Hangman (30 page)

Last Words

Vancouver

November 16

“You’ve reached the end of your rope,” joked Jeffrey Kline, his mouth inches behind the Hangman’s left ear. “Before I let you drop to the hell you deserve, I want you to appreciate how brilliant I am. A mind like mine comes along once in a generation of lawyers. I am a
master
at the legal game.”

Spill salt on the table and superstition says you should pinch a few grains and toss them over your left shoulder.

Ever wonder why?

The Hangman knew.

Because the left shoulder is where the devil sits in his endless whispering battle for your soul with the angel on the right shoulder.

The hope is that salt will blind the devil to give the angel an edge.

Well, this was like that.

Except this voice over the Hangman’s shoulder was that of the devil’s
advocate.

“Hate like yours I understand. I hate, too. It’s ingrained. I hate everyone who ever put me down, and I hate every silver spoon who tried to keep me down. The only pittances life ever offered me were those cast-offs I could beg, borrow, or steal. I wish I’d known earlier that murder was the key.

“Love like yours I don’t understand. That emotion you call love is foreign to me. I have never felt love and never will. I know what I am. I’m a psychopath. An individual who exhibits amoral and antisocial behavior, lack of ability to love or establish meaningful personal relationships, extreme egocentricity, et cetera. I face others like me every day in the courts. Those symptoms fit most lawyers to a T.

“Ha, ha.

“Get it?

“That’s a lawyer joke.

“You, however, have proved Clarence Darrow wrong. What he said was, ‘Nobody kills anyone for love.’ What you killed for was your love of Peter Haddon. You must have loved him to death.

“Ha, ha.

“That’s a pun.

“Damn, I’m funny.

“Me, I plead the defense of necessity. To make it as a lawyer, you need lawyer’s luck, and lawyer’s luck is hard to come by these days. You can wait a lifetime for that breakthrough case, and no way did I intend to wait that long. Not with skid-row drunks pissing at my door. So I
made
my luck in this cutthroat profession. By hanging Alex Hunt, look where I am now.

“At first, I thought the way to fame was by hooking you, so I drafted a newspaper piece to attract you as a client. That was a long shot. I had no control. A bust in the States and you would hire an American gunslinger. A bust in Canada and you would have your pick of lawyers. What were the odds that you would choose a skid-row kid like me?

“Who was I kidding?

“What a fantasy.

“But then I got an unexpected break. Ethan sought my help to solve his ethical dilemma. He suspected that his brother was the Hangman, and he asked me to meet Justin on the crime cruise so I could assess that possibility for him. If so, there was no need for me to publish an article to hook the Hangman. All I had to do was prove my legal ability. And what better proof was there than a
rigged
trial? A trial in which his brother Ethan was in jeopardy? A trial in which the outcome was never in doubt for me, because
I
controlled the evidence that went to court.

“What a setup.

“What a frame.

“It was brilliant.

“Don’t you agree?

“There was only one lawyer Ethan could depend on to save his skin: his buddy Jeff.

“His childhood friend.

“That’s what friends are for.

“Ha, ha, eh?

“I knew Ethan would get drunk that night. A drunk drinks, so I ordered booze. Then I suggested he invite his brother to our table, and he returned with Alex as well. For what I had planned,
any
victim would do; I was going to allege that Ethan had been framed. I thought Alex would be ideal, since her involvement with the Hangman case would make her seem to be a target, but there was no reason for Ethan to hang her. Imagine my shock when I later learned he was Peter’s brother, which gave him a motive for
all
the Hangman crimes.

“The first defense I built in was jurisdiction. I had to make sure Hunt was hanged in Canada. That would allow me to act for Ethan, and it would stop the Seattle cops from extraditing him. Cheating the Washington gallows would be Win Number One.

“To that end, it was me who set up the photograph in the bar so the lights of Victoria were the backdrop behind Alex, Ethan, Justin, and me. I took maritime law at UBC, so I knew the separation rule in the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

“After Alex and Ethan left the bar for some fresh air on deck, the woman serving us gave Justin the eye, and I was left alone when he went after her. That gave me an opportunity to pick up the trail and follow Alex and Ethan down to his cabin.

“Alex answered my knock on the door.

“‘How’s he doing?’ I asked.

“‘Sick as a dog,’ she said. ‘He’s in the toilet, throwing up.’

“That’s when I hit her.

“Down she went.

“Then I ambushed Ethan as he stumbled out of the john, clubbing him before he saw me.

“I used a length of rope I had cut on deck for a noose to hang Alex from the curtain rod. I slashed her arms and legs to be symbolic, but I didn’t hack them off so as to avoid the blood. Then I scrawled the hangman puzzle on the wall, like the one I’d seen that morning on TV. Because the latest guess by the cops had been the letter
I
, I filled that in where I thought it fit.

“Big mistake.

“That same morning, Ethan had shown me a copy of Justin’s article on Peter’s hanging in which the typo Brice—with an
I
—appeared. That lodged in my brain as the proper spelling. It wasn’t dispelled before we boarded the boat, since I only heard Bryce spoken for the rest of that day. So when I drew the hangman game in blood on the wall, I made the mistake of repeating the typo in Brice.

“Is that how you got onto me?

“You asked yourself who benefited from the death of Hunt, and who lacked family knowledge of how Bryce was spelled?

“You put two and two together, then came up with me?

“We lawyers are trained to take advantage of all openings, and to turn disadvantage around to help our client’s case. The misspelling ended up as a blessing in disguise, for when I discovered Ethan was actually Peter Haddon’s brother, I could argue the misspelling proved he
didn’t
draw the puzzle. Why, if the Hangman was out to make a statement about his brother’s wrongful hanging, would he lynch a victim in his own cabin and foul the answer to the hangman game by
misspelling
Peter’s name?

“The logic of it was that whoever killed Alex Hunt was someone
outside
the Haddon family.

“Unwittingly, I had secured Win Number Two.

“Lawyer’s luck.

“The way I figured it was this. Win Ethan’s case and I would impress you, apart from the fact that that win itself would be my breakthrough. Maybe you would come to me and confess to save Ethan. Maybe you would kill again while he was in jail to prove Ethan innocent of the Hangman’s crimes—both to get him off and to take back your vendetta from whoever was trying to copycat your M.O.

“No matter how you played it, I knew you’d play into my hands.

“Which you did.

“By coming after me.

“I must admit, you took me by surprise with your attack. A hanging in the law courts. That took guts. But once warned, I was ready for you.

“This house you followed me to tonight is rented by Ethan. He’s off seeing his mom right now. If Ethan takes a trip, I house-sit, and that’s how I know about the spare key. Tonight I’m a burglar. And so are you. Which will become evident to the cops after I smash a window and replace the key you removed from the pot to get in.

“Ethan will return to find you dead in his home. Chandler will arrest him for your murder. The Mountie has an ax to grind for Hunt’s hanging. Ethan will ask me to defend him, and I’ll argue that
you
were the Hangman all along.

“Which you are.

“So try this on for size.

“Mary Konrad died because she was the weak juror who sealed Haddon’s fate.

“Jayne Curry died to hide that motive. You heard the Mounties were investigating her and realized she would make the perfect smokescreen. You drove up to Vancouver with Justin Whitfield and dropped him at his mom’s. While he was with Ethan, you hanged the juror, then drove back to Seattle alone. The reporter caught a plane.

“Bart Busby died because he was the Haddon juror most to blame.

“Why you lynched Alex Hunt is a mystery. She was digging into the Haddon case. Were you afraid she had discovered whatever tied you to Peter, so you decided to kill three birds with one stone? That hanging not only removed any threat from Hunt, but also—because it offered Ethan as a suspect—baffled police long enough for you to kill again.

“It was a blind.

“It fit your M.O.

“It bought you enough time to get the Greek.

“George Koulelis died because he had fingered Haddon as the killer of his daughter, Anna.

“And with his death, your vendetta was complete.

“Except for Ethan.

“The grudge you nurse against Peter’s brother is anybody’s guess. As good a theory as any will be this submission. The false accusation of murder put Haddon through hell. First, he lost his freedom. Then he was raped and castrated in jail. Then he spent years with death hanging over his head. And finally, he suffered an end to that psychological torture in the hangman’s noose.

“We know where Justin was during that ordeal. He was at his brother’s side through thick and thin, and when the gallows floor dropped away beneath Peter’s feet, Justin was there to see him out.

“But where was Ethan?

“Nowhere to be seen.

“Did he think Peter guilty?

“Was his blood thinner than water?

“The Hangman’s reason for being is to drive home moral lessons. Those who fail to do their duty suffer the same consequences. Send Peter to the gallows, and to the gallows you go. Let your brother stand falsely accused, and falsely accused will you stand.

“That’s why you framed Ethan on the ship. So the Judas would know what Peter had endured. You filled in the
I
instead of the
Y
so it would look as if the drunk was trying to cover up by turning suspicion toward a killer outside the family. Hanging the Greek while Ethan was in jail wasn’t an attempt to free him from the charge, but was aimed instead at causing the cops to wonder if he was
half
of a killing team. When I sprang Ethan so easily from that moral lesson, you set out to set him up again.

“You don’t want to kill him.

“That would be unjust.

“Balancing the scales is what the Hangman is all about.

“What happened tonight is that you went over the edge. Guilt from all those murders got the better of you. A suicidal urge drove you here, so your death will have an after-effect for Ethan. You broke in, rigged a gallows, gagged and cuffed yourself, and climbed over the banister to jump into the well. You knew love and grief would drive Chandler to arrest Ethan. You hoped he’d see the break-in as a ruse, like the misspelling on the boat. Ethan will again be falsely accused, and your vendetta will reach from the grave.

“Lucky for Ethan, he has me.

“Currently the hottest gunslinger around.

“All I have to do is raise a reasonable doubt. I will plead a similar-fact defense. Because there is a nexus here between strikingly similar crimes, how can Ethan be the Hangman when several were committed at times for which he has alibis? Would he hang you in his own house so soon after being charged with hanging Hunt in his cabin? The only way your death makes sense is if it’s a mad attempt to frame Ethan again.

“Who would do that?

“It must be the Hangman.

“And who is the Hangman?

“The Hangman, I’ll say, is you.

“Because you really are the Hangman, when we dig deep enough we’ll find the proof. Any holes in what I have theorized tonight will be filled by the argument that your mind was crumbling. Not only will I spring Ethan from another cell, but—the icing on the cake—I’ll be the lawyer who unmasked the Hangman.

“See what I mean?

“A
master
of the game.

“The only downside is that no one will know the truth of how brilliantly I played this one.

“Sure, they’ll see me as a great lawyer.

“But the genius is in how I set it up.

“And that, in case you’re wondering, is why I am telling you.

“I must admit, however, that again you took me by surprise. As did Ethan, I thought the Hangman was Justin Whitfield. And he was so obsessed with hanging those who had hanged Peter, I thought, because
he
had raped and killed Anna Koulelis. Come to think of it, that could still be so. Maybe that will be my next cause célèbre. I’ll be the lawyer who finally found out who murdered that little girl.

“Damn, I’m good.

“The only piece missing is the final link. If I ungag you, will you supply it? I’m dying to know the link between you and Peter Haddon.

“What do you say?

“Any last words?”

The Drop

Vancouver

November 16

Perched on the precipice high above the long drop into the stairwell, her hands shackled behind her back with her own cuffs, the double nooses of wire and rope looped about her neck, Det. Maddy Thorne listened to her hangman confess. Like every criminal lawyer she had jousted with in court, this one loved the sound of his own voice.

Any last words?

Screw you, she thought.

Never talk to the cops is the lawyer’s creed.

Never trust a lawyer is every cop’s reply.

Lawyers are liars.

It’s built into their trade.

A lawyer argues black is white or white is black, according to how he’s paid.

They’re
professional
liars.

What a dirty job.

There was stuff she could tell him to fill in the missing link. Like how her dad was ground to hamburger when she was two, sucked off both feet into the blades of a jet engine. And how her mom was living common law with Earl Haddon within a year, so the girl was raised in Seattle with two stepbrothers from her stepfather’s first marriage. Peter and Steven. Fraternal twins. And how Earl Haddon was a cruel man who belittled his sons and frightened Maddy. She was three years younger than the twins, and she loved Peter with all her heart. One summer day when she was fourteen, Maddy followed Peter into the backyard, and there, in a tepee beneath the twins’ treehouse, she lost her virginity to that sensitive youth.

It wasn’t rape.

Both teens consented.

It wasn’t incest.

They weren’t blood-related.

It was insecure Maddy yearning for
someone’s
love.

The secret relationship grew for four years. Then Peter moved out to live on his own. The plan was that Maddy would follow when she finished high school, but within two months Peter was charged with murder. Maddy’s mom quickly whisked her away from the Haddon house and its ugly scandal.

Ten years of heartbreak and horror followed. What Maddy couldn’t do was visit Peter. Not because her mom said she couldn’t, but because it would seal his death warrant if the state discovered that Peter had had “incestuous” sex with an underage girl. The case was too precarious to chance backing up the admission testified to by the cop driving the paddy wagon. Peter would appear to be a pedophile, and appearance is all-important when a jury is involved.

So she didn’t visit.

And doubted him herself.

Could Peter rape and kill a little girl?

Of course not.

He loves me.

And when he’s acquitted, everything will go back to how it was.

Then:
bam! bam! bam!
Three blows in a row. Peter was convicted. Peter was raped. Peter lost his manhood to a gelding blade.

No more going back to how it was.

What Maddy did instead was become a cop. She hoped the answer to her guilt over doubting Peter was hidden in the files of the Seattle police. It wasn’t. She hoped she could do something about injustice, but the courts were a law unto themselves. Like all cops, she was sickened when she watched them work. The good guys got fucked. The bad guys got off.

“He wants you there,” Justin had said.

“To see him hang?”

“No, to see
you.
He says yours is the only love he’s cherished, so if you can take it, his final wish is not to die alone.”

So she did it. She saw Peter off. And as he hanged before her on the state’s gallows, Maddy
knew
she had lost her one true love.

This, and a lot more, she could tell the hangman who had her in his noose. Like how no other lover had taken Peter’s place. And how betrayed she felt when a DNA test finally proved him innocent. If not for that perverse jury shirking its duty, Peter would not have hanged for something he didn’t do, and she would have had his love through all those years. And he would be here now to see her through her fear, the abject fear she had endured for the past few weeks, since the day her doctor gave her the chilling diagnosis: the headaches were caused by a tumor in her brain.

An inoperable tumor.

The life she had left was just months.

She was going to die alone.

Thanks to Peter’s jury.

All this she could tell him, but what good would it do? Kline would merely pervert it to his own dirty scheme, and use it for why she’d hanged herself tonight. She hoped Zinc would spot the fatal flaw in the lawyer’s story: the fact that Maddy was with Zinc while Alex was being hanged. That, however, was up to him, and if he thought the Hangman was a killing team, he might think Maddy had linked up with either Justin or Ethan, or possibly
both.
He would remember telling her about Jayne Curry and Dr. Twist when he was in Seattle the night Mary Konrad died. He would remember their cellphone conversation, when he was at the Vancouver murder scene and she was driving back to Seattle on the I-5. Curry could have been hanged by any combination of them, and Maddy’s “partner” could have hanged Alex while Maddy was with Zinc.

Very crafty.

No wonder she loathed lawyers.

With so many suspects, Kline was above suspicion.

Her part in this was over. Her crusade was at an end. Vengeance was hers for the unjust conviction and hanging of her lover. The Hangman would put the scare of hell into prospective jurors, and if that inspired others to punish the perverse, then Peter’s death and her death would not be in vain.

All that remained for her to do was to cheat the hangman herself, so Maddy wrenched free from the grip of the lawyer and hurled herself from the edge of the precipice into the dark stairwell.

Though muffled by the gag, “I’m coming, Peter!” were her last words.

*    *    *

Her death was spectacular.

A squishing squirt, caused by the constricting of the wire noose, filled the foyer below. Blood exploded in all directions from the severed vessels, and billowed up as red mist like spray from a fountain. A sharp crack followed as the rope yanked taut, snapping Maddy’s neck in two as her head ripped off. Released from the weight of her body dropping to the floor, the rope sprang back up like a yo-yo. Because the wire noose had cinched tight around the neck bones, her head was still caught in the loophole that bounced back to the lawyer.

Wow! thought Jeff.

What a cool kill!

This he had to see.

What a thrill!

So down the staircase he went, to the main floor, where the headless Maddy lay in the foyer at this end of the front hall. Being careful not to leave footprints in the spray of blood, Jeff stood with his back to the door to survey his handiwork.

Yes, he thought.

I can work with this.

The inspiration for the beheading was the sidebar he had read on Arthur Ellis earlier that night at the law courts:

          What finished Ellis’s career was the botched hanging of Thomasino Sarao …

          Now, a new Hangman is on the loose.

          Like Thomasino, his victims lose body parts.

          The legs and arms are gone.

          The body remains.

          If there’s another victim, will he tear off its head?

The head twirling in the noose gave Jeff an idea.

Should he scrawl a hangman game that looked like this on the wall:

Years ago he’d seen a photo in a magazine of some poor fuck in Africa with elephantiasis. The effects of that roundworm disease were awesome to behold, for what the parasite did to certain lymph nodes was cause them to bloat to science-fiction size. The testicles of the man in the picture had grown so huge that he was shown pushing a wheelbarrow to carry them around.

That’s how Jeff felt.

His balls were that big.

For what he knew in his heart was that he had it made. He would not only get Ethan off a second time, but also unmask the Hangman. All you need is one Big Win like that in your legal career and you can milk that sucker for the rest of your life.

Look what Leopold and Loeb did for Darrow.

Look what Sheppard did for Bailey.

Look what Simpson did for Cochran.

Look what Shaw did for Kline.

If he covered his tracks here and staged a minor accident to explain the whiplash collar masking the noose burn on his neck, Jeff would be securely launched on a path to fame and fortune. He had fooled the cops and he had fooled the Hangman, and what he had told Maddy was gone with his wind, so to speak. Not another soul knew the truth, and that was a small price to pay for no more piss at the door.

Not another soul …

That wasn’t quite so …

For unknown to this lawyer enjoying a good gloat, his confession to Maddy
wasn’t
gone with his wind. It had been caught by one of the tiny pin mikes secretly installed in the house by Special Eye, including that stupid admission that he was a burglar, which made the words transmitted to the digital recorder in Zinc Chandler’s car admissible in court. And even now as Jeff tried to remember the title of that film with Cagney—Was it
White Heat?
The one in which the punk shouts triumphantly, “Made it, Ma! Top of the World!”—that car was braking to a halt at the curb outside Ethan’s house, having driven across the East End from the home of Ethan’s mom.

The driver’s door swung open …

The Mountie scrambled out …

Zinc’s blood was at a boil as the Smith & Wesson 9mm cleared the holster clipped to his belt.

Now he was charging up the walk toward the dark door, hurtling toward having it out with the guy who hanged his lover. Anger and outrage powered this six-foot-two assault, until two hundred pounds of muscle smashed against the wood.

The
CRACKKK
of the door bursting open was much louder than the crack that snapped Maddy’s neck. Jeff whirled as the Mountie exploded into the narrow hall behind him. His hand went for the Mauser tucked into his belt.

“Police!” Zinc shouted.

The bug was still recording.

“Drop it!” he ordered.

The cop had the drop on the lawyer.

The eye at this end of the barrel aiming at his heart didn’t scare Jeff half as much as the glare of the man beyond. He saw death—
his
death—in those eyes, so the lawyer let go of the Mauser and raised his hands in the air.

The cut that had made the blood oath to Alex was on Zinc’s trigger finger. That finger pulled the trigger and the gun bucked in his hand. This was one case the courts would not screw up. When the courts fail to do justice, it falls to vigilantes. The nine-mill round from the Smith caught Kline in the chest, a little to the left of his breastbone. You might say the lawyer died from a broken heart.

Some you win.

Some you lose.

That’s the legal profession.