At the Stroke of Madness (46 page)

H
enry started to head out to the rock quarry, had almost gotten there when he decided to go back to downtown Wallingford. He needed a strong cup of coffee, but mostly he just wanted to stop in at the bookstore and see his wife. After the media got hold of this latest development there was bound to be a frenzy, especially with the latest victim being one of their own. He was beginning to believe he and Rosie could kiss goodbye the idea of retiring in this community.

He took the back roads, winding around the edge of the city with the car window rolled down. He drove slowly, trying to suck in the fresh air, trying to relax enough so that the tight fist, that nagging ache in the middle of his chest, would let up. It’d serve him right for being so lax about taking—or rather not taking—his blood pressure medicine. Here he had escaped being with his buddies on 9/11 only to get a fucking heart attack while driving through the Connecticut countryside.

He drove by St. Francis Cemetery, curving around the hill, when he noticed a man hurry behind one of the tall headstones. At first he thought he had imagined it. Maybe he
was
having a heart attack. But that didn’t make you see things, did it?

Henry pulled into the cemetery’s entrance and stopped the car. From this angle he couldn’t see the headstone without getting out. He sat there, wondering again if he had imagined it. If someone was in the cemetery there wasn’t anything wrong with that. People were free to come in and often did to place wreaths and flowers on the graves. So there was no reason to hide.

He backed out and pulled onto the road. Rosie would laugh at him, not about forgetting his blood pressure medicine, but about seeing ghosts. He glanced up in the rearview mirror as he started around another curve. Just as the cemetery started to disappear out of view he saw the man again. This time Henry pulled the car off to the side of the road, out of view of the cemetery.

He left the car and backtracked down through the ditch, keeping himself out of sight while he took the long way around. The cemetery backed onto a forest, and Henry could see a pickup parked deep between the trees where he knew there wasn’t a road.

Henry climbed up a steep incline, hoping it would hide him until he got to the trees. The mud and rock kept crumbling beneath his boots and he thought for sure the guy would hear him. Finally a windbreak of spindly evergreens allowed him his first look.

The man had his back to Henry, but he could see the guy had a shovel and was digging. Okay, so he was a grave digger. But then why did he hide when a car came by? And did they use shovels anymore to dig graves? Hadn’t he seen earth-digging equipment out here before? One of those miniature things with the claw? Yeah, he was sure that’s how they did it. In fact, he thought Vargus and Hobbs had a contract with several of the funeral homes.

Henry moved closer to get a better look. That’s when he realized the guy wasn’t digging a new grave, he was digging one up. Just then the man turned enough that Henry recognized him. It was Wally Hobbs, and he was hurrying away to crouch down behind a tall headstone as another car drove by.

L
uc hadn’t left the house all morning. Not even to get the newspaper. Ever since Agent O’Dell had left he had been pacing, trying to watch TV while he walked back and forth from one window to another with the baseball bat never leaving his hand. Scrapple had given up on him hours ago, finally settling down on his favorite rug. Except for a few ear perks now and then, the terrier was fast asleep.

Luc kept hearing vehicles up on Whippoorwill Drive. Maybe there was more commotion happening down at the rock quarry. He thought he had heard sirens earlier. On the midday local news there was mention of a car being found in Hubbard Park, but that was in Meriden, not down the lane. He wasn’t about to leave the house to go see. Ordinarily they wouldn’t be able to keep him away. But today…today he couldn’t seem to set foot on his porch without getting the shakes. Is this what he was turning into? An old man who couldn’t leave his house and then couldn’t even remember whether or not he had?

Agent O’Dell had asked him this morning if he would please consider calling Julia to let her know that he was okay. But if his daughter didn’t know about this mess, she wouldn’t need to know that he was okay. Or so went his reasoning. He knew he needed to call her. He wanted to call her. Ever since he had talked to her…jeez, what day was that? Was it a few days ago or had it been weeks?

He heard another car, only this one sounded like it was in his driveway. By the time he got to the door, Agent O’Dell was coming up the front porch. He opened the door for her and felt a flush of embarrassment when she saw the bat still in his hands.

“What’s the excitement down the lane?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “I couldn’t get hold of Sheriff Watermeier. You think you might be able to help with something, Luc?”

“Sure. I mean, I can try.”

She had a map in her hands and started spreading it out on his crowded coffee table. “You’ve lived around here for a long time, right?”

“Almost all my life. My wife, Elizabeth, was from Philadelphia, but she loved it here, too, so we stayed. Wish Julia would have loved it enough to stay, but…well, what can a father do, huh?”

“I wonder if you can tell me where Ralph Shelby’s property is.”

“Ralph the butcher? Ralph’s been gone a long time. What’s it been, maybe ten years. Jeez, I can’t remember. Didn’t I tell you this morning that Steve Earlman bought the butcher shop from Ralph? But now Steve’s gone, too. I told you that, didn’t I? Didn’t we talk about that this morning?”

“Yes, you did tell me. But Mr. Shelby’s property, the acreage where he lived, can you tell me where it is? It’s close by, right?”

“Sure, it’s up the road, past the Millers’ old sawmill. Mrs. Shelby died just a few years ago, but I think her son still lives out there.”

“Can you show me on the map?”

He stared at the lines and blue spots and nothing looked familiar.

“We’re right here.” She pointed to an area, but it didn’t look like anything to him except some red intersecting lines. She was looking up at him with a frown. Or was it worry? He didn’t know her well enough to know if she was upset with him or feeling sorry for him. He’d rather have her upset with him.

“Luc, can you show me?”

“I can show you, but I can’t show you on the map.” He went to the door and grabbed his black beret and a jacket.

“No, you can’t come with me, Luc.”

“That’s the only way I know how to show you.”

“Can’t you just give me directions? How far up the road? Is it on Whippoorwill Drive?”

“I’m really not being stubborn,” he said, and tried not to get embarrassed again. “But I can’t tell you. I can’t put it into words.” His hands were already flying, trying to help him explain. “I have to show you by…well, by showing you.”

She hesitated, standing with arms crossed, looking like she was trying to decide. “Okay, but you promise you’ll stay in the car.”

“Sure, I can do that. Why are you interested in the old Shelby place?”

“I need to check something out. Remember you told me that when the butcher shop closed someone bought all the equipment?”

“Oh, yeah. But I don’t remember who it was. Seems like I should know.”

“I found out. It was Ralph Shelby’s son. He bought everything, every last piece.”

“Really? Hmm…I wonder what he wanted with all that old stuff.”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

L
uc hadn’t left the house all morning. Not even to get the newspaper. Ever since Agent O’Dell had left he had been pacing, trying to watch TV while he walked back and forth from one window to another with the baseball bat never leaving his hand. Scrapple had given up on him hours ago, finally settling down on his favorite rug. Except for a few ear perks now and then, the terrier was fast asleep.

Luc kept hearing vehicles up on Whippoorwill Drive. Maybe there was more commotion happening down at the rock quarry. He thought he had heard sirens earlier. On the midday local news there was mention of a car being found in Hubbard Park, but that was in Meriden, not down the lane. He wasn’t about to leave the house to go see. Ordinarily they wouldn’t be able to keep him away. But today…today he couldn’t seem to set foot on his porch without getting the shakes. Is this what he was turning into? An old man who couldn’t leave his house and then couldn’t even remember whether or not he had?

Agent O’Dell had asked him this morning if he would please consider calling Julia to let her know that he was okay. But if his daughter didn’t know about this mess, she wouldn’t need to know that he was okay. Or so went his reasoning. He knew he needed to call her. He wanted to call her. Ever since he had talked to her…jeez, what day was that? Was it a few days ago or had it been weeks?

He heard another car, only this one sounded like it was in his driveway. By the time he got to the door, Agent O’Dell was coming up the front porch. He opened the door for her and felt a flush of embarrassment when she saw the bat still in his hands.

“What’s the excitement down the lane?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “I couldn’t get hold of Sheriff Watermeier. You think you might be able to help with something, Luc?”

“Sure. I mean, I can try.”

She had a map in her hands and started spreading it out on his crowded coffee table. “You’ve lived around here for a long time, right?”

“Almost all my life. My wife, Elizabeth, was from Philadelphia, but she loved it here, too, so we stayed. Wish Julia would have loved it enough to stay, but…well, what can a father do, huh?”

“I wonder if you can tell me where Ralph Shelby’s property is.”

“Ralph the butcher? Ralph’s been gone a long time. What’s it been, maybe ten years. Jeez, I can’t remember. Didn’t I tell you this morning that Steve Earlman bought the butcher shop from Ralph? But now Steve’s gone, too. I told you that, didn’t I? Didn’t we talk about that this morning?”

“Yes, you did tell me. But Mr. Shelby’s property, the acreage where he lived, can you tell me where it is? It’s close by, right?”

“Sure, it’s up the road, past the Millers’ old sawmill. Mrs. Shelby died just a few years ago, but I think her son still lives out there.”

“Can you show me on the map?”

He stared at the lines and blue spots and nothing looked familiar.

“We’re right here.” She pointed to an area, but it didn’t look like anything to him except some red intersecting lines. She was looking up at him with a frown. Or was it worry? He didn’t know her well enough to know if she was upset with him or feeling sorry for him. He’d rather have her upset with him.

“Luc, can you show me?”

“I can show you, but I can’t show you on the map.” He went to the door and grabbed his black beret and a jacket.

“No, you can’t come with me, Luc.”

“That’s the only way I know how to show you.”

“Can’t you just give me directions? How far up the road? Is it on Whippoorwill Drive?”

“I’m really not being stubborn,” he said, and tried not to get embarrassed again. “But I can’t tell you. I can’t put it into words.” His hands were already flying, trying to help him explain. “I have to show you by…well, by showing you.”

She hesitated, standing with arms crossed, looking like she was trying to decide. “Okay, but you promise you’ll stay in the car.”

“Sure, I can do that. Why are you interested in the old Shelby place?”

“I need to check something out. Remember you told me that when the butcher shop closed someone bought all the equipment?”

“Oh, yeah. But I don’t remember who it was. Seems like I should know.”

“I found out. It was Ralph Shelby’s son. He bought everything, every last piece.”

“Really? Hmm…I wonder what he wanted with all that old stuff.”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

H
enry knew he had the rock quarry killer. The entire trip back to the station Wally Hobbs kept complaining about his stomach hurting. In that tinny voice he begged Henry to stop the car so he could throw up. Well, at least the bastard waited until they got to the County Sheriff’s Office. He thought about making Hobbs clean up the mess, but he knew he shouldn’t push his good fortune.

Now he had Hobbs handcuffed to a metal folding chair in their interrogation room. Actually, it wasn’t really an interrogation room but a break room with a coffeemaker and an empty plate of crumbs.

He had already read him his rights, or his version of them. Sometimes he knew he left out a word or two.

“What do you think you were doing, Walter?” He wondered if he could bully the little man into confessing. Then he remembered that Hobbs’s partner was the biggest bully in town. He had probably built up some kind of immunity. “You want me to call your sister?”

“No. Don’t call Lillian.”

“What’s wrong? You don’t want your sister knowing you dig up bodies and slice them up?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen your handiwork, Hobbs. What is it with you? You kill some and when you get bored you dig some up?”

“I haven’t killed anyone.”

“How could you dig up someone like Steve Earlman? Don’t you have any respect for the dead?”

“I didn’t dig him up.”

Wally Hobbs’s eyes were the size of quarters and sweat poured down his forehead. Henry could smell him.

“How many have you killed and how many have you dug up?”

“Wait. You’ve got to listen to me. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Right.”

“Marley and Calvin and me, we just wanted to make some extra money.”

“Marley? Jake Marley?” Henry sat down on the edge of the table. “Marley’s in this with you?”

“We didn’t think it would hurt anybody. Life insurance policies usually pay for everything, so it’s not like we were taking it out of the families’ pockets.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I was just trying to fix it so that if anyone checked they wouldn’t know.”

“Check what?” Suddenly it was hot in the room and Henry needed to open a window.

“If anyone checked…you know, Steve Earlman’s grave. Marley sells them the vault, but we don’t actually use a vault. We divide the money three ways.” Hobbs looked scared. “It was Marley’s idea.”

Henry rubbed a hand over his face and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Wally Hobbs was a weasel and a thief, but he was no killer.