Schufeldt said, "Let's get on with this, okay?" He glared at Hallock who sat on a chair facing the back, arms akimbo on top. "Okay. Where were we before we were interrupted?" he asked Barbecue.
"Beats me, Officer."
Schufeldt's face tensed. "Special Agent. How many times I got to tell ya? Special Agent."
"You want me to say, 'beats me, Special Agent'?" Barbecue shook his head. "That sounds dumb. Don't it sound dumb, Chief? Beats me, Special Agent. Don't it just make you wanna laugh, Chief?"
Hallock couldn't agree more. "Just do what the special agent asks, Barbecue."
Schufeldt cleared his throat. "Let's get on with it. So where were you the night of May twenty-ninth?"
"Me?"
"Yeah, you, who the hell you think I'm askin', Donald Duck?"
"Huh?"
"Just answer the question, Fred."
"Could you repeat the question?"
"You cocksucker, did you burn your brains in that fuckin' fire?"
"No, sir, Special Agent." He looked over at Hallock. "Now that sounds dumb, don't it, Chief?"
Schufeldt spoke before Hallock could respond. "Just shut up, Riley. Okay? Just shut up."
"Okay."
"Now. Where were you the night of May twenty-ninth?"
Barbecue stared at Schufeldt, his eyes dead-looking, as if he were on drugs.
"You hear me, Riley?" Schufeldt yelled. "You deaf or what?"
Barbecue shook his head.
"What? You're not deaf or you didn't hear me?"
"Neither."
"So why don't you answer the question?"
"You tol' me to shut up."
Schufeldt dropped his feet to the floor, came forward, and slammed his fist on the desk, papers flying. "Goddamn you, you turd, you knew what I meant."
Barbecue didn't flinch. "Huh?"
Schufeldt whirled around, facing Hallock. "This man was doing fine till you came in."
"What's that supposed to mean, Special Agent?" Hallock needled.
Schufeldt snapped to his feet. "Okay, that's it. Go on, get out of here, Riley."
"I can go?"
"That's what I just said, didn't I?" His face was turning the color of June strawberries, a vein throbbing in his temple.
"Yeah, that's what you said, Special Agent."
"Get out!"
"I'm goin'." Saluting Schufeldt and Hallock, he made his exit.
Schufeldt, his hands hanging at his sides like two ham hunks, towered over the chief, who remained sitting. "You're supposed to cooperate with me, Hallock, not thwart me."
"Thwart you? I wasn't thwarting you, Special Agent."
"That's just what I mean, you fuckin' asshole," he screamed.
"I don't understand. I did what I could to get the suspect to answer you," he said innocently, pressing his nails into his palms to keep from laughing.
Schufeldt stuck a finger in Hallock's face. "You better cut it out, Hallock. I'll get you for interfering in an investigation. Now I'm goin' out for a walk, give you time to think this over, get yourself together. And when I come back we're gonna question those men out there, understand?"
"Perfectly."
Schufeldt slammed out.
And then Hallock started to laugh and kept on laughing until there were pains in his sides and tears running down his cheeks. He was having a good day, after all.
LOOKING BACK-50 YEARS AGO
The Seaville Fire Department is to be modernized in keeping with other departments on the Island. A delegation representing the Fire Department requested that the Trustees replace the present chemical and hose apparatus with a modern piece of motor fire apparatus. Also, that they be equipped with new wheels and pneumatic tires, replacing the present solid rubber tires, and that a suitable piece of racing apparatus be purchased for the use of the Department.
EIGHTEEN
The Higbees were Catholics, and the funeral was held on Wednesday morning at the church on Colin's corner, the Blessed Sacrament. It had been delayed because of the holiday and the mandatory autopsy.
News of a small child's murder could not be contained within the district. Reporters from Newsline, The New York Times, The New York Post, and The Daily News were all present, as were reporters from the major television networks.
Colin watched as Connie Collins from NBC taped her lead-in. Again he was hurtled back in time, to Chicago and the murders of his family. He inhaled deeply.
"You okay?" Sarah asked.
"Yeah. I guess I really hate the whole circus atmosphere."
"Just doing their jobs, pal," Mark said.
Babe was covering the funeral, so Colin wondered if the remark had been pointed.
"Let's go in," Sarah said.
For Colin it was the first time he'd been in a Catholic church in years. There was a period, home from college on vacation, when he would go to Mass with his mother. But when he graduated, he considered himself an adult with ideas of his own and stopped attending.
Then, the past year, when he'd been living with his mother, she'd gotten on his back about going. They'd had a blowup over it and said things to each other they were sorry for later.
He said, "I haven't gone in years, why should I go now?"
She said, "To pray for the souls of your dead family."
He said, "You expect me to believe in a God that allowed two innocent children and an innocent woman to be slaughtered?"
She said, "Maybe if you'd been going to church in the first place it wouldn't have happened."
He said, "Go to hell, you goddamn bitch."
Later he'd apologized to her, and she'd mumbled something which he'd taken for an apology. She never asked him to go to church again.
The Higbees hadn't come in yet. Colin knew they would enter by a side door after everyone else had been seated. He thought it was a strange practice, the family entering last as if they were the stars of a show. But the star of the show was already there. Her small, beautifully appointed casket rested on a gurney just below the altar. Colin felt a surge of grief, like the swelling of a wave. Two small caskets and one large were suddenly as real to him now as they'd been three years before. For a moment he felt dizzy, sure he was going to have an attack. Then it passed and he was left with the feeling of sorrow he'd known intimately since that terrible morning in Chicago.
Maybe he shouldn't have come. But he'd felt it was important to support the Higbees, especially Chuck. All through the weekend he'd thought of calling the man, stopping by his house. But Higbee didn't even know him. And what would he say, unless he told the truth about his own family? So in the end he'd done nothing. This was his only way of showing he cared, understood. It didn't matter that Higbee wouldn't note his presence.
Sarah gently tucked her hand in his. Tears sprang to his eyes. He didn't want to cry, fearful that once started he wouldn't be able to stop. For diversion he concentrated on the church, the other people. The Blessed Sacrament was small but pretty: the usual stained glass windows and mahogany pews. Wood carvings and brass ornaments decorated the altar.
The pews were almost filled. Chief Hallock and Charlie Copin sat near the back, one on each side of the aisle. Down a few pews was Fran Hallock with both daughters and one son. In front of them was Burton Kelly. Colin imagined Kelly as a teenager-awkward and painfully thin, keeping close to the wall when he walked through the school halls, his books held as a shield against attacks from bullies. The only difference now was Kelly knew how to hide it better. Colin had learned he worked for Seaville Water & Light as a clerk, and had lived with his mother until she died, two years before. He and Mark had speculated on whether Kelly could be the killer. They decided he wouldn't have the nerve or imagination. Still, Colin couldn't dismiss the idea altogether, and he wondered if his reason for that had anything to do with Annie.
Gazing around at the rest of the crowd he spied a lot of familiar faces-Carl and Grace Gildersleeve; his mailman; Babe, her red hair neat in its French braid. He watched her arm make short, palsied movements, then realized she was taking notes. Disgusted by what his profession forced people to do, he looked away from her, across the aisle to Steve Cornwell. Even sitting, he towered over the man beside him. In the next pew were Tug Wilson, Raymond Chute, Debbie Van Tuyl from the bank, the Klipps who lived across from him, the-he stopped, thinking this was exactly what he was doing when Mary Beth Higbee was being murdered. Identifying people. It made him feel sick. A spate of coughing and rustling drew his attention.