Read Online Deranged: The Shocking True Story of America's Most Fiendish Killer by Harold Schechter - Free Book Online
Authors: Harold Schechter
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of some sunlight. (The previous summer, Grace had, in fact, managed to get out of the city for a short time, courtesy of the
New YorkTribune’s
Fresh Air Fund, a charitable program that arranged for underprivileged children to spend a week or two in the country.) But her anemic coloring couldn’t obscure her loveliness. With her big, dark eyes, her lustrous brown hair—cut in a fashionable bob—and her radiant smile, she seemed destined to blossom into a beauty.
She was still dressed for church—in the white silk dress she’d been confirmed in a month earlier, white silk stockings and canvas pumps, and a string of imitation pearls. The outfit made her look surprisingly grown up. But her pose, as she stood in the doorway—hands clasped behind her back, right foot pointed like a fledgling ballerina’s—was unmistakably that of a little girl.
The old man lowered his fork and stared. He smiled his rabbit-toothed smile. “Come here, child,” he said, patting his leg.
“This is Mr. Howard,” Delia Budd explained. “The man Eddie’s going to work for. Come say hello.”
Gracie lingered in the doorway a moment longer, regarding the stranger. Then she walked to the table and stood by his knee.
So intent was the old man’s gaze as he took in the child that it was as if her parents had simply vanished from the room. Speaking in a soft, wheedling voice, he told her how slender and pretty she was. He asked her questions about her friends, her favorite pastimes, her school. As he talked, he reached up a hand—mottled with liver spots but surprisingly powerful-looking, a laborer’s hand—and began to stroke her hair. Gracie squirmed a bit under the stranger’s touch and cast a questioning look at her mother, who smiled back in encouragement. Catching the wordless exchange, Howard let his hand slip down to the girl’s flank and nudged her onto his lap.
“Let’s see how good a counter you are,” he said, leaning backward in his chair so that he could stick one hand deep into his pants pocket. He pulled out a thick wad of bills, which he set on the table before him. Then, reaching back into his pocket, he came out with a handful of coins. At the sight of the overspilling money pile, Mrs. Budd lifted her eyebrows appreciatively, whileher husband gulped down a big swallow of sauerkraut and smiled vacantly.
At Howard’s prodding, Gracie picked up the stack of bills—so thick that she needed both hands to hold it—and counted them back onto the table, one at a time, adding aloud as she did so. Then she scooped up the coins and counted those. The total came to $92.50.
“What a bright little girl,” said Howard. Plucking a few nickels and dimes from the table, he held her hand open, placed the coins into her upturned palm, then folded her fingers over the money and patted her fist. “Here is fifty cents. Go out and buy some candy for you and your sister.”
“Thank you,” sang Grace as she slid from his lap, grabbed her sister’s hand, and sped from the room.
“If you see Eddie,” Mrs. Budd shouted after her older daughter, “tell him Mr. Howard’s come for him!”
“Well,” said Mr. Budd, chuckling softly. “You’ve made them children happy.”
But the old man seemed lost in thought.
Grace had heeded her mother’s instructions. Just a few minutes after she disappeared out the door, Eddie showed up with Willie Korman at his side. The boys, breathless from running, burst into the kitchen, where Mr. Howard greeted them warmly. But after apologizing for the previous day’s delay, the old man made an announcement that took the two friends by surprise.
“Edward,” he said. “I am not going to take you to the job right at the present. I received a letter from my sister yesterday, and she is throwing a birthday party for one of her children, which I’m obliged to attend.” Howard, who had replaced his money in his pocket after Gracie’s departure, now pulled out the wad again and peeled off a
New YorkTribune’s
Fresh Air Fund, a charitable program that arranged for underprivileged children to spend a week or two in the country.) But her anemic coloring couldn’t obscure her loveliness. With her big, dark eyes, her lustrous brown hair—cut in a fashionable bob—and her radiant smile, she seemed destined to blossom into a beauty.
She was still dressed for church—in the white silk dress she’d been confirmed in a month earlier, white silk stockings and canvas pumps, and a string of imitation pearls. The outfit made her look surprisingly grown up. But her pose, as she stood in the doorway—hands clasped behind her back, right foot pointed like a fledgling ballerina’s—was unmistakably that of a little girl.
The old man lowered his fork and stared. He smiled his rabbit-toothed smile. “Come here, child,” he said, patting his leg.
“This is Mr. Howard,” Delia Budd explained. “The man Eddie’s going to work for. Come say hello.”
Gracie lingered in the doorway a moment longer, regarding the stranger. Then she walked to the table and stood by his knee.
So intent was the old man’s gaze as he took in the child that it was as if her parents had simply vanished from the room. Speaking in a soft, wheedling voice, he told her how slender and pretty she was. He asked her questions about her friends, her favorite pastimes, her school. As he talked, he reached up a hand—mottled with liver spots but surprisingly powerful-looking, a laborer’s hand—and began to stroke her hair. Gracie squirmed a bit under the stranger’s touch and cast a questioning look at her mother, who smiled back in encouragement. Catching the wordless exchange, Howard let his hand slip down to the girl’s flank and nudged her onto his lap.
“Let’s see how good a counter you are,” he said, leaning backward in his chair so that he could stick one hand deep into his pants pocket. He pulled out a thick wad of bills, which he set on the table before him. Then, reaching back into his pocket, he came out with a handful of coins. At the sight of the overspilling money pile, Mrs. Budd lifted her eyebrows appreciatively, whileher husband gulped down a big swallow of sauerkraut and smiled vacantly.
At Howard’s prodding, Gracie picked up the stack of bills—so thick that she needed both hands to hold it—and counted them back onto the table, one at a time, adding aloud as she did so. Then she scooped up the coins and counted those. The total came to $92.50.
“What a bright little girl,” said Howard. Plucking a few nickels and dimes from the table, he held her hand open, placed the coins into her upturned palm, then folded her fingers over the money and patted her fist. “Here is fifty cents. Go out and buy some candy for you and your sister.”
“Thank you,” sang Grace as she slid from his lap, grabbed her sister’s hand, and sped from the room.
“If you see Eddie,” Mrs. Budd shouted after her older daughter, “tell him Mr. Howard’s come for him!”
“Well,” said Mr. Budd, chuckling softly. “You’ve made them children happy.”
But the old man seemed lost in thought.
Grace had heeded her mother’s instructions. Just a few minutes after she disappeared out the door, Eddie showed up with Willie Korman at his side. The boys, breathless from running, burst into the kitchen, where Mr. Howard greeted them warmly. But after apologizing for the previous day’s delay, the old man made an announcement that took the two friends by surprise.
“Edward,” he said. “I am not going to take you to the job right at the present. I received a letter from my sister yesterday, and she is throwing a birthday party for one of her children, which I’m obliged to attend.” Howard, who had replaced his money in his pocket after Gracie’s departure, now pulled out the wad again and peeled off a
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