The Ax (27 page)

Signature ______________________

BD/VK

This is a very dangerous letter to send. For the first time, I’m leaving a trail—other than the bullets from the Luger, I mean—and for the first time I’m doing something that might warn my resumé that he’s in danger.

The phone number, that’s the problem. Though contact with prospective employees is often made by this kind of letter, there’s
always
a phone number on the letterhead, and almost always the employer asks you to respond by phone. Explaining that the unsatisfactory hire is still there, and a phone call might make trouble in the shop, should—I hope—calm HCE’s suspicions before they arise. But what if he notices there’s no phone number on the letterhead?

I thought of putting a fake number on it, any number at all, but what if he disobeyed the letter and made the call? That’s unlikely, since job hunters don’t disobey prospective employers, but what if he did? He would not reach B. D. Industrial Papers. And, no matter what happened in the course of that call, I could be sure his next call would be to the police.

He and they would probably suspect a con game of some sort, and they would follow the trail of the letter to my post office box, where the postmistress would certainly give them a description of me. She’s seen me several times, so the description would probably be a good one.

Also, since the letterhead would lead them into Connecticut, how long would it be before it connected them with Detective Burton, the man investigating the coincidental murders of two unemployed paper mill midlevel managers? Come to think of it, what are the odds that HCE applied to Willis & Kendall for that can-label job? Which would mean Detective Burton has already interviewed him.

But the telephone number is the only problem. The meeting I’ve arranged isn’t unheard of, and shouldn’t raise suspicion. Personnel directors do sometimes go on the road, to meet with a number of applicants in the same geographical area, and one of the appointments each day will include lunch, or otherwise lunch is a waste of time.

I’ve made the personnel director a woman, with a name that suggests she’s young, and I’m hoping that the prospect of a good meal (the Coach House has a first-rate reputation) with an attractive young woman (he’ll naturally assume she’s attractive), one that could lead to a prime job, will throw enough dust in his eyes to keep him from thinking about telephones.

Still, it’s frightening. At this point, so many things could go wrong. For instance, I’ve told him to countersign the letter and send it back, so it won’t be found among his effects after I kill him, but what if he makes a copy, what if he’s that kind of completist? (I reassure myself that, if he’s
that
kind of completist, there’ll be so much paper bumf stored among his effects that no one will ever look through it all.)

I’ve also done the best I can with both envelopes, the one I’m mailing to him and the one included for his return. I had a few sheets of my fake letterhead copied onto extra-heavy paper, and then, carefully, with a straight-edge and a razor blade, I cut out the letterheads from three sheets and glued them as the return address on both envelopes and the destination address on the inner envelope. They do look like printed labels.

This whole move scares me. I’ve been very careful up till now, I’ve done my best to control the situations, to keep myself anonymous and separate. Now I’m, at least potentially, leaving a trail. But what can I do? I’m so close to the finish, so close. HCE is all that stands between me and Upton “Ralph” Fallon, who will be easy, easy, easy.

Now I’m desperate. I can’t use the gun, and I can’t get at, or even find, HCE. I have to try something, anything, and this is all I can think of. So I drive up to Wildbury, to the mailbox outside the post office, and I send the letter, and I’m terrified.

B. D. INDUSTRIAL PAPERS

P. O. BOX 2900

WILDBURY, CT 06899

June 11, 1997

Mr. Hauck Exman

27 River Rd.

Sable Jetty, NY 12598

Dear Mr. Exman:

Three months ago, we ran a help wanted ad in The Paperman, to which you responded. At that time, I must admit, you were not our first choice for the position. However, since then, to our chagrin, it has become apparent that our initial decision was in error.

If you have not as yet found other employment, would you be available on Friday, June 20th, to meet with our Personnel Director, Ms. Laurie Kil-patrick, who will be interviewing in the western New York region?

We would suggest lunch at one PM at the Coach House in Regnery, which I believe is not too far from your residence. The reservation will be in Ms. Kilpatrick’s name.

Please fill out and return this letter in the enclosed stamped envelope, to let us know your availability. Since the gentleman to be replaced is still on the premises, a phone call might create unnecessary distress.

If we do not hear from you, we will understand that you are no longer interested in the position.

Thank you for your time.

Benj Dockery III, Pres.

I am available

I am not available.

I must suggest an alternate date. ________

Signature

BD/VK

From time to time, the next few days, I’ll drive over to Sable Jetty and go past HCE’s house. And if I see a police car parked outside, I don’t know what I’ll do.

I sit in front of the Wildbury post office, Tuesday, the 17th of June, at the wheel of the Voyager, and I hold the letter in my hands. It has orbited back to me. I look at what HCE has written there, along the bottom, and the letter feels warm, heated by his hunger.

He sent it back immediately, the instant he got it. Clearly, he didn’t worry about telephone numbers or anything else.

Another possible snag, I’d realized after I sent the letter, was that he might cut off the bottom part of it, the part for him to fill out, and just send that back, retaining the main body of the letter for himself—and the police. But HCE wants this job; he snapped at the bait like a trout.

Now that my gamble seems to be paying off, I can admit the other aspect of this move that I don’t like. I have killed people. I’ve hated doing it, but I had to do it, and I did it. But I haven’t been cruel to them, I haven’t toyed with them. In a way, I’m toying with HCE, I’m tantalizing him with a nonexistent job interview with a nonexistent attractive woman. I’m sorry to do that, I wish there’d been some other way.

The letter got back to Wildbury yesterday, but I couldn’t check the box until this afternoon, because yesterday was Billy’s day in court. We had to be there, Marjorie and I, of course. We were scheduled for ten, and we arrived a few minutes early, with Billy, to find Porculey the lawyer waiting for us. His suit this time was not maroon, thank God, but a neutral gray. It was his tie that was maroon, with little white cows jumping over little white moons. He shook our hands, Marjorie’s and mine, and said, “We think it will work out here,” and took Billy away for a discussion with the judge.

A lot has happened in the two weeks since Billy’s arrest. It turned out that Billy’s partner in crime, somebody named Jim Bucklin, had been less quick-witted than we, and so had his parents. In the police car after his arrest, he’d said things that might be construed as confessions that he’d robbed that same store several times before, and apparently he’d said similar things to other detectives at the police station, and kept blabbing away until finally, the next day, he met the lawyer his parents had hired (unlike Billy’s poor needy folks, the Bucklins didn’t qualify for Legal Aid). That lawyer finally got Jim Bucklin to shut up.