Real Murders

Chapter 15

"Maybe," Robin speculated between bites of a pretzel stick, "there's more than one murderer."

If we ever spent a night together, it wasn't going to be tonight. The mood had faded.

"Oh, Robin! I can't believe that for a minute. There couldn't be two people that evil in Lawrenceton at the same time, doing the same thing!" One was bad enough; two would get us in the history books for sure. He waved the pretzel stick at me emphatically. "Why not, Roe? A copycat killer. Maybe someone, for example, wanted the Buckleys out of the way for some reason, and after Mamie got killed he saw his chance. Or maybe someone wanted to do in Pettigrue, and killed Mamie and the Buckleys to cloud the issue." There was a certain amount of precedent for that, but more often in mystery novels than in real life, I thought.

"I guess it's possible," I conceded. "But Robin, I just don't want to believe it."

"Maybe, then, there's more than one killer. I mean, a team of murderers." "Jane Engle said the same thing," I recalled belatedly. "Two people? How could you look at anyone who knew you had done that, Robin?" I could truly not imagine saying, "Hey, buddy, look at the way I socked Mamie!" I felt almost nauseated. That two people could agree on such a plan, and mutually carry it out.... "Hillside Stranglers," Robin reminded me. "Burke and Hare." "But the Hillside Stranglers were sex murderers," I objected, "and Burke and Hare wanted to sell the bodies to medical schools." "Well, true. These killings are apparently just for fun. Just to tease." I thought of Gifford and his hatchet. The killer was teasing in more than one way. "Wait till you hear this!" I exclaimed.

Robin felt better when I'd told him he and Melanie and Arthur had company in the category of Implicated I

"I wonder if Gifford is that clever," I said. "Gifford is crafty, I think, but I believe he's pretty limited in imagination."

"And how well do you know him?" asked Robin, with a tiny edge to his voice. "Not well," I admitted. "Just through seeing him at Real Murders. He's been coming about a year, I think. And he brings a friend named Reynaldo. Who apparently doesn't have a last name ..."

The phone rang, and I reached out to pick it up, surprised at getting such a late call. People in Lawrenceton do not make phone calls after 10:00 P.M. At least, not the people I know. Robin tactfully took the occasion to go into the bathroom.

"Oh, God, I just looked at my watch, were you in bed?" Arthur asked.

"No," I said, feeling ridiculously awkward with Robin in my place. Why should I?

I asked myself. I could see two men at one time if I chose. "I just finished work and got back to my place. I don't suppose there's any chance you want to come over?"

The idea sent a certain tingle down my spine, but all the conditions that had applied to Robin were still valid; plus, Robin was showing no signs of budging. In fact, he'd just gone to the refrigerator and refreshed his drink.

"I have to work tomorrow," I said neutrally.

"Oh. Okay. I get the message. Roller skating or nothing." Ohmygosh. I had almost forgotten. Well, I had some pretty good reasons for not thinking about a Saturday night date.

"You think you will be able to get off?" I asked cautiously.

"I think so. I have some amazing news for you. You sitting down?" Arthur sounded strange. Like someone who was trying to be excited and happy and just couldn't manage. And he hadn't mentioned the discovery of the hatchet and briefcase.

"Yes, I'm sitting. What?"

"Benjamin Greer just confessed to all the murders."

"What? He what?"

"He confessed to killing Mamie Wright, Morrison Pettigrue, and the Buckleys." "But what about the box of candy? Why did he do that? Mother doesn't know him at all."

"He says Morrison did that, because your mother is an example of what is worst about capitalism."

"My mom—Morrison Pettigrue? I don't believe it," I sputtered disco

"You don't want this case to be over?"

"Yes, yes! But I don't believe he did it. I wish I did."

"He's convinced a lot of the guys down here."

"Did he know where the hatchet was hidden?"

"Everyone in town knows that now."

"Did he know what it was in?"

"Pretty much everyone knows that, too."

"Okay, who'd he steal the hatchet from, that he used to kill the Buckleys?"

"He hasn't said yet."

"Gifford Doakes told me tonight that it was his hatchet."

"He did?" And for the first time Arthur's voice showed some life and enthusiasm.

"Gifford hasn't been in here yet. As far as I know." "Well, he told me tonight at the library that his hatchet had been missing, and he asked me about that tape around the handle. I didn't bring it up, in fact I'd forgotten about it."

"I'll pass that on to the men who are questioning Greer," Arthur promised. "That can be one of our test questions. But for some reason, Roe, this guy is convincing. He believes it, I think. And we have a witness." Robin had abandoned being polite and was beside himself to know what I was talking about. His eyebrows were winging around his face in interrogation. I kept waving my hand to keep him quiet.

"A witness to the murder?"

"No, a witness who saw him leave the hatchet in the alley." I remembered Ly

"Listen, this is police business that I can't tell you about in detail," Arthur said flatly.

"I'm sorry if I'm trespassing, but I'm deeply involved in this, up to my neck, according to Ly

"This is hard to soak in. I can't believe it's all over."

"I'm going home to sleep," Arthur said, and the exhaustion made his voice slur. "I'm going to sleep and sleep and sleep. And when I get up, we're going to talk about going roller skating."

"Okay," I said slowly. "Listen, I just remembered that my little brother Phillip is coming tomorrow and spending the weekend."

"Then we'll take him with us," Arthur said smoothly, scarcely missing a beat. "Okay. Talk to you later." I was smiling as I hung up; I couldn't help it. "It may be over, Robin," I said, almost crying.

His mouth fell open. "You mean, we don't have to worry anymore?" he asked. "So it seems. An eyewitness places Benjamin Greer, the member of Real Murders who wasn't there the night Mamie got killed, depositing the briefcase in the culvert. And he has confessed to everything, except sending the candy, which he says Morrison Pettigrue did before he killed him. I'll have to call Mother. Pettigrue thought Mother was a terrible capitalist." We discussed this truly stu