David Wiltse - Prayer for the Dead

The forensic man nodded. “Pelvic bones look like it. We’ll know for sure later.”

“He cared enough about them to keep them alive for a while,” said Becker. “He might very well care enough to give them the best kind of burial he could manage.”

“Kept them alive while he did what to them?”

“Watched them, for one thing.”

“How do you know that?” Drooden demanded. Becker moved a hand toward one of the stones. “May I?”

The forensic man removed a pair of disposable plastic gloves from his pocket and handed them to Becker.

“Wait a minute,” said Drooden. He rounded on the forensic man. “Did I say anything could be disturbed yet?”

“No, sir.”

“You wait until I do, damn it.”

The forensic man was standing at attention in the doorway, trying to figure how to get rid of the cigarette without leaving and without giving Drooden another chance to yell at him;

“What have you found out about him from the neighbors?” Hatcher asked evenly. He moved slightly to screen Becker who was already holding one of the stones between his gloved fingers.

“They liked him,” said Drooden. “Nice man, quiet, minded his own business. He distributed fruit cakes at Christmas, attended the annual Fourth of July barbecue one of them gives in his backyard. On Halloween the kids said he usually gave candy and acted like he was scared by every ghost and ballerina that showed up. The first year here he gave them fruit, but apparently someone set him straight and after that it was always candy. The kids think he’s fine. The adults don’t pretend to know him, but think he’s fine, too. Can you imagine Halloween at this house?”

“Did they say anything about his girl?” Becker asked, straightening. He had replaced the stone.

“No one knew about her. If she came here, they never saw her.”

Hatcher looked at Becker, who nodded. The two men walked toward the door.

“Finished, are we?” Drooden asked. He turned on the forensic man, who was snuffing out the cigarette between moistened fingers. “Clean it,” he said. “And Wilkins…”

“Yes, sir.”

“You people better find out something we don’t already know.”

Hatcher walked Becker to his car. Some of the neighbor-children were still gathered on a lawn outside the barricade, making a picnic of watching the police come and go.

“What about the stones? Anything?” Hatcher asked.

“Just gravel, I think. But fresh; it still had a dusting of pumice on it. Either it came right out of the rock crusher or else he got it somewhere before it got rained on and was washed clean. You might check on the local source for gravel, see where they’ve delivered in the last four years, cross-check that with precipitation reports, find out when and where he might have got it before it got wet.”

“Are you kidding?”

“I think the stones were markers. Tombstones. His way of paying his respects. He might come back for more.”

“More?”

“You don’t think he’s through killing people, do you? He’s just warming up.”

“But he must know we’re on to him by now. That’s why he walked out of the hospital.”

“He’s not a criminal. Hatcher. He can’t just decide to lie low for a while. He doesn’t kill for profit.”

“Why does he do it? Do you have any theories yet?”

Becker hesitated.

“Why not ask an alcoholic why he drinks? Because by the time he knows he has a problem, the problem is already most of his life. It would be easier if you find him and we’ll ask.”

“We’ll find him. He’s got no credit cards, no money, thanks to our friend Eric. Who’s he going to turn to for help? We’re covering his girlfriend, the people he worked with. If he has any family, we’ll find them, too. We should have him in custody within forty-eight hours.”

“Save that for the press release. This guy is not stupid. He only got caught this time because of the girl. He won’t make that mistake again.”

“What tipped him off that we were on to him?”

“Have you been to his office?”

“The insurance company in Hartford? Not personally. Milch has talked to his employer.”

“And?”

“Good worker, low profile, not much snap to him, but he does his work on time and accurately. He was passed up for a promotion recently and they assume there was a natural resentment, but he didn’t show much.”

“I want to go there. Can you arrange it?”

“You can’t stay on this as a civilian. You know that, don’t you? Drooden snarls every time you show up as it is. It took me the better part of an hour just to talk him out of arresting you for entering the scene of a police investigation last night.”

“So I won’t stay on it. How’s that?”

“Who are you kidding? You’re already on it; you’ve swallowed the hook. You couldn’t leave now without ripping out your guts.”

“Shall we see?”

“Why else were you in there last night? For your own entertainment?”

“I was helping Tee. Now he’s got you.”

“I can get you back on temporary assignment. They’d love to have you.”

“How about you. Hatcher? Would you love to have me?”

“You’re good at it. I can live with you.”

“Get me in to see the actuaries at Dyce’s insurance company.”

“I’ll have to go with you unless you take temporary assignment.”

Becker watched Drooden exit the house and speak into the radio in his car. The electric crackle of the response could be heard, loud but unintelligible, across the road.

“We’d need a clear understanding,” Becker said.

“Name it.”

“I’ll work on it from this end, but I won’t go near him. I don’t want to be within miles of him.”

“Fine by me.”

“I mean it. Hatcher. I will not go down the hole for this one. You’ll have to find another ferret.”

“I didn’t send you in after Bahoud. It just happened.”

“I’m not going to debate history with you. All I do on this one is think, or I don’t have any part of it.”

“Agreed. We love you for your mind alone.”

“And try to stay away from me as much as you can, too.”

“Finding Bahoud was little short of a miracle, I’ve told you that. I admired your work greatly. Nobody expected you to take him on yourself”

“I was made certain promises then, too.”

“We tried to keep them. It just happened.”

“Well it won’t happen this time. You find another ferret. Because I’ll make you a promise, Hatcher. If I have to go down the hole, I’ll tie your arms and send you in in front of me.”

“Or we could try something novel for one of your cases,” Hatcher said. “We could make an actual arrest and bring him back alive to stand trial.”

Becker breathed with exaggerated calm and Hatcher feared he had gone too far. Hatcher did not fear most men, but he was afraid of Becker-he had seen him work.

“What have you found out from the girl?” Becker said at last.

“Very little of real use. We went at her nonstop for a couple of hours, but didn’t get much. The report’s being typed up now. She’s a weird one.”

“I’m going to see her.”

“What do you hope to learn we haven’t already got?” That was one of the qualities Hatcher disliked most about the man: He had no respect for the work of others but seemed to have to do everything himself, and in his own way. “She really doesn’t know much of anything about him. We will know more about him than she does by tomorrow.”

“We’ll know more facts,” Becker said.

“As opposed to what, guesses?”

“Feelings, intuitions.”

“Feelings? She thinks he’s a creep.”

“She thinks so now. What else could she say after she discovered the bodies? It makes her look like a fool to have had anything to do with him. I want to know what she felt about him then, before, when she was sleeping with him.”