The Burning Man

PART THREE THE SUPERNATURAL MIND

Chapter SEVEN.

Gary Harmon always felt important when he went to the Stallion because Steve Mancini was one of the owners. When he walked in the door, Steve's trophy case was the first thing he saw. The bartenders, the waiters and the waitresses knew Steve was his friend and they treated him well. If Steve came in when Gary was there, he would buy Gary a beer, even though his parents said he wasn't supposed to drink alcohol. Steve would wink and say it was their secret.

The table where Gary was sitting was on a raised area that overlooked the bar. Below Gary, couples danced frantically to the music of a raucous band. Tonight, Gary felt even more special than usual about being in the Stallion because Steve and Donna were getting married tomorrow and he was the best man. Arnie Block, one of the bartenders, had given him a free drink and so had several other people. In fact, Gary was drunk when he spotted Kevin Booth frantically scanning the faces at the crowded tables for Christopher Mammon, who had ordered Kevin to meet him at the Stallion at ten-thirty.

Gary and Kevin Booth were both graduates of Eisenhower High. Gary remembered Booth as one of the few students not in the special education classes who would - ... al Doom paid attention to .Akw occause Gary was one of the few students at Eisenhower that Booth could bully.

"Hey, Kevin," Gary yelled over the music as Booth walked by. Booth stopped at the sound of his name. "It's me, Gary Harmon."

Booth had no time to waste on a retard, but all the tables were taken and he had no idea how long it would be before Mammon showed up.

"How's it going?" Booth said, sitting down without asking.

"It's going great! Do you know Steve Mancini?"

"Sure. He's my lawyer."

"He is?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Steve is my friend. He's gonna marry my sister tomorrow."

"Congratulations, man," Booth said as he scanned the crowd again, then looked back toward the door just as Mammon walked in. Kevin stood up and waved.

Mammon saw him and headed up t stairs.

"Hey, my man," Mammon said, clapping Booth on the shoulder as he sat down at the table. Gary looked at Mammon with awe.

"Who's your friend?" Mammon asked Booth.

"Oh, this is Gary Harmon, a guy I knew in high school. Gary, this is Chris Mammon."

"It's nice meeting your friends, Kevin," Mammon said sarcastically, "but we have business to discuss."

"Do you know Steve Mancini?" Gary asked with a big smile.

"What?" Mammon asked, as if he could not believe that Gary had the temerity to a ress im.

"Steve is my friend," Gary said proudly. "He's marrying my sister tomorrow. I'm gonna be the best man."

"Why the fuck should I care?" Mammon snapped.

"It's okay, Chris," Booth said nervously, afraid Mammon would erupt into violence. Then, he whispered, "Gary's a retard. He don't mean anything."

Mammon thought about that for a moment. He had to get rid of Harmon and he had an idea. The body builder spotted what he was looking for at the bar.

"Your friend's getting married tomorrow?" Mammon asked, feigning interest.

"Yeah. At the church. I'm gonna wear a tuxedo."

"Hey, that's great. But what are you doing here? Why aren't you at Steve's bachelor party?"

"What's that?" Gary asked, his brow furrowing.

"You ain't never heard of a bachelor party?" Mammon asked, nudging Booth with his elbow.

"No," Gary answered, embarrassed that, once again, other people knew things that he did not.

"Where you been, Gary? That's the party your buddies throw for you the night before you get married.

There's plenty of drinking and you tell stories and there's always a special gift for the groom-to-be," Mammon concluded with a lewd wink.

"What kind of gift?"

Mammon leaned toward Gary and, in a confidential whisper, he said, "Pussy."

Gary flushed. "Steve wouldn't go for a party like that."

"Why not?" Mammon asked with exaggerated concern. "He ain't queer, is he?"

"Oh no. He's a regular guy. He got me season tickets to the Stallion games."

"Then, what's he got against pussy?"

"Steve's a lawyer," Gary answered proudly.

Mammon and Booth cracked up. Gary laughed, too, because the others were laughing, but he did not know what was so funny. Steve was a good lawyer.

"You're not telling me that lawyers don't get laid?"

Mammon went on when he stopped laughing. "I bet he'll get laid on his honeymoon."

Gary blushed. He did not like to think about anyone having sex with his sister.

"It's sure too bad there ain't no bachelor party," Mammon said, shaking his huge head.

_- ... UIL sata, as if he'd just had a sudden thought. "Just because Steve is a stick-in-the-mud doesn't mean you can't have your own bachelor party.

Gary looked confused. Mammon slid his chair next to Gary's and put his arm around Gary's shoulder.

"Don't be too obvious," Mammon whispered in Gary's car, "but look over my shoulder at the blonde at the end of the bar near the door."

Gary turned slowly. A slender woman with straight, shoulder-length hair, wearing tight jeans and a Whitaker State T-shirt with a rearing stallion on it, was talking to a short brunette. Her emerald eyes sparkled when she laughed.

"Now, Gary, I'm a little jealous. That woman has been giving you the eye since I sat down."

Gary looked at her again. "Nab," Gary said nervously, "it wouldn't be me."

"Who else, buddy? You're one good-lookin' stud."

"She wasn't looking at me," Gary repeated stubbornly, hoping Mammon was wrong and terrified that he was right.

"Kevin, did you notice that blonde giving Gary the "Yeah, Gary," Booth said enthusiastically, "she's hot for you."

"You a fan of the Stallions football team, Gary?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, my man, if I was a stud like you, and a woman like that was giving me the eye, I'd strike hard and fast like a Stallion linebacker."

"What ... what do you mean?"

"Get on down there. Check it out. Odds are you'll be inside that tight squeeze before I can finish my beer."

Gary felt sick with excitement. He knew he could never have a girl like that, but Mammon seemed so certain.

"You got someplace to take her?" Mammon asked.

"I got my own house."

"I bet that place rocks from morning to night, right?"

Gary did not answer. Mammon's arm tightened around his shoulder and Mammon's breath felt hot against his ear.

"You do know how to pick up girls, don't you?"

"Sure," Gary answered, because he was too embarrassed to tell the truth.

"Then you know you have to go down there and ask her if she wants a beer. Now she'll say no at first. These bitches always play hard to get. You insist, though.

Women like guys who won't take no for an answer. Be forceful."

"I don't know. She really don't look that interested in me.

"Are you kidding? Shit, man, she's creamin' over you.

"That's true," Booth chimed in, anxious to get rid of Gary so he could find out what Mammon wanted with him. "She definitely wants It."

"And she wants it from you," Mammon said, lifting Gary to his feet. "Now, you aren't a fag, are you?"

"Oh no. It's just.. .

"It's just nothing, my man. And you know what? I'm jealous as shit, because you're gonna be sleeping with your ears between those silky thighs tonight. Go on."

Mammon gave Gary a push toward the stairs. Gary walked down them slowly, twice looking over his shoulder at Booth and Mammon, who waved him on. He was sick with worry, but he could not disgrace himself by turning back. What would the guys think if he could not score with a girl who was giving him the eye? And if he did score with a girl that pretty, it would really be something. Maybe he would even ask her to come with him to the wedding.

There was an empty space next to the blonde at the bar. Up close, she was even better-looking. Gary stood there for a moment, but the girl did not seem to notice him Finally, Gary worked up the courage to talk to her, but'the words caught in his throat when he tried to speak. Gary swallowed.

Then, in a quivering whisper, he asked the girl if she wanted a beer, but the noise in the bar was so loud that she did not hear him.

Gary felt nauseous. It had taken all his courage to make this attempt and he was too frightened to try again. He looked back at Booth and Mammon. They were doubled up with laughter. Mammon waved at him to go on. He turned back to the girl and tapped her on the shoulder, pulling his hand back as soon as he touched her. The girl stopped in mid-sentence and turned toward him.

"Can ... can I get you a beer?" Gary managed.

The girl flashed a smile that barely disguised her annoyance. "No thanks," she answered quickly in a tone that made it clear that she was used to being hit on and didn't like it. When she turned back to her friend, Gary looked at the table for help. His friends were laughing again. Why would they laugh like that? He wanted to run away, but he remembered what Chris said about being persistent. He tapped the girl's shoulder again, a little harder. The girl turned around. She looked angry'what do you want?" she asked.

"I like you and I want to buy you a beer."

"Thank you, but I'm talking to someone, okay?"

"I can buy her a beer, too."

"Look, I don't want you to buy me a beer. Neither does my friend. Take no for an answer, okay?"

"I like you," Gary repeated lamely.

The girl looked at the ceiling and rolled her eyes. Gary cringed with embarrassment.

"Ch ... Chris said you want me to buy you a beer," he stuttered.

"Who?"

"Chris. My friend," Gary said, pointing toward the table where Mammon and Booth were still laughingthe girl saw them and figured out what was going on.

"Go tell your friends they were wrong and leave me alone."

"You ... you don't like me?" Gary asked, hurt and confused.

"Are you an idiot?" the woman asked incredulously.

"Didn't I just tell you ..."

Gary's hand shot out and grabbed the girl's tee shirt.

"I ain't no idiot," he yelled.

The girl staggered backward, startled by Gary's sudden rage.

"Don't call me no names," he shouted in her face.

"Let me go," she screamed as she tried to pull out of Gary's grip. Gary yanked her toward him.

Arnie Block, the bartender closest to the commotion, turned when he heard the girl scream. At the end of the bar farthest from the front door, another attractive blonde in a Whitaker State tee shirt and jeans was sitting across from Dave Thorne, the other bartender. The girl was wearing a silver medallion around her neck. It had a cross embossed on it. The girl fingered the medallion while she sipped a beer. Thorne was working on a drink order when -A,mie shouted to him.

"Dave, call Steve. Tell him Gary's causing trouble and to get over here."

Dave looked down the bar, then grabbed the phone on the shelf behind him. He made the call. When he hung up, he noticed that the blonde with the medallion J was watching two men who were walking toward the back door that led into the rear parking area. One of the men was big and flabby. The other looked like a rofessional wrestler. The girl looked very frightened, p but Thorne had no more time to think about her because Gary was shaking the other girl by both shoulders.

"Say you're sorry," Gary screamed. "Say I ain't no idiot or I'll.. . I'll kill you."

Arnie Block reached across the bar and grabbed Gary around the neck. Gary shrugged him off.

"Let her go, Gary," Arnie yelled. This time, Gary realized who was talking to him and his grip relaxed.

"She said I was an idiot," Gary pleaded with the bartender. Block found a clear space and leaped the bar.

J "She shouldn't have said that, but you can't shake her. Can't you see she's scared?"

Gary looked at the girl. She was breathing hard, and she was near tears and very frightened. Gary released the girl and she staggered into the bar, upsetting her drink.

"I called for Steve. He's really pissed," Block said, as Dave Thorne pushed through the crowd. "You'll be lucky if you don't get arrested."

Gary's eyes widened as he remembered what would happen to him if he was arrested again. He would go to jail and it would be on the front page of the paper.

Mama would read it and it would kill her.

"Dave," Block said, turning away from Gary, "take care of this lady. Make sure she's all right."

When Block turned back, Gary was streaking for the door. Arnie shook his head as Gary raced into the night.

He made no attempt to stop him.

Dave Thorne took the blonde and her friend to an empty booth. Arnie brought over a glass of brandy just as Steve Mancini walked in. He was wearing a suit, but his shirt was open at the collar and his tie was pulled down.

"What happened?" Mancini asked the bartender.

"Gary got a little out of hand with that girl."

"The blonde?" Mancini asked, looking in the direction Arnie was pointing.

"Yeah."

"W at did Gary do?"

Arnie told him.

"Jesus. Where is he?"

"I don't know. He took off as soon as I said you were coming over."

"That dumb fuck," Mancini said, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair. "All right, all right.

Damage control," he muttered to himself.

"I'm gonna talk to her," he told Block.

Mancini walked over to the booth. The blonde looked up. Her makeup was smeared and she looked frightened.

"I'm Steve Mancini, one of the owners. Can I sit down?"

The girl nodded and Mancini slid into the booth across from the women.

"Are you all right, Miss ... ?"

"Nix. Karen Nix. I'm just shaken up." She shook her head. "He just went crazy. I thought he was going to hit me."

"But he didn't."

"That's only because the bartender stopped him," Nix said, anger flaring in her eyes. "Do you know what he said? He threatened to kill me. I'm calling the cops as soon as I find out who that creep is."

"I wish you wouldn't," Steve said.

"Are you kidding? He's a lunatic. He might hurt someone else."

"I don't think so. Gary says the first thing that comes into his head when he's angry. He doesn't mean what he says."

"You know him?"

"I'm getting married tomorrow and Gary is going to be my best man. He's my fiance's brother. Normally, he's a sweet kid, but he's retarded and ..

Nix's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, my God. That's why he got so angry."

Mancini looked uzzled.

p "I feel terrible," Nix said. "He wanted to buy me a drink. I thought he was hitting on me. I told him not to bother me a few times, but he persisted. Then, I called him an idiot. That's when he went crazy."

"That explains it," Mancini said. "Gary is very sensitive about his intelligence."

"I feel awful."

"Don't. You had no way of knowing and Gary should have known better, but he's like a little kid ..

"You don't have to say anything more. I'm not going to call the police. If I'd known I.. .

Nix paused. She looked toward the table where Mammon and Booth had been sitting.

"Is something wrong?" Mancini asked.

"Gary told me that a friend told him I wanted him to buy me a beer. He pointed to a table on the landing.

There were two men sitting there. They were laughingmaybe they put Gary up to this as a joke. You know, taking advantage of him."

"Are they still here?" Mancini asked.

"They're gone, but I'd know one of them anywhere.

He was gigantic, like a body builder. just huge. And he had tattoos on his arms."

Mancini scowled. "Did Gary mention any namesp, Nix thought for a moment. Then, she brightened.

"Chris! I'm certain that's what he called him."

A flicker of fear shaped Mancini's features for a moment. Then it was gone. Nix reached across the table and touched his forearm.

"Mr. Mancini, you don't have to worry. It looks like Gary was the butt of a practical joke. I shouldn't have called him an idiot, anyway. And I don't want to spoil your wedding day."

"Thanks a lot, Karen." Mancini looked at his watch.

"Look, if it's all right, I'll leave now. I have some work at my office I'm wrapping up."

"You go ahead."

"You're terrific. I'm leaving word with the bartenders.

Anytime you're in, the drinks are on me."

"Oh, that's not necessary."

Mancini held up his hand. "Not a word. You've been very understanding. Not everyone in your position would be."

At the other end of the Stallion, Dave Thorne was making up a drink order for a waitress. The blonde with the medallion was no longer on her stool. Thorne assumed she had left while he was up front, but he turned around to give the waitress her order and saw the blonde walking out of the front door behind Steve Mancini.

Christopher Mammon led Kevin Booth out of the Stallion while Gary Harmon was screaming at Karen Nix.

The muffled music from the bar rumbled in the night air. Fear tightened Booth's gut when Mammon stopped in the darkest part of the rear parking lot.

"It's great seeing you out, Chris," Booth said, trying to sound sincere. "What's your lawyer think will happen with your case, now?"

"Geary's an old drunk, but he seems to know his stuff. He's not too encouraging, though."

"That's too bad."

Mammon shrugged. "Shit happens."

"So, Chris, what did you want to talk about?"

"We have a problem, Kevin."

"What's that?"

"Rafael wants his thirty thousand dollars."

Thirty thousand was the amount that Mammon was supposed to pay for the two kilos of cocaine the police seized when Booth and Mammon were arrested.

"That's not my problem," Booth answered nervously.

"You made the deal with Rafael."

"I agree with you, but Vargas sees it differently. He says you set up the deal, so you're responsible for the money."

"That's not fair. I introduced you as a favor. You should have told him it wasn't my fault."

"Oh, I did, Kevin. Unfortunately, Vargas says you and I both owe him the money and he doesn't care who pays.

"You still have the money you were going to use to buy the dope. Give it to him."

"No can do. See, I represent people. These people put up the money, but they won't pay it over unless they get cocaine for it. These people I represent are not big on charity."

"Well, I don't have thirty thousand dollars. And I shouldn't have to come up with money your people owe. I'm gonna tell that to Rafael."

"I wouldn't do that. He was very angry with you, Kevin. He said for me to tell you not to call him unless you had the money. He seemed very serious. Of course, you know Vargas better than I do. Maybe he was just running."

Booth knew Rafael Vargas well enough to know that he was only rational part of the time and that he was very violent all of the time. If Rafael said "don't call" "Booth was not going to risk it.

"There is a solution to our problem," Mammon said.

"What?"

"My people are still interested in buying a very large shipment from Vargas and Vargas wants to deal with them. I'm too hot to be involved because of the arrest, so I thought up a plan that helps my people and helps you make it up to Rafael."

A wave of nausea passed over Booth. Christopher Mammon was a sadist and a bully. Since Mammon arrived in Whitaker six months ago, Booth had never seen him do anything for anyone without an ulterior motive.

Whatever Mammon had in mind, it could only mean trouble for Kevin Booth.

"You're going to do a favor for my people and Rafael.

If everything works out, we'll both be off the hook for the thirty thousand."

"I don't want to be involved, Chris. I was lucky to beat my case. You heard what that judge said he'd do if I was arrested again."

The smile left Mammon's face and a wall of ice formed behind his eyes. Booth stopped talking and licked his lips.

"This is my ass, too," Mammon said in a voice heavy with the threat of dire consequences. Booth felt like a small child in the presence of a stern and punitive father.

"I just ... "Kevin," Mammon said softly, "don't be afraid. You can handle it."

"I'm not the right guy, Chris. The cops are gonna be watching me."

"You're small potatoes, Kevin. The cops lost interest in you the minute your case was dismissed. Besides, there's no risk. All you have to do is hold some product."

"Chris, please. I don't want to go to jail," Booth pleaded.

Mammon stared hard at Booth. Then, in a low, slow voice, he said, "There are worse things than jail, Kevin.

Besides, you don't have a choice. I've already assured Vargas that he can count on you."

"Aw, Jesus. Call him back."

Mammon placed a hand on Booth's shoulder near his neck and applied a little bit of pressure. Booth turned white.

"if you do as you're told, you won't go to jail and you'll be off the hook for the thirty grand."

Mammon squeezed a little harder. Booth dropped to his knees on the asphalt. He tried to pry Mammon's hand off his neck, but the iron fingers would not budge.

"On the other hand," Mammon said quietly, "if you fuck this up for me, you'll wish you were in jail."

Booth gritted his teeth and twitched and wriggled in pain.

"Please, Chris."

Mammon released Booth and he tumbled onto the asphalt. Mammon let him lie there for a moment. Then, he reached down and pulled Booth to his feet as easily as if he were a child.

"I'm sorry I had to do that, but I'd rather hurt you a little now than have to hurt you a lot later, because you failed to understand how serious I am.

My people and I want this done and Vargas wants it done. I don't vxant to have to pay out any of my money to square this.

Now, do I have your promise that you'll be a good boy?"

"Sure, Chris. I'll do what you say."

Mammon smiled. "I know you will."

"What ... what do I have to do?"

"Just sit tight. You'll be contacted soon. I don't think it's a good idea for us to be seen together from now on, so don't call me or try to see me."

"Okay," Booth assured Mammon, eternally grateful that he would be rid of Mammon.

Mammon started toward his car. Then, he stopped just as a man walked by the far end of the Stallion heading toward the side parking lot. Mammon turned toward Booth, who was only a few feet from him.

"One more thing, Kevin. Don't even think of running."

Booth did not answer. He was shaking from fright.

Mammon turned back toward the lot. A light at the far end of the building illuminated a slender blonde in a Whitaker tee shirt and jeans. The blonde paused under the light and headed toward the side lot. She called to the man Mammon had just seen. Mammon squinted.

He knew that girl. He wondered what she was doing.

Chapter EIGHT.

Two stone pillars at the end of High Street farthest from the courthouse marked the main entrance to Wishing Well Park. A wide path between the pillars led to the wishing well, which had been built in 1972 as a memorial to the men of Whitaker County who had given their lives in the Vietnam War.

From the wishing well, the park expanded into a large recreational area with a marina, baseball diamonds, a playground, a band shell and a series of hiking trails.

It was only one mile from Oscar Watts's house to the wishing well, but Oscar was a neophyte in the world of physical fitness and the two-mile round trip of alternate jogging and walking was pure agony. Oscar worked as a bookkeeper at the JCPENNEY on Broad. Though his doctor was always chiding him about his weight, Oscar was never troubled b the fact that his belt was lost in y overlapping rolls of fat. He loved to eat, and he didn't really need to be physically fit to add up columns of numbers. Then, Oscar had a stroke and his doctor gave him a solemn lecture about blocked arteries, sky-high cholesterol counts and saturated fats. Now, instead of spending each morning consuming stacks of his wife's fabulous maple-syrup-and-butter-soaked hotcakes, Oscar spent his mornings gasping in agony as he struggled along the hiking trails of Wishing Well Park.

Head down, feet dragging, mouth open and gulping for air, Oscar trudged ahead on legs of lead. When he looked up, the wheezing jogger saw the wishing well wavering like a ghostly beacon in the half light of dawn, reminding Oscar that his self-inflicted torture was half over. He was one hundred yards from the well when he spotted the object at its base. He was fifty yards away when he realized it might be human. Oscar stopped running and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, straining for a better look. Sweat obscured his vision.

He ran his forearm across his eyes. Could that be a woman? It was hard to tell. Whatever sex it was, the person was curled around the base of the well, knees almost touching the red brick and hands and arms tucked out of sight, as if the person was sleeping. She could be sleeping, Oscar thought hopefully, as he crept toward the well.

At twenty-five yards, Oscar started to make out the dark stains that had soaked into the long blond hair and puddled at the base of the well. He wondered if he should call a cop now or take a closer look. Oscar didn't want to jump to conclusions and look like a fool. He decided to check things out. It was the last time Oscar thought about food for a long time.

Earl Ridgely could hear the gentle rush of the river from where he was standing. The summer air smelled of fresh-cut grass and roses. Morning dew shined his scuffed, black leather shoes. It was the type of balmy JU y t -tat made Ridgely wish he were lazing in a hammock sipping from a cold glass of sangria. Instead, he was sweating in a business suit, just inside the perimeter set up by the forensic experts from the Oregon State Crime Lab as they studied the body huddled next to the red brick wishing well.

Ridgely was a slender man with thinning strawcolored hair, tortoiseshell glasses and a thick mustache.

A local boy who graduated with distinction from Stanford, but was smart enough to attend an in-state law school because he wanted a career in politics. Ridgely was forty and at the tall end of his second term as Whitaker County D.A. A spot on the circuit court bench would be opening up soon. A good friend from law school was the governor's legal adviser and Earl had been assured that he would soon be taking his first step up a ladder that he hoped would end at the Oregon Supreme Court.

As he approached the body, a young policeman wearing latex gloves was delicately holding up for Sergeant Dennis Downes's inspection a thin metal chain at the end of which dangled a medallion. Downes had been selected by the Major Crime Team to be the officer in charge because the crime being investigated was within the Whitaker city limits. The team was composed of the same men who had viewed the body found several weeks ago in a gully in the wastelands at the border of Whitaker County. The method of murder and the type of victim were sufficiently similar to put every one of these seasoned professionals on edge.

"Should I bag this?" the officer asked.

"Where'd you find it?"

"In the bushes by the entrance."

"Better do it," Downes decided, even though the bushes were a distance from the wishing well. The officer walked away with his find.

"Morning, Dennis," the district attorney said.

"Mornin', Earl."

"Any idea who she is?"

"Not yet, but she's got to be from the college. Looks the age and she's wearing a Whitaker tee shirt."

"Does she have any ID?"

"If she had a purse or wallet, we haven't found it."

"Then, let's get her picture on TV and ask the Clarion to run it on the front page of the afternoon edition."

Downes jerked his head toward the body. "Like that?" he asked, wanting to be certain he understood Ridgely.

"Of course not. If she can't be cleaned up, have King make a sketch."

Downes looked relieved. Ridgely didn't blame him.

He had taken only one quick look at the corpse, but it was enough to leave him light-headed. People died unnatural deaths in Whitaker County, but the dead were usually the victims of auto accidents and farming mishaps. This girl's skull had been split, exposing the brain and drenching her long blond hair with blood that had soaked into her clothes and spilled onto the ground in such quantities that even the careful forensic experts were stained by it.

The girl's face had been lacerated by chopping blows, creating open wounds that also bled profusely.

Ridgely spotted Dr. Guisti bending over the corpse.

Guisti straightened up when he saw the D.A. approaching.

"Was the murder weapon a hatchet?" Ridgely asked when they were far enough away from everyone else so they could not be heard.

"I can't say for certain, but I will say that there are enough similarities between this crime, the murder in the gully and the murder in Blaine for me to say they are either the work of the same person or a very good copycat."

"Any signs of sexual activity?" Ridgely asked. The first two women had been raped before they were killed.

"I won't know until I examine her, but I'm guessing no. The other women were naked. She's got her clothes on. The first two were murdered in a location different from where they were found. I'm guessing the killer ah ducted the other women and held them for a while, but fouled up the abduction here and had to kill her."

"I don't like this one bit, Harold. What you're telling me is that we've got a serial killer in Whitaker County."

"Looks like it."

"Well, shit. I don't have the personnel to investigate something like this."

"You'd better figure out how to do it quick. I started doing a little reading on the subject after we found Emily Curran in that gully. One thing's for certain. Our boy has tasted blood and, according to the literature, once he's taken a liking to the killing, he's not going to stop.

The Mancini-Harmon wedding reception was held in the dining room of the Whitaker Elks Club. A long table stocked with hors d'oeuvres, salads, desserts and a selecnon of roast beef and fried chicken stood against one wall next to the bar. A band played in front of a large dance floor on the opposite side of the hall. The guests chattered noisily at tables covered by white-and-redcheckerboard tablecloths. Peter was refreshing his drink at the bar when a finger poked him in the back.

"Hi, Peter."

Peter turned too quickly and a splash of gin and tonic slopped over the lip of his glass, wetting his hand. He jerked his hand back reflexively and some more liquid jumped out of the glass.

"Having trouble holding your liquor?"

Peter looked down and found Becky O'Shay observing him with a bemused smile.

"Don't you know better than to sneak up on a person like that?" Peter asked, annoyed that Whitaker's prosecutorial pixie had made him look foolish.

"Just practicing what I was taught in law school," answered Becky, her grin widening. Peter laughed, too, even though he was upset. He couldn't help himself.

O'Shay was just too cute to stay mad at.

"Are you a friend of the bride, the groom or both?"

Peter asked.

"Steve. How about you?"

"Steve. We went to law school together. Where do you know him from?"

"Oh, here and there," O'Shay answered enigmatically. "Steve tells me you worked at Hale, Greaves before moving to Whitaker."

"Why did he tell you that?"

"I asked him," O'Shay answered with a mischievous grin. Then, she cocked her head to one side and asked, "You're related to Richard Hale, right?"

"He's my father."

"I'm impressed. He must.be great to work with."

"Dad's a trip, all right."

"Isn't Whitaker a little dull after the big city? Hale, Greaves must be such an exciting place to practice."

"Dull is what I wanted after four years in the rat race," Peter answered tersely, keeping to the story he told everyone.

"What else did Steve say about me?" Peter asked, secretly pleased that O'Shay was interested enough to pump Steve about him.

"I said you were a pervert and an incurable womanizer," Steve Mancini answered, draping an arm across Peter's shoulder. "How are you two getting along? Had enough food, enough booze?"

Mancini looked dashing in his tux, but his eyes were 'bloodshot and his speech was a little slurred.

"Congratulations, Steve," O'Shay told the groom.

"You're a lucky guy," Peter added. "Donna looks great."

"I think so," Mancini said.

"What have you got planned?" Peter asked.

"Portland ' tonight and Sunday. Then, a week in Hawaii."

"I could live with that," Peter said.

"I need it. I've been breaking my ass on Mountain View."

"Is that your condo deal?"

"Yeah," Mancini said, flashing a smile that looked a little forced. "We're almost there, but I have to stay on top of everyone to keep the momentum going. Then, I've got two cases set for trial early next month. I almost put off the honeymoon, but I couldn't disappoint Donna."

"Forget about business, will you," Peter said.

Loosen up. This is your wedding."

"You're right," Mancini said as he took a scotch from the bartender and swallowed half of it.

"You need an associate to take some of the pressure off you. Why don't you put Donna through law school?" O'Shay joked.

"Donna? A lawyer?" Mancini answered derisively.

"Not a chance. Besides, she's going to be too busy with the little Mancims to have much time for anything else."

"What's this about little Mancinis?" asked Donna, who had a middle-aged couple in tow. She looked radiant in white.

"I was just telling Peter and Becky about our plans," Mancini said, as he gave Donna a kiss. Donna blushed with pride.

"Steve, I want you to meet Bob and Audrey Rosemont," Donna said. The Rosemonts and the newlyweds wandered off.

"They make a great couple, don't they?" Peter said.

"They sure do," O'Shay answered without enthusiasm. Then, she added, "I hope Donna's driving to Portland."

"I just had an idea."

"Oh?" O'Shay said, returning her attention to Peter.

"I've been told that you can get a great steak at the Range Rider. Want to help me find out if the rumors are true?"

"How would I do that)" I'By accompanying me to dinner tonight?"

"don't know if that's such a good idea."

"I can assure you that the idea is brilliant," Peter said, flashing her his best smile.

"Look, Peter, this is a small town and we're adversaries. How would it look if a juror in one of our future cases remembered seeing us together on a date)"

"Ah, come on, Becky. I've spent most of my evenings staring at my TV since I movd to Whitaker. I'm going stir-crazy."

While O'Shay considered his proposal, Peter sucked in his cheeks, hunched down and made himself look pathetic.

O'Shay laughed. "Oh, all right. If you're that desperate."

Peter strat htened up and grinned.

"Great," he said. "I'll pick you up at eight-thirty and I'll treat you like a goddess."

"You'd better."

Gary took two more shrimp from one of the silver platters on the massive table that held the hors d'oeuvres, then wandered down the line and put another chicken leg on his plate. Next, Gary spotted something wrapped in bacon near the cold cuts. He liked bacon with pancakes, but this bacon looked as if it was wrapped around liver. Gary did not like liver. He wondered if it would be okay to eat the bacon and throw out the liver.

He wanted to do the riaht thing. He did not want to embarrass Donna and Steve. After all, he was the best man.

Gary remembered his part in the ceremony and smiled. When Steve drove im to the church this morning, he told Gary that he looked handsome in his tuxedo. Gary wondered if there had been a girl in the church who thought he was handsome. That would be something. Gary looked around the crowded room to see if any girl was looking at him. He did not see any, but he did hear a lady with gray hair tell another lady with gray-streaked brown hair about a body that had been found by the wishing well. Gary walked over to listen.

"Eric thinks this killing might be connected to the girl they found in the gully and the other girl who was murdered in Blaine," the gray-haired lady said.

"Oh no.

"Eric saw the body. He said it was awful. The killer used a hatchet. Her head was almost chopped off."

"I remember when you could walk anywhere in town, any time of day," the other woman said with a shake of her head. "It's getting so I'm afraid to go out at night."

"That girl was at the Stallion last night," Gary said.

The two women looked at Gary. He smiled, proud to know something they did not.

"Hey, Gary, you look great," said a big, balding man in an ill-fitting brown suit. Gary recognized Eric Polk, a Whitaker policeman, whom he had met at several Elks Club functions.

"Bon, we got to go," Eric said. "It's one-thirty and we're expected at the kids' at two."

Wilma looked at her watch. "I had no idea. I'm going to have to leave, Mabel. It's Kenny's third birthday."

Ccis that grandson of yours three already?" Mabel Dawes asked.

"Looks five, he's that big," Eric said proudly.

"Donna looked lovely, Gary," Wilma Polk said, as she, her husband and Mabel Dawes walked away.

Gary's chest swelled with pride. His sister was beautiful.

So was that girl at the Stallion who had been mean to him. Mrs. Polk said the girl's head had almost been chopped off. Gary thought of the hogs he had butchered on his family's farm. They would squeal and get all excited on the way to die. A picture of a mean girl all tied up and squealing came into his thoughts unbidden. For a moment, it was like it was really happening. Gary's mouth was dry and he started to get hard.

If the mean girl was tied up in his room, he could ask her why she was being mean to him. No, not his room.

Mom would find her when she came to clean. But some place. He could put her someplace where no one could find her. Only he would know where she was.

And she would have to do what he said. She would have to kiss him if he wanted and learn to love him. That was the most important. Love him like Donna loved Steve. Love him for ever and ever.

Marjorie Dooling's shoulders shook convulsively each time she sobbed into her boyfriend's shoulder. Tommy Berger held Marjorie and tried to comfort her. Dennis Downes waited patiently. He understood the shock ariorie experienced -when she saw Sandra Whiley's face, because he had experienced the same feeling that morning in the park.

"I'm sorry," Marjorie apologized, trying hard to stop her tears.

"You take your time," Downes answered compassionately. "Do you want some water?"

Marjorie nodded and Downes poured some from a pitcher he made certain was on his desk before he brought her back from viewing the body.

Marjorie sat down. "I'll be okay," she managed after taking a few sips. "It's just ..

She shook her head, at a loss for words.

"What made you call the police?" Downes asked, giving the girl an easy question to distract her from her grief.

"I saw the sketch on the front page of the afternoon Clarion. It looked so much like Sandy."

Downes nodded. "You two share a dorm room?"

"No. We live in a boardinghouse near the campus."

"Did you worry when Sandy didn't come home last night?"

"We, uh, spent the night at my place," Tommy answered.

"When I got back to the room this morning, Sandy wasn't there," Marjorie told Downes. "I figured she was studying or something."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

Marjorie looked at Tommy.

"About ten-thirty," he said. "We all went to the Stallion."

"Tommy and I wanted to leave. We offered to drop her off at the house because we came in Tommy's car, but she wanted to stay." Marjorie's eyes teared again.

"If she'd only come with us ..

Downes waited patiently while Dooling gathered herself.

"Sergeant Downes, I was wondering ... When they found Sandy, was she wearing a necklace?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Sandy always wore a medallion around her neck. A Crusader's Cross. It would be for her mom. I know she'll want it. Sandy's grandma gave it to her and it was her lucky piece."

Sandy Whiley wasn't wearing anything around her neck when the first officer arrived on the scene, but it seemed to Downes that one of the officers had found something resembling the jewelry Dooling had described. He would check on it later. For now, the medallion was evidence and would have to be held until the killer was caught and convicted.

Business was usually slow at the Stallion at four in the afternoon, and the stunning summer weather was keeping all but the staunchest regulars outdoors. Dennis Downes spotted Arnie Block and Dave Thorne chatting behind the bar as soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the tavern. Downes was in uniform and the bartenders stopped talking when he sat down.

"Hi, Sergeant," Block said. "The usual?"

"Not today, Arnie. Were you and Dave on duty last night?"

"Yeah. We were both here."

Downes took out a photo of Sandra Whiley that Marjorie Dooling had given him when he followed her back to the boardinghouse.

"Do you remember seeing this girl in here?"

Arnie studied the photo. "She looks familiar, but I don't know if she was here last night."

Thorne frowned. "It could be ... Yeah. Her hair was a little longer, but I'm sure.. ." He took the photo from "See that medallion around her neck? She was playing with it at the bar. It's definitely her."

"When was she in?"

"It had to be around eleven. In fact, I'm sure of it, because I remember seeing her leave shortly after the fight broke up."

"What fight?" Downes asked.

"Oh, it wasn't anything. Gary Harmon was yelling at a woman. Arnie calmed him down."

"What's with the girl?" Block asked.

"We're trying to trace her movements. She was murdered sometime after she left the Stallion."

"No shit!" Thorne said, looking more closely at the photograph. "Hey, she's not the girl they found by the wishing well?"

Block and brought it closer.

Downes nodded.

"Jesus. A couple of customers were talking about that earlier. We thought it might be the other one."

"What other one?"

"The woman Gary was hassling. I saw the sketch in the Clarion and it looked a little like her."

"What happened?"

"Do you know Gary?" Arnie asked.

Downes nodded.

"Then, you know he's a little slow, and he'd had one too many. He tried to hit on this girl. She shot him down and he didn't take it too well. He grabbed her by her tee shirt and yelled in her face."

Arnie shook his head.

"What kind of tee shirt?" Downes asked, remembering the way Whiley was dressed.

"Uh, a Whitaker State one. The one with the rearing horse on it."

"Was she wearing jeans?"

"I think so."

"And you thought Gary might have killed this girl?"

Downes asked. ' "Not really," Block said with a laugh to show how ridiculous the whole thing was. "Gary just gets excited sometimes and acts like a kid. I mean, he did threaten to kill her, but no one took him seriously."

Chapter NINE.

Dennis Downes was normally an easygoing guy, but the possibility of busting the only serial killer in the history of Whitaker County had him on edge. Seated next to Downes in the passenger seat of their patrol car was Bob Patrick, whom everyone called Pat. Pat was tall and thin with wiry muscles. His face was narrow and pock marked and his eyes were close-set, making him look scary and mean. Pat wore his hair long and greasy in an Elvis Presley, fifties' duck's-ass style that was a little intimidating because it was so weird. Everything about him screamed "tough cop," which was why Downes brought him along. Pat was as psyched up as his partner.

"Jesus, Dennis, I think you're definitely on to something here," he said, as Downes drove toward Gary Harmon's house. Following them was another patrol car with two more officers.

"It's got to be him," Downes responded confidently.

"I talked to Karen Nix at her dorm around six. She and Whiley aren't twins, but they're the same type. Blond, long hair, slender. And they were both wearing jeans and that Whitaker tee shirt with the horse.

, "The way I see it, Harmon has this fight with Nix. He stays mad like a little kid would and broods about the put-down. Then, he gets a weapon and waits outside the Stallion for her. The door opens, out walks a blonde.

Only it's the wrong one. He follows her, waits for his chance ..

"And kills her, just like he threatened."

"There's something else. A few weeks ago, Harmon was arrested for peeping a coed's room at the dorm."

"Hot damn."

They turned the corner and Gary's house came into view.

"We've got to be careful with this," Downes cautioned. "Everything by the book. Lots of "Please' and "Thank you." The bathroom, if he's got to pee. Coke, if he's thirsty."

"Gotcha," Patrick agreed with a knowing smile.

"With one exception."

"And that is?"

"The kid's gonna trust me," Downes said as he parked the car. "I got him out of that peeping scrape and treated him right. We can play on that, but I might need some help. That's why I brought along the meanest prick on the force."

Patrick's smile widened. He knew exactly what Downes wanted. They had played this game before.

It was seven-thirty and the living room lights were on in Gary's house. Downes could hear the mindless chatter of the TV set when he rang the bell.

A moment later, Gary opened the door. He was barefoot and wearing jeans and a Whitaker football team tee shirt. The presence of four policemen on his doorstep confused and frightened him.

"Hi, Gary, remember me?" Downes asked with a cheerful smile.

Gary's brow furrowed. Then, he remembered Sergeant Downes. He was the nice policeman who helped him the night he ... Gary's initial relief was replaced by anxiety as he recalled the humiliating circumstances of his arrest for peeping. Had the girl he spied on pressed charges? Were these men here to arrest him?

"What do -you want?" Gary asked warily.

"Hey, Gary, there's nothing to worry about. I'm here because I need your help. Can I come in?"

Gary hesitated for a moment, but he remembered the good manners Mom had taught him and stepped aside.

Downes led the other policemen inside.

"Nice place you got here," Downes commented.

"Thank you. Do you want to sit down?" he asked, acting just the way his mom told him he should act when company called.

"Sure," Downes said, lowering himself onto the sofa.

"Say, Gary, could we turn the TV off? It's a little loud."

Gary turned off the set and sat opposite the burly police officer. Gary noticed that none of theother policemen sat down. One stayed by the front door, one stood near the entrance to the hall and the officer with the greasy hair made Gary uncomfortable by moving out of Gary's line of vision and standing behind his armchair.

"Have you heard about the girl who was murdered in Wishing Well Park?" Downes asked.

Gary nodded. Downes took a snapshot of Sandra Whiley out of his breast pocket and handed it to Gary.

Whiley was standing on a lawn in front of the business school dressed in shorts and a tank top, acting silly. She was leaning slightly forward because the camera had caught her while she was laughing.

"She sure was pretty, don't you think?" Downes asked.

Gary nodded noncommittally, even though he did think the girl was pretty. After his problem at the Stallion and his arrest at the dorm, Gary was afraid of expressing too much interest in girls.

"We're talking to anyone who might have seen this woman last night. Did you see her?"

"I don't think so."

"Take another look. You were at the Stallion yesterday evening, weren't you?"

Gary's heart rate increased. They were here about that girl. The one he yelled at.

"Hey, Gary, relax. You look uptight," Downes said.

"No I ain't," Gary answered defensively.

"Well, that's good, then, because there's no reason for you to be worried. This is just a routine inquiry. Now, you were at the Stallion last night, weren't you?"

"Yeah.

"Why don't you tell me what you did there."

Gary felt sick. He did not know what to say. Downes waited patiently.

"I don't remember too much what happened. I was drinking a lot."

"Did you try to pick up a girl at the bar?" Downes prodded.

"I ... I might have."

Downes lifted his head a fraction of an inch and made eye contact with Bob Patrick.

"Look, Harmon," Patrick barked, "we know you attacked a girl at the bar, so can the shit."

Gary's head swiveled around. Patrick loomed over him. He looked as if he might hit Gary.

"Calm down, Officer Patrick," Downes said firmly.

"Mr. Harmon invited us into his home. He's not a suspect and that remark was uncalled for." Patrick stared hard at Gary, but said nothing more.

"Sorry about that, Gary, but we did talk to the bartender and some other witnesses and they told us about the argument you had with a girl. Were they telling the truth?"

Gary hung his head. He wished Steve or Donna were there to protect him, but they were on their honeymoon.

"Well, Gary?"

"I got a little mad. I shouldn't of."

"What made you mad?"

"I don't know," Gary mumbled.

"You wouldn't be rude to a young lady without a reason. Am I right?"

Gary looked down at the floor. He didn't know what to say. Downes let him sit like that for a while, then he said, "I have a suggestion to make. Why don't we continue our conversation at the station. Is that all right with you?"

Gary's head snapped up. He looked panicky.

"You ain't gonna arrest me?"

Downes laughed a deep, friendly laugh.

"Arrest you? What gave you that idea? I want your help, that's all. We'll drive you home as soon as we're through. You do want to help me, don't you, Gary?"

Gary hunched forward a little and wrung his hands in his lap. He didn't like the police station. He was scared to go there.

Downes leaned close to Gary. "Remember how I helped you out? Remember how I fixed everything for you?"

Gary nodded.

"Do you trust me, Gary? Do you think I'm your friend?"

Gary hesitated.

"I didn't tell your mom about what happened at the college with that girl, did IF' "No," Gary answered grudgingly.

"Then, will you be my friend and help me solve this terrible case?"

Gary squirmed in his chair. Then, reluctantly, he nodded his head.

"Terrific! Why don't you get dressed and we can go."

Gary went to his bedroom and Downes and the mean policeman followed him. Patrick stood by the door, but Downes went inside the room. The first things he saw were the Stallion football posters and memorabilia.

"You really are a Stallion fan," Downes said while Gary put on his sneakers.

"Yeah," Gary said, brightening. "We're going all the way."

"I sure hope so. I never miss a game."

"Steve bought me season tickets."

"He's a nice guy. Even when he defends his clients in court, he treats us cops with respect. He's a good citizen, just like you."

Gary felt proud that Sergeant Downes thought he was like Steve. He didn't feel so scared now that he understood that he was just being a good citizen and helping the police solve a murder.

"Say, there's one more thing," Downes said as soon as Gary stood up to go. "Would you mind letting these fellas take a look around your place? I'd appreciate that."

"Look around?"

"Yeah. As part of the official investigation. That wouldn't be a problem for you, would it? They'd do it While we were downtown and put everything back real neat."

"Why would they have to look around?"

"We always look around when we're investigating a case, Gary. Good citizens never object. You don't have anything to hide, do you?"

Gary's thoughts turned immediately to the magazines with the pictures of the naked women, but they were hidden so well he was certain no one could find them.

"Well, Gary?"

"I guess it's okay."

"That's great," Downes told him, beaming with good fellowship as he fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it and a pen to Gary.

"Why don't you read this and put your John Hancock at the bottom where I've put the X?"What is it?"

"A consent to search form. It's just routine."

Gary looked at the form. He could read, but it took a lot of effort and this paper had a lot of hard words on it. After a minute of struggling, he got tired and signed.

Behind Gary, Bob Patrick smiled. Downes saw him, but kept his composure. Everything was going according to plan.

Gary recognized the room right away. It was the same windowless interrogation room where he was questioned the night he was arrested for peeping.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Sergeant Downes asked as soon as Gary was seated. Gary was thirsty, but he shook his head. He did not want to be left alone with the mean policeman, who was lounging in a chair by the door, staring at him.

"Okay, then," Downes said, taking a seat across from Gary. "I don't want to keep you long, so why don't we get down to it. What happened between you and that girl at the Stallion?"

Gary shrugged his shoulders and stared at the tabletop.

"I guess I got mad."

"That's no big thing. If I didn't get mad at you for what you did at the dorm, do you think I'm gonna get bent out of shape because you got mad at some irl? She probably didn't treat you right is what I'm guessing."

"I was trying to get a date with that girl and she said no. That's why I was mad."

Downes shook his head in disbelief and chuckled.

"Is that all? Hell, the way you've been acting, I thought you had some deep, dark secret. So, what happened?"

"Chris said she wanted to go out with me."

"Chris?"

"He's a friend of Kevin Booth. Kevin and Chris was sitting with me."

"So this Chris said this girl was giving you the eye?"

Gary nodded. "Only I don't think she really was. I think Chris was playing a joke on me."

"Why's that?"

"She really didn't seem to like me."

"What made you think she didn't like you?"

"She wouldn't let me buy her a drink and she told me to go away. Then, she ... she .. ."

Go on."

"She said I was stupid," Gary blurted out. His cheeks turned scarlet.

"Well, shit, Gary, that girl had no cause to do that, did she, Pat?"

Gary looked at the other policeman to catch his response, but there was none. Bob Patrick continued to stare with his hard, cold eyes.

Downes leaned across the table. "Gary," he asked in a low, sympathetic tone, "what did you do when you got mad at Karen Nix?"

"I ... I guess I grabbed her."

"What's all this 'guess' shit?" Patrick snapped angrily. "Either you did or you didn't."

Patrick's loud voice startled Gary and he looked to Downes for help.

"Relax, Pat," Downes said.

"I'm getting sick and tired of this little prick, Dennis.

He's jerking us around."

"Officer Patrick, my title is Sergeant, and I'm conducting this interview."

Downes stared hard at Patrick. Patrick tried to meet his stare, then backed down. Gary was elated. Downes turned back to Gary.

"I know this is hard for you, but we need your help to catch the killer. So, tell me what you said to Karen Nix when you grabbed her."

Gary hung his head. He felt nauseous.

"I ... I guess I said something like I would kill her."

"Then, Arnie Block came over, didn't he?" Downes asked.

Gary nodded. Downes looked relaxed, but he wasn't, because they were about to get down to the real nittygritty.

"What did you do after you left the bar?" he asked in a casua I tone.

"I don't remember so good. I think I just walked around."

"Did you go any special place?"

"I went to see Steve."

"Steve Mancini?"

Gary nodded.

"Did you see him?"

"No. I went by his house, but he wasn't there."

Downes leaned forward expectantly. "What did you do then?"

"I went to the Ponderosa."

Downes's pulse rate jumped. The Ponderosa was a workingman's bar near the Riverview Motel. It was a few blocks from where they were sitting. So was Sandra Whiley's boardinghouse. If Whiley was walking back to her place along High Street and Gary was walking toward the Ponderosa from Steve Mancini's house, they could have met.

"How did you get to the Ponderosa, Gary?"

"I walked down High."

"So you went by the park?"

Yeah."

"What side of the street did you walk on?"

"Uhm, the other side. Not where the park is."

Downes leaned forward. "This is real important, Gary. The murder could have happened right when you passed by the park, so you could be an eyewitness."

Gary looked surprised. "I want you to think real hard.

Did you see anything going on in the park when you passed by?"

Gary's brow furrowed as he struggled to concentrate.

Then, Gary's face broke into a wide grin.

"I did see something, Sergeant Downes. I did."

"What did you see, Gary?"

"I seen a guy and this girl. They were hugging."

"Where did you see this?"

"By the big park entrance, near where you go down to the wishing well, only closer to the street."

"What did the man look like?"

"I'm not sure. It was dark."

"How tall was the man?"

"I don't know. He was leaning on her."

"Leaning?"

"Yeah. You know. Hugging her. Leaning down."

"Gary, this is important. Think real hard. Could the girl have been Sandy? Could the man be the murderer?"

Gary was quiet for a moment. Downes edged forward on his seat. When Gary raised his head, he looked apologetic.

"They was just hugging, Sergeant Downes. I'm sorry, but they was just hugging."

An hour later, Downes and Patrick stepped into the hall, leaving Gary alone in the interrogation room.

"What do you think?" Downes asked.

"I don't know. What about you?"

Downes shook his head. "He seems too dumb to lie, but I don't believe in coincidence. He's admitted to being at the park right around the time the murder probably was committed, he threatened to kill a girl who looks a lot like Whiley."

"I think we need to get a D.A. in on this before we go any further," Patrick said.

Downes frowned. Earl Ridgely had instructed Downes to call him if there was a break in the case, but Ridgely was too close to the Harmons. He'd been invited to Donna's wedding and Jesse Harmon had made a sizable contribution to Earl's campaign. Ridgely might insist on getting Gary a lawyer and that would be that.

Becky O'Shay would never suggest getting Harmon a lawyer, but she would try to take the credit if Harmon confessed. Still, she wouldn't interfere with the interrogation and that was the main thing.

"I'm gonna find Becky O'Shay. That will give you some time to soften up Gary."

"How do you want me to work it?" Patrick asked.

Downes thought for a moment. Then, he got an idea.

"This probably wouldn't work on most people, but Gary is dumber than a post. Why don't you try the black light?"

After Downes explained what he had in mind, Patrick frowned.

"I don't know, Dennis. That doesn't sound right to me.

"What's the problem?"

"It's trickery. It could taint the whole confession, if we get one."

"No it won't. Not if you don't put words in his mouth. Let me tell you how I'd do it."

Peter Hale was certain that the bathroom in his rental home had been built for midgets. There was so little space between the tiny tub and the sink that he could only dry himself by standing sideways and the showerhead was so low that Peter had to stoop to catch the water that drizzled out. It sure was a far cry from the walk-in shower in his condo and its four jetstream nozzles. Still, Peter was in a good mood. He was going out tonight with an attractive, sexy woman and he was certain he was going to have a great time.

Peter wiped away some of the vapor that misted the mirror and combed his hair. He was singing a few bars of "Life in the Fast Lane," one of his favorite Eagles tunes, when the phone rang. Peter wrapped a towel around his waist and rushed into the bedroom.

"Peter?"

."Hi, Becky. I was just getting ready to come over."

"That's why I'm calling. There's an emergency and I have to go to the police station."

"Do you want me to pick you up there?"

"I'm afraid that won't work. This could take all night.

I'm going to have to ask for a rain check."

Peter was crushed.

"You've got one," he said jauntily, masking his disappointment. "I know about emergencies. We had them all the time at Hale, Greaves."

"Thanks for taking this so well. Let's talk later in the week."

Becky hung up and a wave of despondency swept over Peter. He flopped onto the bed. He had been really pumped up for this date. He tried to look on the bright side. Having a date cancel at the last minute wasn't the end of the world. He thought of the many times he had been the canceler. Besides, he told himself, there was a gourmet lasagna microwave dinner in the freezer and a Chuck Norris movie on the tube, sustenance for both the body and the mind. He had everything he needed for an exciting evening right at home.

Peter's attempt to kid himself out of his depression failed miserably and only made him more melancholy.

He couldn't stay home tonight after getting his hopes up for an evening that would vaguely resemble the good times he used to have. Peter thought about going to the restaurant by himself, but his appetite had disappeared.

He contemplated calling Rhonda or picking up a college girl at the Stallion, but his heart wasn't in it. Then, he thought about calling his father.

Peter had been in Whitaker more than a month.

Surely that was a long enough exile. Maybe Richard just wanted to scare him. Maybe he wasn't really written out of the will. He would call his father and explain how working for seventeen thousand a year and living in this dump had taught him about the value of money. He WO d recount a tale or two about the poor unfortunates; he was re resenting. Surely Richard would see p that he was a new man with a sense of responsibility.

Certainly he would say that all was forgiven and welcome Peter home with open arms.

Peter dialed his father's home number. Richard picked up the phone on the third ring.

"Richard Hale," a strong, confident voice announced.

Peter wanted to say something, but he couldn't speak.

"Hello?" his father said with a tinge of annoyance.

All Peter's energy drained away, leaving him helpless.

The receiver at Richard Hale's end dropped angrily onto its cradle.

"Dad, it's Peter," Richard Hale's son whispered into the dead line.

Gary looked up anxiously when the door to the interrogation room opened. He had been left alone for almost half an hour and he was getting scared. His anxiety increased when Bob Patrick entered the room.

"Hi, Gary," Patrick said pleasantly, "I brought you a drink."

Before entering the room, Patrick had dried a can of Coke and dusted it with detection powder. Although invisible to the naked eye, the powder would look orange under the ultraviolet light beamed from the tan flashlight Patrick carried. Gary did not want to take the Coke from Patrick, but he was very thirsty. He eyed the officer warily. The fact that Patrick was being nice to him made Gary suspicious.

"Where's Sergeant Downes?"

"He had something to do. He'll be back soon."

Gary took the Coke with his right hand and drank it greedily. Patrick sat down next to Gary and placed the tan flashlight where Gary could see, it. Then, Patrick took several crime scene photographs of Sandra Whiley and laid them next to the flashlight. Gary took one quick look at the photos and turned his eyes away.

"What's the matter, Gary?"

"I don't like them p ... pictures."

"Is it the blood that bothers you?"

"Y ... yes."

"Most of the killers I've interviewed couldn't look at their victim's blood," Patrick lied. There had been only two homicides in Whitaker County since he had been on the force and he had never interviewed any of the prisoners. "I don't know what it is, but the blood of their victim scared them. Maybe they thought I could see that blood on them even when they had taken great pains to wash it off. What do you think about that, Gary?"

"I don't know," Gary answered, still averting his eyes from the photos.

Patrick gathered up the pictures and put them away.

Gary relaxed visibly. Patrick tapped the black light.

"Know what this is?"

Gary shook his head.

"It's a blood machine, a light that can pick up the smallest drop of blood on a killer's hands. Most murderers think that you can wash off the blood of a victim, but you can't. Oh, you can scrub and scrub, but the blood of a murdered person works its way into the skin and no amount of cleaning can make it completely disappear."

Patrick paused to let Gary absorb what he had just said.

"Now you say you didn't kill that girl. Well, I'm open-minded." Patrick picked up the tan flashlight and pointed it at Gary. "Why don't you stick out your hands and we can settle this right now."

Gary wrapped both hands around the Coke can and drew it into his chest.

"What's the matter, Gary? You aren't worried about what the blood machine might show, are you?"

"N ... no."

"Then open your hands and hold them palm up."

Gary put the can down. He opened his hands and stared at them. There was nothing on them. Very slowly, Gary extended his hands toward Patrick. Patrick pressed the button on the flashlight and directed the ultraviolet beam at Gary's palms. Large iridescent orange splotches appeared on both hands. Gary stared at the orange splotches in horror.

Chapter TEN.

Dennis Downes and Becky O'Shay conferenced in the small room on the other side of the two-way mirror.

Through the glass, Becky could see Gary Harmon. The suspect huddled on his chair, casting frequent frightened looks at Bob Patrick.

"I called Don Bosco from County Mental Health and he's going through his records to see if he has anything on Gary," Downes said.

"Good idea," Becky agreed. "I definitely think you're on to something. Take the magazines." Becky pointed at the pile of sex books the police had found in Gary's house. "We can assume Harmon saved these particular issues for a reason and I've noticed something they have in common. The centerfolds are all blondes like our victim and Karen Nix."

"Good going, Becky. I didn't spot that."

"Were the victim in the gully and the victim in Blaine blond?"

"One was and the girl he peeped on at the college was blond."

"All right!" Becky exclaimed.

"What about the absence of blood on his clothing and in the house?" Downes asked.

"I don't think we should spin our wheels worrying about that. Let the criminalists run their tests. If they don't come up, with anything, we can worry about it then. Harmon may have done something as simple as getting rid of his bloody clothes."

"You're right. If he confesses, we'll find out what happened to the blood."

Downes stood up. "It's about time I started questioning Gary again. Do you think I should Mirandize him?"

"You haven't done that yet?"

"I didn't want to spook him. Besides, he's not in custody. I made it clear that he's free to leave whenever he wants to."

"Technically, you may be right, Dennis, but I'd do it now. Harmon's been here for several hours. Some judges would consider him to be in custody."

"Okay. I'm gonna start taping the conversation.

You'll be able to hear everything we say in here once I switch on the intercom."

"Good. You know, it might not be a bad idea to have Don Bosco sit in here with me. The observations of a trained psychologist could be useful at trial."

Downes left to get a tape recorder. Becky was really excited. She rarely got a chance to be in on an investigation from the beginning and this was no ordinary invest1gation. Her date with Peter Hale was forgotten. Dating Richard Hale's son might have been useful, but Peter wasn't going anywhere. She might not need him to get a job, anyway. O'Shay's plans did not include a long stay in Whitaker. She would gain experience here, then try to land a job with the Multnomah County District Attorney's Office in Portland or the more prestigious United States Attorney's Office. After a few years, she planned to parlay that experience into a job in a big firm where she could make some real money. If she could claim credit for breaking a case involving a serial killer she might not have long to wait before she was on her way.

ties asked "What happened with the black light?" Dow Patrick. They were in the hall outside the interrogation room.

"Gary freaked. He started moaning and wringing his hands as soon as I turned on the fight."

"Did he admit to anything?"

"No, but he's pretty scared. If he's going to crack, it'll be now."

Gary stood up when Dennis Downes preceded Bob Patrick into the room.

"Can I go home now? I don't want to stay here," he pleaded, casting a worried glance at Bob Patrick.

"I have just a few more questions I want to ask you."

"Can I go then?"

"Oh, sure. And don't think I don't appreciate all you're doing to help the police. I wouldn't keep you here if I didn't think you could help the people of this city solve this terrible case."

Downes held up the tape recorder. While Gary looked at it, Downes flashed a quick look at Bob Patrick.

"To make sure I get what you say down right," Downes said, "I'd like to use a tape recorder. My memory ain't what it used to be and this gadget saves me from having to write everything down. Do you mind if .

I tape-record our conversation "No.

"Great. Before we get started, I'm going to read you your Miranda rights."

"What are you doing that for?" Patrick asked angrily.

"This punk's just gonna hide behind a lawyer's skirts like every other guilty asshole."

Downes jumped to his feet.

"I've had enough out of you, Officer Patrick. Gary has nothing to hide. If he does want a lawyer that's his right. Now, I expect you to apologize to Mr. Harmon."

"You've got to be kidding?"

"Apologize, then get out."

Gary watched Bob Patrick flush with anger, then he heard him mumble an apology and storm out, slamming the door behind him. He felt so relieved that he sagged on his chair.

"Good riddance," Downes said.

"I don't like him."

Downes leaned forward and told Gary, in a confidential tone, "I don't either. The guy has no respect for a good citizen like you. Hell, you'd never hide behind a lawyer, would you?"

"No," Gary answered, shaking his head vigorously.

They smiled at each other. Downes turned on the tape recorder.

"Well, Gary, to business. First, though, I'm going to give you those Miranda warnings we talked about."

1. Downes proceeded to tell Gary that he had a right to remain silent and could have a lawyer present during questioning. Gary said he understood his rights, but wanted to talk to Downes, anyway.

"I want to help catch the guy who killed that girl," Gary said."That's great."

Downes had Gary talk about the incident at the Stallion again, so it would be on the tape. Then he drew his chair a little closer.

"Gary, I want to go back to something you told me that I think is really important. Remember you said you were on the way to the Ponderosa after you left Steve's house when you saw a man and woman at the entrance to Wishingwell Park?"

Gary nodded.

"I want you to think about that couple again."

Gary thought real hard. Then, he shook his head.

"I just remember they was hugging, Sergeant Downes."

"Can you remember what they were wearing?"

"Hair color?"

"Uh uh."

Downes seemed frustrated for a moment. Then, he thought of something.

"Gary, you think you can't remember anything else, but I'm going to tell you a few things I learned in police work. Have you ever heard of the subconscious mind?"

"I think so," Gary answered hesitantly, not wanting to admit that he had no idea what Downes was talking about.

'.Right now you're hearing me and seeing me with the conscious mind. That's what you use when you're awake. But you aren't watching those two at the park now, are you?"

"No.

"How could you tell me about them?"

Gary thought for a moment. Then, his face lit up.

"I remembered."

"Absolutely right. But where was that memory stored all this time?"

Gary thought some more. "I don't know," he said, a little dejected that he was not able to answer Sergeant Downes's question.

"Hey, don't feel bad. The answer is tricky. See, you have a subconscious mind that stores stuff when you aren't thinking about it. Not too many people know that. The trick in police work is to help a witness unlock his subconscious mind so he can remember things he thinks he's forgotten."

"How can I do that?" Gary asked eagerly.

"By getting relaxed and concentrating. The more you relax, the easier it becomes to unlock the subconscious.

I want you to close your eyes and get real loose and we'll see what we can do together to catch Sandy's killer, because, from what I know, I think there's a good chance you saw Sandy and her killer when you walked by Wishing Well Park."

Gary did as he was told. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, until Gary opened his eyes.

"It's no use. All I see is them two hugging."

"Hmm," Downes said thoughtfully. "You know, Gary, if those two weren't Sandy and her killer, they probably were hugging, but what if it was Sandy and the murderer?"

"You mean they wouldn't be hugging?"

"I didn't say that. I don't want to put words in your mouth. What I'm saying is that the mind can play tricks.

For instance, you wanted to hug Karen Nix, didn't you?"

Gary squirmed in his seat and blushed.

"Come on, Gary," Downes said with a hearty laugh.

"Karen Nix is pretty. Any red-blooded American man would want to hug her. Don't tell me it didn't enter your mind."

Gary hesitated.

"Come on now. We've got to be honest with each other here. You did want to hug her, didn't you?"

Gary hung his head and mumbled, "Yeah."

"All right. So, when you saw this boy and girl together, you put them in a romantic situation. But there are other things that look like hugging. What they were really doing could be registered in your subconscious mind."

"What could they be doing if they weren't hugging?"

"You tell me."

Gary puzzled out the problem. It took a while, then he brightened.

"They coulda been wrestling."

"Hey, why didn't I think of that? You're one step ahead of me already, Gary. This is great! Do you see what I mean about the subconscious mind?

Your conscious mind saw two people hugging, but they might also have been doing something else. Your subconscious mind will know the truth. What I want you to do is relax, close your eyes and picture that night."

"I'll try," Gary said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

"Okay. Now, maybe this will help. Think about what you were wearing. Can you do that?"

Gary nodded.

"What do you see?"

"Uh, I think it was jeans and a short-sleeve shirt."

"Jeans like you've got on now?"

"Yeah. I got four pairs of jeans and it was another one."

"Where is that pair now, Gary?"

"In the closet."

Downes tried not to show his excitement. "Have you done anything to those jeans since you wore them?"

"Oh, yeah. I have to wash them when they're dirty.

It's on the list my mom made up. Every Saturday is wash day and I washed everything in the hamper right when I got up, because I was going to the wedding."

Downes's heart sank. Whiley had been murdered Friday night or early Saturday morning. If there was blood on Gary's jeans and shirt, it was gone now. Out loud, Downes said, "Okay, you're doing great. Keep your eyes closed and feel how warm it is. Picture yourself in your jeans and short-sleeve shirt. You're walking by the park.

Can you see the park?"

"Yeah."

"Is it warm, Gary?"

."Yeah."

"Hey, that's great. You're cookin'. So, go on. What do you see?"

"I see them stone fences."

"Good. Now slow up a little. What do you see? Reiua and let it come."

There was silence in the room. Downes leaned forward expectantly. He could see Gary's features contort with effort. Then, Gary's eyes opened.

"It's no good. I didn't see anything new."

"Not a thing?" Downes said, making no effort to hide his disappointment. Gary felt terrible. Sergeant Downes had so much faith in him and he was letting him down.

"Can I try again?" Gary asked. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. There were the two stone pillars and the path between them. And on the path were the boy and the girl. He was holding her, leaning down, which meant he was taller. And she was.. . what? Leaning into him?

No. Gary slowed time in his mind, trying hard to see, because he wanted to help Sergeant Downes.

"She's leaning back, pushing him away."

"You saw that?" Downes asked excitedly.

"Real clear."

"Is it Sandy?"

"I can't say for sure."

"You've got to try, son. You're doing so well and this is so important."

"I am trying, but..

"You know what might help? Why don't you picture a movie screen in your head and watch what's happening on it. That way, you can slow down the movie to make it easier to see."

"That's what I done," Gary said proudly.

"Pictured a movie screen?"

"No, slowed everything down."

"You done that yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll be damned. You know, Gary, you might be a natural at this stuff."

Gary blushed at the compliment. "I just want to get this guy."

"I know you do, so let's see if you can tell for sure if it's Sandy."

"Okay," Gary said, letting his head sag back. This time he did what Sergeant Downes had suggested and watched the action on a big movie screen take him back in time. The park appeared, flowing like water at first, then solidifying until only the edges were wavy. As he approached the park entrance the scene slowed to a crawl and the two people started to appear. Who were they? He was taller than she, but his face and body were in shadow.

Gary was opposite them now. He willed the picture to grind to a halt and strained to see if the woman's features were the same as ... as those in the photograph of Sandra Whiley at the college that Sergeant Downes had shown him.

"I can see them. She's kind of turning and he grabs her."

"By her shoulders, her shirt?"

"By the shirt. She's making this real fast turn when he grabs her and she whips around and I think they're probably hanging on to each other, kinda .

.. you know."

"Go on, Gary. This is great. Can you see her face?"

"Sorta, but it's like ... I don't know. You probably wouldn't know me if I was on a dark street."

"But you were directly across from her."

"Yeah, when he pulled her back and grabbed her."

"Was it her, Gary? Was it Sandy? Slow the picture.

Make it lighter on the screen. You can do it, Gary. You can add some light. What do you say?"

"I'm ... I think.. ."

"Go ahead. Say it."

"I'm sure it's her. The one that got killed. And ... and that's the murderer, too, because he jerked her back.

They weren't hugging."

"They weren't?"

"No, no. "Cause he was grabbing her and she was pulling away and he.. ."

"What? jerked her back?"

"Yeah. Like that. A jerk, so she spinned around. And that's when I seen her."

"Did you see anything shiny, Gary? It would probably have been right then.

In that split second."

"Shiny?"

"We know there was a weapon."

"Boy, I don't..

"You don't see a weapon? We haven't found the weapon, yet. We don't know what he used to kill Sandy."

"Oh."

"So, look at his right hand. Most people are righthanded. It would probably be there."

Gary concentrated real hard, running the picture forward and backward while Downes waited quietly. He could see Sandy. She looked scared.

"What have you got, Gary?"

Gary's eyes opened. "Nothing more," he answered groggily. He was getting tired.

"But you know it's the killer and Sandy?"

Gary nodded. "I could see she was scared."

"Really', You didn't say that before. That's good. See, we're making progress. How are you holding up?"

"I'm hungry."

"Do you want a Coke and a burger?"

"A burger would be good."

"Let's take a break. Then, we'll try again."

An hour and a half later, Dennis Downes was frustrated and Gary Harmon looked exhausted. Gary's eyes were bloodshot and his hair was in disarray from the times he had run his fingers through it. The remains of a greasy hamburger, an empty can of Coke and several paper containers for coffee littered the tabletop. They had been over and over Gary's walk by the entrance to Wishing Well Park and Gary still would not give any more details.

Downes knew he ha reached a dea end with his current approach. He was thinking of giving up when an idea occurred to him.

"Straight across from me," Gary mumbled sleepily. "I know he's taller than she is, but I still can't see enough.

I'm sorry, Sergeant."

"It's okay, Gary. Don't apologize. You've given us our first clues and you've also given me an idea. A way to break through to the truth. Would you be willing to try one more thing before you go home?"

"I'm awful tired, but if you think I can help, I'll try."

"Terrific, Gary. Now, let me tell you my idea. If this doesn't work, we'll call it a night. Have you seen people on TV who can predict the future or read minds?"

Gary nodded.

"Those people are called psychics and some of them help the police. If there's a murder, you give them an object that belonged to the murdered person and they can project their supernatural mind into the mind of the killer through this object and find a missing body or see who did the killing through the dead victim's eyes.

Based on what I've seen you do, I suspect you have a very developed supernatural mind. I want you to use it to help me out."

"Gee, Sergeant, I've never done anything like that," Gary said. He was beat. All he wanted to do was sleep.

He didn't even think he had a supernatural mind.

"I'm not surprised you haven't used your supernatural mind," Downes said. "You didn't even know you had these powers of the subconscious mind, until tonight."

Downes stood and stretched. "We're gonna need something of Sandy's for this. You sit here while I get it.

Do you want another burger or some coffee?"

"That would be good."

Downes left the interrogation room and went next door. Becky O'Shay looked as if she was ready to fall asleep. Sitting next to her was Don Bosco, a short, squat man dressed in tan chinos and a short-sleeve shirt. Bosco had monstrously hairy forearms and bush eyebrows.

y There was even an extra-thick growth of black hair on the psychologist's ears.

"What was that all about?" Bosco asked when Downes entered the room.

"Just an idea I want to try," Downes said.

After he explained his plan, Downes asked, "What do you think, Becky?"

"I think he's covering up. You've got him admitting he saw the murder. We need to have him slipup on a detail that will prove he committed the murder.

I say, go for it."

"Do you see any problems, Don?" Downes asked.

Bosco looked troubled. "I think it could get riskyharmon is reacting like someone who's mentally handicapped..

"He's not that dumb."

"I don't know," Bosco answered hesitantly "And, even If he's of normal intelligence, he's awfully tired.

He's going to be susceptible to suggestion. You have to be very careful not to lead him. Even telling him that he will be able to see things with his psychic powers is suggestion."

"Okay. I'll be extra careful. Don't worry."

Gary held the picture of Sandra Whiley in one hand and her Crusader's Cross in the other. He was leery of holding the dead girl's jewelry, but Downes assured him the object would heighten the psychic forces.

"Okay, Gary, close your eyes and relax like you did before."

Downes waited in silence as Gary tilted his head back.

After a moment, his head sagged sideways until his cheek almost touched his shoulder. Gary's head was swimming. Fatigue loosened his grip on the Crusader's Cross and the chain slipped out of his hand and dangled just off the floor.

Can you feel the cross in your hand?" Downes asked.

"Uh huh."

"Good. Gary, I'm going to teach you a trick you can do with that cross because of your special powers. It's a trick us ordinary folks can't do and it's called 'projection transfer." That's Sandy's cross. She was wearing it when she was killed. I want you to project your supernatural mind into that cross and tell me what Sandy saw and what the killer saw. Let yourself go."

Gary let his mind run loose but the picture on the screen was scrambled.

"Do you see Sandy?" Downes asked.

"I'm starting to see them more along. You know, after I walked by," Gary said in a voice so heavy with fatigue that his words were slurred. "She ... she's ... He's holding her."

"All right," Downes said, suddenly excited. "This is what we want."

"He's hanging on to her."

"Like she's trying to get away?"

"Yeah. It seems like she slapped him."

"Sandy fought back?"

"Uh huh. And then ..."

"Yes, Gary. Concentrate. Use your powers."

"His right hand. It's like it was going down."

"Dropping or ... ?"

"Like he was hitting her."

"This is what we want. This is it, Gary. Now, we know he grabbed her and pulled her back and she whipped around. That's what you saw as you passed by.

Then she hit him and he hits her with his right hand.

Now I want you to look for one more thing. At this point, the unknown man is hitting her. It had to be with something. Something in his right hand.

What is he using? It's very important. I want you to look at his right hand through Sandy's eyes and tell me what you see."

Gary concentrated as hard as he could. What would it be? Then he remembered what the two women said at the wedding about the girl's face being chopped up.

What was it they said the killer used?

"I'm trying, but I can't picture it."

"If anyone can, you can, Gary. You have a power that no one else has. You are the man with the power."

Gary opened his eyes. "It's almost there, but.. ." Downes thought about the location of the head wounds. He stood up.

"Picture it, Gary," he said, unconsciously moving his right hand up and down. "Tell me what's in his hand."

Gary closed his eyes and recalled the autopsy photograph that Bob Patrick had shown him, just before he used the black light. Then, he remembered what the lady at the wedding had said.

"It's shiny," he said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"It's metal shiny."

"Like a ... like what? Shiny like a knife blade?"

"Yeah, shiny."

"You've got knives, Gary. Is it like a knife you own?"

"Not a knife."

"Not a knife?"