Bone Harvest - Mary Logue [22]
The first thing Harold Peabody did after he called the sheriff was to make a copy of the note and put the copy safely away inside a volume of the Oxford English Dictionary on the page that included the definition for murder. He had bought the set in 1970 at a used bookstore for a hundred dollars. The dictionary was published in the 1950s, but he didn’t figure words went out of style.
He spent the rest of his time waiting for the deputy, clearing off his desk. The condition of his desk was an apt metaphor for the state of his mind: mildly organized chaos.
When Deputy Claire Watkins showed up, he ushered her to the back room and held out a chair for her. The chair, too, had been recently cleared of a stack of papers.
Then he sat down opposite her in his rolling chair and looked this deputy over. She was an attractive woman. Harold found that she resembled her name—there was something clear and open about the way she looked at him. She had the start of good lines in her face, and terrific eyes. She was growing outwardly into who she was inwardly—what one did in one’s forties. For better or worse.
“You’re the new investigator,” Harold commented. “I don’t think the sheriff’s department ever had one before.”
“No, this is a new position.”
“Good idea.” He had folded a piece of paper in two and placed it around the note so he could hold it without disturbing the surface. “Here it is.”
She pulled on a pair of latex gloves. First she read the note; then she turned it over and examined the backside of it carefully. She looked in the envelope, then put it in a plastic bag, and the note in another plastic bag. She placed the plastic-covered note on the desk in front of her so she could see it easily. When she was finished, she looked up at him. “Any idea what the numbers mean?”
“I think so. I think it’s a date. The date an entire family was murdered on their farm. The Schulers. Otto and Bertha Schuler and their five kids. Slaughtered on their farm on the tenth of July, 1952. The case was never solved.”
“But what about the first seven?”
“The number of people killed.”
Claire’s hand rose to her mouth and she closed her eyes for a moment. Harold could tell she was visualizing the scene. She knew murder scenes; she knew farms. She was putting them together in her mind.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Someone came and shot the whole family. A neighbor, who happened to be a deputy sheriff, went over to return something and he found them. But they could never figure out who did it or why. Had the whole county stirred up for months.”
“I can imagine.” Claire shook her head and then asked, “What do you think?”
He wouldn’t bite on such an open-ended question. “About what?”
“About the note. About the man who’s doing this.”
“Sure it’s a man?”
“About ninety-five percent sure.”
“That’s quite a bit. I happen to agree with you.”
Claire didn’t say anything more. She waited for him to continue. Good interviewing technique. Harold was pleased with this woman deputy. She knew her stuff. She took her time. Especially in this new age of technology, you needed to know how to take your own time.
Harold gathered his thoughts. He had thought of little else since he had read the note. “What do I think about him? I’ll tell you what I’ve figured out from his note. He’s slightly obsessive-compulsive. That’s shown by the numbers at the top of the note. He’s polite. He was raised well. And I’m sure that he’s an older man. He’d have to be if he’s been around for at least the last fifty years.” He paused.
Claire had been following his words closely. She gave one brief nod and said, “Right.”
Harold continued. “For other reasons, he’s got to be an older man. He addressed me as Mr. Harold Peabody. Anyone under forty wouldn’t do that. Titles have just about disappeared from daily life. Also, he asked that I put it in the paper—please. Again a nicety that shows he’s generally a civil man. But something’s got him horridly riled up. He’s religious. He reads his Bible. Might be the only book he reads. He has a mission. He thinks that God is backing him