The Headsman (31 page)

He watched for a few more moments, and then he disappeared into the snowy night.

Ten

BETRAYED

1

C
HIEF
B
ROADHURST SOUNDED
cheerful. “Got the story for you on that Donovan family.”

It was early evening and Jud had been about to leave his office when the call came in from Binghamton. He had promised to take Sally out to dinner, a rare event. “Yeah, Chief—good. Go ahead.”

“John Donovan, the husband of the woman who was killed? He worked for the Garrison Insurance Agency after he came here from Braddock. He remarried, stayed with Garrison until he retired. Died of a heart attack in nineteen seventy-nine.”

Jud felt a stab of disappointment.

“Then his wife,” Broadhurst went on, “the one he married after he came here, she got married again a year later. To a man who worked for the Oneida Glass Company. She died too, just last year.”

“What happened to the daughter?”

“I was getting to that. Name was Joan Donovan. She was in a lot of trouble while she was growing up. Expelled from high school, and then her stepmother threw her out of the house. She was picked up a couple of times for shoplifting, also for soliciting. Finally hooked up with a black pimp and went to New York. That was the last we knew.”

“Nothing more on her?”

“No. We had a sheet on her, but when she took off that was the end of it.”

“All right, thanks anyway.”

“Sure, Jud. Glad to help. How you doing with the headsman—anything new?”

“Not at the moment.”

“We got a bulletin on that kid you told me was missing. The Dickens girl’s boyfriend. Anything turn up on him?”

“No.”

“Looks like he’s your man, doesn’t it?”

“Hard to say.”

“We’ll keep a sharp eye out for him.”

“Thanks again, Chief. You’ve been a lot of help.” He hung up.

Next he called the front desk and told the cop where he’d be that evening. Then he drove home for a quick shower and a change of clothes.

He put on a white shirt and a red tie, and his tan sports jacket, which he almost never wore. When he looked at his image in the mirror over his dresser he felt as if he was seeing a stranger. But he decided he didn’t look all that bad, either. It was just that he wore the uniform so much of the time it seemed to be part of him.

Instead of the patrol car he decided to use his Blazer. Might as well make the transition to civilian complete. For tonight, anyway. He climbed into the machine and backed around the police car. Sitting high in the driver’s seat also felt different from what he was used to. He put the Blazer in gear and drove to the offices of the
Express
.

Sally was at her desk when he walked in, typing rapidly on her word processor. She gave him a brief smile and went back to her work, saying, “Hi. Just gotta finish this. It’ll only take a minute. Have a seat.”

He sat down on a chair beside her desk and glanced around. The place seemed busy with the clicking of the office machines and people running around acting harassed. The
Express
put out only one edition a day, and he knew this commotion was a nightly occurrence as they rushed to get the next morning’s paper ready.

It was funny, in a way, because except for the stir caused by the Dickens case and the focus on the headsman legend, there wasn’t all that much to get excited about, as far as he could see. There’d be the occasional accident, or dispute of one kind or another, but the rest of the local news was usually about church suppers and meetings of the Rotary Club. All the national and world news the
Express
bought from the wire services. So what was the big deal?

When Sally finished her typing she ran it off on a printer and gave the pages to Maxwell’s secretary. Jud heard her say, “Be sure Ray sees this.” Then she got her coat out of a closet and he helped her on with it.

As they went out the door he said, “That another one of your feature stories?”

“Yes, and it’s terrific.”

“You gonna let me in on it, or do I have to wait to get my copy?”

“No, I’ll tell you about it. You remember the little boy who drowned in Kretchmer’s pond? Name was Mariski?”

Jud’s antenna went up. “What about him?”

They got into the Blazer, and as Jud started the engine and pulled away from the curb she said, “I had a tip on it today. I heard that a woman told the Mariskis where the boy’s body was. The woman saw it in a vision.”

Jud felt his stomach sink.

“So I called Mrs. Mariski and asked her if I could talk to her about it. At first she didn’t want me to. But then I went over there, and she told me the whole story. How this young woman came to their house right out of the blue and told them exactly where the boy was. She said he was in Kretchmer’s pond. And get this. The woman described the pond, even though she’d never been there. Is that strange?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, don’t you think it is? Mrs. Mariski said the woman didn’t even know the name of the pond. She just knew that’s where their boy was. Her husband didn’t believe the woman. He thought she was a fake, just out to give herself some kind of a sick thrill—you know how some people are? If there’s trouble they’re fascinated. They want to get near it. They’re like groupies, only what turns them on is disaster.”

“Yeah.”

“But Mariski was wrong. He stewed about it, and then finally he called the cops and said he thought maybe the boy had been fooling around on the ice at Kretchmer’s. You know the rest—they dragged the pond and found his body in less than an hour.”

“Um.”

“Well, is that all you’ve got to say—just
um
?” I think it’s a great story. It’s so odd, the way she knew exactly where to look.”

“Is that the end of it?”

“Of course not. I’m too good a reporter for that. I called the woman right after I left Mrs. Mariski. Her name is Karen Wilson, and she works for Boggs Ford as a secretary. Came here last summer from Shippensburg. She had a fit when I told her who I was. Refused to see me. But I told her if she wouldn’t talk to me I’d just run Mrs. Mariski’s version of the story. So finally she agreed to meet me and discuss it. When I saw her, all she did was try to talk me out of it. Which was obviously her real reason for agreeing to see me. When I tried to pin her down she was very evasive, but I kept after her and she more or less admitted what Mrs. Mariski told me was true. But she kept trying to downplay it, telling me it was just a hunch.”

“So? Maybe it was.”

“Hey, whoever heard of anybody pulling off a thing like that with just a hunch?”

“Then how do you think she did it?”

“Maybe she’s psychic. She knew because she received a message.”

“A message.”

“Oh, Jud—I don’t believe in parapsychology any more than you do. And yet
something
came to her. Somehow she got some kind of a signal or something and she took Philip Mariski directly to where his son’s body was. So whether you or I believe in telepathy, or extra-sensory perception, or anything else doesn’t matter. That’s what
happened
. It’s strange, but it’s also one great story.”

They were approaching Armando’s. It was an old country house the restaurateur had converted so that the first floor contained a bar, two dining rooms and the kitchen. He’d also had the exterior painted purple, for some unfathomable reason.

Jud wheeled the Blazer into the parking lot. As they got out and he guided Sally up the walk he wondered how long it would take her to come up with her next brilliant idea, knowing just what it would be.

“I tried to get more out of her,” Sally said. “You know, background stuff. I asked her how long she’d had this ability, and if she’d ever used it for anything like this before. But she wouldn’t tell me. Just kept brushing it all off.”

He opened the front door and they went inside. Armando’s was a popular restaurant, combining good food with a pleasant atmosphere. There were red leather banquettes that were cozy for couples to sit on side by side, which was one of the reasons he’d chosen it. As he checked their coats he saw that the place was crowded. Several people were ahead of them, waiting for tables.

Armando himself spotted Jud and moved toward them with a wide grin on his face and his arms extended. “Hey, Chief. It’s good to see you. Welcome to my restaurant.” He gave Jud a hug and then turned to Sally. “This your lady? Beautiful.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it. She was wearing a red dress and a gold chain necklace and Jud had to agree she looked wonderful.

Armando stepped toward the dining rooms. “Come on, follow me. I gotta nice table for you.”

He led them past the people who were waiting, and when they were seated he clapped his hands and a waiter scurried over. Armando told him to take the Chief’s drink order and to make it quick, and after getting it the waiter hurried off.

“What’s good tonight?” Jud asked.

“Everything. But the veal rollatini is very special.”

“Great, we’ll try it.” He glanced at Sally. “Okay with you?”

“Sounds fine.”

“Okay,” Armando said. “You leave the rest to me. I’ll take care of everything for you.”

When he’d left them Sally said, “No wonder you like coming here.”

“It’s a nice place, and as you just saw, I’m famous.”

“Not yet you’re not, but you will be if you stick with me.”

“The great writer?”

“Of course. And you knew me when.”

The waiter brought a bourbon on the rocks for Sally, a beer for Jud. They touched glasses and drank, and she said, “The story I was telling you about? At first Maxwell was a little reluctant, too. But one thing about Ray, he’ll run anything he thinks will sell newspapers.”

“So I gather.”

“But you wait and see, I wrote a really good piece.”

“Can’t wait to read it.”

She missed the irony in his tone. “That’s better. Be sure to let me know what you think. Which reminds me—there’s something I wanted to ask you. Did Mariski tell the police anything about the psychic when he had you drag the pond?”

He stiffened. “I heard something, but I didn’t pay much attention. It sounded kind of way out to me.”

“So you didn’t believe it?”

“Like I said, I didn’t pay too much attention. The boy’s body was recovered, and that was what counted.”

Their first course arrived, angel’s hair pasta tossed with basil and butter. When he tasted it, Jud realized how hungry he was.

“So that gave me another idea,” Sally said.

Here it comes, he thought.

“Now don’t tell me I’m crazy, but just listen to what I have to say, okay?”

He nodded resignedly, his mouth full of pasta.

“Why not talk to this Wilson woman and see if she can tell you anything about the headsman?”

“Mm.”

“All right, I knew you’d say it was a little nuts, but think about it. What would you have to lose? Nobody’d have to know about it, either.”

“Except you.”

Her eyes widened. “Well, sure, except me. I just gave you the idea, didn’t I? Oh, I see. You’re afraid of what I might write about it—is that it?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, look. I give you my word of honor, I wouldn’t write anything that would upset anybody or hinder anything you were doing. Fair?”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean,
no
?”

He put his fork down. “Listen. The case is tough enough as it is. Most of the people in Braddock already believe the headsman came back and killed Marcy Dickens. They don’t even consider any other possibility.”

“Except maybe that the Harper boy did it after all?”

“I don’t think they pay much attention to that, either. As far as they’re concerned, the killer was the headsman. So now, as if that wasn’t bad enough, you want to write stories that say the chief of police is lighting candles and looking into a crystal ball or whatever.”

“Oh, Jud—be reasonable. I still think it’s a great idea, and for all you know it could be valuable to you. The fact is, she found that boy. You can’t take that away from her, regardless of how you may feel about it.”

When their entrees were served, Jud ordered a bottle of Chianti. The rollatini was everything Armando had said it was and then some. Jud never ate veal at home; it was too much trouble to fix. Steak was much easier. Couple of minutes under the broiler and there you had it. But this was superb. The veal slices were paper thin and very tender, rolled around a marvelously spicy stuffing. Along with them was a baked dish that combined zucchini with tomatoes and peppers and mushrooms, and on the side a tossed salad with gorgonzola dressing. There was also plenty of Armando’s renowned homemade bread. Sally ate lightly, but Jud waded in like a trencherman.

She wasn’t about to give up. After the waiter refilled their wine glasses she said, “How about this idea? And don’t get mad, just hear me out. Suppose I promise not to write a thing about this angle until the case is broken?”

“So now you’re off in a new direction? A few days ago you were telling me I ought to go on the assumption that the headsman was real.”

“Hey, will you try not to be so pigheaded?”

“
Me?
I’m the one who’s pigheaded?”

“You certainly are. I made that suggestion, if you’ll recall, because it was the one idea you hadn’t thought of.”

“The answer is still no deal. I don’t want to mess with some woman who claims to be telepathic and then have you write a story on it.” He should have left it at that, but he didn’t. “Even though you think all this could be your ticket to a great job on a big-time newspaper.”

She thrust out her jaw. “Now that’s not fair. I’m just trying to do the best I can. I’m a reporter, and this case is certainly the biggest thing I’ve ever worked on. No matter what happens, I’m going to make the most of it.”

“Okay, take it easy. I understand.” He tried to make small talk after that, staying away from the subject of Karen Wilson and the headsman altogether. But his mind kept churning the problem. If Karen suspected complicity between Sally and the cops—especially with Jud himself—he could forget about any further help from her. As it was, Sally’s story in the
Express
tomorrow could stir up trouble. From what he knew of Karen Wilson, she’d be devastated. The thing she feared most was the possibility that the media would get a line on her psychic power and begin to exploit it. And now here was Sally leading the way.