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Chapter 34

Pendergast eased the truck to a stop in front of a modest two story house at the end of a cul-de-sac and killed the engine. He grabbed his briefcase and exited the truck, waiting for Tigg to join him. Silently she followed him up the front walk to the front of the house, taking note of the newly planted trees, roughed-in landscaping, and immaculate lawn.

“How long has he lived here?” she asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ulster moved to Winstead 6 months ago. They are it’s most recently arrived residents, an honor which will provide the pretense of our visit.”

“Mr. and Mrs.? Interesting.” She looked up at the house, which had a new roof and looked as if it had been recently painted. “It appears that ol’ Todd is doing OK for himself, or at least keeping busy.”

“Indeed.”

Tigg glanced at the empty carport. “Looks like they’re at work. Why are we here?”

“Mr. Ulster works from home, and I have it on good authority that he rarely leaves the property.”

“Hmmm. I see some things never change.”

Before Pendergast could question her cryptic comment, Tigg reached the front door and pressed the button for the doorbell. Pendergast stepped up beside her and waited.

After several moments of silence, they heard a soft clicking sound approach the door from the interior of the house and then retreat. The clicking returned, accompanied by the sound of heavy footfalls. A chain rattled, and slowly the door opened to reveal a man with tousled brown hair, dressed in blackwatch plaid pajama bottoms and a dark blue t-shirt. His light green eyes held a look of annoyance. He stared at the pair, then reached to the left of the doorframe and produced a small sign, which he held up for their inspection. Tigg and Pendergast turned their attention to the sign, which said:

DEAF, MUTE, NOT INTERESTED. GOOD-BYE.

When their gaze returned to him, he started to close the door. Tigg stepped forward and made a series of motions with her hands.

“Please, wait.”

The man stopped, looked at her, and raised one eyebrow. He quickly signed a question, which almost caused Tigg to laugh out loud.

“What, Jehovah’s Witnesses are learning to sign now?”

Tigg glanced at Pendergast to see if he had understood, but he shook his head. She signed a response.

“No. Well, I don’t know about that, really.” Tigg indicated to herself and Pendergast. “We are researchers. Studying this town, and would like to discuss this with you.”

“Why with me?”

“Because...” Tigg paused, trying to thing of a good way to phrase the reason. “You might have interesting answers.”

“I doubt it.” He regarded Pendergast with an unfriendly expression on his face, then turned back to Tigg.

“He the boss?”

“Yes. Dr. Prescott. Doesn’t sign, but has the questions. I’ll interpret. My name is Jack Crow.”

“Todd Ulster.” Ulster thought for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth between Pendergast and Tigg, before coming to a decision.

“OK. I can spare a few minutes. Not too long. I’m busy.” He opened the door wider to allow them inside. “Come with me.”

They followed him down the front hall, which smelled of fresh paint. The clicking sound they had heard earlier resumed, and Tigg turned to see a small corgi-type dog with a bright orange collar following them. At the end of the hall, they turned left and entered a small room which apparently served as an office. It was packed with books, computer equipment, cables, and other electronics. One small sofa was jammed up against the far wall, flanked on either side with labeled boxes yet unpacked. A large desk holding three computer monitors and various other pieces of equipment was against the opposite wall. Pendergast lowered himself onto the sofa and Tigg followed suit.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t touch anything.” Ulster headed back down the hall, and the dog followed.

“He doesn’t seem particularly happy to see us,” observed Pendergast.

“Well, it appears that we did wake him up, but I suspect it’s more that he’s not happy to see you.” Tigg said, removing her sunglasses and gazing around the room with curiosity.

“Why would you say that?”

“I remember some of the things he said regarding his family. They belonged to a very small minority of culturally Deaf people who strongly dislike hearing people, especially those who don’t sign. It’s unfortunate, but it happens. Todd was a little more, well, liberal in his views in that regard, but he still won’t go out of his way to interact with the Hearing.”

“Hence your lack of surprise that he is somewhat of a hermit.”

“Yes.”

“But he has agreed to talk to us?’

“Yes. I told him our names and that we have questions about the town. You’ll ask, I’ll interpret. But go slow, and keep it simple, I’m a little out of practice.” Pendergast nodded, withdrew his notebook, and waited.

Ulster soon returned, wearing jeans and a different t-shirt. He sat down in his office chair and swiveled to face Pendergast and Tigg.

“What do you want to know?”

“He wants to know why we’re here,” Tigg muttered to Pendergast.

“Ah, yes. We are studying the psychological, sociological, and economic effects of a certain type of crime on small towns.” He paused, waiting as Tigg spelled out the unfamiliar words. “Mass murder to be precise. You have heard of what happened to the Zoller family, correct?”

A flicker of unease crossed Ulster’s face.

“Strange subject for study. I am aware of what happened, but not much otherwise. I haven’t lived here long.”

“Did you know the family?”

“No.”

“How do you feel about the town, in light of what’s happened?”

“My wife and I discussed installing an alarm system. The crime made her very nervous.”

“I see.” Pendergast made a notation in his book. “What about you?”

“I have no opinion. There’s crime everywhere. People can’t get away from it, can we?”

“Unfortunately, no. But this kind of crime is different. It produces strong emotions from most people. How did it make you feel?”

“It...brought back bad memories.” Ulster shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Of what?”

“I lost friends. Very good friends. But it happened a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. So this new crime reminded you of your loss.” Pendergast made another note. “May I ask what happened?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I see.”

Tigg caught the look of anger that flashed in Ulster’s eyes. She quickly signed “sorry”. Ulster smiled slightly. “No problem.”

“Now,” said Pendergast after noting the brief exchange, “I would like to collect a little background information, if you don’t mind. For statistical purposes.”

“OK.”

“When did you move to Winstead?”

“Six months ago.”

“And what sort of work do you and your wife do?”

“I’m a web page designer and...” Tigg paused and asked for clarification of a sign. “Webmaster for several non-profit organizations. I also do maintenance for a couple of ...online order companies. In my spare time I’m remodeling the house, and I do...computer-generated graphic art.” Again, Tigg appeared to struggle a bit with some of the signs. Ulster was looking at her carefully, a puzzled expression on his face. He looked at her and signed four letters as a question. She signed “no”. His eyes narrowed slightly at her response, and then continued his narration.

“My wife, Deanna, works for the police.”

“The Winstead police?”

“No, state police, in the laboratory. She’s a biologist who analyzes...evidence.”

“Ah, that must be fascinating.”

“Yes, too bad she has to work with cops.”

“I see. Is she, ah, hearing impaired also?”

Tigg grimaced. She signed the question, replacing “hearing impaired” with “deaf”.

“No, she’s a CODA.”

“I’m sorry?”

“CODA. Child of deaf adults”, explained Tigg.

“Ah.”

Ulster looked at Tigg and signed another quick question. She hesitated before responding in the negative. Ulster gave her another suspicious look, this time staring for several moments before returning his attention to Pendergast.

“To, ah, return to a previous question. You are not happy that your wife works with cops. Why not?”

“I don’t trust them. Bad past experience.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

Again, Ulster shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was still for a moment, debating his response. Finally, after directing a piecing stare at Tigg, he responded.

“A cop killed a friend of mine. My best friend. His name was Lucas.” He paused, carefully watching Tigg while she interpreted. A startled expression briefly crossed his face, and it was several moments before he continued.

“Another cop blamed my friend for something I know he didn’t do, to justify him being killed.”

“I am truly sorry to hear that.”

“After that, I had no use for the police. My wife tried to tell me that what happened was a one time thing, so I started to do research. I found out that there are a lot of times that the cops get the wrong person. I also found that a lot of have gone unsolved because the police...messed up.” Tigg blushed slightly, editing one sign to something slightly more polite.

Ulster turned to one of the computers on the desk, placed his hand on the adjacent mouse, and clicked to open a window. It displayed a website entitled “Epidemic of Incompetence: Unsolved and Unsolvable Murders” in bold red letters across the top a black screen, with several underlined links were listed beneath. He turned back to Pendergast.

“Each one of these...links goes to a collection of news stories about a case with evidence of police misconduct, and that’s what I’ve found with my limited searching. I’m sure there are plenty more. I decided to make people aware of the problem.” He turned to the computer again, clicked another link, and turned back.

“These are recent cases that do not look like they will be solved, based on news reports of lack of evidence, where no suspect at all has ever been identified.” He turned and clicked a final link.

“These are closed cases where evidence has shown that they were closed to soon, or with the wrong person put in jail. Again, only what I’ve found with a limited search.”

Now, does that explain why I don’t hold the police in high regard?”

“Actually, your response is not that surprising. Anger combined with the need to find an outside entity upon which to focus it. Has you research and subsequent display of the results produced the desired effect?”

“What do you mean?”

“Has anyone seemed interested in your cause?”

“I’ve received several responses and questions about cases, but...” He stopped, apparently unsure of what to say next.

“You have also invited the interest of a certain, ah, element of society that you would rather have avoided.”

An expression of fear flickered across Ulster’s face.

“I have received correspondence from people who seem to...enjoy reading about these tragedies. Some have even offered their own interpretations of the crimes. These are not pleasant, but I can ignore them. The work is important.”

“Have you, by chance, shared these, ah, interpretations with the police?”

“Not recently. I did, at first, because my wife insisted. They scared her, the things people sent. The information was not well received. I expected as much.”

“Is, ah, the recent case from Winstead featured on your page?”

Ulster’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes.”

“And have you received any of this type of correspondence in regards to the case?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t mean anything. It is just a...sick interpretation of what was written in the newspaper.”

“May we see it?”

Ulster hesitated, his eyes flicking back and forth between Pendergast and Tigg. Finally he turned, opened one of the desk drawers, and withdrew a file folder. He removed a sheet of paper and held it up for their inspection. It appeared to be a pen and ink drawing, depicting several figures. Tigg gasped when she recognized the scene. It was the same as she had seen in her dream the night before. She stared at the picture, frozen, unable to look away.

Ulster, alarmed by her reaction, quickly lowered the picture and placed it back in the folder. Tigg closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the image. When she opened them, she saw that both men were staring at her. The expression on Pendergast’s face was unreadable, but Ulster looked horrified. Before she could say anything, he signed a few declarative sentences. She started to respond, but thought better of it, and turned to Pendergast.

“Mr. Ulster needs to speak with me in private. In the kitchen.”

“Are you sure that is wise?”

“I...I’ll handle it. It’s fine. Trust me,” said Tigg with much more confidence than she felt.

Ulster rose from his seat and walked out of the room, turning more than once to make sure Tigg followed. When they reached the kitchen, he stopped and rounded on Tigg. When Tigg saw his expression she took a few steps back. He glared at her for a moment, then raised his hands and very deliberately signed a question.

“Who the Hell are you?!?”

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