"Maybe they're hiding—you can get a phone under another name, which makes it impossible to find you this way. But five years ago, maybe they didn't know they wouldn't want anybody to be able to find them in 1991. Let's try the listings for 1986."
Another series of backward steps, another keystroke, and all the listed and unlisted telephone numbers in Millhaven for 1986 came up on both screens.
There were no Belinskis, the same three Casements, and Oscar, but not William, Writmann.
"Let's zip back to 1981, and see if we can find them there."
The 1981 directory contained no Belinski, Casement, Arthur and Roger but not Hugh, and Writzmann, Oscar, at 5460 Fond du Lac Drive.
"I think I get the picture, but just for the hell of it, let's take a look at 1976."
No Belinski. Casement, Arthur, without the company of Roger. Writzmann, Oscar, already at 5460 Fond du Lac Drive.
"We struck out," I said.
"Hardly," Tom said. "We've made great strides. We have discovered the very interesting fact that the car you saw following John is the property of a company incorporated in the State of Illinois under a convenience address and three phony names. I wonder if Belinski, Casement, and Writzmann are phony people, too."
I asked him what he meant by "phony people."
"In order to incorporate, you need a president, a vice president, and a treasurer. Now somebody filed the papers for the Elvee Holding Corporation, or there wouldn't be an Elvee Holding Corporation. If I had to guess right now, I'd say that the person who filed for incorporation back in 1979 was good old LV. Anyhow, filing only takes one man. The filer can make up the names of his fellow officers."
"So one of these three people actually has to exist."
"That's right, but he may exist under some other name altogether. Now think, Tim. During the past few days, has John ever mentioned anyone whose name began with the letter V?"
"I don't think so," I said. "He hasn't really talked about himself very much."
"I don't suppose you ever heard Alan Brookner mention anybody with the initials LV."
"No, I haven't." This was a disturbing question. "You don't think these murders could have anything to do with Alan, do you?"
"They have everything to do with him. Who are the victims? His daughter. His best graduate student. But I don't think Alan is in danger, if that's what you mean."
I felt myself relaxing.
"You're fond of him, aren't you?"
"I think he has enough problems already," I said.
Tom leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and said, "Oh?"
"I think he might have Alzheimer's disease. He managed to get himself together for the funeral, but I'm afraid that he's going to fall apart again."
"Did he teach last year?"
"I guess so, but I don't see how he can do it again this year. The problem is that if he quits, the entire Religion Department at Arkham goes with him, and John loses his job. Even Alan is worried about that—he struggled through last year partly for John's sake." I threw up my hands. "I wish I could do something to help. I did make arrangements for a private duty nurse to come to Alan's place every day, but that's about it."
"Can he afford that?" Tom was looking thoughtful, and I suddenly knew what he was considering. I wondered how many people he helped, quietly and anonymously.
"Alan's pretty well set up," I said quickly. "April saw to that."
"Well, then, John should hardly have to worry, either."
"John has complicated feelings about April's money. I think it's a question of pride."
"That's interesting," Tom said.
He straightened up and looked at his monitor, still displaying Oscar Writzmann's name and address. "Let's run these names through Births and Deaths. It's probably a wild goose chase, but what the hell?"
He began clicking at keys, and the screen before me went momentarily blank. Rows of codes marched across the dark gray background. John typed out Belinski, Andrew, Casement, Leon, and Writzmann, William, and the names appeared on my screen. More codes that must have been instructions to the modem replaced them. The screen went blank, and SEARCHING rose up out of the background and began pulsing on the screen.
"Now we just wait around?"
"Well, I'd like to take a look through the file," Tom said. "But before we do that, let's talk a little bit about the idea of place." He swallowed a little more whiskey, stood up, and walked over to his couch and sat down. I took the chair beside the chesterfield. His eyes almost snapped with excitement, and I wondered how I could ever have thought they looked washed out. "If William Damrosch didn't unite the Blue Rose victims, what did?"
During the brief moment in which Tom Pasmore and I waited for the other to speak, I would have sworn that we were thinking the same thing.
Finally I broke the silence. "The St. Alwyn Hotel."
"Yes," Tom said softly.
4
"When Lamont and I got off the plane from Eagle Lake, we went to the St. Alwyn. We stayed there the last night of his life. The St. Alwyn was where the murders happened—in it, behind it, across the street."
"What about Heinz Stenmitz? His shop was five or six blocks from the St. Alwyn. And there wasn't any connection between Stenmitz and the hotel."
"Maybe there was a connection we don't know yet," Tom said. "And think about this, too. How much time elapsed between the murder of Arlette Monaghan and James Treadwell? Five days. How much time between Treadwell and Monty Leland? Five days. How much time between Monty Leland and Heinz Stenmitz? Almost two weeks. More than twice the time that separated the first three murders. Do you make anything of that?"
"He tried to stop, but couldn't. In the end, he couldn't restrain himself—he had to go out and kill someone again." I looked at Tom glinting at me and tried to imagine what he was thinking. "Or maybe someone else killed Stenmitz—maybe it was like Laing, a copycat murder, for entirely different motives."
He smiled at me almost proudly, and despite myself, I felt gratified that I had guessed what he was thinking.
"I guess that's possible," Tom said, and I knew that I had not followed his thinking after all. My pride curdled. "But I think my grandfather was Blue Rose's only imitator."
"So what are you saying?"
"I think you were half right. It was the same man, but with a different motive."
I confessed that I was lost.
Tom leaned forward, eyes still snapping with excitement. "Here we have a vindictive, ruthless man who does everything according to plan. What's his motive for the first three murders? A grudge against the St. Alwyn?"
I nodded.
"Once every five days for fifteen days, he kills someone in the immediate vicinity of the St. Alwyn, once actually inside the St. Alwyn. Then he stops. By this time, how many people do you suppose are staying in the St. Alwyn? It must be like a ghosttown."
"Sure, but…" I shut up and let him say what he had to.
"And then he kills Stenmitz. And who was Heinz Stenmitz? Pigtown's friendly neighborhood sex criminal. The other three victims could have been anybody—they were pawns. But when somebody goes out of his way to kill a molester of little boys, an active chickenhawk, I think that is not a random murder."
He leaned back, finished. His eyes were still blazing.
"So what you need," I said, "is a vindictive, ruthless man who has a grudge against the St. Alwyn—and—"
"And—"
"And a son."
"And a son," Tom said. "You've got it. The kind of man we're talking about couldn't stand anybody violating his own child. If he found out about it, he'd have to kill the man who did it. The reason nobody ever thought of this before is that it looked as though that was exactly the reason that Stenmitz had been killed." He laughed. "Of course it was the reason he was killed! It just wasn't Damrosch who killed him!"