The Cellar (13 page)

Not now, though. Not until he and Joni were cleaned up and ready to leave. In the meantime, he couldn’t just leave her in the front seat. Someone might come along.

He thought of the trunk.

Then he got a better idea. Checking once again to be certain he was unobserved, he got out and pulled her across the front seat. Her feet hit the road, knocking off one of her platform shoes. He dragged her in front of the car. There, he stretched her out lengthwise on the dirt shoulder. Her arms and legs were a little stiff, but he managed to straighten them. With her legs together and her arms flat against her sides, Roy went back to the car.

He drove slowly forward.

Over the top of the black hood, he watched as the car seemed to swallow her.

He stopped and climbed out. He had to get
down on his hands and knees to see her in the darkness beneath the car.

A great hiding place.

He pulled Joni out of the backseat. Together, they walked down the footpath to the beach.

The water, cold at first, quickly lost the shock of its chill and felt almost warm to Roy. Joni still stood on the shore. Only the largest waves reached far enough to wash over her feet.

Roy took off his shirt. He scrubbed the cloth with his knuckles, trying to wash it. Waves caught him, lifted him, turned him. When they carried him too far from Joni, he swam closer. He held up his blue shirt and studied it in the sunlight. If blood remained on it, which he didn’t doubt, at least the stains were barely noticeable.

“Come on in, Joni, and wash up.”

She shook her head. She stepped backward, farther from the water, and sat down on the sand.

“You know what happens,” Roy called, “when you don’t do like I say.”

She looked down the beach, where a point of rocks jutted into the water. Breakers smashed against the rocks, splashing white froth high. She looked up the beach. In that direction, the shoreline curved inward and disappeared. “Don’t try it,” Roy yelled, wading forward.

She stood up and walked into the water. It
wound around her ankles. She kept moving. A high wave came, wetting her to the waist, sticking the pleated skirt to her skin. She stopped there. The water receded. Bending, she splashed it onto the bloodstains on her blouse. She rubbed the stains. A wave came, knocking her backward. She fell, and the white water swirled over her head.

Roy went to her. He lifted her. He kissed her forehead. Then, wrapping his hand in his shirt, he scrubbed the bloodstains on her blouse. They grew faint, but wouldn’t vanish altogether. Finally he gave up.

He pulled her deeper into the water, and did his best to wash the blood from her hair. Whenever he touched the sensitive wound left by the knife’s hilt, she jerked her head away. Finally her hair was clean enough to suit him. He led her out of the water.

On the beach, he removed her blouse and skirt. He spread them on the sand to dry. Then he took off his own clothes, and spread them next to hers.

They sat down on the sand. It was hot under Roy, almost burning.

“Try to sleep,” he said.

Joni lay back and shut her eyes.

Roy looked at her. Water made tiny points of her eyelashes. Her skin was lightly tanned, except where a two-piece bathing suit had left it pale. Just like a little lady.

Beads of water rolled down her skin, glinting sunlight. He wished he had oil. Suntan oil, or baby
oil. He would rub her all over with it. Her skin would be slick and hot.

He lay on his side, and propped himself up on an elbow to look at her. Her eyelids fluttered. She was only pretending to sleep, of course.

She opened her eyes when he touched her.

She turned her head and stared at him. He wondered, briefly, if she looked so sad because of what happened to her parents, or because of what he’d been doing to her.

Not that he gave a shit.

Inching closer, he kissed her on the mouth. His hand began moving down her sun-hot skin.

“We oughtta be getting it in today, lady. That’s all I can tell you. When we get it in, I’ll install it.”

“Do you think the car will be ready today?” Donna asked.

“Like I say, depends when the radiator gets here.”

“How late are you open?” she asked.

“Till nine.”

“Can I pick up my car, then?”

“If it’s done. Stu’ll let you take it. I go off at five, though. Stu’s no mechanic. If it doesn’t get done by five, it doesn’t get done till tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

She found Sandy nearby, eying a vending machine. “Can I get some potato chips?” the girl asked.

“Well…”

“Please? I’m starving.”

“We’ll eat pretty soon. Why don’t you wait, and have potato chips with your meal?”

“Where can we eat around here?” she asked, leaving the machine behind.

“I’m not sure,” Donna admitted.

“Not that place we went yesterday. It was so gross.”

“Let’s try this way.” They started walking south on Front Street.

“When’s the car gonna be ready?”

“Who knows?”

“Huh?” Sandy wrinkled her nose. When she unwrinkled it, her huge sunglasses slipped forward. She shoved them into place with a forefinger.

“The guy at the station wasn’t up to telling me when it’ll be ready. But I have a feeling we’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“If Dad doesn’t get us first.”

The mention of him jolted Donna. Somehow, after meeting Jud, fears of her ex-husband had been pushed into a dark corner of her mind and forgotten. “He doesn’t know where we are.”

“Aunt Karen does.”

“Tell you what, let’s give Aunt Karen a call.” Looking around, she saw a phone booth at the corner of the Chevron station they had just left. They backtracked to it. “How much are the potato chips?”

“Thirty-five cents.”

She handed Sandy a dollar bill. “You’ll have to get change from the man.”

“You want anything?”

“No thanks. But you go ahead.”

She watched her daughter leave, then she stepped into the telephone booth. Her coins rang inside the machine. She dialed Operator, and asked for the call to be charged to her home phone. When the call went through, she heard the ringing of her sister’s phone. It was picked up after the second ring. Donna waited for Karen’s voice. She heard only silence.

“Hello?” she finally asked.

“So.”

“Bob?” she asked, though the voice didn’t sound much like his. “Bob, is that you?”

“Who is this, please?”

“Who is
this?
”

“Sergeant Morris Woo, Santa Monica Police Department.”

“Oh my God.”

“So. Your business, please, with Mrs. Marston?”

“I was just…she’s my sister. Has something happened to her?”

“Where are you calling from, please?”

How do I know you’re a cop? she asked herself. And she answered, I don’t. “I’m calling from Tucson,” she told him.

“So.”

In her mind, she saw him hang up and turn to Roy, grinning that he’d obtained the information so easily. But he didn’t hang up.

“Please, what is your name?”

“Donna Hayes.”

“So. Address and telephone number?”

“What’s happened to Karen?”

“Please. Does your sister have relatives in the Los Angeles area?”

“Damn it!”

“So. Mrs. Hayes, I regret your sister met with death.”

Met with death?

“She and her husband, Robert Marston, met with death yesterday night. So. If there are relatives…”

“Our parents.” She was numb. “John and Irene Blix.”

“Blix. So, Mrs. Hayes, may I have please their address?”

She told him their address and phone number.

“So.”

“They were…murdered?”

“Murdered, yes.”

“I think I know who did it.”

“So?”

“What do you mean,
so?
Damn it, I know who killed them!”

“So. You tell me, please.”

“It was my ex-husband. His name is Roy Hayes. He was released yesterday—I mean Saturday. Sometime Saturday.”

“So. Released from what?”

“San Quentin.”

“So.”

“He was in six years for raping our daughter.”

“So.”

“So he must’ve killed Karen to find out where I am.”

“Did she know, please?”

“Yes, she knew.”

“So. You are in danger. Describe your Roy Hayes, please.”

As she gave the man a description of her exhusband, she saw Sandy returning with a bag of potato chips. The bag was open. Sandy was pinching chips, one at a time, and pushing them sideways into her mouth.

“So. He drives?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what. He may have taken one of Karen’s cars. They’ve got a yellow Volkswagen and a white Pontiac Grand Prix.”

“So. The years?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at her daughter munching potato chips outside the booth. Turning away, Donna began to cry.

“Please, Mrs. Hayes. Are the cars new?”

“The VW, it’s a ’77. I don’t know about the other. A ’72,’73.”

“So. Very good, Mrs. Hayes. Very good. Now, if I may suggest, call the Tucson police, so, and inform them of your situation. Perhaps an escort to the airport.”

“Airport?”

“So. Your parents are not to be alone during this time of tragedy.”

“No. You’re right. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“So.”

“Thank you, Mr. Woo.” She hung up. Sandy knocked on the plastic wall of the booth. Ignoring her, Donna searched her purse for coins. She found them, and made another call.

“Santa Monica Police Department,” said a woman. “Officer Bleary speaking. May I help you?”

“Do you have a Morris Woo?”

“Just a moment, please.”

Donna heard a telephone ring. It was picked up. “Homicide,” said the man. “Detective Harris.”

“Do you have a Morris Woo?”

“He’s not in just now. May
I
help you?”

“I talked to a man on the phone.” She sniffed, and rubbed her nose. “He claimed to be a Sergeant Morris Woo. I just wanted to make sure he’s really a police officer.”

“So?”

After a brief, tearful call to give her parents the news, she hung up and left the booth. “Let’s go back to the motel.”

“What’s wrong?” Sandy was crying. “Tell me!”

“Aunt Karen and Uncle Bob. They’ve been killed.”

“No they haven’t!”

“I just talked to a police officer, honey.”

“No!”

“Come on, let’s go back to the motel.”

Instead, the girl threw herself against Donna, hugging tightly as she cried.

When Jud climbed out of his car, he saw Donna sitting on a front step of her cabin and he knew that something was wrong. He went toward her. She saw him, and stood. He took her in his arms, and she began to cry softly, quietly, her back trembling under his hand. Jud stroked the back of her head. Her cheek was wet against his face. He held her for a long time.

Then Donna looked up at him. She sniffed, smiled an apology, and rubbed her face with her sleeves. “Thanks,” she said.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, her lips pressed tightly shut. “Can we go for a walk?” she asked.

“I know a nice place. We’ll have to go in the car, though.”

“Before we go, I’d better get registered for tonight.”

“Good idea,” Jud said. “I’ll have to do that, too.”

Together, they went to the motel office. They registered. Then they returned to Jud’s car. “Where’s Sandy?” he asked.

“Sleeping.”

“She seems to do a lot of that, doesn’t she?”

“It’s a good way to escape.”

“Is she all right?”

“No. Probably not.”

They climbed into the Chrysler, and Jud drove out to Front Street.

“We saw your car in town this morning,” Donna said in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

“I took the tour again.”

“You mean they
had
a tour? I would’ve thought the police…”

“The police don’t know about the killing, apparently. The body’s gone. So’s the blood. It looks like somebody did a nice clean-up job.”

“Scrub-a-dub-dub.” Donna met his glance, and frowned. “That’s what Axel does. He’s in charge of cleaning the place.”

“Axel’s in this thing up to the armpits. So’s his mother. They all are. It’s a family enterprise. All it takes is a murder, now and again, to keep the tourists coming.”

“If the body’s gone, though…”

“I think they got nervous, killing someone so
close to the other three. Nervous enough to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Why did they kill her—they? Now you’ve got me believing it. Why did they kill her, if they didn’t want the publicity?”

“She was gonna burn the place down.”

“I guess that’s a good enough reason. What’s your next step? Do you try to find her body?”

“That wouldn’t do us much good. What we’ve gotta find is the man in the monkey suit.”

“Then what?”

“If I have to, I’ll kill him.”

“You
intend
to kill him, don’t you?”

“I doubt if he’ll give me a choice.”

They were silent as they drove past Beast House. After they rounded the bend, Donna said, “Have you killed very many people?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…think about it much?”

He glanced at her, then steered onto the shoulder of the road and stopped. “You mean, does my conscience bother me?”

“I guess that’s what I mean.”

“I never killed a guy who didn’t have it coming.”

“Who judges that?”

“Me. I judge him and sentence him.”

“How can you?”

“I hear voices.”

She smiled. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. I hear a voice. It’s usually mine saying,
‘I’d better nail this bastard before he nails me.’ ”

“You’re awful.”

He laughed softly. And then he felt a cold tightness inside him. He swallowed. “Sometimes what I hear are the voices of the dead. People I never knew. People I saw in news photos, or with my own eyes. They say to me, ‘I’d be alive today if this bastard hadn’t canceled my ticket.’ Then I look at the living and they say, ‘That bastard’s gonna kill me tomorrow.’ And then I judge him and then I execute him if I can. I figure I’m paying him back for the dead, and I’m saving a few lives. Maybe this sounds terrible, but my conscience is pretty happy with itself.”

“Do you kill for money?”

“If he’s the kind of guy I’m willing to kill, there’s always someone who’s glad to pay me for it.”

They got out of the car. Jud took Donna’s hand and led her across the road. “Do you mind a workout?”

“Okay by me.”

They entered the forest. Jud went first, seeking out ways through the tightly grouped pines and around impassable areas of rock or fallen trees. Twice, he stopped to let Donna rest.

“You didn’t tell me this was an obstacle course,” she said at one point.

The last few yards were steep, and Jud looked back at Donna. Her face was determined. She backhanded a drop of sweat off the end of her nose. Wet hair clung to her forehead. “Almost
there,” he said, and reached down a hand to her. He pulled her to the top of a dead trunk, then they both hopped down. “Made it.”

They walked easily along the level crest of the hill and came to a windy clearing.

Donna stretched, spreading her arms. “Ah, that breeze feels good.”

“You can wait here. I’ve got to pick up a few things down below.”

“So that’s your game!”

She accompanied Jud to the edge of the clearing, where he pointed down to the outcropping. “I left some equipment in those rocks,” he told her.

“That’s where you were last night?”

“That’s the place.”

“I’ll go with you, okay?”

Together, they climbed downhill. Then they made their way up the rocks to the top, where they looked down at the back of Beast House.

“I can’t imagine going in that place at night,” Donna said. “It’s bad enough in daylight.”

“I’ll climb down and get my gear,” Jud said.

“Fine. I’ll wait.”

As Donna sat on a ledge of rock, Jud worked his way down to the recess with its two small pines. His pack and rifle and Starlight seemed just as he had left them last night when he rushed downhill to stop the woman. He put the scope in its case and loaded it into the pack. He strapped the pack shut. Then he slung it onto his shoulders. He picked up the rifle case and climbed to the top.

“Let’s go up to the clearing again,” Donna said.

“Sure.”

“I don’t much like staring that house in the face.”

“That’s actually the back of its head,” Jud told her.

“Whatever.”

They climbed to the grassy clearing. Jud put down his rifle and pack. Donna, stepping close, placed her open hands against his chest and looked up at him. “Can we talk some more?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“About killing?”

“If you want.”

“What happened today…” She lowered her eyes. “What happened was, I found out my…sister…” Her voice broke. She turned away. With her back turned, she took a deep breath. Jud put his hands on her shoulders. “My sister was killed!” she blurted, and broke into tears.

Jud turned her around and held her tightly.

“I
killed
her, Jud. I killed her. I ran away. He wouldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t have had to. God! I didn’t know. I didn’t
know!
I killed them. I killed them both!”

After a while, Donna settled down. She stopped talking, and only cried. Jud lowered her to the grass. Sitting against his pack, he held her. Her tears made the front of his shirt wet. Finally she stopped.

“We’d better get back,” she said. “Sandy. I don’t want to leave her alone too long.”

“We’ll leave when you tell me what’s going on. Who killed your sister, Donna?”

“My ex-husband. Roy Hayes.”

“Why?”

“Partly to get at me, I guess. Mostly, though, to make her tell where I am.”

“Why would he want to know that?”

“He’s been in prison. He…raped Sandy. She was just six, and he took her out riding on his dirt bike…and raped her. He’d done things to me, before. Vicious things.

“I knew they’d let him out, someday. I figured we’d drop everything, and take off. So that’s what we did Sunday morning when I found out he was loose.

“It never…it just didn’t occur to me he’d go to Karen. I don’t know what I thought. But I never…God, I never thought he’d go to Karen or anyone, and…he must’ve tortured her. God, and it was all because of me!

“We shouldn’t have run. We should have stayed. I should have got myself a gun, maybe, and just waited for him to come. But it never even occurred to me. I just thought we’d leave town, and maybe change our name, and everything would work out fine. But it didn’t happen that way. And now he knows where we are.”

“Where did your sister live?”

“In Santa Monica.”

“What’s that, ten or twelve hours from here?”

“I don’t know. Something like that, probably.”

“Do you know when your sister was killed?”

“Sometime last night.”

“Early, late?”

“I don’t know.”

“He could be in town right now.”

“I guess so.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s thirty-five, about six-foot-two. Very strong, or he always used to be. He weighed about two-ten.”

“Have you got a picture of him?”

She shook her head. “I destroyed them all.”

“What color’s his hair?”

“Black. He always wore it short.”

“Anything else about him?”

She shrugged.

Jud got up and helped her to stand. “Are you convinced,” he asked, “that running away doesn’t work?”

“He convinced me.”

“Then let’s go back to the inn and wait for him.”

“What’ll we do?”

“If I have to, I’ll kill him.”

“I should be the one to handle him.”

“Not a chance. You’re stuck with me.”

“I don’t want you to kill anyone…not for me.”

“I wouldn’t be doing it for you. It’d be for myself. And for the voices.”