used to see?”
“You mean sex?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Billy wasn’t, we didn’t, I mean, he was free, you know. We gave each other space. So he got it on with other women sometimes. I knew about it, you know. He was always up front with me.”
“Is there anyone there now who Billy got it on with?”
“Tamara.”
“Who’s she?”
“Zedda’s old lady.”
“Does Zedda know she and Billy had an … got it on?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. Zedda’s kind of into possession, you know?”
“Anyone else?”
“No one that’s here now. People come and go, you know. I mean, it’s sort of a crash pad here. There aren’t that many in this part of the country, so we get lots of visitors.”
“Billy get into fights with any of those people? Fights over women, or drugs, or anything else?”
“Well, sometimes. But Billy fought with lots of people. That’s just the way he was.”
“How about Zedda? Did he and Billy fight?”
“Sometimes.”
“What about?”
“Things. But it wasn’t serious. I mean, Billy and Zedda were scared of each other, I think.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, Zedda was afraid of Billy because he was so violent sometimes and because he knew so much about killing, and Billy was afraid of Zedda because, I don’t know, I think he was afraid Zedda knew something he didn’t.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Life. Death. You know, big things. Zedda’s real deep sometimes.”
“So what did they fight about, exactly?” I asked.
“I don’t think I should tell you any more about it. People might get in trouble, maybe. Like, I don’t really know you, you know?”
“I’m Billy’s people, Starbright.”
“I know that. That’s why I’m going out there with you to watch them put him in the ground. They should burn his vessel, you know. So it can’t be occupied by another spirit.”
She paused and I heard noises in the background. When she spoke again she said she had to go, that Zedda was mad and had called a meeting, that he wanted to know if the people had found jobs yet, like he told them to. I wanted to talk to her some more but I had to be content with our date for the funeral. A few seconds after I hung up the phone it rang. It was Doctor Yarrow. I asked if he’d finished the autopsy on Billy’s body.
“Just wrapped it up. Body’s been released for burial.”
“What was the cause of death?”
“Strangulation. Just the way it looked.”
“Any possibility he was strangled before the rope was put around his neck?”
“Unlikely.” Yarrow’s voice grew cautious.
“Was he drunk, or drugged? Any sign of poisons? Anything you couldn’t identify in his system?”
“Hold on, now, Mr. Tanner. One at a time. Now I think the answer to all that is no. There was some alcohol in his blood, but not much. Not enough to kill him, that’s for sure.”
“How about make him unconscious?”
“Nope. Not unless he had some unusual sensitivity. A few beers at most.”
“How about signs of a blow to the head?”
“No. His trachea and larynx were crushed and he was asphyxiated. Now, does that take care of it?” The doctor was annoyed.
“Not unless you’re telling me that there was nothing at all unusual about Billy’s body. Is that what you found? Because I don’t believe it.”
“The only thing I found, other than strangulation and its indices, and other than a certain medical condition that Billy suffered from that is not germane to his death, was that Billy had engaged in sexual intercourse a short time before he died. And it must have been a hell of a fuck.”
In the middle of the medical jargon the expletive was jarring. “What makes you say that?” I asked. “Are you a connoisseur?”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have put it that way, of course. It’s just that whoever the woman was, she left her handprints all over him. She must have tried milking the semen out of him, he was contused so badly.”
“Were there traces of semen on the body?”
“Of course.”
“Any unidentified pubic hair or fiber particles that might lead to the woman in question, if that becomes necessary?”
“Yes, I’ve collected some material like that. It’s available if the police request it. Now, I’ve got a waiting room full of complaints, so I’ll say good-bye. My nurse is taking the report over to Sheriff Eason in a few minutes. If the sheriff wants you to see it, I assume he’ll let you know.”
“One more thing, Doctor,” I said. “The medical condition you referred to. Did Billy consult you for that? The sores and lesions and all?”
; “I don’t reveal patient records, Mr. Tanner.”
“The patient is dead, Doctor. Plus, the fact of consultation itself isn’t privileged, so you can tell me that at least. Did Billy ever consult you?”
“Yes. Once.”
“When?”
“Several years ago.”
“For the sores, and the chest pains, difficulty breathing and sleeping, that kind of thing?”
“I can’t say.”
“Tell me this. Did you make a diagnosis?”
“Not at the time, I didn’t.”
“Subsequently?”
“I reached a conclusion, yes. But Billy never returned for treatment. I tried to get word to him several times but he never responded.”
“Could this condition have altered his mental state, Doctor? Could it have made him do some of the crazy things he did around town?”
Doctor Yarrow paused. “If my diagnosis was correct, it’s very possible. There’s a degree of cellular alteration involved, and that always opens up the possibility of a personality change. Now, I really have to go.”
“One more thing. What’s wrong with Tom Notting?”
“That patient is very much alive, Mr. Tanner. I’m not at liberty to tell you anything at all about him.”
Fifteen
There had to be more to it than Doctor Yarrow had told me, more than he had found or more than he had disclosed. But Billy would be in the ground in about two hours and whatever else there was about his body that might reveal any facts about his killing or his killer would be buried with him. There are ways to stop a burial, temporarily at least, but there aren’t any ways to do it without inflicting pain on the survivors. Since I didn’t want to add to Curt and Laurel’s anguish, I was going to have to solve the case without the help of forensic pathology.
The only thing the coroner had given me to go on was the unnamed woman who had left her bruising handprints all over Billy’s body. I only knew of three possibilities: Starbright, Zedda’s girl Tamara, and my old friend Carol, former wife of my old friend Chuck. I was pretty sure Starbright hadn’t seen Billy that night, so that left two. In the middle of my planning how to get to each of them, my telephone rang. “Marsh.” The hearty voice didn’t give me time to acknowledge my name. “Norm Gladbrook here. Been expecting you to drop by the store.”
“I’ve been kind of busy. My nephew died the other day.”
“I know. A terrible thing. Always hard to believe when someone decides they’d be better off dead than alive. Believe me, I know.” His voice was as grave as a prophet’s. “Curt and Laurel holding up okay?”
“Well enough, I guess.”
“Kind of relieved, I imagine, what with the way Billy’s been since he came back.”
“How is that?”
“Well, you probably heard the stories by now. The way he ran around with that devil from WILD, not that Billy was as evil as him. But acting crazy, like he was out to punish us for something.”
“I think maybe he was.”
“But what?”
“I guess that’s for you people to decide.”
Gladbrook paused, and when he spoke again it was in the liquid tones of salesmen, in which truth and fiction sound the same. “I’m down here in the coffee shop, Marsh, getting my midmorning Sanka, and I thought maybe we might talk some about that farm of yours. Or I can come up to the room, whichever.”
“You don’t need to come up,” I said quickly. “I’ll be down in a minute. But I can’t stay long. Funeral’s in an hour.”
“Sure, sure. I’ll be waiting. Want me to order up something for you? Marjean bakes a great coffee cake on Thursdays.”
“No, thanks.”
“Be waiting on you, then,” Gladbrook warned, then hung up on anything that might pass for an excuse.
One way out of it would have been to climb down the fire escape, but even that wouldn’t have worked for long. Guys like Gladbrook make their way in the world doing the things no one else wants to do, and they get used to getting the scut work done whatever the obstacles. They’re irritating but necessary, and every town has one or wishes it did. I put on a tie and locked my room and tromped down to the coffee shop, bearing a reluctance that weighed a ton.
Gladbrook stood up when he saw me and thrust out a hand that was red to the wrist from sun. “Good to see you, good to see you. How about some Sanka?”
“No, thanks.”
“Sweet roll? Tang? American fries?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
As I took the seat across from him Gladbrook took a giant bite of fluff and icing. “The wife hates it when I bring this stuff home, so I have to feed my face in public,” he said around a mouthful of bleached flour, “Got to have some vices, right, Marsh?”
“Right.”
Gladbrook gnawed at the roll again, and gulped some Sanka laced with cream, dissolving the icing in the coffee in his mouth. His cheeks ballooned, then shrank, his gullet jumped once to accommodate the sweet, then Gladbrook licked the tips of his fingers, one by one, inspecting his work at the end of the operation as though he were a philatelist and his fingers were stamps. When he had them cleaned to his satisfaction he looked again at me. “Want to tell you a little about the town, Marsh,” he said, quietly. “Want to tell you how things are in Chaldea these days. That okay with you? Good enough. Now, back when you were making all those touchdowns for CHS, we weren’t in real good shape. Remember?”
“That was what I understood. Yes.”
“The coal mines had closed, the farms around here never were that profitable, and no industry had come along to take up the slack when the mines turned everybody out. We were just hanging on, waiting for someone to help us out, someone meaning the government, I guess. Well, finally your dad and I, and some other men in town, we decided not to go down without a fight. Your dad and mom were born here, and I was, too, and well, we didn’t want to see Chaldea die, ’cause if it did, why we’d die with it. We decided to follow what we heard in church and begin to help ourselves. So we flat went out and got us some industry in here. A hundred other towns like Chaldea were trying to do the same, but we were bound and determined to succeed no matter what it took, determined to provide a payroll that would put some life back in the place. Worked our butts off, too, your dad as much as anyone. I bet he spent four nights a week at meetings back in those days, trying to convince one business or another to locate here. He probably missed a few of your ball games because of it.”
“A lot of my ball games,” I said, voicing a resentment I didn’t know I had.
“Sure. Well, all that work eventually paid off. By the mid-sixties, we had six new businesses here in town, over twelve hundred new jobs. We’d turned the corner, or so we thought. People were building new houses or painting the old ones up, all the stores on the square were filled, Chaldea looked like a city with a future. That’s our motto, you know. Thought it up myself. You’d have been real pleased to see the way the place came back. Only too bad your dad and mom didn’t live to see what we’d all accomplished.”
Gladbrook looked at me mournfully, whether for my parents or the town I wasn’t sure. After another gulp of Sanka he went on. “We got—complacent, maybe, is the word. Things were going so well, and we’d worked so hard, we just quit keeping watch. And it didn’t last. In seventy-four, the recession, we lost the button factory and the box plant. The appliance company shut down but only temporarily that time, so we thought we’d be all right. But all it took was another recession, the one we’ve been in for a year or more, to shove us off the cliff. I’d like to tell you exactly how it is around here now.”
Gladbrook finished off his Sanka and beckoned for the waitress to bring him another. While she poured, he rested a proprietary hand on her ample hip, next to the frilly handkerchief that was pinned there. The waitress didn’t seem to mind or notice. When she walked off Gladbrook winked at me. “If I was a day or two younger I’d try to get me a piece of that,” he said, loud enough to indicate he was ho
ping to be heard. “Know what I mean?”
“Sure.”
“Her old man’s in town only one week a month. Works construction in Wyoming. She’s got to need it sooner or later, right, Marsh?”
“Right.”
Then, as if his expressions were activated electronically, Gladbrook clicked off his leer. “Like I was saying, first we lost the appliance business. For good, this time. Shut her down in a week. Two hundred jobs gone, building still sits there empty as a Ping-Pong ball and about as valuable. No taxes, no rents, no nothing. We gave them such a sweet deal—tax breaks, special utility rates, zoning variances, hell, we even told them the names of the men who’d try to unionize their plant if they hired them on—and now we got nothing but four walls and a roof. Then the car battery place shut down, what with the depression in the auto industry. They say they’ll come back on line in six months, but they won’t unless they start making batteries for Datsuns. Then the fireplace manufacturer closed up because of the housing problems. Then the fucking city council let some slicker out of St. Louis put up a mall on the north end of town and half the businesses on the square moved out there and now there’s empty storefronts on all four sides and the place looks like a movie set after the movie’s over. No one’s doing good but the doctors and the lawyers. No one at all.”
“Sounds bad.”
“It’s as bad as a goat’s breath and there’s more on top of it. Just last week we lost the railroad. I mean, the train’s flat not going to run through here anymore. Remember how we all used to go out and watch the train come in of an evening? Put pennies on the rails? Good times, right, Marsh?”
“Right.”
“Well, they’re going to tear up them rails and sell them for scrap. Which means the plants that are still open won’t be able to ship to Chicago by rail. Which also means farmers will have to pay truck rates to ship grain. Which means two bits more per bushel in transportation on top of costs that have sucked away all the profit already. Which means farmland values will start to fall. Which means the bank will be calling some notes. Which means farmers will move away, and business in town will be stuck with a lot of bad paper. Hell, it about makes me puke to think about it.” Gladbrook paused for breath. “Are you getting the picture, son?”
Fatal Obsession Page 12
