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The Evil Has Landed: Read Here
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Jun. 4th, 2006 @ 05:12 pm
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The Evil Has Landed is now available in paperback here.
Feel free to comment at this entry.
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The Evil Has Landed -Prologue
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May. 15th, 2006 @ 10:55 pm
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PROLOGUE
July.
And there she stood, just as he knew he would find her, firmly rooted at land's end, her green eyes gazing out to sea and the darkening horizon, the ocean breeze caressing her blond hair, the softness of her face misted by the crashing surf far below. In another time some master craftsman would have seized the moment and carved her haunting likeness for the prow of some Nantucket whaler, destined to enchant forever distant waters and storied lands.
He paused before approaching her, drinking in the vision. Barely eighteen years old and she was already . . . what? A flight of fancy? The stuff that dreams are made of? He smiled at the thought. Something like that.
She was . . . poetry.
Not like the others, not like one of those free-verse floozies his mother had warned him about. No, this one had structure and purpose and permanence, and strictly metered rhymèd lines, so to speak.
He turned a verse over in his head:
A touch of gold, a glimmer in her eye,
That ancient pagan hordes could never hold
Is mine till dust.
He sighed.
But enough of this worshiping from afar crap.
"Hey, stranger!" she greeted him warmly.
"Strange, perhaps, but hardly stranger. Graduation was, when? A short month ago?"
"A lifetime. Don't you feel it, feel how different everything is now?"
He cleared his throat. 'Yeah, well different doesn't sound so bad to me. I can't wait to get the hell out of here."
"Oh, come on!" she laughed merrily. "High school wasn't that bad."
"For you, maybe. Everyone likes you."
She patted him on the arm. "People like you, too. They really do."
"Yeah, well maybe when I'm dead someone will mention it." He paused and then looked at her, really looked at her. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure!" she said.
"I'd like to pay you a compliment."
"Go right ahead!" she giggled.
"I'd like to pay you the biggest compliment anybody ever paid anybody."
"Go for it!"
"I just want you to know," he began slowly, "that knowing someone like you exists, knowing you exist," and here he paused briefly as he had practiced, "makes life almost bearable for me."
He waited.
"That is SO SWEET," and she kissed him on the cheek, the first time any girl ever had.
Not exactly first base, but at least he was in the game.
Thank God she wasn't like the others, snooty little monsters with their wicked little amusements, toying with human emotions, ripping your guts out for sport. This one had always been different. Kind. Never done or said those things which some girls do to show their . . . displeasure. She had always treated him exactly the way she had treated everyone else, and that was pretty damn . . . NICE.
There was no stopping him now. He was on a roll.
"You are really, truly, the nicest person I have ever met."
And she touched his arm again, this time letting her fingertips linger.
He plowed ahead.
"You are a delight. An absolute delight. A most precious thing."
And now she tilted her head to his shoulder in an "aw, shucks" sort of way before modestly stepping back.
"So anyway, before we go our separate ways down life's cruel path," he extemporized, for he really hadn't planned anything this stupid, "I just want you to know how much I love you."
She froze.
And he felt her freeze, even though he was looking at his own shuffling feet.
Then he froze, too. And stuttered and mumbled and back-tracked and muttered and explained, "I mean, you know, like a FRIEND, right? I, I, I didn't mean anything more than that."
Her head bobbed in mock disbelief as she looked right at him and those eyes burst into a devilish glint.
She smirked.
She SMIRKED!
Then, she must have seen the rage.
"I think you'd better leave."
"Not yet," he said.
"Cut it out. I'm going home."
His life's story caught up with him.
"Yes. So long."
As she sailed through the air to the rocks below, he thought he heard her scream. But if so, that pretty little scream was soon swallowed up in the wind and the battering waves, crashing, crashing, crashing in steady metered rhythm.
When a suitable period of time had passed and he was convinced she would breathe no more, he called the police. It took several hours for the rescue team to recover her body.
He wept publicly for his classmate and shouted that it was all his fault, that he should never have taken her so close to the edge, that he should have known about the dangerous wind currents that could knock you off your balance so easily. Friends, neighbors, strangers, all tried to comfort him. All could plainly see how much he had loved her. Finally his mother arrived and took him home where he spent the night in somewhat fitful sleep.
The next day was sunny and warm.
And two men walked on the surface of the moon.
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The Evil Has Landed -Chapter 19
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Apr. 26th, 2006 @ 10:26 pm
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Chapter 19.
It was a week before Christmas. Jack was in his easy chair reading the evening paper. Jack, Jr. was lying on a blanket on his back, trying to turn over. Laura, doll in hand, paraded around the living room, occasionally stopping to do a little dance for the baby, or play little piggies on his toes. Maria sat at her desk going through the day’s mail.
“Here’s a card from your Aunt Gertie. She says they’re going to Florida for a couple of months.”
“Mmph,” said Jack.
“Oh, and here’s one from my freshman roommate! Guess I have to send her one now.”
“Ynnhh,” agreed Jack.
“Your California nephews are certainly getting big. We should go out and see them.”
“Ahyrrnt,” commented Jack.
“And here’s one for you from Gold Harbor. The Sullivans.”
“Let me see that,” said Jack, jumping from his chair.
“Laura, look! Daddy’s alive!”
Laura ran into her father’s arms and gave him a big hug.
The card had a note with a newspaper clipping inside.
Dear Jack and Family,
All the best for the holidays and thanks again for all you did. We had a marvelous time at Faith’s class reunion! Enclosed is a copy of the newspaper clipping about the reunion. They insisted we pose for the picture, too! What nice kids!
Love,
Mike and Genevieve
“Gee, that’s great,” said Jack, showing it to Maria.
“Chalk one up for good deeds,” said Maria. “I’m really happy for them.”
The clipping slipped to the floor. Jack picked it up and returned to his chair before opening it. It was from the Thursday edition of the Gold Harbor Gazette, a big class photo under the headline “McClure Class of ‘69 Holds Thirtieth Reunion”. Jack smiled as he found Mike and Genevieve kneeling in the front row.
Then he saw something else.
“Oh, my God,” he said slowly.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Ho-ly shit!” said Bull Heimlich when Jack showed him the picture. “Holy freakin’ shit!”
“That’s what I said. Sort of.”
“What do we do with this?”
“I think we have to show our bosses,” said Jack.
Within half an hour they had gathered at Sheriff Rushmore’s house.
“So what’s this about, Jack?” asked the District Attorney.
Jack handed him the picture. The Sheriff looked over his shoulder.
There in the second row of the Bishop McClure class of 1969 stood Judge Samuel R. Blaine with his arm around Ms. Lynn Reynard.
“How did you get this,” asked the Sheriff. So Jack once again told the story about the class ring in the case at the Inn and the moon paper and Faith Sullivan and the cliff and Mike and Genevieve.
And then a terrible thought hit him.
“This Lynn Reynard. She looks an awful lot like the dead girl.”
“So? She’s the wrong age, can’t be related too closely and probably not at all,” said the Sheriff.
“Still, there’s something about that girl’s death that has been troubling me,” said Jack, who was glad Bull didn’t say anything just then. “Just out of curiosity, I’d like to make a phone call.”
“Mike, this is Jack Hughes. We got your card today.”
They exchanged pleasantries.
“Mike, the reason I’m calling, and this may seem odd to you, but trust me that I have a good reason for asking, I need to know who was with Faith the day she died?”
“That is an odd request,” said Mike, slowly. “But I certainly trust your judgment. It was Sammy Blaine. You might have heard of him. I hear he’s a judge somewhere up your way.”
“Yeah, I know him all right. Listen, Mike, it might be better if you don’t tell Genevieve about this, ok?”
“What’s this about, Jack?”
“Probably nothing. But I need to know what I’m dealing with. Thanks, Mike.”
“I’ll tell you, Jack, he sure looked like he was head over heels in love with that girl he took to the reunion. Everyone said so. He, uh, he never came over to say hello. . . . He was the only one. . . . Goodnight, Jack. Good luck.”
“Goodnight, Mike.”
Once again Mike Sullivan felt very, very old.
“OK,” said the District Attorney. “Suppose he did kill that girl when he was 18. What’s that to us? You’re not suggesting that we reopen a thirty-year-old murder in another county in another state, are you?”
“I guess not,” said Jack. “But where does that leave us?”
“Well, I think the Commission on Judicial Conduct needs to be informed. And I think we need to conduct our own investigation so we have something to present to the Appellate Division on the appeal. I’m afraid someone is going to have to interview Lynn Reynard. If they were an item before he granted that motion, or even before the trial, we have a right to know that. I still can’t believe it.”
Jack showed the picture to the District Attorney again. “Believe it.”
“Well then,” said the District Attorney, how the heck do we get Ms. Reynard to cooperate? She’s as slick as they come. She’ll never help us.”
“There is a way,” said the Sheriff.
“What’s that?” asked the District Attorney.
“The Heimlich Maneuver.”
“Hello. This is Lynn Reynard.”
“Yo, Lynn! This is Bull. What’s happenin’?”
Lynn smiled. “What happened to all that ma’am stuff?”
“Hey, trial’s over and after that one you ain’t likely to get too many more assignments in DeWitt County, know what I’m sayin’? So I figure it’s safe to call you Lynn for a while.”
“I’m honored. And just what is the purpose of your call?”
“Nothin’ much. Just wonderin’ if you might be free for lunch sometime.”
“Bull Heimlich, I have a certain ethical code, and the number one rule is Don’t Date Married Men.”
“Hey, I’m not talkin’ about a date. Just a little friendly get-together. No obligations. Whadya say?”
“Why do I have the feeling that certain obligations might come creeping into this anyway? Alright, as long as it’s not a date. We’ll call it an undate.”
The following noon they were undating for lunch in a neutral county.
“So, Lynn, how come you’re not married?” he thrust.
“How come you are?” she parried.
“Touché,” he said, not meaning it.
She laughed, delightfully, with just a shade of intimacy.
“Well, since you’re so curious, Bull, I was married, once, for about four years. I decided I disliked very much being possessed, and determined never to be possessed again. So I just don’t get involved.”
“Still you’re awful pretty. Seems like such a waste.”
“I work at it. I believe a person should always try to look and be their very best. Some people think that makes me vain. Do you think I’m vain?”
“I think the word I’d use is ‘classy’,” flattered Bull. It was the right thing to say.
“Well, I think it takes a pretty classy man to recognize classy, Bull Heimlich.”
“Yeah, I’ve been called that.”
Lunch arrived. Both ate well.
“So, I gather that L.A. Confidential is your favorite movie,” offered Bull as the plates were removed.
“What do you mean?”
“All that ‘Call me Lynn’ stuff. Straight out of the picture.”
She gave him a sly, conspiratorial smile. “I hated it. One of the stupidest movies I’ve ever seen.”
Bull raised an eyebrow as the coffee arrived. He stirred his cup, though he hadn’t put anything in it.
“Now, Lynn, are things all over between you and Whelan or are you still carrying a torch?”
She looked hurt, and said quietly, “Bull, there was never anything at all between me and Whelan. He was having problems with his wife and I listened to him a bit. Maybe I was too kind.” That can’t be it, thought Bull. “I never led him on, but then he starts following me around and acting all goofy like he’s in love or something. He’s really a sick, sick person.”
“Yeah, well he was never one of my favorite people. Too bad, though. He might lose his job.”
“That’s no concern of mine,” said Ms. Reynard, matter-of-factly. “I hope that’s not why you’re here, because I have no intention of covering up for him. He’ll get what he deserves.”
“Nah, that’s not why I’m here. This is why I’m here,” and he laid the photograph on the table in front of her.
She turned pale and frosty.
“Where did you get this?” she demanded.
“Did I mention I like to go scuba diving? Great sport. My favorite spot is right off the beach in Gold Harbor, Maine. Sometimes I even pick up the local paper while I’m there. Pretty amazing what you can find there, wouldn’t you say?”
“Who else knows about this?”
“Just my scuba partner, a fella named Jack Hughes.”
She calculated. No point in denial.
“Bull, I swear to you this was completely innocent. He pressured me to go to that party with him. I figured no one would know. We never discussed the case, at all. There’s nothing going on now and there never was. Now this,” she said tossing the photo back, “ can destroy my reputation and my career, and I didn’t do anything wrong!”
And now she cried.
Bull admired the performance. She’s really very, very good.
“Hey, Lynn, I believe you,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I? After all you’re a law-yer,” and he twinkled at her and the tears stopped. “Law-yers always tell the truth, right?”
“Please don’t hold my profession against me.”
“There’s only one thing I’d like to hold against you, and that’s me.”
An opening?
“Bull, you won’t use this, will you?”
He laughed. “Now there you go, jumpin’ to conclusions. Whadya think, everything’s about you? This ain’t about you. It’s about Sam Blaine.”
“But how can you do anything to him without hurting me? It’s not fair. And I certainly won’t agree to anything that might prejudice my client.”
“Now you’re three steps ahead on the wrong track. Maybe I better start over. There was this girl in Sam’s class that looked a lot like you.”
Lynn was completely bewildered. She made a bewildered face. “OK, Bull, you’ve got my complete attention.”
“She went for a walk with Sam thirty years ago. She never came back.” And now Bull related in some detail the story of Faith Sullivan and the dark secret of Samuel R. Blaine.
She listened attentively, but was skeptical. “You mean to say the respected, learned, wise and courageous judge of the DeWitt County Court may be at heart a homicidal maniac? That’s a little hard to swallow.”
“I’ve asked around,” said Bull. “He isn’t close to anybody. Lots of professional friends and friendly acquaintances, but the guy is a loner. And the folks in Gold Harbor say he was the same way then. Fact is, you are the only person who’s gotten anywhere near close to him. Did he say anything or did you hear anything or see anything at the reunion that might shed some light on this?”
She pondered and calculated, calculated and pondered.
“First of all, I repeat, we are not and have not been close. But as for seeing or hearing, there was one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He kept this blue spiral notebook from when he was in high school, full of weird poems about unrequited love. I read some of it. I don’t much understand poetry, but even for poetry some of it seemed a little strange. I didn’t see any specific reference to the Sullivan girl, but there were quite a few poems and they all seemed to be about different women, and as I say, I didn’t read them all.”
“Do you know where that notebook is now?” asked Bull.
“Sure. He put it back in his old desk in his old room in his mother’s house in Gold Harbor.”
“Think you could get it?”
“Think you could keep me out of this if I do?”
“Lynn, Lynn. Knowing the way I feel about you, do you really think there is any way that I wouldn’t make sure you were treated exactly the way you deserve to be?”
It worked.
“Bull, I think I’m gonna buy you a beer.”
“I’d like that.”
Bull Heimlich! Now it’s that goddam Bull Heimlich!
He continued to watch and seethe as the Acting Undersheriff and the lawyer spent hour after leisurely hour entertaining each other at the bar.
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The Evil Has Landed -Chapter 20
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Apr. 25th, 2006 @ 10:03 am
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Chapter 20.
Memo
To: Sheriff
From: W. Heimlich
Re: Blaine/Reynard Investigation
Date: 12/23/99
As per your directive I made contact with Ms. Reynard and confronted her with the evidence of her trip with the judge. She was a little resistant but admitted that they had been together but denied anything improper. At this point she is being reasonably cooperative. She believes our primary interest is with respect to the Maine matter and in that regard I have contacted Investigator Lamont Keegan of the Gold Harbor P.D. and filled him in. They are reopening their file. Interestingly, Reynard believes there may actually be some evidence at the Blaine
homestead in the form of old writings by S.B. She is willing to take a look on her own.
In that connection she advises that she will see if the judge will take her home for Christmas to meet his mother and spend a few days. The courts will be closed between Christmas and New Year’s so it might happen.
If so, I am requesting authorization to travel there along with ADA Hughes and Joe Probello (to take advantage of any interesting photo opportunities).
At this point I don’t think we need to worry about LR spilling the beans to SB. Her primary interest appears to be self-preservation. Actually, her only interest. If she has any romantic interest in the judge she is hiding it real well. She says he ‘pressured’ her into going to the class reunion.
I’m no psychologist, but I find her a little scary. She can be smiling away at you and be detached at the same time. She has total control over the tear ducts and can flip from flirty to frosty in a split-second.
I checked with her hometown PD on the q.t. Was nothing too abnormal about the family. She did have a somewhat odd older brother who disappeared a few years ago after the mother died, but no one in the
family seemed too concerned about it.
Have attempted to get hold of Whelan to see what he has to add, but can’t find him. Never answers phone. I’ve left six messages and driven to his place twice but can’t catch him. Mail is being picked up so he must be around. Will keep trying.
WH
“Do you love me, Samuel? Do you really love me?”
Sam Blaine looked down at his slightly inebriated friend and said, sincerely, “Yes, Lynn. I really love you.”
“Do you really, really, really, really love me?”
“I really, really, really, really, really love you.”
“Wow. Five reallys!” She snuggled closer. “Take me away. Let’s go somewhere where we can be alone together without worrying about who’s watching.”
“Where would you like to go?” asked Sam.
“Why don’t we go back to Gold Harbor for Christmas? I could meet your mother.”
“Sorry, Lynn. Mom’s off to Florida for the season.”
She gave him a devilish grin. “Then we could have the whole house to ourselves!”
He liked the idea. Very much.
“One more thing, Samuel,” she cooed. “Do you really, really, really, really, really, really love me?”
At 4 a.m. on December 24, Judge Blaine arrived with his big Judge-mobile to quietly pick up Lynn Reynard and her several travel bags, sure that no one would notice them at that hour, and no one did except Joe Probello with his long lens and the other one.
Joe Probello! What the heck is he doing here? And now Whelan Oates was not only possessed, but curious, as three cars on the same block all started off for Gold Harbor, Maine.
Jack Hughes absolutely refused to spend Christmas away from his family and Bull had some domestic obligations of his own, so Joe Probello served as advance picket and even managed to find a B&B right across the street from the Blaine house. From there he viewed the comings and goings, though the couple rarely left the house until dinner time, and then only for a few hours. He had enough shots of them together to cause an average blackmailer to salivate, but Joe was perfectly legit and in this for the sport. At night only one bedroom light went on, and only one went off.
Bull and Jack checked into the Gold Harbor Beach Inn on December 27 and got an update from Probello. They remained in cell-phone contact with him at all times so they could move relatively freely about town without worrying about being seen by the judge just yet. This enabled them to make a few trips to the one-hour photo developing niche in the department store out on the highway, and to touch bases with Lamont Keegan. Otherwise, they just waited to hear from Lynn Reynard.
“Oh, Samuel, isn’t this wonderful? I would just LOVE to wake up every morning in your arms,” she proclaimed on the morning of December 30.
“I gotta tell you, Lynn, if we didn’t have to worry about that other stuff there would be nothing in the world that would keep me away from you.”
“You know, why should we give a crap what other people think. I love you, you love me, let’s go kiss behind that tree,” she sang in mock-rendition of that revolting purple dinosaur song.
“I wish it could be that easy,” he said seriously, and kissed her, tree or no tree.
He heard his cell phone ring in his sport-coat pocket in the dining room downstairs.
He sighed. “I’d better check that out. Only my secretary has the number and I told her only to call if it was really important.”
“I’ll be waiting for you!” she called after him brightly.
As soon as the he left she closed the door and retrieved the spiral notebook from the desk drawer. She plowed through it as quickly as possible.
Looks like he got turned down four times for the Junior Prom. I wonder what was wrong with him. I had fun at the Junior Prom. What was that guy’s name?
Then she found the one dated July 22, 1969.
Then she read it.
Then she tore it out and put it in her purse.
“This better be good, Doris. I’m on vacation.”
“Judge, I hope you’re sitting down and I hope you’re alone.”
He closed the door. He sat down.
“Go ahead,” said Judge Blaine.
“You are definitely not going to want to hear this. I just got a call from the Judicial Conduct Commission. They’re investigating you.”
“Who’s complaining now?” he asked, impatiently, knowing that disgruntled criminal defendants often find themselves time to whine about their judges while twiddling away their sentences.
“Lynn Reynard.”
And suddenly Cloud Nine came crashing down to earth at warp speed.
“Lynn Reynard? Are you kidding?”
“I’ll tell you exactly what they asked me. They wanted to know if I knew anything about you taking a trip with her Thanksgiving weekend and if I knew anything about your sexually harassing her or any other female attorneys or staff.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” said Judge Blaine.
“That’s what I said. Then they told me that Lynn has already admitted going with you and that you pressured her and that she felt that she had no choice but to do whatever you wanted her to, that she was afraid that if she didn’t neither she nor her clients would ever get a fair shake from you.”
“This is so preposterous. What did you tell them?”
“I said, ‘Sexual Harassment is not a problem in this office. It’s one of the benefits.’”
“I hope you’re making a joke,” urged the judge.
Doris laughed. “Yeah, I made that part up. Don’t worry, boss. No one will ever believe her.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Everyone knows what she is. She’ll do and say anything to get what she wants. That’s pretty obvious. People see right through her. She uses men and throws them away like facial tissue. Look what she did to Whelan Oates.”
Judge Blaine was out of the loop. “What did she do to him?”
“Boy, you really are in another world.” And so she told him the Whelan Oates story via the Courthouse Gossip Network. He was, to say the least, stunned.
“Sorry to have to break up your holiday with this, but I thought you should know. Well, hey, there’s a new millennium coming. Have you got a date for New Year’s?” she asked.
“No. Not at the moment,” said the judge. “Goodbye. And thank you. For everything.”
After they hung up he stared at the phone for a long time.
Just like the others.
“Samuel,” she said after they made love for the last time, “let’s go into town today. I’d like to do a little shopping and stop at the stationery store so I can fax some stuff to my office. We sole practitioners don’t have the luxury of total relaxation on vacations, you know.”
“I remember,” he said. “That’s why I became a judge.”
“And such a terrific judge, too,” she exclaimed, giving him a playful squeeze.
There would always be a certain sadness when he thought of her, he knew. She had made that wonderful fantasy very, very real for him, and he had been happier than he’d been in years. Happier than he’d ever been, maybe. Even if this had all been a fraud for her, the emotions he had felt had been no less real. And although she obviously made a lousy life partner, she had been one terrific date.
Yes, he would miss her.
Sometimes, even now, he missed the other one, too.
“Tell you what, darling. After you finish your errands we’ll go for a nature walk. The dunes and hills are wildly beautiful in December. Just like you.”
He smiled at her.
She curled into his arms.
“I love you!” she said.
“I love you, too,” he replied.
Whoever you are.
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