A Long Line of Dead Men

"Well, hell," he said. "I didn't like to say it when I regarded him as one of our honored dead, but I can say it now, can't I? He came across as a loser."

"A loser."

"A nobody, a nebbish. A guy who wasn't going to make the cut. You're right, he wasn't in our league. He didn't belong at the same table with the rest of us."

"Maybe he realized that himself," I said. "Maybe it pissed him off."

* * *

He wanted to speculate on Severance's motives, and what might have gone through his mind. Earlier, he said, before he had any idea who the killer was or what might be motivating him, it had struck him that the whole affair was a sort of collective form of erotomania, where a disturbed individual becomes fixated on someone, often a celebrity. "Like that woman who kept breaking into David Letterman's house," he said. "Or the lunatic who killed John Lennon."

"Afterward," I said, "there will be plenty of time to figure out what makes him tick."

"Afterward?"

"After he's locked up," I said. "And I think it's time to make sure that happens as soon as possible. I'm afraid I've gone about as far as I can go with this, Ray. I'm ready to turn it over to the professionals."

"I never thought of you as an amateur."

"I am when it comes to mounting an all-out manhunt. That's the way to catch him fast. Between the cops and the tabloids and America's Most Wanted, there's no way he'll be able to stay hidden."

He looked at me. "And what about us?"

"The club's story will come out," I said. "If that's what you mean. But there's no way to avoid that."

"No?"

"I don't see how."

He cupped his chin in his hand. "Let's assume he's in New York," he said. "Do you think you could find him?"

"Without the police?"

"Without the police or the press."

"I don't have their resources."

"No, but you have other resources at your disposal. We could give you a substantial operating budget. And you could offer a reward."

"It's not impossible," I said. "But you'd just be postponing the inevitable. The story would have to come out when he went to trial, and it would be every bit as sensational and get just as much of a play."

"When he went to trial."

"That's right."

"And what do you suppose would happen at that trial? And afterward?"

"I'm not sure I follow you."

"What would happen? What would be the outcome of the trial?"

"I suppose he'd get convicted of murder," I said. "Unless he had Hard-Way Ray for a lawyer."

He laughed. "No, I'm afraid he'd have to get along without my services. But are you all that certain he'd be found guilty? Which killing do you suppose he'd stand trial for?"

"Billings is the most recent one."

"And what's the evidence? Can you put him on the scene? Can you tie him to the car? Can you produce a murder weapon, let alone prove it was in his hand?"

"Once the police go to work on it-"

"They might have an eyewitness or two who can pick him out of a lineup," he said, "but I wouldn't count on it, and I don't have to tell you how little most eyewitness testimony is worth in a courtroom. Who else has he killed? Watson's widow? Watson himself? Can you prove any of that? We know he was on the scene, he discovered Alan's body, but where's your evidence?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is that a conviction is by no means a foregone conclusion. You can throw out the early cases entirely. He killed Boyd and Diana Shipton, he went down to Atlanta and shot Ned Bayliss, he hanged Hal Gabriel with his belt, God knows what else he did, and you can forget all of that because there's not going to be any way to prove it. And I seriously doubt you can convince a jury he killed anybody else, either."

I recalled something Joe Durkin had said. "It's a wonder anybody ever goes to jail for anything," I said.

"I don't know about that," he said. "I think the system is generally pretty good at locking people up. Too good, sometimes. But that doesn't mean you can make a tight enough case against Severance to put him away. Hell, if you had the goods on him, he could probably plead insanity and make it stand up. He's devoted his life to a career of senseless systematic serial murder. You want to try to sell him to a jury as a model of mental health?"

"I can't even buy that myself."

"Neither can I. I figure the bastard's nuts. I also figure he's done enough harm for one lifetime."

I had an idea where this was going. I didn't much want to go there. I got the waiter's attention and had him refill my coffee cup.

Gruliow said, "Say I'm wrong. He stands trial, they find him guilty on all counts, and he goes to prison."

"Sounds good to me."

"Does it? Obviously, it makes the club and all of its members the focus of a lot of unwelcomed publicity, but there's no avoiding that, is there? Maybe we'd survive as an institution. For my own part, I can't imagine ceasing to get together every May. But I hate to think how all that media attention would change things."

"That's unfortunate, but-"