“We were fine here,” a man was complaining, “and then the blamed CORE or NAACP war treasury paid for a colored family to put a down payment on a house down the block and the property values—'
A black-sounding gentleman cut him off with, “Yeah, YOU were fine but what about the colored, before there was an N double A er-ah C P do you know the colored didn't have—'
And he was in turn interrupted by the white-sounding man who said, “Sure, never mind what happened to OUR family it's just the COLORED that count, well I'm SICK of hearing about the COLORED and...'
Eichord had the oddest feeling he was stuck back in the mid-60s. He'd heard so many similar exchanges. To Jack it was just the same old broken record. It was a day like all days except he was there.
And when he walked inside, sitting there at the front desk, pretty as you please in a blazer, charcoal flannel slacks, blue-and-white polka-dot tie, $250 shoes, blue silk shirt, was none other than a calm, clean-shaven Ukie Hackabee.
“What the—” It came out before he could catch himself and the clean-cut Ukie smiled his big Cary Grant grin and said in a rumbling, beautiful baritone, “Don't suppose you'd be Mr. Eichord?” and offered his hand.
Jack took it, nodding as if in a fog.
“I'm Joe Hackabee. Good to meet you, sir.” Firm shake.
“Joe,” he said, catching his breath, “I, uh—'
“Right.” The man smiled easily. It was a warm, genuine smile. Not a sleazy, sardonic grin. Not a snickering, mean sneer. This was the smile of somebody who sincerely liked people. He'd never seen Ukie smile this way before.
“I-I'm just, you know.'
“Right.” He talked quickly, softly, in the reassuring, measured tones. “I know'—a little smile in the voice—'I'm used to it, believe me. We had a lot of years of people doing a double take.'
“Yes. It's quite amazing.'
“Identical twins, as you can see. I'm probably a little tanner than Ukie, Bill to me, I guess I'm the only person who still calls him Bill. And our personalities are completely different. Other than that we're a matching set. Kind of hits you if you're not prepared for it, eh?'
“Nobody said. I mean, I knew Ukie's brother was going to be coming in but I hadn't heard you were twins. It just surprised me. I thought it was him sitting here.” Cops would walk past and do a double take, Eichord noticed, even in their brief exchange. Joseph Hackabee was drawing a crowd inside the station.
“I spoke with Miss Collier and she said you were leading the investigation into the, uh, tragic situation here. I was hoping we could talk if your time permits.'
“Sure. Come on. Let's get a cup of coffee and ... Right in here, please.'
“No coffee, thanks. Don't use it.'
“Have a seat,” He ushered him into a vacant cubicle in the homicide division.
“Thanks.'
“Have you spoken to your brother at all since the murders took place?'
“I haven't spoken to my brother in ... Oh, I guess four and a half years. Over four years. We were very close but like people always say, we just grew apart. I'd almost lost track of him completely, which I deeply regret,” he sighed, “but these things happen. Anyway, I didn't even know if he was still in the Dallas area until I saw something about his having been arrested as a suspect in connection with the killings.” He shook his head. “Absolutely beyond anything believable.'
“Can you give us anything that might shed some light on all of this? On the murders?'
“I don't know a thing about this. Nothing beyond what I've heard on the tube and read in the papers. And of course what I've heard from his lawyers. As I said I did talk to Miss Collier. She suggested we get together as soon as you had time.'
“I was going to arrange to see you as soon as you got in. I had some men who were going to advise me when your plane got in but as you can see that clearly must have been one of those best-laid plans you're always hearing about going astray. I didn't even know you were here in Dallas.'
“Sure. Well, the reason why you didn't hear was I didn't fly in to the airport. I came straight here from my home in Houston. Flew here in my own craft. I can land anywhere.'
“Oh, I see. You're a pilot, are you?'
“Ultra-light.” He nodded.
“Yeah? I've always wondered about those. You flew all the way from Houston in an ULTRA-LIGHT?'
“Yep.” He laughed a deep and natural laugh. He had a great laugh. Eichord liked him on the spot just as he'd disliked Ukie, the other Ukie, on the spot the second he met him. “I had to touch down a few times but she's easy to gas up. Right back in the air.” He made it sound like parallel parking.
“I'd be scared to death to get in one of those. Aren't they made out of steel tubes or something?'
“Aluminum'—he laughed again—'and Dacron—you know, the sailcloth-type covering. They're pretty safe.” His smile changed. “Mr. Eichord—'
“Jack, please.'
But Hackabee was immersed in thought and repeated, “Mr. Eichord, what about Ukie? I know there's absolutely no way he could have done the awful things I've heard about.'
“Well'—Eichord gestured with the palms up, hands spread, laid his arms back to rest on the desk—'he did bad things to the Scannapieco woman'—Joe Hackabee looked down and nodded assent—'and bragged to her about the bodies.'
“That's Bill. I, uh, look, you know he's had a mental history. He's had problems. Sex offenses as I'm sure you know. But the bragging. That's just his big mouth. He'd never be able to actually do anything. He was always like that. All talk. All mouth.'
“More than mouth this time, I'm afraid. He knew where the graves were. Even if he could prove he hadn't killed the victims he'd be an accessory. We're talking as many as a hundred victims now. Maybe more. It's one of the worst mass-murder sprees ever and the facts are—much as I hate to say it—your brother is involved. Deeply.'
“I just can't believe it. No way. He's a little nuts, sure. Has the sex thing. Shows himself. Harmless stuff. Even taking the woman like that. I don't know how it ever happened. It's just not the guy I know. I don't think he could harm a fly.'
“He abducted, repeatedly raped, and savagely brutalized Donna Scannapieco. Held her captive for a month. This fits the profile of a man who has very little regard for the lives or the welfare of other human beings. I have to tell you that your brother is in a world of trouble on this.'
“But Jones-Seleska says he's claiming that he didn't really commit those murders, he only knew where the bodies had been, you know, hidden. He says someone else did the crimes and told him where they were.'
“Someone else.'
“Right.'
“Someone killed them and then told Ukie.'
“So he'd take the blame.'
“I think at the very least he'll be proven an accomplice to murder one on a minimum of seventy-five or eighty counts, and then only if he gives up the person or persons who were involved with him, which so far he has refused to do.'
Eventually the conversational ball just rolled into the corner and stopped and Eichord told Hackabee to meet him this afternoon if he could and they'd have time for a longer exchange. What Eichord wanted was to start going off Ukie's background, from childhood on. Find out, if he could, just where the desire to punish and destroy first took root. Trace the twisted thing that had manifested itself in degenerate sexual behavior. Try to get a picture of the real William Hackabee. Look inside the dark shadows where Ukie the murderer lived.
He was blown away by Joseph Hackabee. Nobody in the cockamamy case, from the perp to the defense counsel to the rape victim to the brother of the killer, was what he would have expected. Ukie having a twin was so dumbfounding. Then he got another surprise.
A secretary told him two guys from the AG's office were here, and he went out front totally perplexed to find a pair of shoe flies in from Austin. They sat with Eichord at another borrowed desk wanting to know what about leads. Was Mr. Hackabee part of a “salt-andpepper team” (which Eichord had to have explained to him)? Were any of the victims
