The Headsman (38 page)

“What do you know about his personal life?”

“Well, he’s got two grown kids, a boy and a girl. One’s in Buffalo, the other lives in Detroit, I think. I forget which one is where. Both married, with kids of their own.”

“How’s his marriage?”

Stark pursed his lips. “Kind of a truce by now, I guess. Was a time when they used to fight like hell. Peggy’s a strong-willed woman, and Joe liked to hit the sauce pretty good when he was younger.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yeah. In the last couple of years he seemed to quiet down a lot. But he was a hellraiser in his day. Lot of times he’d come in smelling like something died. And every now and then he’d go off on a bender. Sometimes for as long as a week. I came that close to firing him more than once.”

“Ever know him to play around with the ladies?”

“Yeah, that too. Joe always had something going.”

“Would you remember any of the women he was seeing?”

“Oh, Christ, Jud—that was years ago. Like I said, he’s reformed with age. I’d have to think if I knew who any of his friends were. Is it important?”

“No, I was just curious.”

“If I can come up with anything, you want me to let you know?”

“Yeah, if something occurs to you, call me.”

“You know, Jud, it might be good if I gave you a little advice.”

“On what?”

“This Donovan business, if we can get back to that for a minute.”

“Yes?”

“Seems to me you could get your tit in a wringer, messing around with that one.”

“That so?”

“You think about it. Your chances of cracking it are just about zero. Not after all these years, and especially with the way the original investigation was loused up. If you ever did it’d be a miracle. Or the biggest stroke of luck you could think of.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Sure I am. So in the meantime, you go messing around in that pile of shit, some of the things that crawl out could bite you.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

Stark raised his coffee mug, then abruptly set it down. His face contorted, and his breath came in shallow gasps.

Jud leaned toward him. “Hey, Chief—you okay?”

The old man nodded and dug into his shirt pocket, coming up with a plastic vial. He fumbled it open and took out a small white pill, popping it into his mouth. After a minute or so his breathing returned to normal.

Jud put his hand on Stark’s arm. “What was that, nitro?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll be all right, soon as I rest a bit.”

“You want me to stick around?”

“No, no—you get on back to work. I appreciate your coming by.”

“Sure you’re okay?”

“Hell, yes. I’m gonna get a nap, and that’ll fix me up. Doc told me I just can’t overdo it, is all.”

Jud got to his feet. “Don’t bother to walk out with me—you stay here and take it easy.”

Stark’s voice was weak. “Yeah, I’ll do that. So long, Jud.”

“See you later, Chief. Take care of yourself.”

When he got back into the car Jud looked back at the old house, and then at the Jeep and the snarling hound. He had a feeling that one way or another, Emmett Stark wouldn’t be around here much longer.

4

When the bell rang to signal the end of the period, Frank Hathaway peered out at the class. He’d deliberately waited until the last possible moment before giving them homework, because that would make it all the more annoying. They’d think they were getting away without an assignment, and here he was with the good news. “Before you go,” he called out.

The rustle of gathering books and papers stopped and the students turned toward him, displeasure showing on their faces. They waited.

“Read chapters ten through fifteen,” he commanded. “I’ll give you a quiz on the material tomorrow morning.”

To his satisfaction a collective groan rose from his pupils. They’d been reading Jack London’s
Call of the Wild
, and plainly found it boring. But then, anything above the intellectual demands of a comic strip would have had the same effect. They streamed out of the room grumbling to themselves.

Hathaway touched the controls on his wheelchair, sending the machine into a turn toward his desk.

“Mr. Hathaway?”

He stopped and looked back. Betty Melcher was approaching him. “Yes, Betty?”

“Could I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course.” He indicated a vacant chair nearby.

She sat down and crossed her legs, letting her skirt slip up well past her knees. “I wanted to talk to you about my grade.”

“Yes? What about it?”

“Well, with what I’ve been getting in the tests and on my homework, I’m about at a B level, is that right?”

“I’d have to look at my grade book, but I’d say yes, that’s probably about what it is.”

She sat back in her chair, arching her back a little. She was wearing a tight red sweater that buttoned down the front, and the top was open enough so that he could see the swelling of her breasts. Melcher had a nice body and a way of moving that he found extremely provocative. From the first day of class last fall she’d been teasing him, giving him little glimpses of her thighs, bending over so that he could see down the front of her blouse, looking at him with a wanton expression on her face.

“I was wondering,” she said, “what it would take to improve it.”

He smiled. “Why the sudden interest in higher grades?” The fact was, she’d always played up to him more than any of the others in the class. Which was why she was at the B level. Actually her test scores and her homework weren’t worth more than a C.

“Oh, I just thought it’d be nice to finish the year with a good record.”

“Come on, Betty—what’s the real reason?”

An impish smile crossed her face. “Can you keep a secret?”

The idea of sharing a confidence with this nymphet had an erotic effect on him. “Of course.”

“My father promised to buy me a new car if I made honors. An A in your class would do it.”

“I might have known.”

Her smiled widened. “It’s a good reason, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps. At least you’re honest about it.”

“So what would it take?”

He studied her. She moved again under his gaze, thrusting her chest out a little more boldly this time and moistening her lips as her eyes locked on his. Careful, he thought. Don’t read something into this that might not be there. “I guess it would take some extra effort.”

She nodded. “Okay. It’s pretty important to me. I’d do anything to get it.”

“Anything?”

She uncrossed her legs and then crossed them again, the skirt riding up even higher. “Anything.”

He felt himself respond. Despite his resolve, she was getting to him. And from the look on her face, she knew it. He let his gaze slide down to her breasts and then back up to her eyes. “Maybe we could work something out.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Hathaway.”

He tried a probe. “How would you feel about my giving you some special instruction?”

“You mean like in private? Sort of like tutoring?”

“Something like that.”

“Sounds great.”

Maybe it was his condition. Maybe it was the idea that from the waist down he was dead—at least, she
thought
he was—that was making her bold. She could entice him because she thought he couldn’t do anything about it anyway, so she was safe. Was that it? He’d have no way of knowing short of asking her, unless—

“We could meet someplace,” she said. “Outside of here.”

He let his guard down another notch. “I think that would be delightful.”

“So do I.” She tilted her head, still holding him with that knowing look. “You live in an apartment, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I could come over some day after school.”

It was time to test her a little. “Might give people the wrong idea.”

“Who’d have to know?”

“No one, I suppose.”

She smiled and moved her body once more. “And I’d never tell.” Then she stood up, her breasts now at his eye level. “You just say when. The sooner the better.” She turned and treated him to a rear view as she strolled out of the classroom.

The brazen little
bitch
.

Did he dare? Well, why not? After all, it wasn’t only the Betty Melchers of the world who considered him helpless; everyone else did, too. So what was wrong with a student so eager to learn that she stopped in at his home for an extra assignment or to discuss the material they were reading? That is,
if
anyone were to discover she’d been there, which probably wouldn’t happen at all. In fact, there was no reason for anyone to know a thing about it. This would be just between the two of them.

The fact that Sam Melcher would never know what his daughter was up to made it all the more alluring.

But he’d have to be extremely careful. No matter what happened, she could never be allowed to guess the truth about him. After all, it was possible for him to be only partially paralyzed in the lower part of his body, wasn’t it? At least, as far as she knew? Another of their little secrets.

Which would hide
his
secrets.

A bell rang signaling the next period, which he had free. He touched the controls and the wheelchair whirred its way out the door and down the hall.

5

From Stark’s place Jud drove out to Empex headquarters on Old North Road. The sun was higher now, and the air was cold but crisp and invigorating. He parked in one of the spaces marked VISITORS and when he got out of the car he could hear the flag on the pole in front of the building snapping in the wind.

This was one of the more modern structures in Braddock, three stories tall, a center section with a wing off each side, all of it clad in gray glass. There was no name on the building, only a small bronze sign out front. Jud had been here once or twice before, but he’d been driving a patrol car in those days; it seemed a long time ago.

The receptionist looked up and greeted him pleasantly when he stepped into the lobby, asking if she could help him. He told her he wanted to see Mr. Campbell and she lifted a telephone and spoke into it.

Jud didn’t know much about the internal workings of this company, except that it made instruments for aircraft and for boats and heavy construction equipment. Loring Campbell’s father had founded it, and the old man had died some years ago, passing control on to his only son. Empex was Braddock’s most important employer. There were second- and even third-generation Empex workers.

Jud’s contacts with Loring Campbell had been limited to meetings of the town council. And also at a couple of semisocial events, such as dinners for the Little League or the Lions Club. He’d also met Mrs. Campbell once or twice. His impression was that she was much like the wife of a politician, good-looking in a well-coiffed, well-dressed way, always ready with a big smile and a hand thrust out for you to shake while she made a quick assessment of how important you were. Then she’d be off to meet someone else.

Stumbling across Campbell’s involvement in an affair hadn’t been much of a surprise, for a number of reasons. One, in a small town like Braddock it was damn near impossible to carry on without being seen if somebody was curious, and Jud was curious.

Two, the woman Campbell was involved with was enough to tempt anybody. Jean Harper was not only beautiful, she radiated sexual magnetism. On top of that, she was something of a prowler herself, always on the lookout for an interesting liaison. Jud had heard rumors about her for years.

And three, nothing that went on between men and women surprised him. If he’d been in another line of work he might not have been interested. But he was a cop, and from his first days in police work he’d known that the key to effectiveness was the ability to gather information. The trick was in knowing how—and when—to use it.

That was one point old Emmett Stark had been dead right about: know what’s going on, but be damn careful of what you do with what you learn. Information was valuable, but it could also be dangerous.

“Chief MacElroy?”

He turned to see a handsome, gray-haired woman standing near him. “Good morning,” she said. “I’m Mr. Campbell’s secretary. He says he’ll see you, but he has meetings scheduled and doesn’t have much time.”

“Fine. This won’t take long.” He followed her back through the door and down a corridor, past offices where he saw people working and then through an open area that appeared to be a secretarial pool. From there they went down another corridor to a door with a small nameplate beside it that read
L. Campbell
. She knocked on the door and opened it and Jud went inside.

The office was large and, like the rest of the building, ultramodern. There was an expansive desk and a grouping of chairs and a sofa covered in squashy gray leather. One wall was a vast window giving a view of distant snow-covered hills.

Loring Campbell was standing behind the desk. As Jud walked in Campbell stepped around it to greet him, smiling and extending his hand. He looked like the kind of guy you might see on the cover of
Fortune
, tall and slim and obviously in good shape, his skin still tan from a trip south somewhere. His dark hair and trimness made him seem much younger than Jud knew he actually was, and in his charcoal gray sharkskin suit with a white shirt and a blue houndstooth tie he had style you didn’t often see in Braddock.

He was also cordial. Especially for someone who’d been interrupted in the middle of a busy morning. “Good to see you, Chief.” He waved toward the grouping of furniture. “Let’s sit over here where we can be comfortable. Take your coat?”

Jud unzipped his jacket. “No, thanks.” He sank into the leather cushions of the sofa.

“All right, then.” Campbell dropped into one of the chairs. “What can I do for you? One of our people get into a scrape?”

“No, nothing like that. What I’ve come to talk about is the Dickens case.”

Campbell’s eyebrows arched. “The Dickens case? Terrible. I feel so sorry for Ed and Helen. Their only child. My God, what a tragedy. You know, the day you came over to Sam Melcher’s house, I thought we were all a little rough on you. But I’m sure you could understand that. Everybody’s been so upset about it. The townspeople are outraged, and also scared.”