The Church of Dead Girls (29 page)

Much of this was reported by Franklin, and by writing about it he seemed to increase the level of fear among us. His articles led to more meetings being canceled, to more stores closing early. Yet it seemed that if Franklin were to write nothing, that would increase the terror even more. So he wrote everything he could. But because of his connection to Paula and Aaron, because he had often interviewed Chihani, even because he was not originally from Aurelius, it was thought he was not telling as much as he knew. It was assumed he was concealing information, as if the police had suspects, like Aaron or other members of the IIR, whom Franklin knew about but about whom he was silent.

This put Franklin in an impossible situation. To write was to create fear; not to write was to create fear. And he could never write enough; he was always thought to be concealing worse things.

F
at Leon Stahl continued his daily routines as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Chihani's classes were taken over by other faculty members and the course in which Leon had been enrolled—Nineteenth-Century Class Relations—was assigned to Sherman Carpenter, the professor having the affair, however brief, with Harriet Malcomb. Although upset about the death of Chihani, Leon thought little about the disappearances of Meg and Sharon. It wasn't that he was callous; rather, like most other students at the college, he lived in another world. Many students never left campus, unless it was to go to one of the pubs or lunch counters. Leon knew about the missing girls and perhaps he worried about them, but the fact that Harriet, whom he imagined he loved, was sexually involved with Professor Carpenter was of greater significance.

In Leon's ten months as a member of the IIR, he had matured somewhat. He had added a small black goatee to his small black moustache and he wore a variety of sport coats, tweeds and herringbones that he purchased at thrift shops in Utica. None were in the best condition, nor did they fit. And as the weather got colder he also took to wearing a plaid porkpie hat. While most of the students carried their books in backpacks, Leon had an old leather briefcase, also from a thrift shop. And he bought new glasses with wire frames. He saw himself as an intellectual, and perhaps he was. At least he always had his nose in a book. He was even able to read while walking and this was how I often saw him, walking downtown from the campus reading a book.

It was on such a walk that Andy Wilkins and Russ Fusco found him. These were young men who worked at the rope factory. More important, they were volunteers in the Friends and took part in the patrols, though they were off duty when they came upon Leon. They were a self-satisfied pair with exaggerated opinions about their good looks. Andy had played tackle for the Terriers and even managed to graduate from high school. Russ was from Norwich but he had moved to Aurelius after getting the job at the rope factory. Both were in their midtwenties.

Who knows what they thought? Neither was known for being a bully, nor was there much to be said in their favor. They were young men who drank beer, tended toward inarticulateness, and were shocked, excited, and indignant about recent events in our town. They wanted to ask Leon a question; this was what they claimed. And it may have been true, but the question concerned Leon's involvement with the IIR and the IIR's involvement with Sharon and Meg. Both Andy and Russ knew Hark Powers, and while they were not friends, they felt that Hark had gotten a raw deal. After all, Chihani had beaten Hark with his cane.

Leon was walking down Monroe Street toward Main. It was just past noon and he meant to have lunch at the Aurelius Grill. Every Wednesday the Grill offered a meatloaf special with mashed potatoes and gravy. It had become a ritual with Leon, especially since his favorite waitress cut him an extra-thick slice of meatloaf. The day was mild, with small white clouds drifting across a blue sky. Leon read as he walked, a book by Terry Eagleton on Marxist literary theory.

Andy was driving his green Camaro and he coasted to a stop at the curb. When Leon got even with the car, Andy called to him, “Hey, you.”

Leon kept walking. Later he said he hadn't heard anyone.

Andy called to him again but Leon didn't stop. Andy put the car in reverse, backed up rapidly, hit the brake, and got out. Russ Fusco got out as well.

Andy stood in the middle of the sidewalk as Leon approached, reading his book.

“Hey,” said Andy again. He couldn't imagine anyone's reading a book, much less reading while walking.

Leon kept walking. He seemed oblivious to Andy's presence.

Andy reached out and knocked the book from Leon's hands. It skittered across the sidewalk and Russ picked it up. The title made no sense to him but he recognized the name of Marx. He showed the title to Andy.

“Give me my book,” said Leon, becoming aware of the two men. His tone was peremptory. He didn't see why anyone would knock a book from his hand. He was taller than Andy and Russ and weighed what the two men weighed together. Russ said later that Leon's porkpie hat sat on his head like a raisin on a cupcake and that description was repeated by many people.

“I want to ask you a question,” said Andy.

“Give me my book,” said Leon, a little louder.

“You'll get it when I'm ready to give it to you,” said Russ.

At that point, Leon charged them. Considering the value he placed on books, this was a religious matter with him. Leon knocked Andy to the sidewalk. He tried to snatch the book from Russ's hand, but Russ jumped back. Leon charged Russ but by then Andy had gotten to his feet and he grabbed Leon from behind.

The result was that Andy beat Leon. He broke his glasses, knocked him to the ground, and kicked his porkpie hat into the street. And when Leon was huddled into a large moaning mass, Andy took the book and tore it up. This happened in the middle of the day and people saw it. Before Andy was finished, a police car with Chuck Hawley and Ray Hanna screeched to a stop and they dragged Andy away from Leon. Russ hadn't touched Leon, but neither had he done anything to stop his friend.

Though Leon wasn't seriously injured, he had been hurt. Andy was furious that a fat creature like Leon would dare to attack him. Leon was furious that they would take his book and destroy it. He pressed charges and Andy and Russ were arrested. Leon also insisted that he be taken to the hospital. X-rays showed no internal injuries and two Band-Aids made him as good as new.

Franklin wrote about the affair for Thursday's
Independent.
People learned that Andy and Russ were active in the Friends of Sharon Malloy. Leon's membership in the IIR and his connection to Chihani were emphasized. Andy claimed that he just wanted to ask Leon a simple question (he didn't say about what) when Leon attacked him. Leon said he had only tried to get his book back.

Franklin talked to Paul Leimbach about the incident, hoping to get an apology from the Friends. “People are upset,” said Leimbach. “Consequently mistakes will be made.” Nobody found this reassuring.

Thursday night somebody threw rocks through the windows of Leon's second-story apartment near the college, getting glass all over the rug and damaging a cassette player. Leon was at the library at the time. No one was charged, though Ryan established that Andy or Russ couldn't have been involved. On Sunday night around ten o'clock someone again threw a rock through Leon's window. Leon called the police. Chuck Hawley answered the call but found nobody in the neighborhood. “Deserted” was the word Chuck used. The streets were deserted.

On Monday morning the academic dean at the college met with Leon and asked if he would like to take a leave of absence. The tuition he had paid for the fall semester could be applied to another semester. Leon accepted. Now that the world had caught his attention, he had grown anxious. He didn't see why anyone should steal his book or break his windows.

“After all,” he said, “I never even went to the cemetery.”

The fact of his membership in Inquiries into the Right was not seen by him to be important.

“A discussion group,” he kept saying. “Why should we want to kidnap a little girl?”

On Tuesday Leon packed his trunk and went home to Dunkirk on the shore of Lake Erie. The police had his phone number if they needed him. This left five members of the IIR: Aaron, Harriet, Barry, and the Levine brothers. They no longer held meetings. Barry and Aaron sometimes met. Sometimes Aaron saw Harriet. Jesse and Shannon went back to their skateboards, but they still called themselves Marxists. Their particular form of Marxism, however, required no study. It was simply an alternative to all that was wrong with the world, while their use of Marxist jargon gave them an edge in their arguments with other students. “Praxis,” they would say. “Epistemological dialectics!” But of course we were not done with them yet.

Although the attack on Leon was censured, a few saw it as a much-needed tonic against the forces of anarchy. They even saw it as an action performed by the Friends of Sharon Malloy, though Andy and Russ had been off duty at the time. The Friends became a force within Aurelius but it never seemed they were motivated by a sense of power so much as by fear: the loss of more children. Their use of power stemmed from that fear rather than from an enjoyment of power for its own sake. There were some members who abused their power but the group itself seemed well-intentioned.

But their fear led them to overstep their authority—I felt it did. An example was their visit to me on the day Leon was beaten up. I should say that many people received visits and none felt bullied by them. At least they didn't complain.

I had finished my class preparations for the next day and had settled down to browse through
Scientific American.
I must admit that I rarely read more than the first few paragraphs of any story, but the pictures are a pleasure and there is always at least one story relevant to tenth grade biology. Once a month I have one of my students report on it for extra credit.

My doorbell rang at nine. At first I thought it was Sadie, though she usually knocks or just opens the door. Now, like others, I was keeping it locked. Sadie was still being cared for by Barry's mother, The Lump, as Sadie called her. And since it was Wednesday night, I knew that Franklin would be busy with the paper.

Through the curtain on the glass of the front door, I saw three people standing on the porch. I turned on the light and recognized them as Donald Malloy, Agnes Hilton, and Dave Bauer. I felt alarmed since I knew they were all members of the Friends. On the other hand, Agnes Hilton worked as treasurer and secretary for the Ebenezer Baptist Church while Dave Bauer was associate director of the YMCA and also a volunteer fireman. And they looked friendly, especially when I turned on the light.

I opened the door and invited them in. There followed a minute or so of foot stamping, coat removing, and hand shaking. It was a cold night and all wore heavy coats. Again I was struck by their friendliness, but even more by their desire to appear friendly.

“We wondered if we could talk to you briefly,” said Donald Malloy, cordially. “It won't take much of your time.”

I invited them into the living room. Agnes said something flattering about the furniture, though it was nothing special. She was a redheaded woman in her late forties who always wore dresses. Either her husband was dead or he had somehow vanished, because she lived alone with a younger sister. There was a wedding ring on her finger, however, so presumably there had been a Mr. Hilton at one point.

I offered them tea.

“That would be very nice,” said Dave Bauer.

Agnes Hilton volunteered to help, but I said I could do it. I wanted a moment alone to collect myself. I went to the kitchen and prepared a tray. In the cupboard was a tin of Danish cookies I'd been saving and I put a dozen on a plate. These situations are always foolish. Should I put the cookies on a best plate or an ordinary plate? I chose the ordinary plate, Syracuse china. I poured the water into the teapot and carried the tray into the living room. Dave Bauer and Agnes were seated on the couch. Donald was in the armchair, the chair in which I always sit.

Donald closed the
Scientific American
he had been glancing at. “Pretty fantastic this human-genome project,” he said. “That Watson is a man whose hand I'd like to shake.” He put the magazine on the coffee table. He had an open, affable face and his freckles made him seem younger than he actually was. He wore khakis and one of those tan rag sweaters from L. L. Bean. When he leaned forward to put the magazine on the table, he made a little
oomph
noise.

I put the tray next to the magazine.

“You must be upset about the Terriers,” said Bauer.

The Friday evening football games at the high school had been canceled because of the curfew, which meant the team was no longer a contender within its league. I had to think a moment before I knew what Bauer was talking about.

“It's a shame,” I said. I poured the tea into three mugs. “I'll let you add your own sugar and milk.”

“I take mine plain,” said Donald.

I handed him a cup, then poured one for myself and sat down in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace. Though I had laid a fire with birch logs, I was saving it for Friday night. I arranged my face into an expectant expression.

“I expect you're wondering why we're here,” said Donald, and he smiled at his companions. Bauer took a cookie.

Agnes explained their connection with the Friends of Sharon Malloy and there was a certain amount of talk about the missing girls. I'm afraid I was anxious not to say the wrong thing and I was also anxious not to seem nervous. Bauer took another cookie. He was one of those wiry young men who can eat all day and never gain a pound. In the summer he was involved in coaching Little League and in the winter he directed a basketball program at the Y. I hoped he wouldn't discover my indifference to sports. Then I grew perturbed for feeling bullied by these people.

“But what has any of this to do with me?” I asked.

“I gather you saw Meg Shiller on the night she disappeared,” said Donald. He looked quite comfortable in my chair. His tea sat on the coffee table, untouched. He hadn't taken a cookie.

“She came to my house with Hillary and Sadie before they went trick-or-treating. They wanted to show off their costumes.”

“So you know Meg?” asked Agnes.

I was struck by her use of the present tense. “I know Sadie, and Meg's a friend of Sadie's. Of course I know them from school as well. Meg was in my general-science class last year.”

“And what time did they visit you?” asked Donald.

“Around six.”

“And you didn't see Meg again?”

I didn't speak for a moment. Then I said, “May I ask the reason for your interest? I've already talked to the police and it would seem these matters—if they are indeed significant—are a subject to be discussed between me and the authorities and no one else. At least I am under no obligation to answer your questions.” I got quite out of breath saying all that.