Chain Letter (33 page)

The burned house had months ago been leveled by bulldozers. A grass lot stood in its
place. There was plenty of ash left, however. As Alison crept up to the lot in her
car, she imagined she was looking at the remains of a bomb blast site—one that had
hastily been covered over with sod. She parked and walked across the grass, charred
splinters poking at her shoes from between the soft blades. All right, she was here.
Now what? Should she sit down cross-legged in the grass and commune with Neil’s ghost
for answers? She decided she had already met one ghost that day.

Who was that guy? How did he know about the letters?

She wasn’t going to answer those questions here. She must have misunderstood the guy’s
clues. She was returning to her car when she saw a new guy climb out of a car. He
had just pulled up. The sun was close to setting, and it was hard to see in the dim
light. For a moment she was afraid. What could he want here? It was a vacant lot,
after all. She was the only thing there.

“Hello?” he called.

“Yeah, what can I do for you?” she asked nervously.

“What?”

“I said, what do you want?”

He walked closer. “My name’s Eric Valence. I’m a police officer.”

“You don’t look like a police officer. Show me your badge.”

He stopped in midstride. “I’m off duty.”

“Yeah, right. You look like you’re off duty from high school.”
Actually, he didn’t look bad for a complete stranger. He was slender, but had broad
shoulders and a graceful stance. His features were dark, sharp. He looked intelligent,
and she wondered if she should be trying to make a fool out of him without first knowing
who he was and what he wanted.

“I’m twenty-one years old,” he said.

“Isn’t that kind of young to be a police officer?”

“What?”

“Can’t you hear?”

He tilted the left side of her head his way. “I can hear,” he said, insulted.

Yeah, but not too well. God, I’m ridiculing someone’s handicap.

She took a step closer to him and spoke louder. “Are you really a police officer?
Please tell me the truth.”

He hesitated. “I work for the police. My uncle’s a sergeant with the LAPD.”

“And you just help out every now and then?”

“I’m collecting information for them for a case.”

Alison remembered where she was and began to feel nervous. “What kind of case?” she
asked.

“I can’t go into detail. But I need to find the woman who used to live in this house
before it burned down. I’ve been out to this neighborhood before, but nobody around
here seems to know where she’s moved to. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

Alison’s throat tightened. The police might be on to them already. She had told the
group that morning that she wanted
to go to the authorities, but it was quite another thing to have the authorities come
to them. They’d get no extra credit for turning themselves in.

“I might,” she said evasively. “Who are we talking about?”

“Mrs. Katherine Hurly. Do you know her?”

She shrugged. “A little.”

He gave her a shrewd look. “Did you know her son, Neil Hurly?”

Alison fought to keep her composure. She was an actress, after all—it should have
been easy. But just the sound of Neil’s name spoken by someone connected to the police
made her face fall and her voice sound unsteady.

“A little,” she said.

The guy noted her reaction. He had really turned the tables on her. “Did you go to
school with him?”

“Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“I’ve only asked you a couple of questions. What’s your name?”

“Alison.”

“Alison what?”

“Alison. Who are you?”

“I’ve already told you who I am. My name’s Eric Valence.”

“I want to see some identification.”

“I can show you my driver’s license.”

“No. How do I know you’re with the police?”

“You could call them and check me out.” He continued to study her. He knew she was
worried. He had her over a barrel. “If you’d like to call the police, that is.”

“I don’t feel like doing anything right now except going home.” She turned aside and
stepped past him toward her car. He stopped her dead in her tracks with one little
sentence.

“I know it wasn’t Neil who burned to death in this house,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told the grass in front of her. He moved
up and stood beside her.

“Yes, you do, Alison.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “What do you want?”

“The truth. Who died here? Where’s Neil?”

“Neil’s dead.”

“Where’s his body?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did he die of?”

“Cancer.”

Eric was surprised. “He had cancer?”

“Yeah. And if you don’t believe me, ask his mother.”

“That’s just the point I can’t find his mother. Can you help me find her?”

“No. You don’t want to do that. It would be a waste of time. She doesn’t know anything.
She thinks her son died in the fire that took place here.”

Eric moved in front of her. “But you know differently. Tell me the story.”

“No. Why should I? I don’t even know you.”

“But I know something about you. I know, for instance, that you were involved in a
criminal deception.”

Alison was indignant. “Are you threatening me? ’Cause if you are, you can go back
to the police station and get your uncle and have him come arrest me.” She pushed
by him. “I don’t need to listen to this anymore.”

She had reached her car when he caught up with her again. “Look, Alison, I’m sorry.
I shouldn’t have said what I did. I do want to know what happened here, but I don’t
want to get you in trouble.” He paused and awkwardly reached out toward her. “You
look pretty upset. I want to help you. That’s all. Please let me help?”

She was going to yell at him again when the words of the stranger at the lake came
back to her.

“You have asked for help, and someone will come. Trust this person.”

“How can you help me?” she asked quietly.

“I can tell you what I know. You can tell me what you know. We can join forces.” He
fidgeted awkwardly. “I’m smarter than I look. I’m good at figuring things out.”

He sounded so pitifully sincere, she had to smile. “You look plenty smart to me, Eric.”
She opened the door of her car for him. “Let’s go get some coffee. We can talk. But
I don’t know if you’ll believe half of what I have to tell you.”

· · ·

They went to a Denny’s Coffee Shop not far from Neil’s old house. They got a booth
in the corner. Both ordered coffee and pie. Eric
confessed what his real relationship was to the police department, which seemed to
her to be only that of a hopeful reject. But she was fascinated by how he had used
their computers and his ingenuity in piercing through Neil’s deception. He told her
about the difference in the X-rays and promised to show them to her when she took
him back to his car. Even without the stranger’s advice, she felt she had to trust
Eric. He was within a hairbreadth of exposing everything that had gone on before.

So she told him her tale, starting with the night of the concert and the dead man
in the desert. She took Eric all the way through Neil’s chain letters, up to the new
letters and the death of Fran Darey. Occasionally Eric would interrupt to ask a specific
question. Was there another car on the road when they hit the man? Was there a history
of mental illness in Neil’s family? Did anyone besides Tony see Neil die? How long
after Fran’s accident was it before the police arrived on the scene? Eric did indeed
have a sharp mind. Many of the things he asked, Kipp hadn’t even thought of. She answered
each of his questions as carefully as she could. She was relieved that he believed
her every word. She asked him about his faith in her when she was done.

“I know it must all sound pretty farfetched,” she said. “I won’t blame you if you
think I’m crazy.”

He sipped his coffee. He had hardly touched it while she spoke. “I believe you. You
couldn’t have made up a story like that. It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever
heard.”

“You asked a lot of questions. Tell me what you think.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I think you’re in serious danger.”

In a way it was good to have her beliefs confirmed. Yet his conviction brought her
no relief. “You don’t think Fran’s death was an accident?” she asked.

“Unlikely. She died right on schedule.”

Alison nodded weakly. “Fran was always worried about not being on schedule.” She sniffed.
“So what should we do? Should we go to the police?”

“I wouldn’t, but then, I think I know more than most cops.
You
probably should. You need protection.”

“Will we get in trouble if we go?”

“Will you go to jail? Probably not. This Tony guy will, though.”

“Why him? We were all responsible.”

“He was driving when the man was hit. He didn’t report it. That’s manslaughter.” Eric
paused. “What exactly is your relationship to Tony?”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

Eric blinked. “I see.”

“I don’t want him to go to jail. It’s unacceptable.” She reached out and touched Eric’s
hand. “You told me you’d keep everything I said confidential.”

The news that she had a boyfriend seemed to have taken him back a step. “Yes, and
I will keep my word. But you asked my advice, and I gave it to you. I think you should
go to the police.”

“You know what I love? I love it that out of everyone in this group, you’re the one
who’s making this suggestion. I just love it, Ali.”

“We can’t do that. Not yet.” She took a breath. “If you know more than most police,
what would you do next if you were in my predicament?”

“If you’re convinced that the new Caretaker is not someone in your group, then you
should concentrate all your efforts on finding out who the man in the desert was.
His identity is the missing link. There’s a good chance you didn’t even kill him.
The fact that there was no other car in the area indicates that he might have been
dumped there, already dead.”

“But then why can’t we tell the police that? Tony wouldn’t have to go to jail.”

Eric shook his head. “I know there was no other car in the area because I believe
you. The police won’t. You buried a dead man in an unmarked grave and didn’t tell
anybody about it for over a year. You’ll have no credibility with the authorities.”

“I see your point.”

“Who the man was and how he died is crucial,” Eric went on. “If he was murdered, the
people who killed him might have had contact with Neil.”

“I don’t see the logic in that.”

“It’s obvious. Neil is dead. We must assume he’s dead because your boyfriend says
he is. But you’re getting new chain letters, and they’re similar to the ones Neil
sent. Therefore, somebody outside the group must have seen Neil’s chain letters. This
is
assuming no one else in your group has turned psychotic, which seems unlikely. It’s
possible the person who is sending them now is the same one who composed the first
ones. Tell me, in the short time you spoke with Neil after you knew he was the Caretaker,
did he at any time indicate he had help?”

“I kept wondering and worrying and I tried, but this thing got in my head, and I couldn’t
get rid of it. I don’t know where it came from. It was like a voice, saying this is
true and this is a lie. It wouldn’t shut up! I had to listen, and I did listen, and
then . . . I did all this.”

“I don’t think so,” she whispered.

“You sound doubtful?”

“He did say something that indicated he was being influenced.”

“How so?”

Alison repeated the remark Neil had made just before he collapsed into Tony’s arms
and was carried away. She added, “But it was just something that was in his head.
It wasn’t like he had a real physical accomplice.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Eric disagreed. “If he was mentally ill from a tumor
in his brain, then his accomplice could have dominated him in such a fashion that
he would be unable, even at the end, to admit that he was working with someone. It’s
a theory is all. We’ll have a better idea which direction to take if we find out who
the man was.”

“How do we do that?”

“We’ll use the computer at the police station. We’ll go through all the missing-person
files for July of last year. But first tell me everything you remember about the man.”

Alison gave him what details she could remember. He had been about thirty years old,
Caucasian, handsome, and well dressed in a tan sport coat and light brown slacks.
His eyes had been green. She remembered that fact because Neil’s had also been green,
and Tony had said later that he believed that was one of the reasons for Neil’s intense
identification with the man. Eric didn’t take notes as he spoke. He seemed confident
in the power of his memory.

As they were leaving the coffee shop to pick up Eric’s car and drive to the police
station, Eric asked a single question. “Do you know if Kipp definitely left town?”
he asked.

“He promised he would,” Alison said.

“Did he give anybody any idea where he was going?”

“Not that I know of. He might have told Tony. They’re good friends.”

“I hope he didn’t,” Eric muttered.

“Why not? Tony wouldn’t tell anybody.”

Eric opened the door to the coffee shop for her. “I hope you’re right.”

· · ·

Alison found the ease with which Eric entered the police station and computer room
unnerving. Apparently the uncle they had said hello to at the front desk made everything
all right.
Alison glanced around anxiously as Eric called up the appropriate files. The computer
room was at the back of the station and deserted. Eric commented that none of the
people in the station knew how to use the computer like he could.

“With the right programs,” he said, “they can uncover almost anything. We’re going
to use one of them now. Basically it’s a filter. It’ll eliminate all the people who
can’t be the man. That’s important. You wouldn’t believe how many people disappear
in L.A. every month.”