Flesh (19 page)

A warm, sunny day like this, nobody would think twice about seeing a guy shirtless. And nobody except the cortez would react to the bruise up his back.

Roland put on his shoes and socks. He folded his knife shut and slipped it into the case on his belt. He stuffed Jason’s car keys, the handcuffs, and their key into a front pocket of his jeans.

All set.

He was about to leave when he remembered that he had left the spray can of oil in the rest room behind the toilet. It would have his fingerprints.

Fuck it, he thought. I’ve already got my shoes on. I’m not going back in there.

His prints were probably all over the restaurant. Big deal.

The area in front of the bar looked okay. There were some smears on the floor, but no large quantities of blood. He pulled the towel off his shoulder, spent a few moments scrubbing the area, then tossed the towel behind the bar. He picked up the empty champagne bottle and set it on the card table.

Was he forgetting anything?

Probably.

Who cares? Even if someone finds the bodies today, it’ll take a while to identify them. They won’t have a clue as to who did this until they’ve figured out who Jason and Celia are. By then, I’ll be on the road.

Roland shut the door behind him, saw Jason’s car, and went back into the restaurant. He walked quickly around the corner to the dining area, crouched and opened the toolbox. There were several screwdrivers inside. He took out the largest, and went outside again.

It took only a few minutes to remove both license plates from Jason’s car. He took them to the edge of the parking lot and sailed them into the weeds.

Then he returned to Jason’s car. He opened the trunk, looked inside, and shut it. He opened a back door and looked along the seat and floor. Fine.

He climbed in behind the steering wheel. The warmth of the car felt good. On the floor in front of the passenger seat was Celia’s purse. He opened it and found her wallet. Rather than taking time to search it, he stuffed the entire wallet into a back pocket of his jeans. He found her key chain and pocketed it. Then he inspected the rest of the purse’s contents, making sure that nothing remained to identify its owner.

He searched the car’s glove compartment. A registration slip gave Jason’s name, so he put it into his pocket.

That appeared to be it.

Unless he had missed something, Jason’s car was now stripped of everything that might lead to a quick identification of its owner or last night’s passenger.

Roland drove away from the Oakwood Inn.

Yesterday afternoon, he had parked Dana’s VW bug on a residential street and hiked the final mile or more to the restaurant. Now, he drove back to the place where he had left the car. It was still there, along a lengthy stretch of curb between two expensive-looking ranch style houses. Across the street, an Oriental man in a pith helmet was rolling a power mower down a couple of boards leading from the tail of his battered pickup truck. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked deserted.

Roland turned down a side road and parked near the far corner. He stuffed Celia’s purse under the front seat. Then he pushed down the lock buttons of all the doors and climbed out.

He strolled back to Dana’s car. It was unlocked, just as he had left it. Feeling around beneath the driver’s seat, he found Dana’s keys. The engine turned over without any trouble, and he drove it away.

You did it, he thought. You pulled it off.

He let out a deep sigh, rolled down the window, and rested his elbow on the sill. The warm air came in, caressing him.

He liked this neighborhood. Finding himself in no hurry to return to campus, he drove the peaceful streets. The
homes along here must cost a pile, he thought. Inside, they were probably nicer than any he had ever known.

Not now, but someday, I’ll take care of a family and spend a few days in a really nice house like one of these. Do it over a holiday when the father won’t be expected at work and the kids don’t have any school. Really live it up.

Ahead of him, a girl stood at a corner. A real beauty, no older than four or five. Her blonde hair, blowing in the breeze, looked almost white. She wore a pink blouse and a lime green skirt that reached only halfway down to her knees. A Minnie Mouse purse hung from her shoulder by a strap.

Even though Roland had a stop sign, the girl waited without attempting to cross in front of him.

She was alone.

A hot beat coursed through Roland.

Slowing the car as he neared the stop sign, he looked all around. He saw nobody, just the girl.

No, he thought. This was crazy.

Take her back to the Oakwood.

It’s too risky.

But he was breathless and aching and he suddenly didn’t care about the risk.

He eased closer to the curb, stopped, and rolled down his window.

The girl’s eyes widened. They were very blue.

“Hi,” Roland called to her. “I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll bet your parents told you never to talk to strangers, but I’m lost. Do you know where Latham Road is?”

The girl frowned as if thinking very hard. Then she raised her right arm. In her hand was a small, dingy doll. It looked like it might be a kitten. She shook the kitten toward the east. “That way, I’m pretty sure,” she said.

“What’s your kitty’s name?” he asked.

“Clew.”

“He’s cute.”

“Clew’s a she.”

“I had a kitty named Celia. Celia had beautiful green eyes. What color are Clew’s eyes?”

“Blue.”

“Would you let me pet her?”

“Well…”

“I’m feeling awfully sad, ‘cause my kitty, Celia, got run over yesterday.”

The girl’s face clouded. “Did she get killed?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Was she all mooshed?”

“Yeah. It was awful.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d let me pet Clew. Just for a second, okay?”

“Well…”

“Please? Pretty please with sugar?”

She shrugged her small shoulders.

Oh, beautiful and young and tender.

Roland pulsed with need.

Jake, driving his patrol car along the streets of Clinton, felt helpless. This was getting him nowhere.

Earlier, he had taken the vodka bottle to headquarters, dusted it for prints, lifted some good latents with cellophane tape and fixed them onto a labeled card. He had then spent a while comparing the prints with those of juveniles and the few college students in the department’s files. He had expected no match, and he had found none.

Nothing to do, then, except spin his wheels and wait.
Either the creature and its human host had gone off seeking greener pastures in a different jurisdiction, or they were still in the area and would strike again. So it came down to waiting for a missing person report, or for a body to be found.

By then, it would be too late for someone.

But we might get lucky.

Jake hated the waiting. He wanted to
do
something. But what?

Where do you start when you’ve got nothing to go on?

The Oakwood Inn.

In spite of the warmth inside his patrol car, Jake felt a chill on the back of his neck.

No reason to go back out there, he told himself once again. You searched the place thoroughly yesterday.

The thing left its eggs.

Yeah, but…

Yeah, but…yeah, but. Face it, Corey, you know you ought to be out there, should’ve probably been there all last night staking the place out, you just let Barney talk you out of it because you’re scared shitless of going back.

There’s nothing to
find
out there.

Sure, keep telling yourself that. You’re doing nothing now but wasting time. The thing left its eggs in that place. Maybe it’ll go back to them.

I don’t
want
to. Besides, I’m not dressed for it and I haven’t got the machete.

That’s no excuse, he told himself. The thing isn’t slithering around, it’s in someone. Probably.

There’s no point. It won’t be there.

If it won’t be there, what’re you scared of?

Even as Jake argued with himself, he was circling the block. He returned to Central Avenue, turned left, and headed in the direction of Latham Road.

Okay, he thought, I’ll check the place. Won’t accomplish anything, but at least I’ll have done it and I can stop condemning myself.

He started to drive past the campus. A lot of students were out: some strolled the walkways; others sat on benches beneath the trees, reading or talking; a couple of guys were tossing a Frisbee around; quite a few coeds were sprawled on blankets or towels, sunbathing in bikinis and other skimpy outfits.

Jake pulled to the curb and stopped.

Hardly a back among the whole bunch, males and females alike, that wasn’t bare.

Through the broad gap between Bennet Hall and Langley Hall, he could see into the campus quad area. Even more students were gathered there—most of the men shirtless, nearly all of the women in swimming outfits or halter tops.

Jake considered leaving his car and wandering among the students. Sure thing, he thought. In uniform.

Go home and change into your swimming trunks. Then you could blend in, check them out, ask a few questions.

It didn’t seem like a bad idea.

Anything to avoid going out to the Oakwood?

Whoever has the telltale bulge up his (or her) spine won’t be showing it off. Maybe not, but that narrows the field. He’ll be one of the few wearing a shirt.

If he’s out here at all.

You’d have nothing to lose by conducting a little field investigation.

You’re procrastinating. Move it.

Jake sighed, checked his side mirror, then swung away from the curb.

I’ll come back in my trunks, he decided, as soon as I’ve checked out the damn restaurant. Nothing better to do, and who knows? I might learn something.

When he turned onto Latham Road, he began to tremble. His heart quickened. The steering wheel became slick in his sweaty grip.

He wished Chuck was with him. Some company would be nice, and his partner’s banter always had a way of keeping
the mood from getting too heavy. Barney shouldn’t have reassigned Chuck. What difference would it make, anyway, if one more person knew what was going down?

Why the hell can’t
Barney
be riding with me? Who does he think I am, the Lone-fucking-Ranger?

Calm down.

Try to think about something pleasant. Like what? Like Kimmy. And how you were cheated out of being with her yesterday? Great. Pleasant thoughts. You had to work yesterday, anyway.

After today, you only have to go four days and then it’ll be Friday and she’ll be with you. Four days. Seemed like forever. And what if all this crap is still going on?

We’re letting it all out of the bag on Tuesday. After that, it won’t be on my shoulders anymore. Anything still going on by Friday, someone else can handle it.

Jake glanced to the right as he drove past Cardiff Lane. On the way back, maybe he would make a detour past the house. Not much chance of seeing her, though. If she was outside, she’d be in the backyard behind the redwood fence.

Maybe I could drop in. Barbara hates surprise visits, but she shouldn’t begrudge me this one. After all, I gave up my rightful time yesterday so Kimmy could be there for her birthday.

Maybe give Kimmy a ride. Not much traffic along here. Let her turn on the siren and lights. She’d love that. Tell her, “Don’t turn on that siren.” She’d get that look on her face and reach for the switch.

Jake’s smile and good feelings faded as he spotted the sign for the Oakwood Inn. He turned onto the narrow road. Kimmy, he thought, would like this road with its rises and dips. If he took it fast, the car would drop out from under them after each crest and she’d get “fluffies.” This was one road, however, that he would never take her on. Not a chance.

At the top of a rise, Jake saw the restaurant and felt something similar to a fluffy himself—a sinking sensation in his
stomach. But there was nothing fun about this one. This one made him feel sick and didn’t go away. It got worse as he drove closer to the restaurant.

The parking area was deserted.

What did you expect, he wondered, a frat party?

Something like that. He had hoped, he realized, to find at least one car on the lot; the car belonging to the guy (or maybe girl) who had the thing up his back. Go in and maybe find him down in the cellar kneeling over the smear of demolished eggs.

Just a faint hope. He hadn’t actually expected that kind of luck.

He stopped his car close to the porch stairs. He wiped his sweaty hands on the legs of his trousers. He stared at the door.

Nobody’s here, he thought. What’s the point of going in?

To see if anything has changed since yesterday. Maybe someone was inside after you left.

Jake rubbed a sleeve across his lips.

You made it this far, he told himself. Don’t chicken out now.

Just take a quick look around and get out.

He tried to swallow. His throat seemed to stick shut.

At least go in and get a drink. You can use the kitchen faucet.

He saw Peggy Smeltzer sprawled headless on the kitchen floor, Ronald tearing the flesh from her belly. He saw the way the skin seemed to stretch as Ronald raised his head.

Just do it, he thought.

He levered open the driver’s door and swung his left leg out. As he started to rise from the seat, the car radio hissed and crackled.

Sharon, the dispatcher, said in her flat voice, “Unit two, unit two.”

He picked up his mike and thumbed the speaker button. “Unit two.”

“Call in.”

“Ten-four.” Jake jammed the mike onto its hook.

The Oakwood has a phone, he remembered. But he’d tried to use it Thursday night and it hadn’t been connected. It wouldn’t be working now.

“Too bad,” he muttered.

He shifted to reverse and shot his car backward away from the restaurant.

He had passed a gas station about two miles back on Latham. It had a pay phone.

He swung his car around and sped out of the lot, feeling as if he’d been reprieved but tense, now, with a new concern. The message from headquarters could mean only one thing: a new development in the case. Any other matter was to be handled by Danny in unit one.

He floored the accelerator. The car surged over the road, flying off the rises (some real fluffies for you, honey) and hitting the pavement hard on the down slopes.

You’re flying, he thought. Flying away from that damned place. But toward what? Maybe toward something worse.

He braked, slowed nearly to a stop at the junction with Latham, made sure no cars were approaching, then lunged out.

A car ahead. He gained on it quickly and he raced past it.

Seconds later, Jake spotted the service station. He slapped a front pocket of his uniform trousers to make sure he had change. Coins jangled. Of course he had change. He’d made sure before leaving home, knowing that he would need to phone Barney if he got a “call in” message. The procedure seemed excessive to Jake, but Barney had insisted that, for the sake of keeping a tight lid on the matter, the car radio was not to be used.

For some reason, Jake had expected to get through the day without needing the coins.

I was wrong, he thought.

At least the timing was good.

Shit. Someone probably turned up dead, and all you care about is getting saved from the Oakwood.

He whipped across the road, cut sharply onto the station’s raised pavement, and mashed the brake pedal to the floor. The car lurched to a stop beside the pair of public phones. He killed the siren, rammed the shift lever to Park, left the engine running, and threw open the door. He fished a quarter from his pocket as he ran to the phones.

The phone on the right had a scribbled “Out of Order” note taped to its box.

He muttered, “Shit.” He grabbed the handset of the other phone and listened to the earpiece. A tone came out, indicating that this instrument was operational. Because of the tremor in his hand, he knew he would have trouble poking the quarter into its slot. So he jammed the coin to the metal plate, as close as he could come to the slot on the first try, and skidded it sideways, pressing its edge hard against flat surface until it dropped in. The sound of a ding came through the earpiece.

He dialed as fast as he could.

The phone didn’t finish its first ring before Barney answered. “Jake, it might be nothing. I don’t want you jumping to conclusions.”

Barney didn’t sound right. His voice seemed stiff and tightly under control, and he wasn’t pronouncing his words like a thug.

This is bad, Jake thought. Very bad.

I don’t want to hear this!

“Barbara phoned in. She’s concerned about Kimmy. Apparently, Kimmy has been missing since about thirteen hundred hours.”

Jake looked at his wristwatch. For a moment, he had no idea
why
he was looking at it. Then he realized that he wanted to know what time it was. Two thirty-five. Kimmy had been missing for…

“Jake?”

He didn’t answer. Kimmy had been gone for…thirteen hundred was one o’clock, right?

“She probably just wandered off,” Barney said. “You know kids. There’s no reason to think this has anything to do with…the other matter. Jake?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way.”

“Keep me posted.”

Jake hung up. In a numb haze, he returned to the patrol car. He started to drive.

Kimmy.

She’s all right, he thought. She has to be all right. Just wandered off. Maybe got lost.

He saw Ronald Smeltzer in the kitchen, down on his knees, teeth ripping flesh from the belly, but it wasn’t Smeltzer’s wife being eaten, it was Kimmy. Shrieking “No!” he blasted the man dead.

She’s all right. Nobody got her. She just took a walk or something.

Gone more than an hour and a half.

He saw Harold Standish open the door, playfully stick up his hands and say, “Don’t shoot.” Jake shoved his piece against Harold’s forehead and blew out the fucker’s brains. Barbara came running. She wore the blue silk kimono. She cried, out, “It’s not our
fault!”
Three bullets crashed through her chest. Then Jake stuck the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

That’s how it’s gonna play, assholes, he thought. That’s just exactly how it’s gonna play if anything happened to Kimmy.

Better calm down.

Fuck that.

You bastards, why weren’t you
watching
her!

He swung onto the driveway behind BB’s Toy, resisting an urge to slam into it. Then he was out of the car, striding toward the front door.

His right hand was tight on the walnut grip of his Smith & Wesson .38. He flicked off the holster’s safety strap.

What am I doing?

He pulled his hand away and clenched it in a fist.

The door of the house opened before he could ring the bell. Barbara, pale and red-eyed, threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around him. He pushed her away. She looked surprised, hurt, accusing.

“Okay,” he said, “how’d it happen?”

Barbara shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her voice was whiny. “She was sitting on the front step. We’d come back from brunch. At the Lobster Shanty? And she was pouting all the way home ‘cause I wouldn’t let her have ice cream. She’d already
had
chocolate cake, I didn’t want her to make herself sick. Don’t
look
at me that way!”

“Sorry,” Jake muttered, glaring at her. He wasn’t sorry. He wanted to grab the front of her blouse and smash her against the doorjamb. Ice cream. Kimmy wanted ice cream and Barbara had to play Boss Mommy and tell her no and now she’s gone.

Barbara sniffed. She backhanded a slick away from under her nose. “So Kimmy was pouting and she plonked herself down on the stoop and said she wouldn’t come in. So I left her there. I mean, you know how she gets. What was I supposed to do, drag her in by the ears? So I left her. I figured she’d come in in a couple of minutes. But then when she didn’t, I came out to get her and she was gone. I’m
sorry,
all right? God, she’s my daughter, too!”

“We can put on her tombstone, ‘Mommy wouldn’t let me have ice cream.’”