Without Warning (23 page)

Another hesitation, then, “Not at my house; I live on a busy street. There’s a park near here; they have a small zoo.”

I didn’t know why a busy street would be a deterrent to our meeting, but she was calling the shots, and I didn’t want her to back out. “Wherever you say.”

She told me where the park was and where we could meet. I said I’d see her in forty-five minutes, and then I was out of the diner in fifteen seconds.

I never got to try the fried chicken.

“There is no ‘honor’ among thieves.” That was the next prediction in the capsule, and I had been grappling with what it could mean. Certainly someone’s life was in danger from this cryptic message, someone with a connection to me. But I had not been able to figure out who that might be.

On my way to see Gail Hendricks, who lived about an hour east of Bangor, I tried to force myself to concentrate on its possible meaning. It was frustrating to be the only person with the life experience to understand what the killer was saying, yet still being unable to puzzle it out.

As in all the other cases, I had to focus solely on my life before the capsule burial. Whoever the next intended victim was, my dealing with him or her had to have been before that. This time, when I thought about the prediction as I drove carefully but quickly toward a meeting with Gail Hendricks, it struck me in a way it never had before.

The killer had put the word “honor” in quotation marks; I had seen it before but never thought much of it. If I had, maybe I assumed it was his saying that the projected victim didn’t really have any honor.

But this time I thought that maybe it had a different meaning, that the quotation marks were being used in a way that they are traditionally used, to connote a spoken word. And that led me to a potential target: Mayor Wilson Harrick.

It was a longshot, but when taken in context with my connection to the other victims, it was possible. When I got the job as chief, the town council had overruled the mayor, who did not support my candidacy. There was speculation at the time, some of which made it into the media, that I had privately voiced a belief that the mayor was corrupt and had mishandled campaign funds. That speculation actually was only partially true; I did suspect that but had never voiced it privately or publicly.

The other piece of political gossip making the rounds at that time was that the mayor was piqued that I never referred to him, in conversation or correspondence, as “Your Honor.” He felt he had earned that, both with the mayoralty and by the fact that he had previously served as a municipal judge. While the stories about my refusal to use the term were true, it seemed silly, and I never responded to it one way or the other.

But the fact that I never called him “Your Honor,” plus the fact that I might have held a grudge against him for trying to prevent me from getting the job as chief, combined in such a way as to make him the possible answer to the prediction”riddle.”

I called Agent Bennett, who wasn’t in, but who got back to me in five minutes. “You calling to keep your end of the bargain?” he asked.

“Could be. I have a hunch on the next victim.”

“I’m listening.”

“Mayor Harrick.” I proceeded to tell him why, half expecting him to mock my reasoning. He didn’t, at least not at first.

“You talk to him about this?” he asked.

“No, we’re not really buddies.”

“All the more reason that he could be on the list. I’ll get on it.”

“Good.”

“What have you been doing with yourself?” he asked. “Vacationing?”

“I told you, when I have something solid, you’ll know it. Problem is that telling it to you is the same as telling the world.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re the only one I told about Katie’s phone message, and next thing I know I’m reading about it in the
Journal
.”

“First of all, no way it came from us. And if we were going to leak it, you’d think we give it to your Dinky-ville Gazette? No offense to the real Dinky-ville. Now, you got anything solid?”

“I told you I think the mayor could be the next victim.”

“Oh, right. You didn’t call somebody ‘Your Honor’ six years ago, and he got offended, so you think somebody else is going to kill him on your behalf. And that’s your definition of solid?”

“Take it seriously, Bennett.”

“Yeah. Just call me when you have something real.”

I promised I would, but the prospects did not seem bright. For example, I was on the way to talk to a woman who was sure she made visual contact with a dead guy.

I got to Ambler, the small town with the park where Gail Hendricks had insisted that we meet. I headed for the zoo, specifically a bench she said was on the north end of the pond.

Sitting on the bench was a woman in her mid to late forties, looking around anxiously, either for me or for whoever she was afraid would spot us.

She saw me approaching and walked over to the railing by the pond, with her back to me. I walked up beside her and said, “Miss Hendricks?”

She nodded and tried a small smile. “I’m sorry for the intrigue,” she said, softly. “But I’m a little afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Richie.”

It was as unusual a call as Mayor Harrick had ever gotten. It was from FBI Special Agent Sean Bennett, telling him that Jake Robbins believed that he, Harrick, might be the next target of the capsule killer.

It didn’t seem to Harrick as if Bennett believed the danger was real. Even FBI agents have political instincts, and Harrick figured that Bennett was just covering himself. If Harrick actually wound up a target or victim, Bennett couldn’t be in a position of having sat on the warning.

But the mayor’s response to that warning was short and to the point. “That’s crazy,” he said.

“Which means it fits right in with everything that has happened since the capsule was opened,” Bennett pointed out.

“Do you have anything else that corroborates this?”

“Not a thing.”

“Then thank you for the warning, and I will be careful. And as long as Jake doesn’t come around, I’ll be safe.”

“He’s not the killer,” Bennett said.

“Despite all evidence to the contrary. Thank you, Agent Bennett, I appreciate your concern.”

He extricated himself from the call, and tried to place it into the context of his situation. He wasn’t terribly concerned about his own safety; the warning was far-fetched and not based on any substance. Yet just discussing a possible threat on his life with an FBI agent was somewhat disconcerting, however unlikely it seemed.

But more importantly, the news fit in perfectly with his strategy. And the call he was about to place would have far more impact because of it.

He called Matt Higgins on his cell phone. He had the number as a result of some dealings they had had in the past, when he slipped Matt some self-serving information about relatively unimportant local issues. Of course, every local issue now seemed insignificant compared to the capsule murders, which were getting national attention.

And national attention was what Mayor Wilson Harrick was interested in.

“We need to talk about Jake Robbins,” was how Harrick opened the call.

“My favorite subject,” Matt said.

“Not on the phone.” Harrick was a cautious man by nature, and didn’t want to take a chance that anything he said was being recorded, by Matt or anyone else.

“Okay. Where?”

“Come to my house. In one hour. Keep your eyes open when you arrive.”

“Don’t worry; I know the drill. No one will see me.” He had been to the mayor’s house before; it was secluded at the end of a long dirt driveway. It would be easy to get in and out undetected, which the mayor insisted on.

Once they got off the phone, Matt called in Patti Everett, who had become his unofficial number two person since Katie had gone missing. “I want you here tonight until I get back; keep a full production staff.”

“What’s up?” she asked, and Matt told her about the call.

“There’s a chance that whatever he says, I’m going to want it online tonight, and on page one tomorrow.”

“You think it could be that important?”

Matt smiled. “With Harrick you never know. He could be just complaining that Jake was mean to him.”

But Matt did think it could be important. Not in terms of the investigation; there was no chance that the FBI would let the mayor get within a hundred miles of a serious involvement with that. But that didn’t mean that what Harrick had to say wouldn’t be newsworthy, and that was really all Matt cared about.

A few minutes before the appointed hour, Matt drove past Harrick’s driveway, just to make sure that there was no one around. Satisfied that there was no danger of being seen, he looped around and entered the driveway.

The mayor’s house was tucked away in the woods, with a view of a small lake. The nearest neighbor was at least a quarter mile away; it was a peaceful setting, not uncommon for the area.

But the mayor didn’t seem to be reflecting the tranquility of the setting. He was looking out the window, waiting impatiently for Matt’s arrival, and he went out onto the porch when he finally saw him.

Matt followed him into the house, and noticed that Harrick did not offer him anything to eat or even drink. That told him two things: that the mayor had limited social skills, and that their meeting was to be a short one.

“You know the ground rules?” Harrick asked.

Matt nodded; they had been over this a number of times in the past. “You are not to be quoted; I can only say that the information came from sources close to city hall.”

“Good boy. Jake Robbins is not coming back to his job.”

This was a surprise to Matt. “Really? Whose decision is that?”

Harrick laughed. “Well, it’s not his; I’ll tell you that.”

“Is the town council on board with this?” He knew very well that it was the council that gave Jake the job in the first place, over the objections of the mayor.

“They’re getting there. I’m sick of having this town be embarrassed, and now it’s happening in front of the entire country.”

Matt was jotting down notes as fast as he could. “How has he embarrassed the town?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s knee deep in the biggest murder spree this state has ever seen. You’ve been writing that yourself. And when we need a chief of police, where the hell is he? The FBI has to come in and be our police force?”

To that point, Matt was unimpressed. There was no real news here; the mayor was simply saying that he wanted Jake out. That was something that everyone had known for a long time. The council obviously hadn’t yet come around to his point of view, or it would have happened already.

So he figured that Harrick had more to say, and he was right. “The guy has become dangerously unstable,” he said, referring to Jake.

“How so?”

“He threatened me. Said I was going to be the next victim.”

Matt was stunned by what he was hearing. “To your face?”

Harrick smiled. “Worse yet. To the FBI.”

He went on to describe his conversation with Agent Bennett, making it sound as if Bennett considered it just as ludicrous as Harrick, and that they both seemed to agree that Jake had gone off the deep end. He could always deny the characterization to Bennett later, and blame it on an overzealous reporter, but he wasn’t particularly worried about the agent’s reaction.

This latest piece of news about Jake substantially elevated the story, and explained to Matt why Harrick was so eager to share it. He stood up to leave. “You can read about it tomorrow,” he said, and then grinned. “Or tonight if you feel like going online.”

“And?”

Matt nodded. “And your hands will be clean.”

Matt left, drove down the driveway and out onto the road. He saw one of Harrick’s neighbors entering his own driveway, but was fairly sure that the man didn’t see him.

A few minutes later, Matt was probably a mile away from Harrick’s house, way too far to hear the rifle shot. Even if he were on the scene, he would have been unable to help the mayor, who was dead before his body hit the floor.

“I was in the casino, playing the slots,” Gail Hendricks said. Maine had opened a couple of small casinos, joining what has seemed like a national wave. But most Mainers didn’t pay much attention to them; the state was not exactly a gambling mecca.

“My boyfriend came over and asked if I wanted to get something to eat; we had coupons for the buffet. So I got up, and when I started walking, I saw Richie.”

“What was he doing?”

“He was playing blackjack at a table across the way. But he wasn’t sitting down; he was standing. And his chips were in his hand. I remember every single thing about that moment.”

“So how far from you was he?”

“I don’t know; I’m not good at judging those things. Maybe fifty feet?”

“What happened next?” I asked.

“We made eye contact, and I froze for a second. Then I immediately turned and headed for the exit. My instinct was just to get out of there. My boyfriend followed me; I think he was calling my name, but I’m not sure.”

“What did Richie do?”

“I’m not sure of that either. I think I saw him move away from the table, but I could have imagined it. I was just afraid he was following us out. I didn’t feel better until we got home.” She smiled slightly. “I’m not sure I feel better now.”

“Why are you so afraid of him?”

“Richie and I were going to be married; we dated for about a year. But he gradually became abusive, at first verbally, until one day he hit me. Then he apologized, pleaded for forgiveness. And then he hit me again.”

I just waited for her to continue; at that point she didn’t need prompting.

“I was afraid he would kill me. That’s not how I was brought up; I didn’t know how to deal with it. So I ran away. I went to stay with family in North Carolina. I didn’t come back until I heard that Richie had been sent overseas by the Navy.”

“And you never spoke to him while he was away?”

She shook her head. “No, and then I heard what happened. That he had murdered two people, and that he killed himself rather than go to jail. I’m ashamed to say it, but I was relieved.”