The police in Waring, Michigan, found Harry Mickelson’s body when they went to his office to set up protection.
They’d gone out to his house first. Three squads, sirens on, lights flashing. That had scared Mrs. Mickelson because Harry was late coming home. When she saw the police cars she thought they were there because Harry had been in an accident.
Sirens on, lights flashing, the squads had turned around and headed back downtown. The security guard at the front desk in Harry’s building said Harry had left the building two hours earlier. One of the cops thought to check the parking lot. After seven o’clock on this cold January night, the darkened lot was deserted. Except for Harry Mickelson’s blue Chevy. When the cop shone his long-handled, big-headed flash into Harry’s powder blue Chevy Celebrity, Harry’s bug-eyed, powder blue face had stared back at him.
When they opened the car, what happened was obvious. Someone had been waiting for Harry in the Chevy’s backseat. Harry’s keys were lying on the floor of the front seat, so the killer had slipped the noose over Harry’s head before Harry had a chance to start the car.
Then Harry made a mistake. His hands were free, so if he’d been thinking, he could have laid on the horn. But Harry had been too surprised to think. He’d acted reflexively. He’d brought both hands up to his neck, to pull the
noose back. The middle three fingers on each hand had big blood blisters at the tips, just above where the noose had tightened.
The springs on the backside of the driver’s seat had popped from where the killer’s feet had pushed in for traction. The long end of the noose hung over the back of the seat, stained red from rubbing the killer’s palms raw.
The thirteen numbers had been written on Harry Mickelson’s forehead.
Mars and Keegan stared at the crime-scene photos of Mickelson’s death on the computer screen.
“Well,” Keegan said, “this pretty much wraps it. He’s gone off the rails. Junior’s death was probably the precipitating factor. What he’ll do next is anybody’s guess. We’ve just got to hope he’ll stick to his plan and go back to Hollywood before he goes out after the next two.”
“But not before we get there,” Mars said.
There were no flights to Richmond the night Harry Mickelson died, but the chief signed off on a charter flight without blinking. By the time Mars and Keegan got to Hollywood, Gordon Ball and maybe two dozen other officers were waiting for him in the dark along the outside wall of the Gothic chapel.
“How many marks on Pickett’s statue?” Mars said as soon as he saw Ball.
“Same as before,” Ball said, holding up his right hand, four fingers extended.
Mars looked at his watch, pushing the stem to light the face. It was just before 4:00 A.M. “Like I said, if Macintosh left the Upper Peninsula of Michigan at, say, six o’clock last night, the earliest he could be here would be around eight o’clock this morning … .”
“Agreed,” Ball said. “But I also agree with you that it made sense to come on out tonight just in case. And nobody
really expects him to show up in daylight, regardless of when he gets back in town. So this gives us a chance to set up operations, get a feel for what we’ll be dealing with tonight. And we’ve got the lights set up over on the fence by the statue and on the trees around the monument.” Ball looked at his watch. “Still waiting for the canine patrol.” Then he turned in a slow circle, looking at the sky. “Perfect conditions now. Clear as a bell. Warm front coming in that will fog things up by sunset.”
“What time does the cemetery close to the public?” Keegan asked.
“Five-thirty,” Ball said. “Macintosh is gonna come in over the fence. I’d put money on it. Doesn’t draw attention to himself, the fence is directly behind the Pickett monument—perfect set up for him.”
Mars glanced around, then looked again. He took Ball by the arm and led him away from the others. “Am I imagining things, or is that Phil Stern standing back there with a bunch of guys that aren’t in uniform?”
Ball made a face. “I was going to tell you. News about Junior got back to some of the ROFers. Stern called and talked to one of my sergeants—a guy Phil knows personally. My sergeant used bad judgment. Told him pretty much what was going on. Stern wanted to help out, offered to bring four other guys with him. By the time I came on the scene, they were already here …”
Mars shook his head. “It’s a mistake, Gordon. This needs to be a tight operation, these guys—even if you can trust them—aren’t trained to handle a situation like this.”
“Look, Mars, we’ll only use them for perimeter observation. Let me be candid here. Number one, we’ve got over forty acres to keep under close observation. We’ve got walkie-talkies on everybody, but even so, it stretches our resources. I could bring in the national guard, or some other jurisdictions, but frankly, I trust Stern’s guys more than some of the guys I could bring in. Remember, there are still people in Virginia who’d consider Hec Macintosh to be a hero. Number two, Phil’s guys are motivated. They feel like
this is their only chance to redeem their cause. This operation goes down without their demonstrating that they stand against what Macintosh’s been up to, and they know they’re doomed. Can’t say as I blame them … .”
Mars shook his head again. “We’re on your ground, Gordon. I can’t tell you what to do. But I think it’s a mistake.”
According to plan, the group moved into covert positions just before sunrise. Mars, who apart from dozing off briefly on the plane, hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours, sacked out in the back of an unmarked van parked downhill from the cemetery. He slept more soundly than he should have, waking just after noon when Gordon Ball climbed into the van.
“Sorry to wake you.”
Mars sat up, stretching, stiff all over from deep sleep on a hard surface. “I should be awake.”
They sat together in silence for a few moments before Ball said, “You hungry? We’ve got sandwiches, drinks, over in the chapel.”
“There’s a john in the chapel?”
“Fully equipped.”
The van moved slowly up the hill, parking close to the front entrance of the chapel. Mars and Ball were inside in two quick steps. Mars immediately bumped into Phil Stern.
Stern held out his hand. “Good to see you again—glad to have a chance to say how sorry I am how this has worked out. We appreciate getting an opportunity to help out.”
Mars shook Stern’s hand, but said little. Time crawled for the rest of the afternoon. Cell phone activity had been restricted in the event that Macintosh used a scanner. All police radio activity had been scripted earlier to exclude any mention of a watch for Macintosh at Hollywood or anywhere else in the city. Officers patrolling the cemetery as tourists and mourners came in and out of the chapel as they changed shifts.
Gloom gathered before the sun had set. Gordon had called the weather right. Warm air came up the river, hit the
high, cold ground of Hollywood, and thickened into fog. There was enough of a breeze to keep the fog shifting, but the eerie light added to the building tension.
Mars and Ball stood together in the darkened chapel. Lights had been turned off after sunset. Except for a couple of infrared lights that had been plugged in at floor level and allowed careful movement within the chapel, there was total darkness. Mars and Gordon stood together at a window facing in the direction of the monument until almost nine o’-clock. Then they put on dark, hooded jackets and walked out to take their positions.
Ball said, “You still sure this is gonna happen tonight?”
Mars said, “We’d better hope it does. It’s pretty obvious Hec has been coming back here directly after each of the murders. If he doesn’t show up now, I think we can assume he’s gone on a rampage to take down the final two Sherman descendents as quickly as he can.”
“What’s the status of those two?”
“They’ve been located, so I’m pretty sure we can protect them. Problem is, by now, Hec probably thinks it’s possible we know who he’s after. That’s been part of the thrill for him. So he’s going to be prepared to run if something doesn’t seem right around the victims. We could lose him, even if we can save the targets. The one thing I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know is that we know he comes back here after the murders. This is our best shot at a quick capture.”
Before they separated, Mars said, “Gordon, when Hec shows—before you give the signal for the lights to go on—give me a heads-up on the walkie-talkie. I want to know as soon as you’re sure it’s Macintosh.”
Mars was positioned in a small clump of bushes that allowed him a view of both Pickett’s monument and the pyramid. Would have allowed him a view if the fog hadn’t limited his vision to perhaps two feet in front of his own face. He began to worry that Macintosh could slip in and out of the cemetery without being seen. Thinking about it, he realized an advantage of having decided to wait to close the net until Hec chipped the fifth line on the base of Pickett’s
statue was that they could hear that happening.
Mars had called Ball before leaving Minneapolis to propose the Hollywood stakeout. Gordon had been quick to see the opportunity. But they’d had considerable discussion about when to close the net on Hec if he did show up. Mars and Gordon both leaned toward taking him as soon as he showed up. But the chief of police in Waring, Michigan, had been in contact with Ball as soon as he heard about the plan. He’d begged that Macintosh not be taken until the fifth line had been chiseled.
Ball and Mars understood why; it would be a significant piece of evidence in the overall investigation and particularly in Waring’s case against Macintosh for Harry Mickelson’s murder. Mars was comfortable that they had plenty of evidence against Hec without the fifth line. And he was pretty sure Hec Mcintosh would have been dealt with by another jurisdiction long before Waring took its case to court. But there was something poetic in letting Hec chisel the fifth line seconds before he was apprehended. As long as the stakeout seemed secure, Mars agreed to go along.
Mars’s walkie-talkie flashed, signaling that he needed to turn on his earphones.
Gordon Ball’s thoughts had been running along similar lines. “Mars,” he said, his voice hushed. “I’m thinking we might not see Hec at all when he comes in—but if we hear him chiseling on the base, I’m gonna treat that as a sighting and give the signal to turn the lights on.”
“Good idea,” Mars said. “Something else. Didn’t you say you scented the dogs to the bloodied noose from Waring?”
“Right.”
“Make contact with the dog handlers. Tell them if the dogs get restless, if their hackles go up, to let us know. The dogs will smell Hec a long time before we see or hear him.”
And they did.
Mars’s walkie-talkie flashed shortly after 11:00 P.M.
“The dogs are restless,” Ball’s voice whispered.
“Oookay,” Mars said. “You see anything yet?”
“No. But the dog that responded first was just down the fence from Pickett’s monument. My guess is he’s gonna come over the fence. Which is a smart move. Visibility being what it is, the fence gives him a guide right up to the statue.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you.”
“Mars? The one thing I regret about not being able to make a visual sighting?”
“What’s that, Gordon.”
“When I saw him—when I spotted Hec—I was gonna call you and say, ‘Dead Man Walking.’”
If there was a more chilling sound than the echo of a chisel striking against stone in a cemetery on a night when nothing could be seen, Mars didn’t know what it was. Shivering, he waited for Gordon Ball to give the signal for the light switch to be thrown. But he still wasn’t prepared when it came.
“Lights!” Ball screamed, and what seemed like a million watts of brilliance flashed, the switches making loud, clacking sounds as an accompaniment.
The damnedest thing was, even with the powerful lights, all you could see in the fog was dark forms of people, with statues in the background casting darker shadows. The figure by Pickett’s monument forced itself upright, then stood frozen for a moment. Until the dogs started after him. Then the figure ran, not toward the fence but to the left, away from the dogs, toward the river, in the direction of the pyramid.
Mars ran in the direction of the pyramid, but men coming over the fence were closer to the fugitive by a hundred yards. The fugitive hesitated for just a moment. The dogs were almost on him. Then, with a leap, he started to scramble up the rocky ledges of the monument, his feet slipping, then finding footing as he moved higher. Out of reach of the frantic dogs below, the man began climbing slowly higher. Just below him, two men started up the pyramid in pursuit.
Gordon Ball was in a hell of a position. Without being certain it was Hec Macintosh, he was reluctant to order fire.
The two men below took action on their own. They scrambled up opposite sides of the monument, approaching the figure laterally, slowly closing the distance between them. Within seconds the two men were within arm’s reach of the fugitive.
Mars heard the noise before he saw the side of the monument start to collapse. It was almost like a groan, then rocks began cascading in a racketing roar.
The dogs were back and away from the avalanche in a flash.
The three men on the monument went down with the falling rocks.