"You're not listening, Waldo. Some turkeys don't have to rape to get off. Maybe slitting the Cooper broad's throat was what did it for our boy. Or strangling Danowski. Then there's pederasts can only do it with kids. But maybe this scumbag needs to kill kids to get off."
"There's no evidence to support that theory," Hallock said stiffly.
Schufeldt let out a cackling laugh. "You grow up out here, Waldo? I mean, you're from the North Fork, right?"
Hallock knew Schufeldt wanted him to feel ashamed of that fact. He wasn't. "Born and raised," he said proudly.
"I knew it. There's more to life than what goes on in this finger of land, ya know. People out here are cut off from the real world. You're like children believing in Santa Claus and that."
Hallock wanted to knock him on his ass. Instead he ignored Schufeldt's deprecations and went back to the original point. "None of the sex offenders we know have any M.O. that would link them up to our killer."
"How d’ya know? Let's say a guy usually takes a girl behind some bushes to cop a feel suddenly gets a new idea. Maybe seen a X-rated movie or read one of these porno books are all over now, you can buy 'em in your local drugstore. Maybe another guy that flashes year in year out gets bored, needs bigger thrills. Chills an' thrills, Waldo, that's what it's about for some of 'em. What I'm trying to bring out, Waldo, is there could be an escalation. Bigger and better, more and more. In other words, a guy can go from pinching asses to slitting throats overnight. There's no knowing. So we gotta investigate. See what I mean, Waldo?"
"You want to interview all sex offenders, is that it?"
A razor-slit smile cracked his face. "That's it."
Hallock went to a file cabinet. "A waste of time."
"Remains to be seen, Waldo."
As he went through the files he told himself to cool it, but when he threw the folder onto Schufeldt's desk the contents spilled, fanning out like a deck of cards. "Sorry," he murmured grudgingly, but went back to his chair instead of tying to straighten out the papers.
"What're you giving me this for?" Schufeldt asked, feigning innocence.
He could feel his blood pumping hard. "You said you wanted the sex offender file. That's it."
"No, you don't listen, Waldo. I said we should pull in the sex offenders. I didn't say nothing about wanting to read the file. What good's that gonna do me? When the creeps come in, that's when I read their sheets and that. You know these guys, you pull 'em in. Me, I'm goin' to lunch now." Standing, he stretched, arms spanning the length of the desk, then adjusted himself in his polyester brown pants. A tan sport shirt hung loosely outside them concealing his.38. "Where's a good place to eat, Waldo? That Paradise joint you sent me yesterday sucked. Had a burger tasted like shit."
"Try Whitey's down on the dock," he told him perversely. Everybody knew Whitey's was a sucker joint for tourists and the food all tasted like it came out of a microwave, which it did.
"Thanks, I will. Be back around two, take a stab at these sex offenders. See ya, Waldo."
When Schufeldt came back from Whitey's, Hallock knew there'd be hell to pay but he didn't give a damn. The satisfaction he felt thinking about the man eating one of Whitey's expensive cardboard meals was worth it.
Hallock straightened out the papers and brought the file back to his own desk. Then he picked up the receiver on his Portacom and told Al Wiggins, who was out on patrol, to come on in. There were thirteen known sex offenders on the North Fork, and two of them were over seventy and hadn't done a thing in two decades. He'd be damned if he'd bring in either of them. Talk about getting off! He'd stake his career that Schufeldt wanted the sex offenders brought in because that was how he got off. Damned hotshot going at this thing ass backwards. Bullshit, the whole goddamned thing was bullshit. Well, he wasn't going to sit still and twiddle his thumbs while the boy wonder was interrogating a bunch of sex nuts. He was going to take some action on his own. And what Special Agent William Schufeldt didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Hallock met Fran in the bookstore. They had a date for lunch. Fran knew last-minute things came up for Waldo, so she always met him where she didn't mind waiting.
Martha Terry, who owned the shop, greeted Hallock when he came in. "'Lo there, Chief. Any news?"
He knew she meant the murders. Feeling sheepish, he shook his head. As always he was taken aback by Martha's face. Years before she'd had an attack of Bell's palsy that left her with a droopy eye and mouth on her right side. She looked like two different people if you saw her first in one profile, then the other. "Fran here?"
"In Used." She pointed to the rear of the store, where there were shelves and shelves of secondhand books.
He thanked Martha, and made his way to the used book section. Fran had her back to him, head bent over a book. Hallock quietly stood behind her, whispered, "How about a quickie, lady?"
She jumped. "Sex in the stacks?"
"Why not? Give old Martha a show."
Fran laughed, her blue eyes luminous. "You're wicked, Waldo."
"That's me, Wicked Waldo!" He grinned at her, pushed his hat back. "What've you got there?"
She glanced down at the book. "Oh, this is an old one by Shirley Ann Grau. The Keepers of the House."
"How-to book?"
"Oh, honestly, hon'. It's a novel. Sometimes I think I'm married to an illiterate."
"Well, not all of us went to college."
"Junior college," she said disparagingly.
"So? Still more education than I got."
"You're self-educated," she said, touched his cheek.
"Yup, a self-educated illiterate." He smiled. "Come on, I'm hungry."
"Me, too."
At the counter Fran waited to pay for the book while Hallock stood near the door. A woman and child were ahead of her.
The woman said to Martha, "Well, this was some lousy holiday weekend, wasn't it?"
"How's that?"
"I don't know about you, Martha, but I'm scared stiff all the time. I won't let Paulie out of my sight." She put a protective arm around the boy. "I don't know what kind of police we got here. Seems like they're just sitting around on their duffs."
Martha glanced uncomfortably toward Hallock, then back to the bill she was writing. "That'll be four-eleven, Mrs. Rowland."
She opened her purse, rummaged around. "Maybe we should just impeach the chief or something, I don't know. It makes you feel so helpless. Arthur says these local police don't know diddly-squat about catching a murderer. Arthur says-"
Hallock didn't wait to hear what else Arthur said. He left the store, walked down the block and stopped in front of Rita's Jean Shop. His hands were clenched at his sides and he'd begun to sweat.
Fran came out of the bookstore, saw where he was, and ran to him. "Oh, Waldo, don't let her get to you."
"It's not her. I mean, not her alone. What I'm trying to say is, if she thinks that way then there must be others-lots of them."
"Even if there are, you know you're doing the best you can."
"Maybe my best isn't good enough."
"Your best is always good enough."
"I don't know," he said sadly. He thought of Schufeldt. He didn't want to tell Fran about him, but knew he would. "C'mon, let's go. Where's your book?"
"I left it."
"Ah, hell."
"It doesn't matter, hon'. I'll get it another time."
"Sorry."
"It's okay. Where are we going?"
"Out of Seaville, that's for sure. Let's drive down to Mattituck, go to Crawford's, have a steak."
"Sounds good."
"Where's your car?"
"Round the corner." She put her arm through his, held her chin up, proud to be with the chief of police.
The lunch crowd at Crawford's had thinned out by the time they got there. The place had a rustic look-cedar-shingled walls and hunting trophies. Tables were covered in brown-and-white checked cloths, salt and pepper shakers were in the shape of bears and deer.
Hallock wished he wasn't in uniform. He got a few stares. Some hostile ones, he thought. Fran said he was paranoid. He would have liked a martini, but didn't dare. That's all he'd need, Schufeldt smelling liquor on his breath, making a fuss.