“I have to call headquarters,” he repeated. “We’ll be along in a while.” Then he hung up.
When he was done with the second call, he returned to Kimmy’s room. She was still sleeping.
Jake knelt beside her and stroked her head. Her hair was damp. He put a hand on her back. Her skin was very hot through the fabric of her blouse. He felt the rise and fall of her breathing. She snored softly.
Jake tickled the rim of her ear. Without waking up, she rubbed the itch with Cookie Monster’s furry blue head.
He smiled. He had a lump in his throat, but he was better now. Earlier, he’d fallen completely apart. She had slept through all that, fortunately.
Hell, the kid could sleep through almost anything.
With a hand on her shoulder, he gently shook her. “Wake up, honey,” he said. He shook her again. “Hello. Anybody home? Kimmy?”
She moaned and rolled onto her side, her back to Jake.
“Armpit attack,” he said, and wiggled his fingers under her arm.
Twisting away, she buried her face in the pillow.
“Butt attack!”
She reached back and slapped his hand off her rump, then rolled and faced him. “That’s not nice,” she protested.
“So sorry. Want to go to Jack-in-the-Box?”
“Can I have nachos?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
“You don’t have to rush me.”
“If we don’t get out of here fast, Mommy might show up and take you home, and you won’t get the nachos.”
Kimmy sat up. Searching under the pillow, she found Clew. “Is Mommy mad at me?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. We were both terribly worried about you. What you did was very dangerous.”
“I was very careful.”
“Come on.” He took her hand. She hopped down from the bed, looked back at Cookie Monster as if considering whether to bring him along as well, then let Jake lead her across the room.
“Can I stay here tonight?”
“I don’t think so. Mommy will want you at home.”
“Isn’t this my home, too?”
“Sure it is.”
“Don’t you want me to stay with you?”
“I’d love it. But this wouldn’t be a good night for it. Besides, I’m on a very important case.”
“Somebody toes up?” she asked, and grinned at him.
“That’s right.”
Outside, Jake lifted her into the car and strapped her into the child seat. He hurried to his side of the car, started the engine and turned on the headlights. As he backed out of the driveway, he told Kimmy, “We looked all over town for you. The whole police department was looking for you.”
“Does that mean I’m in trouble?”
“I don’t think we’ll put you in jail this time. First offense. If you ever do it again, though, I’m afraid it’ll be slammer time. Why’d you do it?”
“Mommy wasn’t being nice.”
“Because she wouldn’t let you have ice cream?”
“No, ‘cause she socked me.”
“What do you mean, socked you?”
“Gave me a knuckle sandwich. Right here.” She bumped Clew’s small gray head against her upper arm. “It really hurt. You’re not supposed to hit little girls, you know.”
“So you ran away because she hit you?”
“You never hit me.”
“That’s only because I know you’d pound me if I ever tried.” He smiled at her, but blood was seething through him.
Kimmy never lied.
That bitch had punched her.
Didn’t even have the guts to admit it.
“So you got mad because she hit you, and you decided to pay me a visit? How did you find my house?”
“Oh, I knew where it was.”
“And you walked all the way?”
“Sure. My foots got tired, though.”
“There were a lot of people looking for you. I’m really surprised that none of them found you.”
“Well, you see, I hid. I’m a good hider.”
“What did you do, duck into the bushes every time a car came along?”
“Sometimes there weren’t no bushes. I got behind trees and cars.”
“Very clever,” Jake said.
“Well, you see, I got scared about the man with the cat. He didn’t have a cat, for real, ‘cause it got smooshed, but he wanted to pet Clew and I ran away.”
“What?” Jake asked. My God, he thought, somebody had tried to pick her up.
“Daddy, you should’ve listened the first time. I do not repeat.”
“I was listening,” he assured her. “You said that a man wanted to pet Clew.”
“Only that was just a story. He was going to grab me and take me in his car.”
Jake’s heart pounded. “Did he tell you that?”
“No.”
“Then what makes you think he wanted to grab you?”
“You can’t fool She-Ra.”
“When did this happen?”
“Today.”
“After you left Mommy’s house?”
“Well, of course.”
“He was driving a car?”
“Yes.”
“And he stopped near you while you were on the way to my house?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“I already told you.”
“Press rewind.”
Kimmy made a buzzing sound. “Okay, all done.”
“What did the man say?”
“His cat got smooshed by a car and he felt sad. I don’t think it really did, though. Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wouldn’t let him pet Clew. I ran away.”
“Did he drive after you?”
“Well, you see, I ran to a house.”
“That was very smart. And what did he do?”
“He drove away fast.”
“What did he look like?”
“Are you going to put him in jail?”
“I might.”
“Good.”
“But I need to know what he looks like, or I won’t be able to find him.”
“Maybe you should shoot him. I think that might be a good idea.”
“How old was he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he younger than me?”
“Yeah, but he was grown-up.”
“Did he look old enough to be a student at the college?”
Kimmy shrugged. “He was kind of the same as George.”
George was the boyfriend of Sandra Phillips, who used to babysit for Kimmy before the marriage broke up. At that time, George was a senior in high school.
“What did he look like?”
“Well, he didn’t have a shirt on.” In a sly voice, she added, “I saw his beeps.”
“Did you see his back?” And did his back have a bulge, Jake wondered, as if he had a snake under his skin?
Kimmy shook her head.
“What color was his hair?”
“Black.”
“How about the eyes?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding a bit impatient. “Are we almost to Jack-in-the-Box?”
“Just a couple more blocks. Was he skinny, fat?”
“Oh, skinny.”
“Did he wear glasses?”
“Nope.”
“Sunglasses?”
“Daaaaddy.” She sighed heavily. “I’m tired of this.”
“You want me to shoot him, don’t you?”
“Well…”
“What kind of car was he driving?”
“Oh, that’s easy. It was just like Mommy’s.”
“A Porsche?”
“What’s a Porsche?”
“Mommy’s car that Harold bought her.”
“Oh, that. Huh-uh. It was like her old car. Maybe it was her old car!”
“Was it exactly the same? The color and everything?”
“Yeah. Only it had
a thing on it.”
“What kind of a thing?”
“A pointy flag.”
“What color was it?”
“Red-orange.”
“Like your red-orange crayon?”
“Well, of course.”
“Where was this flag? Was it glued to a window, or…”
“It was on that thing.” Kimmy pointed through the window at Jake’s radio antenna.
“That’s great, honey. That’ll be a real help. Anything else you can remember about the guy or his car?”
“I don’t think so. His cat’s name was Celia. Only I don’t think he really had a cat, do you? I think it was just a story to make me let him pet Clew and grab me. I bet he wanted to do something bad to me. Only I outsmarted him, didn’t I?”
“You sure did, honey.”
Moments later, Jake swung the car into the crowded lot of a 7-Eleven.
“Hey, you promised Jack-in-the-Box.”
“I need to make a call.” The parking spaces close to the public telephone were taken, so he had to settle for a spot near the far end.
“Are you going to call Mommy?”
“Nope. Want me to?”
“No!”
“I’m calling the police.” He unbuckled Kimmy. She scurried down from her high seat and followed Jake out the driver’s door. Taking hold of her small hand, he led her across the parking lot. “I’m going to tell Barney all about the creep in the Volkswagen.”
Kimmy’s eyes widened with excitement. “Really?”
“Yep. We’re gonna nail that guy.”
“Can we eat before we nail him? I’m starving.”
“We’ll eat as soon as I’m done calling.”
“Well, make it snappy, buster.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Roland parked Dana’s Volkswagen at the curb halfway down the block and climbed out. He walked past two houses. In the glow of the streetlight, he checked the address he had copied from the student directory: 364 B Apple Lane.
He was on Apple Lane. The porch light of the house across from him revealed the numbers 364 on the front door.
The B on the address undoubtedly meant that Alison had an apartment on the property, either in a different section of the house or in a furnished garage out back.
Light shone through windows on the ground floor and upstairs. Whoever lives in the main part of the house, Roland thought, must be home. I’d better keep it in mind.
A walkway led straight to the front door, but flagstones curved away to the right.
Roland cut diagonally across the lawn. Stepping onto a flagstone at the corner of the house, he saw a wooden stairway to the second story. A door at the top of the stairs was lighted by a single bulb. A railing up there was decorated with potted plants. Girls would have plants like that, he thought.
Near the bottom of the stairs, a mailbox was mounted on the house wall. Roland stopped beside it. The address on the box was 364 B.
Slowly, he began to climb the stairs.
Hearing voices, he stopped and turned around. The sound came from an open window. Though the window overlooked the stairway, it was far to the side so he couldn’t see in. He listened for a few moments. The voices had a flat quality—and background music. They came from a television.
So Helen is here, just like Alison said.
Watching the tube.
Alone?
She might have a boyfriend visiting.
Possible. I’ll have to be careful, Roland thought.
At the top of the stairs, he removed a plastic bag from the front pocket of his jeans. It was a sturdy translucent wastebasket liner he had taken from his dorm room while planning tonight’s activities. Confident that the noise from the television would prevent Helen from hearing such quiet sounds, he unfolded the bag and puffed into it. The bag expanded with his breath.
He took out the keys he had taken from Celia’s purse, chose the one that appeared most likely to be the door key, and slipped it silently into the lock. He bit the edge of the bag to free his other hand. Then, using both hands, he slowly turned the key and knob. He eased the door open.
The sound from the television increased. He smelled a pleasant odor. Popcorn.
From where he stood with his face pressed to the gap, he could see only a corner of the living room. No one was there.
He swung the door a little wider and sidestepped through the opening.
He saw the top of her head above the sofa back. Her hair was in curlers.
The furniture arrangement made it easy. If the sofa had been placed flush against the wall, he wouldn’t be able to sneak up behind her. But the sofa had a wide space behind it, apparently so people could cross the room without passing in front of anyone who might be sitting there.
Roland considered shutting the door. He decided not to risk making a sound that might disturb her, and left it standing open a few inches.
He took the bag in both hands. Holding it open, he began to walk slowly over the carpet. A slight breeze stirred the bag.
This’ll be a cinch, he thought.
Unless there’s a guy lying on the sofa with his head in her lap.
Then he was close enough to see that nobody else was there. On the cushion beside Helen rested a big white bowl of popcorn. She reached into it and scooped out a handful of popcorn. She was wearing a red bathrobe. Her legs were stretched out, feet resting on top of a low table in front of the sofa. The robe hung open, revealing thick white legs.
Too bad she’s such a pig, Roland thought. This would be much more pleasant if she looked more like Celia or Alison.
No thrill in this.
He raised the bag.
Something thumped off to the side.
He looked. The door had blown shut.
Helen looked, too, her head turning enough to see the door, then turning more and tilting back. Her eyes bugged out when she saw Roland. Half-chewed popcorn spewed from her mouth, some splattering the inside of the plastic bag as he swung it down over her head.
She lunged forward. Roland flung an arm across her face to hold the bag in place. Hugging her head, he was dragged over the back of the sofa. She reached back and tore at his hair. Pain erupted from his scalp.
Helen’s shoulder slammed the top of the coffee table. Roland’s side hit the surface, knocking her drink out of the way. She squirmed and kicked. Her wild struggle scooted Roland along the table. Its other end flew up. He dropped to the floor, Helen smashing down on top of him.
Pinned beneath her writhing body, Roland clutched the bag tight to her face. With his other hand, he jerked open the snap of his knife case.
No! No blood!
He threw his free hand across Helen. Her robe had come open. He grabbed a breast and twisted it. She squealed into the plastic over her mouth. Letting go, he pounded a fist down hard into her belly. Again. Her body flinched rigid with each blow. Then she seemed to quake. He heard heaving noises. The bag pulsed warm and mushy against his hand and he realized she was vomiting. He fought an urge to pull his hand away. He pressed the bag even more tightly to her mouth. Convulsions wracked Helen’s body. She twisted and bucked on top of him, finally throwing herself off.
He rolled with her, but lost his grip on the bag. Vomit slopped out onto the carpet. Her hand slipped in the mess when she tried to push herself up. Roland scrambled onto her back. She was choking and gasping beneath him. But breathing, at least enough to stay alive. As he straddled her and reached for the bag, she tugged it off her head.
Roland wrapped his fingers around her slick neck and tried to strangle her. As he squeezed her throat, Helen pushed herself up. She got to her hands and knees. Whimpering, she began to crawl. Roland rode her. His fingers weakened. He felt a tremor of fear.
Letting go, he scrambled off Helen’s back. He staggered a few steps, got his balance, then rushed at her and kicked the toe of his shoe up into her belly with such force that she toppled onto her side. She hugged her belly and sucked breath. She had lost her gla
sses. Her face was scarlet where it wasn’t smeared with vomit.
Roland danced back and forth, looking for the best target. He wondered for a moment what one of those mammoth breasts might do if he punted it. That wouldn’t be lethal, though, and he needed to finish this business. She had already proven herself almost too much for him.
He aimed a kick at her throat.
It missed, but knocked her jaw crooked and threw Helen onto her back.
Roland jumped, bringing his knees up high and shooting his feet down, stomping her crossed arms and belly with all his weight. Breath exploded out of her and she half sat up. Roland bounded off her.
Whirling around, he kicked the side of her head.
Her arms flopped onto the floor.
He kicked her head again for good measure.
Then he retrieved the plastic bag. He sat on the soft cushions of her breasts, pulled the filthy bag down over her head, and held it shut around her neck.
As he sat there, he hoped Alison would be spending a long time at her boyfriend’s apartment. It would take a long time to clean all this up.
The pig had made a real mess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
They were nearly done eating and Alison grew uneasy about what might happen once they left the table. To postpone the moment, she asked for coffee. Evan got up to prepare it.
Don’t worry so much, she told herself. So far, everything has gone fine. Reasonably fine.
She had been terribly nervous on her way to Evan’s apartment, had even come close to backing down. But somehow she found the courage to knock on his door.
She had half expected Evan to look wild-eyed and desperate. If he’d been that way when he wrote the letter, however, he’d had time to recover. The man who opened the door seemed composed and cheerful. Perhaps a bit too cheerful.
“Ah, la belle dam san merci,” he greeted her. “Make that avec merci.”
“That’s better,” Alison said.
“Come in, come in.” He didn’t try to hug or kiss her. He backed into the apartment, smiling. “You look terrific.”
“You don’t look so bad, yourself.”
“You got some sun.”
“I was over at the quad for a while.”
Evan lifted a glass off the table in front of the sofa. It was empty except for a few ice cubes that had melted down to nuggets. “What could I get you? How about a margarita? We’re having Mexican.”