“That's Bill. I, uh, look, you know he's had a mental history. He's had problems. Sex offenses as I'm sure you know. But the bragging. That's just his big mouth. He'd never be able to actually do anything. He was always like that. All talk. All mouth."
“More than mouth this time, I'm afraid. He knew where the graves were. Even if he could prove he hadn't killed the victims he'd be an accessory. We're talking as many as a hundred victims now. Maybe more. It's one of the worst mass-murder sprees ever and the facts are—much as I hate to say it—your brother is involved. Deeply."
“I just can't believe it. No way. He's a little nuts, sure. Has the sex thing. Shows himself. Harmless stuff. Even taking the woman like that. I don't know how it ever happened. It's just not the guy I know. I don't think he could harm a fly."
“He abducted, repeatedly raped, and savagely brutalized Donna Scannapieco. Held her captive for a month. This fits the profile of a man who has very little regard for the lives or the welfare of other human beings. I have to tell you that your brother is in a world of trouble on this."
“But Jones-Seleska says he's claiming that he didn't really commit those murders, he only knew where the bodies had been, you know, hidden. He says someone else did the crimes and told him where they were."
“Someone else."
“Right."
“Someone killed them and then told Ukie."
“So he'd take the blame."
“I think at the very least he'll be proven an accomplice to murder one on a minimum of seventy-five or eighty counts, and then only if he gives up the person or persons who were involved with him, which so far he has refused to do."
Eventually the conversational ball just rolled into the corner and stopped and Eichord told Hackabee to meet him this afternoon if he could and they'd have time for a longer exchange. What Eichord wanted was to start going off Ukie's background, from childhood on. Find out, if he could, just where the desire to punish and destroy first took root. Trace the twisted thing that had manifested itself in degenerate sexual behavior. Try to get a picture of the real William Hackabee. Look inside the dark shadows where Ukie the murderer lived.
He was blown away by Joseph Hackabee. Nobody in the cockamamy case, from the perp to the defense counsel to the rape victim to the brother of the killer, was what he would have expected. Ukie having a twin was so dumbfounding. Then he got another surprise.
A secretary told him two guys from the AG's office were here, and he went out front totally perplexed to find a pair of shoe flies in from Austin. They sat with Eichord at another borrowed desk wanting to know what about leads. Was Mr. Hackabee part of a “salt-andpepper team” (which Eichord had to have explained to him)? Were any of the victims black? (Say WHAT?) The guys from the state AG's office were such a drag Jack was almost relieved when he went in to confront Ukie again.
“Let's talk."
“Yeah. Okay. What?"
“Your serve. Whatever you want to talk about."
“Let's talk about me getting outta here, howzzat?"
“Ukie, come on. You're not seriously expecting anybody to turn you loose after everything that's gone down, are you?"
“Please, man. I've told you. I didn't do it. I saw the bodies being buried and I made a mistake in judgment. I thought I could fake my way into headlines, be a big star for the week or two, just enough I could maybe get some kinda half-assed shot. Clubs or whatever. Wail with all the publicity. I knew I could act real crazy and carry it off. The thing with the cu—with the woman, I just, you know, let her go, man. I LET her escape. Just like I gave you the graves. Ask yourself this, if I was really the killer why would I want to admit it? Why give myself up?"
“You didn't give yourself up. You got caught putting one of the bodies in the ground."
“BullSHIT. I didn't ... I wasn't burying anybody. I was digging to see if there really was a body in there. The thing had been coming and putting all this shit inside my head and I had to see, man. I wanted to know if I was going nuts or if it was for real."
“Would you want to tell me a little more about the Way of the Viper? That was my favorite so far."
“Hey. Come on.” He was very quiet and the usual animation seemed to have been drained from him.
“Or the paradox of syncretism. I'd like to kick that one back and forth a little more."
“You having fun?"
“I'm having a pretty good time. Yeah. Matter of fact. How about you? You having a pretty fun time, too?"
No comment.
“Or here's one you might like. Try this one on, Ukie. Just for grins. Let's say there was this real sharp fellow, loaded with talent, smart as a whip, one heckuva guy. He just never made it big. And so he goes off the deep end. Whackaroony time. He starts taking lives out of plain old mean, no-good, nutty-as-a-fruitcake craziness. Just to get even with the world let's say.” Ukie sighed in disgust. I'm just talking theory now. So this sharp guy he says to himself, ‘Self, let's really yank everybody's chain. Let's waste as many of these folks as we can and if we get caught'—and here's the real good part—'we'll ADMIT to all the killings. Give them even more than they know about. Act real goofy too. Talk in parables, metaphors, free association, all that good stuff. Ramble. Be incoherent. Memorize a bunch of looney-tunes stuff to mess their minds up with.’ Then, when you've got ‘em going real good, recant. Tell how this guy really didn't do it he saw it inside his mind on a strange pathway. Then, bring in a heavy-duty legal firm and plead your ass insane as a bedbug. How's that sound just for a random scenario?"
“It sucks."
“Uh huh. Oh, hey, guess you're really excited your brother came in to see you, huh?"
“Yeah. That's all I need. THAT asshole."
“What's the matter? Don't you two get along?"
“You might say that."
“Looks like he must think a lot about you to drop everything and come here to see what he can do to help."
“That may be the way it looks to you but that know-it-all, serf-righteous fuck has come to gloat. Not help, GLOAT. Hey, I love Joseph, and I can't do anything about that. He's my brother. You love your own brother regardless of what kind of a first-rate asshole he is. But I couldn't even get him on the phone when I needed help before. When I asked him for a few dollars a couple of times the dirty son of a bitch lied and jerked me back and forth and let me hang out there on a line to dry. He's got a mail-order business raking the bucks in and he couldn't give a couple hundred measly dollars to pull my ass out of the frying pan. His idea of help was to send me a note reprimanding me for my ways, a fucking twenty-dollar check and a lecture. So don't tell me he's suddenly all interested in helping his poor, dear brother now.” Ukie's eyes blazed with fury.
“Don't hold back, Ukie. Do you like your brother—yes or no?"
“Fuck you very much, Officer Krupke."
And a thing he couldn't name began then and there to reach for his clothing, a sleeve or a pant leg, anything it could get its claws on, a thing that caught hold of fabric then the limb inside, and as it caught hold it began getting a firmer grip on Jack Eichord the man, not so much the cop but the human being, and the claws sunk into the flesh and started taking him somewhere he had no business going. But all he felt now was that first, light touch when the razor-sharp claws first caught on the cloth of his trouser leg. Just a little, harmless tug.
And the afternoon was like the morning but more of the same and squared and then magnified. Something so unsettling about meeting Joseph Hackabee and having that gut-wrenching feeling of seeing Ukie walk in free as a bird, sans cuffs or restraints of any kind, smiling, speaking in that warm baritone of his. And Eichord found out that: