the ‘sight of them, Graham asked her why she had said that her brother
had come to stay on the evening of November first when in fact he
actually had not arrived until well after dawn on November second.
Before she could answer that, before she could get her wits about her,
he asked her why she was hiding the murder weapon in the bottom drawer
of her china closet. Shocked by his knowledge, she withstood only half
a dozen questions from the detective before she finally admitted the
truth.
‘Amazing,” Prine said. “And you had never seen the inside of her house
before you had that vision?”
“I’d never even seen the outside of it,” Graham said.
,Why would she protect her brother when she knew he was guilty of such a
horrible crime?”
“I don’t know. I can see things that have happened and very
occasionally, things that soon will happen in places where I’ve never
been. But I can’t read minds. I can’t explain human motivations.”
The program director signaled Prine: five minutes until they broke for
the commercials.
Leaning toward Harris, Prine said, “Who asked you to help catch this man
they’re calling the Butcher? Parents of one of the murdered women?”
“No. One of the detectives assigned to the case isn’t as skeptical as
most Policemen. He believes that I can do what I say I can do. He
wants to give me a chance.”
“Have you gone to the scenes of the nine murders?”
“I’ve seen five of them.”
” ‘ And handled the clothes of the victims?”
“Some of them.”
Prine slid forward on his chair, leaning conspiratorially toward Harris.
“What can you tell us about the Butcher?
“Not much,” Graham Harris said, and he frowned, because that bothered
him. He was having more trouble than usual on this case.
“He’s a big man. Good-looking. Young. Very sure of himself and sure
of the-”
“How much are you being paid? Prine asked.
Confused by the question, Graham said, “For what?”
“For helping the police,” Prine said.
“I’m not being paid anything.”
“You’re just doing it for the good of society, then?”
“i’m compelled. i’m doing it because I-”
“How much did the Havelocks pay you?”
He realized that Prine had been leaning toward him not conspiratorially
but hungrily, like a beast preparing to pounce on its prey. His hunch
had been correct: that son of a bitch had chosen him for the nightly
trouncing. But why?
“Mr. Harris?”
Graham had temporarily forgotten the cameras (and the audience beyond),
but now he was uncomfortably aware of them again. “The Havelocks didn’t
pay me anything.
“You’re certain of that?”
“Of course I’m certain.”
“You are sometimes paid for your services, aren’t you?
“No. I earn my living by-”
“Sixteen months ago a young boy was brutally murdered in the Midwest.
We’ll skip the name of the town to spare the family publicity. His
mother asked for your assistance in uncovering the killer. I spoke with
her yesterday. She says that she paid you slightly more than one
thousand dollars-and then you failed to find the killer.
What the hell is he trying to prove? Graham wondered. He knows I’m
far from poor. He knows I don’t need to run halfway across the country
to hustle a few hundred dollars. “First of all, I did tell them who
killed the child and where they could look for the evidence that would
make their case. But both the police and this woman refused to follow
up on the lead that I gave them.
“Why would they refuse?”
“Because the man I fingered for the murder is the son of a wealthy
family in that town. He’s also a respected clergyman in his own right,
and the stepfather of the dead boy.”
Prine’s expression was proof enough that the woman had not told him this
part of it. Nevertheless, he pressed the attack. That was
uncharacteristic of him.
ordinarily, he was vicious with a guest only when he knew that he had
evidence enough to ruin him. He was not entirely an admirable man;
however, he usually didn’t make mistakes. “But she did pay you the
thousand dollars? “