by John Chabot
At first, it was just some kind of rough, gray material. As more was revealed, they saw it was a blanket. The body was wrapped in it.
Mickie said, "Like a shroud."
"Yeah," said Harry. "How many dead men bring their own?"
When the blanket was pulled back, Mickie forced herself to keep looking. She glanced first at the bare chest, seeing what she had not wanted to see. An inch or so of cylindrical red wood protruded from a field of darker red. The chest seemed covered with blood. The face was bloated and unreal, the mouth slightly open, the lips swollen and black. Still, there was no doubt that she was looking at what had once been Kurt Brodbeck. On his forehead was a greasy red star enclosed in a circle.
As the rest of the blanket was carefully pulled back, they saw that he was nude, his bloodied clothes neatly folded and resting on his legs. The only thing he still had on was his watch, black-faced, many-stemmed, everything-proof. It made the rest of him seem even more naked. Across his stomach was scrawled the three sixes they'd expected to see.
Mickie asked, "Did the watch stop?"
The technician checked, shook his head. "Take a lot to stop that thing."
Harry asked, "Did you find anything else?"
The technician was wiping sand from his gloved hands. "A potato chip bag, empty. I think it had been here awhile. And a couple of glasses. You know, jelly glasses. A wadded up paper bag. All kinds of junk. We’ll get you the list."
Mickie asked, "Anything in the glasses?"
"They seemed clean. We'll check. They're still searching the area."
The Medical Examiner hurried up, nodded to them briefly, then squatted down to begin his examination.
Harry turned to Mickie. "Seen enough?"
"More than enough."
As they headed back toward the parking area, he said, "I think we'd better find Brodbeck's car."
"Yeah, that's a point. Did he drive here himself and someone take the car later? Or was he carried from someplace else?"
"Anyway, we have one less suspect."
"I guess," answered Mickie.
"Maybe this means there was some other connection between him and Tina, something we don't know about. Like their being lovers."
"Maybe. But Kurt followed me, looking for Tina. He may have seen the killer go into the house. He’d have been there at the right time."
"You mean he tried to blackmail a murderer?"
"I guess."
Harry said, "Maybe he didn't really think it was the bad guy. Maybe he figured it was just someone who wouldn't want to explain what he was doing there—someone he could squeeze for a few bucks."
"You think so? I don't know, he'd have to be God-awful dumb."
"As I remember, that was pretty much your opinion of him."
"I know." She frowned, then added, "Something's wrong."
"With what?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm missing something.” When they came to the parking area, she looked back. “Something back there. It's just a feeling."
Harry glanced at her without turning his head, suppressing a small smile. "Work on it," he said.
She hated it when he did that. He was always posing vague, open ended problems, then leaving her to wrestle with them. Half the time he never even mentioned them again. She was about to say something about it, but noticed the gaunt figure of the Medical Examiner trudging toward them through the sand. He stepped over the low barricade, then sat on it to empty the sand from his shoes. As he worked, he said, "White male, probably in his thirties. In pretty good shape as far as I could see, except for being dead." He looked up over his glasses at Harry. "And no, I don't know when he died. It's certainly been a few days, anyway."
Mickie asked, "Is it the same as the other one?"
"You mean, is it another Vampire Murder?"
Mickie gave him her narrowed-eyed look. "I mean was anything different this time?"
"Oh, yes. This time he got it right. I'm pretty sure it went right into the heart. Of course, until the postmortem, I won't know about the bullet."
Harry asked, "What bullet?"
The M.E., finished with one shoe, had started on the second. He stopped, frowning at Harry. "I don't know why I go to all the trouble writing reports if nobody’s going to read them."
"What report? I haven't seen it."
"I can't be expected to write the reports and see they're delivered, too. Maybe if you looked on your desk."
"All right, I'll look. What's this about a bullet?"
The M.E. grunted as he bent to tie the last shoe. "Simple enough. The first victim was shot with a .22 caliber bullet before the stake was put in."
"You mean in the same place?"
"Sort of a pre-drilled hole. I'd say she was hit on the back of the head, which killed her, as I said before. Then, ten or fifteen minutes later, she was shot. Then...." He used his fists to mimic someone holding something with one hand and pounding with the other.
Mickie asked, "Where's the bullet?"
"Oh, I sent that to the SBI lab for comparison. I heard you had a little run-in the other night."
Mickie was suddenly very conscious of the discomfort in her left side. She remembered lying on the porch, watching the light in someone's hand moving slowly toward her. She wondered again who the someone behind that light had been, and what else he might have been holding.
CHAPTER 19
LUNCH AND DINNER
Mickie was eating lunch alone, something she usually avoided, but knew she had brought on herself. Leaving the dune area, she had glanced at her watch, saw it was after twelve, and realized she was starving. She supposed it had something to do with recuperating, the body rebuilding itself with sleep and food.
When asked if he was ready for lunch, Harry had answered, "Always."
"How about Lucy's?"
"The fern bar?"
"It's not a fern bar."
"When most of the entrees are green, it's a fern bar."
She was tired of arguing. Paul and her mother had supplied her with enough for the day. "Fine," she said. "Eat where you like. I'm going to Lucy's."
"Don't be so touchy. Lucy's is okay."
"Good. Let's—". She stopped, putting it together. "The hell it is. It's the last place you'd go for lunch."
"How do you know?"
"I know you. You're a carnivore. Look Harry, I'm really getting sick of this poor-little-Mickie routine." She drew herself more erect, which started her ribs hurting again. "I don't need a chaperone."
Now she sat alone, finishing a Caesar salad, iced tea, and a side of garlic toast. She knew she was being unreasonable, but the thought of all this unsolicited care somehow made her feel even more vulnerable. Silly, she thought. Just who was going to attack her here, surrounded by two dozen people? Even so, she had passed up a table by a window, taking one by the wall.
It was just as she was thinking such thoughts, that she felt the stare, the feeling of eyes boring into her. She thought first of Harry, and turned angrily to confront him. He wasn't there. She scanned the room, certain that someone was watching, but saw no familiar faces. She was about to write the whole thing off as nerves, when she noticed four elderly women at a table on the far side. They were looking at her. Three of them glanced away, at their plates or at each other. The fourth, a tiny woman, continued to stare. At least, Mickie assumed it was she who was being stared at. The large, very dark glasses the woman wore made it impossible to be sure. The woman turned, said something to her companions, got up and walked over to Mickie's table.
"Pardon me. I've forgotten your name. You came to talk to my daughter-in-law. About Tina Siegert."
It was the glasses that brought back the memory. They were almost opaque, fitted around the eyes like goggles, so that no unfiltered light could get in. It had been too dark in the house for Mickie to make out clearly the woman’s face, but she remembered the glasses. She said, "Mickie Wilder. You're Mrs. Converse, aren't you?"
"Maggie, please. I haven't be
en Mrs. Converse for ages." She glanced at the extra chair. "May I join you?"
"Of course, please."
Maggie pulled out the chair and sat quickly, as if eager to get started. "I told the girls who you were. I told them I'd come over and get the latest."
"Oh, well I'm sorry, but I can't —"
"I know, don't worry. That's just a story I told them. The truth is, I'm curious about something else."
"About what?"
"About why you haven't asked me any questions. After all, Dana met her just once, and you had a lovely old gab with her."
Mickie felt as if she had come in late in the conversation, not quite sure what was going on. "You knew Tina Siegert?"
"Well, of course. I taught her in high school. That's what I did before I retired, when I was Mrs. Converse. I taught English and Social Studies. Of course, that was before—you know—my eyes went squirrely."
"Did you see her when she came to see your daughter-in-law?"
"I wasn't there. I didn't even know she'd been there. Dana told me after you and that other detective left."
"I see. What did you think of her?"
"What most people did, I suppose—a bouncy blonde. The boys liked her, of course, but I don't think they took her very seriously. From a teacher's point of view, I always thought she had great potential as a bimbo."
"What about the girls? Didn't she have any friends?"
Maggie hesitated, thinking about it. "I suppose so. Yes, there was one especially. They were always together. Now, what was her name?"
"Cheryl Doles?"
Mickie could almost see the shaded eyes open in surprise. "Yes, aren't you clever! How did you know?"
"They stayed friends."
"Ah. Well, you see it a lot in school, don't you? A pair of opposites who somehow become friends. Perhaps it's symbiotic—each has what the other lacks. Cheryl was plain, which is a kind way of saying it, but she was also stable and, I think, rather deep. And Tina was beautiful, flighty and shallow. I wasn't supposed to know it, but some of the kids referred to them as Beauty and the Beast. Typical high school cruelty."
"I take it she wasn't much of a student."
"Not really. She had flair, but she didn't have the brains to back it up. She was sly rather than smart. Loved all that giggly schoolgirl intrigue."
"Did you know her boyfriend, Bryan Clarke?"
Maggie frowned, shaking her head. "No, the name's not familiar. But then, teaching them English was hard enough. Trying to keep up with their social lives would have been impossible. They all seemed to trade boyfriends and girlfriends on a regular basis."
Mickie smiled at that, remembering her own days of fearful exploration.
Maggie leaned a little closer, asked, “Do you mind listening to gossip?”
Mickie leaned in to match the other. “I have a partner who positively encourages it.”
“Good. Understand, it’s only rumor. I have no personal knowledge to back it up.” She glanced over at the table she had just left, then back to Mickie. “Among the four of us, we hear a lot. Well, we’re nosy. But more than one of us has heard that Frank Siegert was getting ready to dump her. It seems he married her despite his good sense, but now.... Well, he’s a business man, and she wasn’t doing him any good.”
“How so?”
“She was an embarrassment. They used to entertain quite a lot. There’s a certain social set they naturally fall into—successful middle class couples, business associates, people like that. Lately he’s found excuses to miss parties, or not to give them. He never knew what outlandish thing she’d do or say. Hard to blame him.” Maggie glanced over at her own table. She said, “Well, I’d better get back,” but didn’t get up. She hesitated, then said, “There’s something else. Not about Tina. It’s Dana.”
“Yes?”
“She’s worried about you.”
“Oh, that. Yes, she told me. She wanted me to be careful. I guess I wasn’t.” She shrugged as if it weren’t important. “Someone took a shot at me.”
“Really?”
“It wasn’t serious. And it’s past now.”
“Are you sure?”
“I sure hope so. Why?”
“Well, it’s just that she’s still worried. I know it’s a lot of cow flop, I don’t believe a word of it, but if she ever looks me straight in the eye and tells me to be careful, I’ll look both ways before I cross the street, believe me. In fact, I might just go back to bed.” With that, she stood up. “Just thought you ought to know. Also, I felt a little left out, not being questioned.”
Indicating the ‘girls’ at the other table, Mickie asked, “What will you tell them?”
Maggie shrugged. “I’ll just say you’re a hard ass and wouldn’t tell me a thing.”
Mickie smiled at that, breaking off a piece of garlic toast. “Not that I’d mind the reputation, but there’s no need. Tell them there’s been another one.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Same as before, except that this time it was a man.” It made no difference—it would be on the news by now, anyway. “Will that make them happy?”
“Ecstatic! I’ll tell them you swore me to secrecy, then I’ll let them pull it out of me a little at a time. They’ll love it.” She started to leave, then stopped, her expression turning serious. “Good luck,” she said, “and you will be careful, won’t you?”
* * *
It was the reference to Dana Converse that set up the idea. From there, she thought of the weirdness of the case, the mystical symbols on the bodies, the inconsistency of their use. Hotai was Japanese, but perhaps she shouldn’t read too much into that. Perhaps he had just been the handiest thing that would serve as a club. But the mystical symbols and the stake? Two of the symbols were contradictory, the signs of Christ and the Beast. And the stake and pentagram didn’t fit with either of them. Somewhere in her mind the two thoughts came together, and an idea was born.
* * *
Mickie was disappointed not to see Dana at the library checkout desk. She'd probably need her for this. She found a computer terminal that was vacant, and began her search. She clicked on Search by Subject, then entered Symbol. This brought up several pages of titles. After eliminating symbols as used in psychology, literature and commercial marketing, she had a more manageable list. She picked out those titles that indicated a mystical slant, entering the names and locations in her notebook.
Fifteen minutes later she had found three of them on the shelves, and was curled up in the corner of a couch, getting educated on matters of the medieval world. She read, made occasional notes, read some more, now and then comparing one book with another. Their interpretations didn't always agree. The pentagram, for example, seemed to have a number of applications. It was considered one of the more powerful symbols.
She wondered how anyone could have believed in such things, then remembered that many people still do. And a few centuries from now, how will they view some of our own cherished beliefs? She could think of several that should be good for a few laughs.
She became engrossed in what was, to her, a completely alien way of thinking. So engrossed that she was unaware when someone stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder at what she was reading, at the other books on the cushion beside her. This time she had no psychic feeling of being watched, no relief when the watcher moved quietly off into the stacks.
At the end of an hour, she thought she had found the right book. Except for the stake through the heart, all the symbols used were explained in a way that seemed to make some kind of sense. Now for the last step.
When she returned to the checkout desk, Dana was there, checking out a tall stack of books for a little old man so bent at the shoulders he seemed crippled. Mickie wondered how he would manage to carry so many books, or what he would do with them. He put a shopping basket on the desk, and began loading the books in as Dana finished scanning them.
As the man tottered toward the door, the basket held in both hands, M
ickie approached the desk. Dana seemed surprised to see her. "I didn't see you come in. Are you all right?"
"You asked me that once before."
"Oh, that." Dana shrugged her ample shoulders. "Sometimes I have my odd moments."
"A few hours later, someone tried to kill me."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I'm glad to see they missed."
"They didn't entirely."
Dana looked at her closely. "Now I understand. That's why that detective asked me where I was Monday evening."
"I suspect so. Right now I need help of a different kind."
"Anything I can do?"
"I need information. When someone checks a book out, that's recorded in the computer, right?"
"Of course."
"Along with the name of the person who took it?"
Dana's eyes narrowed just a bit. The smile left her round face. "That's right."
"What if I gave you a list of three or four books? Could you tell me who has checked them out in, say the last four weeks?"
Dana's plump face hardened. "No."
Mickie was surprised. It wasn't at all what she had expected. "No you can't, or no you won't?"
The other woman considered that. "Both." Her expression softened a little. "There's a very, very strong policy against giving out any list of what a person reads. It isn't done."
"What if you were presented with a court order?"
"I don't know. There'd be an awful stink about it, I can tell you that. But anyway, it's academic. Not only wouldn't I give you that list but, quite literally, I couldn't. It's not available."
"But it's in the computer."
"No. Forty-eight hours after the book is returned, the record is erased. It's just not there."
"Great! Well, another good idea down the tubes."
"You think this person picked the symbols from a book?"
"Why not, as random as they are?"
"Yes, I can see that. Of course, he might not have checked the books out at all. He could just as easily have read them right here."
"True. I just thought I might get lucky."
"It never hurts. And speaking of that —"
"I know. Maggie told me. I'll be careful crossing streets."
