Pity Him Afterwards

“This is all fantastic, Bob. The killings, the messages, all of it. The work of a sick mind. Obviously, whoever he is he’s capable of looking normal. So it could be any one of the four, and it could just as easily be Tom.”

Haldemann shook his head dubiously. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, “but I just can’t see Tom as a murderer. Or a maniac.”

“All right, neither can I. I can’t see any of the other three, either. That’s Ken Forrest, and Will Henley, and Rod McGee.”

Haldemann gazed at him thoughtfully, digesting the names, and then shook his head. He said, “And that’s all, Eric? Aren’t we forgetting somebody?”

“Who?”

“I just can’t— Those three boys are all — they’re normal, Eric. I’ve talked to all three of them.”

“So have I.”

“If it’s one of those four, I don’t see how you’ll ever catch him. I couldn’t conceive of any of them doing things like this. It would show, Eric, it would have to.”

“Obviously, it doesn’t.”

“Mm.” Haldemann thought that over, too, and then said, “It does have to be somebody here, doesn’t it? Yes, I know, it does, we’ve gone over that already.”

“Yes.” Sondgard got to his feet. “I have more to do,” he said.

“How much do I tell Arnie and Perry?”

“Who the suspects are, that’s all.”

“All right.”

“And they’re to keep it to themselves.”

“You know them. If either of them says ten words in a week, it’s a miracle.”

“I know.”

Sondgard next went to find Mike, who was still watching the front door, and told him to take up a new station behind the house, where he could watch the rear and right side. And if he were to hear Dave Rand honk his horn three times, to come around front on the double. And if he ran into any trouble, to fire one shot, but not to shoot at any people without asking a lot of questions first.

It had taken him a while to get things set up, and he had the uneasy feeling that the whole crowd could have snuck out of the house by now, so he next wandered through the house, taking a private head-count, and was relieved to find everyone present and accounted for. He went out on the front porch to wait for Dave Rand to arrive and take over the surveillance out there.

When Dave showed up, Sondgard waved to him and went down off the porch and over to the theater. But he didn’t stop to talk to Dave, but kept on by and went into the theater.

Harry Edwards, the wire-service stringer, was happily ensconced in Bob Haldemann’s office, seated at Bob’s desk and talking on the telephone. Three other men helped fill the small office, sitting around on tables and the other chair. From the way they leaped at him the second he came into the room, Sondgard knew they were also reporters. He waved them away, saying, “Nothing to say. Not yet, not yet.”

He went over to Edwards, who hurriedly finished his conversation and hung up the phone. Sondgard said to him, “I hope those are collect calls.”

“Well, sure. TP isn’t cheap.”

“So you say,” said one of the other reporters.

Sondgard cut into the joking before it had a chance to get well started. He said, “Are these three it so far?”

“The sum total,” said Edwards. “There’ll be more, though.”

“All right. Pass the word. All reporters are to stay here in the theater. I don’t want any of them wandering around outside the house, peeking in windows. I’m having the house watched, and not all my men can tell a suspect from a reporter, so there could be some confusion. A reporter might even get shot by mistake, and then I’d have to make a public apology. So keep them here, right?”

Edwards laughed aloud, saying, “I like you, Professor. Your word is law.”

“Fine.”

Sondgard left the office and went back out to the sunlight, noticing what he’d missed before, the sign Harry Edwards had stuck to one of the glass doors: Press Information — Inside, Turn Right.

Sondgard thanked God for Harry Edwards. He nodded to Dave again, a big red-faced blond man who looked awkward and cumbersome on dry land, and went back into the house to take up the vigil some more.

“What time is it?”

Mel looked at his watch. “One-thirty,” he said.

Mary Ann looked out pensively over the water. “An hour and a half,” she said.

“We weren’t going to talk about that,” Mel reminded her. He pointed. “Look out there. Where’s the theater? Can you see it?”

“No.”

“Nothing but pool balls. Look, there goes an orange one, way down there by the Lounge. What’s the orange one? Five, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice betrayed her; she was still distracted, thinking of the other.

Mel got to his feet. “Come on, come on. We were going to explore.”

“All right. I guess we better leave our shoes off.” She turned her back on the lake and looked at their island. “It gets pretty swampy.”

“What about snakes?”

“Boy, are you the cheerful one.” She smiled at him, regaining her humor, and shook her head. “No snakes. And no rabbits or squirrels or anything else, either. We’ve got the place to ourselves, unless some kids come out.”

“Kids come here?”