Chase (7 page)

‘You'll receive in the mail, probably the day after tomorrow, complete copies of Dr Cauvel's notes on you, along with copies of several articles he had written for various medical journals. You're mentioned in all these and are, in some of them, the sole subject of discussion.’

Chase said, ‘I didn't know he'd done that.’

They're interesting articles, Chase. They'll give you some idea of what he thinks of you.’ Judge's tone changed then, became far more haughty and was touched with contempt. ‘Reading those records, Chase, I found more than enough to permit me to pass judgment on you.’

‘Oh?’

‘I read all about how you got your Medal of Honor.’

Chase waited.

‘And I read about the tunnels and what you did in those - and how you helped Lieutenant Zacharia to cover the evidence and falsify the eventual report. Do you think the Congress would have voted you the Medal of Honor if they had known you killed civilians, Chase?’

‘Stop it.’

‘You killed women, didn't you?’

‘I said stop it.’

‘You killed women and children, Chase, noncombatants.’

‘You son of a bitch.’

‘Children, Chase. You killed children. What kind of animal are you, Chase?’

‘
Shut up!’
Chase had come to his feet as if something had exploded close behind him. ‘What would you know about it? Were you ever over there, did you ever have to serve in that stinking country?’

‘Some patriotic paean to duty won't change my mind, Chase. We all love this country, but most of us realize there are limits to -’

‘Bullshit,’ Chase said.

He could not remember having been this angry in all the time since his breakdown. Now and then he had been irritated by something or someone, but never driven to the extremes of emotion.

‘Chase -’

‘I bet you were all for the war. I'll bet you're one of the hawks that made it possible for me to be there in the first place. It's easy to set standards of performance, select limits of right and wrong, when you never get closer than ten thousand miles to the place where it's all coming down!’

Judge attempted to comment but could not break in.

Chase said, ‘I didn't even
want
to be there. I didn't believe in it, and I was scared shitless the whole time. Mostly, all I thought about was staying alive. In that tunnel, I couldn't think of anything else. I wasn't
me. I
was a textbook case of paranoia. And now, dammit, I won't let you or anyone else blame
me
for what a textbook example did!’

‘You do feel guilty, though,’ Judge observed.

That doesn't matter.’

‘I think it does.’

‘It
doesn't
matter, because no matter how guilty I feel you haven't the right to pass judgment on me. You're sitting there with your little list of commandments, but you've never been anywhere that made a list seem pointless, anywhere that the environment forced you into reacting in a manner you loathed.’ Chase found, amazingly, that he was crying. He had not cried in a long time.

‘You're rationalizing,’ Judge began, trying to regain control of the conversation.

Chase would not permit that. He said, ‘And remember that you've not followed that commandment yourself. You killed that boy, that Michael Karnes.’

‘There was a difference,’ Judge said. Some of the hoarseness had returned to his voice.

‘Oh?’

‘Yes,’ Judge said, on the defensive now. ‘I studied his situation carefully, collected evidence against him, and only then passed judgment. You didn't do any of that, Chase. You killed perfect strangers, and you very likely murdered innocents who had no black marks on their souls.’

Chase slammed the phone down.

When it rang at four different times during the following hour, he was able to ignore it completely. His anger remained sharp, the strongest emotion he had experienced in long months of near-catatonia.

He drank three more glasses of whisky before he began to feel a bit mellow again. His anger had burned up all traces of the drunkenness which his first few drinks had brought. The tremors slowly stilled in his hands.

At ten o'clock he dialled the number of the police headquarters and asked for Detective Wallace, who at that moment was out. He dressed, drank another glass of Jack Daniel's and tried again at 10:40. This time Wallace was in and willing to speak to him.

‘Nothing's going as well as we hoped,’ Wallace said. ‘He doesn't seem to have been printed. At least, the prints on that knife don't match up with anything in federal or state files.’

‘They could have checked the files this quickly?’

‘Yeah,’ Wallace said. ‘They have computers that scan and compare much faster than a team of investigators could - something like the computers that read handwriting and sort mail at post offices.’

‘What about the ring?’

‘Turns out to be a cheap accessory that sells at under fifteen bucks retail in about every store in the state. Impossible to keep track of where and when and to whom a certain ring might be sold.’

Chase committed himself reluctantly. ‘Then I have something for you,’ he said. In a few short sentences he told the detective about Judge's calls.

Wallace was plainly angry, though he made an effort not to shout. ‘Why in the hell didn't you let us know about his before?’

‘I thought, with the prints, you'd be sure to get him.’

‘Prints hardly ever make a difference in a situation like this,’ Wallace said. There was still a bite in his voice, though it was muted now. He had evidently taken a moment to consider the stature of his informant.

‘Besides,’ Chase said, ‘the killer realized the chance of the line being tapped. He's been calling from pay phones and keeping the calls under five minutes.’

Wallace said, ‘Just the same, I'd like to hear him. I'll be over with a man in fifteen minutes.’

‘Just one man?’

Wallace said, ‘We'll try not to upset your routine too much.’

Chase almost laughed at that. He said, ‘I'll be waiting.’

The man who came with Wallace was introduced as James Tuppinger, and he was not said to have any rank with the police department, though Chase figured him as Wallace's equal. He was six inches taller than the detective and not so grey and ordinary-looking. He wore his blond hair in such a short crew cut that he appeared almost bald from a distance. His eyes were blue and moved from object to object with the swift, penetrating glance of an accountant itemizing an inventory. He carried a large suitcase in his right hand and didn't put it down when he offered Chase his left.

Mrs Fiedling watched from the living room, where she pretended to be engrossed in a television programme, but she did not come out to see what was going on. Chase got the two of them upstairs before she could learn who they were.

‘Cozy little place you have,’ Wallace said.

‘It's enough for me,’ Chase said.

Tuppinger's eyes flicked about, catching the unmade bed, the couple of dirty whisky glasses on the cupboard, the bottle of liquor which was nearly half empty. He did not say anything. He took his suitcase full of tools to the phone, put it down, and began examining the lead-in wires that came through the wall near the base of the single window.

While Tuppinger worked, Wallace questioned Chase. ‘What did he sound like on the phone?’

‘Hard to say.’

‘Old? Young?’

‘In between.’

‘Accent?’

‘No.’

‘Speech impediment?’

‘No,’ Chase said. ‘At first, though, he was hoarse -apparently from the strangling I gave him.’

Wallace said, ‘Can you remember what he said, each time he called?’

‘Approximately.’

‘Tell me, then.’ He slumped down in the only easy chair in the room and crossed his legs before him. He looked as if he had fallen asleep, though he was only conserving his energy while he waited.

Chase told him everything that he could remember about the strange conversations with Judge, then revealed some things he had forgotten as Wallace asked a few more probing questions.

‘He sounds like a religious psychotic,’ Wallace said. ‘All this stuff about fornication and sin and passing judgments.’

‘Maybe,’ Chase said. ‘But I wouldn't look for him at tent meetings. I think it's more of a moral excuse to kill than a genuine belief.’

‘Maybe,’ Wallace said. ‘Then again, we get his sort every once in a while, more regularly than any other brand of madman.’

Five minutes later, as Wallace and Chase sat in silence, Tuppinger finished his work. He explained his listening and recording equipment to Chase and further explained the tracery network the telephone company had in use to seek Judge when he called.

‘Well,’ Wallace said, ‘tonight I intend to go home when I'm supposed to.’ Just the thought of eight hours’ sleep brought his lids down further and increased the red tint in his eyes.

‘One thing,’ Chase said.

‘What's that?’

‘If this leads to something - do you have to tell the press about my part in it?’

‘Why?’ Wallace asked.

‘It's just that I'm tired of being a celebrity, of having people bother me all hours of the day and night.’

‘It has to come out at the trial, if we nab him,’ Wallace said.

‘But not before?’

‘I guess not.’

‘Id appreciate it,’ Chase said. ‘In any case, I'll have to appear at the trial, won't I?’

‘Probably.’

‘So, if the press didn't have to know until then, it would cut down on the news coverage by half.’

‘You're really modest, aren't you?’ Wallace asked. Before Chase could respond to that, the detective smiled, clapped him on the shoulder and left.

‘Would you like a drink?’ Chase asked Tuppinger.

‘Not on duty.’

‘Mind if I-?’

‘No. Go ahead.’

Chase noticed that Tuppinger watched him with interest as he got new ice cubes and poured himself a large dose of whisky. It wasn't as large as usual. He supposed he'd have to restrain his thirst a bit with the policeman around.

When Chase sat on the bed, Tuppinger said, ‘I read all about your exploits over there.’

‘Oh?’

‘Really something,’ Tuppinger said.

‘Not really.’

‘Oh, yes, really,’ Tuppinger insisted. He was sitting in the easy chair, which he had moved close to his equipment. ‘It had to be hard over there, worse than anybody at home could ever know.’

Chase nodded.

‘I'd imagine the medals don't mean that much. I mean, considering how much you had to go through to earn them, they must seem kind of insignificant.’

Chase looked up from his drink, surprised at the insight. ‘You're right,’ he said. They don't mean anything.’

Tuppinger said, ‘And it must be hard to come back from a place like that and settle into a normal life. Memories couldn't fade that quickly.’

Chase started to respond, then saw that Tuppinger was looking meaningfully at the glass of whisky in his hand. He closed his mouth, bit off his response. Then, hating Tuppinger as badly as he hated Judge, he lifted the drink and took a very large swallow of it.

He said, ‘I'll have another, I think. You sure you don't want one?’

‘Positive,’ Tuppinger said.

When Chase returned to the bed with another glassful, Tuppinger cautioned him against answering the phone without first waiting for the tape to be started. Then he went into the bathroom, where he remained almost ten minutes.

When he came back, Chase asked, ‘How late do we have to stay up?’

‘Has he ever called this late - except that first night?’

‘No,’ Chase said.

‘Then I'll turn in now,’ Tuppinger said, flopping in the easy chair. ‘See you in the morning.’

In the morning the whispers of the dead men woke Chase, but they turned out to be nothing more than the sound of water running in the bathroom sink. Tuppinger had risen first and was shaving. When he opened the door and came out a few minutes later, looking refreshed, he nodded at Chase. ‘All yours!’ He seemed remarkably energetic for having spent the night in the easy chair.

Chase took his time bathing and shaving, for the longer he remained in the bathroom, the less he would have to talk to the cop. When he was finally finished, the clock by his bed read 9:45. Judge had not yet called.

‘What have you got for breakfast?’ Tuppinger asked.

Chase said, There isn't anything here.’

‘Oh, you've got to have something. Doesn't have to be breakfast food; I'm not particular in the morning.’

Chase opened the refrigerator and took out the bag of Winesap apples. He said, ‘Only these.’

Tuppinger stared at the apples, at the empty refrigerator. His eyes flicked to the whisky bottle on the cupboard. He did not say anything, for he did not
need
to say anything. Indeed, if he had remarked according to his thoughts, Chase might have struck him.

‘They'll do fine,’ Tuppinger said enthusiastically. He took the clear plastic bag from Chase and chose an apple. ‘Want one?’

‘No.’

‘You ought to eat breakfast,’ Tuppinger said. ‘Even something small. Gets the stomach working, sharpens you up for the day ahead.’

‘No thanks,’ Chase said.

‘Tuppinger carefully peeled two apples, sectioned them and ate them slowly, chewing well.

By 10:30 Chase was beginning to worry. Suppose Judge did not call today? The idea of having Tuppinger here for the afternoon and the evening, of waking up to the sound of Tuppinger in the bathroom shaving, was all but intolerable.

‘Do you have a relief man?’ Chase asked.

‘Unless it gets too protracted,’ Tuppinger said, ‘I'll stick with it myself.’

‘How long might that be?’

‘Oh,’ Tuppinger said, ‘if we don't have it wrapped up in forty-eight hours, I'll call in my relief.’

Though another forty-eight hours with Tuppinger was in no way an attractive prospect, it was probably no worse, and perhaps better, than it would have been with another cop. Though Tuppinger was a bit too observant for comfort, he did not talk very much. Let him look, then. And let him think whatever he wanted to think about Chase. So long as he could keep his mouth shut, they wouldn't have any major problems.