“Nope, only about an hour.”
“Labeling pictures again?”
“Yep.”
I could hear her in the kitchen, rattling around as she got her bowl of cereal. She always ate while she moved around, in the morning. Lining up school papers and things, making an occasional phone call, locating books for students. I wanted to be able to do that someday, but I would have left a trail of food all around the house. Sue never spilled a drop.
She came back through, on some errand, with her cereal bowl in her hand.
“Looks like you should be home today …”
“Yeah, this should take a while.”
“Good.”
“Hey, you seen the magnifying glass?”
There was a mumbled “ungmmm” from the living room, and she came back a moment later, her mouth full of Cheerios. She pointed with a spoon as she passed, indicating the buffet.
“Thanks.”
I got the magnifying glass out, and was in the bathroom, wiping our little niece’s fingerprints off the lens, when she came in to put on her makeup. Still with the bowl of Cheerios.
“Say, does that light board I gave you for Christmas last year still work?”
“Of course. It’s in the closet in our room. Behind the boxes of the summer clothes.”
“Thanks. Mind if I use it?”
“Nope.”
I went upstairs, rummaged through the closet, and brought it down. It would be perfect to backlight the negatives. I normally would just hold them up to a light, but there were so many of them this time.
I had to get out a couple of more mats, so the board wouldn’t scratch the table, causing me to rearrange the whole conglomeration. By the time I was ready to go, so was Sue.
“Carl, do you get your stitches out today?”
“Yep.”
“What time?”
“No specific time. I’ll just drop up when I get some time.”
“All right, dear. Just don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
“And, if you get a chance, maybe you could empty the dishwasher and fill it up again?”
I nodded.
“There’s some of that lasagna in the refrigerator, for lunch.” The front door shut, and she was gone.
I opened the photo package and started to place as many of the negatives as I could on the board. Negatives and prints should be in the same general sequence, as long as somebody hadn’t messed them up too much when they looked at them.
It took about thirty minutes to stick the labels on the back of all the prints, and then I was ready to go to work.
Most of the shots had come out rather well, if I did say so myself. Not like the time I did up a burglary scene and found it easier to focus without my glasses on. If you ever want a record of your astigmatism, try that. All blurred, the extent depending on the distance of the focus. These were much, much better.
There’s nothing quite like matching the negative to the print, especially when there are multiple shots of the same subject, same point of view, slightly different magnification with a zoom lens; it forces you to examine the detail of each shot. I was sort of hoping that something would pop out at me from one of the prints, something that would give me an indication or a suggestion regarding the perpetrator. Anything.
When I got to the sequence of Phyllis Herkaman’s body in the basement, I carefully laid six prints out that I had taken in an attempt at a panoramic view of the scene. They matched quite well, and I found myself looking at the whole north side of the basement. I sat back a little and just let the scene sink in.
I was getting a sense of horrible despair from the montage, a feeling of almost pathetic fear and suffering. Especially as I remembered talking with Helen, and her saying that Phyllis wasn’t pushy about Satanism, but believed in it sincerely as a philosophy. It didn’t make much difference if somebody got hurt by your actions, because if they could be hurt, they didn’t really deserve your consideration … or something like that. I wondered how far her philosophy had sustained her in the last few hours of her life. Through Helen, I had gotten to know Phyllis just a little bit. Making it much more difficult to dispassionately view what had happened to her.
When I had originally been at the crime scene, I had been able to pull myself back and view everything like it wasn’t quite real. Not really people involved, just objects. You learn to do that after a while. A survival technique. But having become acquainted with Phyllis, so to speak, I was beginning to lose that necessary objectivity. Not necessary so much because it would keep me objective in investigating the case, but necessary because it would keep my head from filling with the horror of what had happened and what I had seen. So it wouldn’t bother me for months to come.
I quickly picked up my coffee cup and went into the living room, leaving the prints on the table behind me. I took a deep breath and lit a cigarette. Whoa, boy. Take a break.
I checked the time on the VCR: 11:10. Well, let’s go get the stitches out. That ought to be a distraction, and there’ll be people there.
I left everything in place and took special care to lock the house up tight. I didn’t want the in-laws coming down and seeing the pictures.
When I got to the clinic, there were two people there ahead of me. Henry’s nurse ushered me into an exam room, took my temperature and blood pressure, and left me sitting there. Thinking about Phyllis. Not what I wanted, exactly, but it was better than sitting there looking at her body and wondering how that would feel.
Henry came in eventually, his usual exuberant, solid self.
“Well, how’s the old noggin today!”
“Okay, I guess. No pain.”
“Probably because there’s nothing in there to hurt.”
He looked the stitches over, decided that it would be all right if they came out. Stuck his head out the door and called for his nurse. Checked my pupils with that damned little light.
“I was right,” he said. “Empty.”
“Thanks, Henry.”
“Just a professional opinion. Any nausea?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Headaches?”
“Oh, sort of. When I get tired.”
“Good. If you’d said no, I’d know you were lying.”
The nurse came in with a little stainless-steel pan. I hate those, too.
“Might be a little uncomfortable for a second, but I don’t think so.”
“Uncomfortable for who?”
“My prize patient.” He picked up a tweezery sort of device, and I could feel a little tug on the right side of my head. “Oh dear …”
“What?”
“We’ll have to use the hammer and torch.”
“Very funny, Henry.”
“All done. You want a sucker?”
“No, but one of those neat little Snoopy Band-Aids would be good.”
“All out. Used ’em all on injured cops.”
The nurse left, and Henry turned serious.
“You feel okay, Carl?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“Well, your BP is up, and you look a little pale.”
“Oh, I’m just in the middle of labeling the crime scene photos … bothers me a little.”
“Phyllis and company?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad I missed that one.”
Henry, along with every other doctor in the county, was an assistant medical examiner. Fortunately for him, he’d been gone last Saturday.
“It was a mess.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Can I go back to work?”
“Do you feel like it?”
“Yeah, I think so. Tomorrow night … haven’t had much sleep today.”
“Fine.”
I grinned. “I’d hate to miss anything.”
“You’re aware that the life expectancy of a career cop is about fifty-five to sixty?”
“I’ve heard that.”
“Know what kills them?”
“Stress from boredom. Go back to work. This case ought to add five years to your life.”
I got home a little after noon, and the phone was ringing. It was Hal.
“Where you been?”
“Getting the stitches out.”
“Oh, yeah. Hey, I talked to Helen this morning on the phone, asked her to come into the office after lunch, and she said that she couldn’t make it. Not today. It didn’t sound right, like she was real reluctant to come in.”
“Her husband?”
“I think so.”
“Damn. I’d hate to lose her.”
“We won’t lose her. We can always subpoena her in.”
“Yeah, but she was so cooperative, I’d hate to lose that. You can miss so much if you have to pry it out of somebody, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Tell you what, she knows you … could you give her a call?”
“Sure, but I don’t guarantee anything.”
“No, just give it a try. Set up an appointment for tomorrow, maybe? And see what you think is going on. Talked to Hester this morning, too. Rachel didn’t show all night last night. No contact with her employer, either.”
“Swell.”
“Yeah. I’ve made some calls around, and nobody gets a ringing bell with the description of this Darkness character, either.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“And Hester will be up tomorrow, with all the lab stuff. NYPD is sending their officer out, and I’ll pick him up at the Cedar Rapids airport this evening. We’ll meet at your office tomorrow at 09:00. Will you have the pictures done by then?”
“Oh, yeah. About three-fourths done now.”
“Good, bring ’em with you.”
“They really sending a man out?”
“Yeah.”
“Must be nice to have a big budget.”
“They’re spending our bucks on this one.”
“Like I said …”
“Yeah. Look, as long as Helen isn’t available, I think I’ll go to Iowa City and talk with Hester this afternoon. Got to be down that way to meet the plane this evening, anyway.”
I hung up, looked up Helen’s number, and called her. By the third ring, I’d decided that if her husband answered, I’d better hang up. He didn’t, she did.
“Say, Helen, I’m still on sick leave today, but could you come into the office tomorrow? We have some more stuff to ask you about.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, how about Saturday, then?”
“No, we’re going to Fred’s sister’s in Dubuque.”
“Sunday or Monday?”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Why not, Helen? Is something wrong?”
There was a long pause. “No.”
She sounded really quiet and subdued. There was something wrong, all right. Somebody get to her? Husband Fred? Was he the suspect?
“Helen, are you sure?”
Another long pause. Good, I thought. She does want to talk, this isn’t her idea.
“No, there is something. Wrong … Is this being recorded?”
“No, Helen. I’m at home, still ‘recovering.’ ” I laughed.
“Oh.”
Another pause. I didn’t want to say anything … let her talk. But the pause lasted too long.
“Helen, what is it?”
“Not on the phone. Can I see you … not at your office. I won’t go to your office.”
“Well, you could come here, I guess. You know where I live?”
“Yes. But don’t have that other man there. Please.”
“All right, Helen.”
“I have to get groceries. I was just about to leave, anyway. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Well. I figured it was probably Fred, not wanting her to talk to the cops. Not wanting her involved. Not wanting anybody to know that his wife had been the friend of some “different” people. So Fred decided to shut Helen down. Mistake, Fred. Big mistake. I really didn’t care if he liked or trusted me or not. No problem. But don’t screw up the case, Fred. Don’t even think about screwing up the case.
I called Hal back at the office and told him to sit tight—I’d bring him in as soon as I could. I did a quick once-through of the downstairs, making sure it was acceptable for company. The pictures were still all spread out on the dining room table. That wouldn’t do, not at all.
I didn’t want to put it all away and go to the trouble of setting it all up after Helen left, so I found a tablecloth and threw it over the whole mess. Taking a second or two to look at the montage of the basement with Phyllis’s body lying there.
I won’t let you down, Phyllis. No matter what you thought, you didn’t deserve to die like that. No matter what …
I put on a fresh pot of coffee, and was trying to scrounge up something to eat, when Helen rang the doorbell.
She looked like she’d missed some sleep. She looked over her shoulder and then sort of slipped into the house.
“Can I take your coat?”
She shook her head.
“Come on into the living room … I’ve got some coffee on, but I can’t find any cookies. I don’t suppose you brought any?”
She smiled at that. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“My fault, didn’t think to ask.” I pointed to a chair. “Here, have a seat.”
She sat down, and Fred, our dog, went over to her and began sniffing her blue jeans.
“Fred!”
She looked startled. No wonder. Same name as her husband.
“Sorry, Helen.” I laughed. “That’s his name.”
“Oh …”
“Let me get some coffee,” I said, and went into the kitchen. Grabbed two cups, the pot, and hustled back to the living room, half expecting to find her gone.
She was scratching Fred’s ears.
I poured the coffee and sat across the room on the couch.
She was wearing a purplish quilted jacket, with a white scarf around her neck, blue jeans, and gray tennis shoes. Reeboks, I noted. Just a habit. She looked more fragile than she had yesterday, and appeared smaller, somehow.
“What’s the problem, Helen?”
She drank a sip of coffee, looking at me over the top of the cup. When she put the cup down, her hand was shaking just a little.
“I’m sorry I told you those things yesterday.”
“Don’t be. It’s all confidential.” I held up my right hand, palm toward her, and smiled. “I swear.”
“So is Fred. He’s pretty upset about it.”
“Why?”
“He just didn’t like Phyllis and Peggy and Rachel, that’s all.”
“That’s no reason not to tell us anything.” She was really uncomfortable. “Helen, wouldn’t you be more comfortable up at the office?”
“No!” Instantly, vehemently.
“Just thought I’d ask,” I said, and smiled at her. “This is fine with me.”
Silence, while she sipped some more coffee. Then she put the cup down with resolve and stood up.
“I’m sorry, Carl, I never should have come here, and I never should have said anything yesterday.”
“Just a minute, Helen!” She froze. “Look, they were your friends. Something terrible happened to them. You owe it to them to help us find out who did it.”
“Maybe I do, maybe not. I have myself to think of, too.”
She didn’t sound too sure of herself, but she started to move toward the door again, anyway. I was getting a little desperate. She obviously knew something more, something she thought was extremely important. Fred knew it, too. There was some momentum that had been building, and I didn’t want to lose it now. So I took a chance.
“Okay, Helen, but before you go, I want to show you something.”
She stopped.
“Come into the dining room for a second, will you?”
I went in there, and she followed me, looking a little unsure of herself.
“Helen!” Shit, I hadn’t quite expected that much of a reaction.
I kept my hand on her arm, firmly, while I frantically reached over and tried to cover the photographs with the cloth.
She was breathing very hard, very fast. Hyperventilating. Damn!
“Helen, listen to me! Helen, put your head down between your legs.”
She did. And all bent over like that, she started to get the shakes. I patted her on the back, feeling guilty as hell, and feeling that I had blown the whole thing and was probably going to get myself sued in the process. Damn, damn, damn. What an asinine thing to do.
It took her a couple of minutes, but she stopped shaking. Staying bent over, but not shaking.
“Are you all right, Helen?”
Her head nodded.
“Why don’t you sit up, now?”
She did, and I kept my hand on her shoulder, pinning her gently to the back of the chair. I didn’t want her to fall over. She had her eyes closed. After a second she took a deep breath and opened them. I couldn’t read the expression in them, but whatever it was, it sure as hell was intense.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“I hated to do that to you, Helen. But that’s how we felt when we walked in there. That’s what happened. You need to know what happened.”
She nodded.
I’m bullshitting you a little bit, Helen, I thought. Not completely, it is valid, but just a little. Buy it, and you’ll understand, though. Buy it and we can cut through the crap and get down to reality here.
She was looking up at me, and I still couldn’t read her gray eyes. But the intensity hadn’t diminished at all.
“Take a deep breath, kid. It helps. I know.”
She did.
“Now another one, slow, and let it all out.”
She did, never taking her eyes off me.
“I’ll ask you to forgive me for that sometime, Helen. But not yet. Do you feel well enough to go back into the living room?”
“I think so.”
I helped her back to her seat in the living room.
Eleven Days Page 11
