Body Rides (15 page)

They would almost certainly arrest him, but so what?

He could live with that.

He would prefer to avoid the mess, but it didn’t seem like much of a big deal.

Elise dead, that was a big deal.

So was finding her killer.

Empty my pistol into his face
.

As Neal searched, he found small amounts of blood on the
carpet of Elise’s bedroom, and in the hallway. Not much. A few drops and smears here and there.

But he found a pattern of spots on the rug just inside the doorway of the guest bathroom.

The rat-fuck’s blood
.

This was where he’d waited before jumping her.

At least I didn’t just imagine hitting him, Neal thought.

There was hardly more blood, however, than might come from a small cut on the finger.

He bandaged himself, Neal realized.

Probably bled like a stuck pig when I nailed him. Probably out cold. Woke up after we left. By then, a lot of the bleeding must’ve already stopped. He made it back to his van, crawled in and patched himself.

Bastard carries a toolbox, why not a first-aid kit, too?

More likely, he put together makeshift bandages from whatever odds and ends he could find in his van. He was bound to have something. An old shirt, a towel, a sheet. Elise had mentioned a mattress; there might’ve been a pillow case, a blanket.

One way or another, he’d stopped most of the bleeding.

Not all of it, though.

If only I’d been a better shot!

Should’ve killed him
.

Should’ve finished him off. Stuck my gun in his mouth when he was down on the ground in the trees, and blown his fucking head off
.

Elise wouldn’t be dead now
.

Whirling away from the bathroom door, he shouted, ‘Where are you!’

No answer came.

He finished searching the house.

He didn’t find the killer.

He had no luck finding the business card, either.

The bastard’s got it, all right
.

Neal left the house without entering Elise’s bathroom again. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to stand another look at her.

He also left without making any attempt to clean up after himself.

If the cops came after him, so be it.

Outside, he checked around the pool. Then he went to the front of the house.

After seeing that the van and his own car were still parked in the driveway, he walked completely around the outside of the house, listening and watching, hoping the killer might leap out at him.

But nothing happened.

At the driveway again, he opened the driver’s door of the van. No light came on. He climbed in. Kneeling on the seat, he peered into the back. He couldn’t see much. A few dim shapes, that’s all: the gray rectangle of the mattress, several scattered objects too small for anyone to hide behind.

The killer wasn’t there.

Must’ve taken off on foot, Neal thought.

Unless he’s still somewhere in the house
.

Might be anywhere, Neal told himself. Not here in the van, though.

Quickly, he switched the pistol to his left hand, leaned to the right and popped open the glove compartment. Its light came on.

Empty.

As empty as Elise’s pocket when he’d felt inside for his card.

The registration papers should’ve been in the glove compartment – with the killer’s name and address.

Van’s probably stolen, anyway
.

Neal imagined the killer returning, climbing in and driving it away in spite of the two flat tires. He could see it moving down the street, lopsided. He could hear the loud thumping of the flats.

So he leaped out. Crouching in the V of the open door, he reached under the dashboard. He found wires, grabbed them and jerked them loose.

At the front of the van, he smashed both headlights with the butt of his pistol.

At the rear, he smashed the tail lights.

He considered shooting the other two tires, but decided it would be pointless. If the guy could drive away with two flats, why not with four?

Besides, any more shooting and the cops probably
would
show up.

Yeah, right. There aren’t any cops, remember?

Everything is topsy-turvy, all fucked up.

Don’t count on it
.

Let them come, he thought.

And stepped to the front of the van.

He put a line of four shots across the grill, the gun jumping with each blast. In the quiet that followed, his ears rang and the car hissed. He heard the tinkly sound of a rolling brass shell. Then came the sounds of coolant splashing onto the driveway.

Bastard’s not going far in this van
.

Neal thought about his brass. Firing at the grill had sent four casings spitting out the side of his pistol. The cops were sure to find them.

So what? he thought. I’ve left so much else behind. Doesn’t matter anymore.

As he walked to his car, he hoped the killer might be hiding inside.

He looked through the windows, gun ready.

Nobody there.

Nobody anywhere as he backed out of the driveway and drove slowly down Greenhaven with his headlights off.

Before turning onto San Vicente, he put them on.

He checked his rearview mirror many times during the long drive back to his apartment.

Nobody seemed to be following him.

He spotted a total of five police cars. A couple seemed to be on routine patrol, one raced by at a high speed, one had a biker pulled over, and another was stopped in the parking lot of McDonalds. Each sighting gave Neal a horrible rush of terror.

He realized he’d been kidding himself: he
did
care about getting arrested and charged with the murder of Elise. Just imagining it, he got a sickish feeling in his stomach.

They could never make it stick, he told himself.

But they would sure have plenty of evidence putting him at the scene of the crime. He’d be arrested, for sure. Thrown in jail. And maybe indicted, maybe put on trial.

If it went that far, he might spend months in county jail. Even a year or more. He would probably be acquitted, eventually, but maybe not. Maybe found guilty.

It was torture murder, a ‘special circumstances’ crime. He could get the death penalty.

Death by lethal injection
.

It’ll never come to that, he told himself. Too much reasonable doubt. They probably wouldn’t even prosecute him.

But
anything
might happen. He
might
be tried and found guilty.

Tonight had taught him many things.

Its biggest lesson: the worst
does
happen.

As Neal parked in his own space behind the apartment building, he took a deep breath, sighed, and muttered, ‘Made it.’

Then he sat for a while in his car, trying to calm down.

Trying to stop shaking.

Monday morning was gray with the approach of dawn when Neal finally climbed out of his car. He stuffed the pistol into his pocket and walked to the rear gate. Elise’s gold bracelet felt heavy on his wrist.

Maybe I can use it to find the bastard
.

Too tired
.

Anyway, hell find me. Knows right where to look, if he has the card
.

Let him come
.

Neal shut the gate carefully so it wouldn’t clank and wake people up.

The only lights came from above the doors of several apartments that surrounded the courtyard. And from the curtained window of his own living room on the second floor. He had left a lamp on, figuring to be back from the video store in a few minutes. It had been on all night. Every other window facing the courtyard was dark.

As Neal climbed the outside stairs, he looked at the swimming pool. It occupied the center of the courtyard. The reflections of a few lights streaked its surface.

It looked very calm and peaceful.

He thought about Elise’s pool.

Imagined her naked on the high-dive, leaping, twirling, flipping, maybe touching her toes in midair before knifing down through the darkness and into the cool water.

She’ll never get to dive again
.

His throat tightened.

How could this happen?

He followed the balcony to the door of his apartment. He unlocked the door, entered, shut it and closed the dead-bolt.

Then he removed the pistol from his pocket.

Keeping it ready, he started to walk through his rooms.

He told himself there was no reason to worry. The killer couldn’t be hiding here; no transportation.

That I know of, he reminded himself.

But who knows? The guy might’ve had a spare car waiting for him nearby, just in case. Or maybe he stole a car from one of Elise’s neighbors.

Or took Elise’s car?

While searching her house, Neal had checked inside the garage. A two-car garage. A white Mercedes had been there. He’d supposed, at the time, that it was the only vehicle she owned.

What if there was another? he asked himself. The killer might’ve taken it before I showed up. Or he might’ve waited, hiding, and stolen the Mercedes after I left.

Wasn’t the van blocking the driveway, though?

Not completely, Neal thought. Probably enough space for a car to slip by.

The bastard might be anywhere
.

Not here, though. Not in Neal’s small living room, eating area, or kitchen. He had already checked those places, but now he found himself afraid to enter the bathroom and turn on its light.

He’s not in there, Neal told himself.

It’s not him I’m afraid of
.

Who will it be? he wondered.

Marta?

Naked and bloody, ripped and chewed, bound with her arms outstretched as if asking for a last embrace?

‘She’s at work,’ Neal muttered. ‘Nobody’s in here. Nobody.’

Gritting his teeth, holding his breath, he stepped into the bathroom and flicked the light switch.

The tub was white and clean and empty.

Nobody was in the bathroom except him.

He turned toward the mirror. He saw his own face, but it didn’t look a way that he had ever seen it before. Haggard, dazed, shocked. The sort of face he might expect to see on the last survivor after a stroll through the wasteland.

He turned away from the mirror and left the bathroom.

He didn’t hesitate at the door to his bedroom, but stepped in and turned on the light. Fine. Nothing appeared to be out of place. But he checked inside the closet and underneath the bed, just to be safe.

Then he removed a box of ammunition from a top drawer of his dresser. Standing at the dresser, he reloaded both his pistol magazines. He put one of the full magazines up the Sig’s handle, and shoved it home with the heel of his hand. He jacked a round into the chamber. After decocking, he set the pistol down while he took off his clothes.

He dropped the clothes onto the floor near his feet. He didn’t want to deal with them now.

He still wore the bracelet.

No more hitching, he thought. Not tonight.

He liked wearing the bracelet. It let him feel as if he still had a connection with Elise.

He didn’t want to have it on, however, if Marta should show up. She would be getting off work at eight, and might stop by instead of going home to her own apartment.

She sometimes came over without notice, and she had a key.

So Neal removed the bracelet. He put it into the dresser drawer and tucked it under some socks.

Then he picked up the pistol and carried it with him into the living room. He turned off the lamp there, and then switched off the lights in the kitchen. In the bathroom again, he placed the pistol on the counter where it would be within easy reach.

He washed, brushed his teeth, and used the toilet.

After retrieving the pistol, he turned off the bathroom light and went to his bedroom.

He turned off his bedroom light.

He crossed the room with the pistol in his hand, and took the pistol with him into bed.

The sheets felt cool and good against his bare skin.