Psycho (11 page)

"By withholding information." Mr. Arbogast inhaled deeply. "Come on, now, let's have it. You saw the girl. What did she look like?"

"Just as you described her, I guess. It was raining hard when she came in. I was busy. I didn't really take a second look. I let her sign in, gave her a key, and that was that."

"Did she say anything? What did you talk about?"

"The weather, I suppose. I don't remember."

"Did she seem ill at ease in any way? Was there anything about her that made you suspicious?

"No. Nothing at all. She seemed like just another tourist to me."

"Good enough." Mr. Arbogast ground his cigarette butt into the ash tray. "Didn't impress you one way or the other, eh? On one hand, there was nothing to cause you to suspect anything was wrong with her. Arid on the other, she didn't particularly arouse your sympathies, either. I mean, you felt no emotion toward this girl at all."

"Certainly not."

Mr. Arbogast leaned forward, casually. "Then why did you try to shield her by pretending you never remembered that she had come here?"

"I didn't try! I just forgot, I tell you." Norman knew he'd walked into a trap, but he wasn't going any further. "What are you trying to insinuate--do you think I _helped_ her steal the car?"

"Nobody's accusing you of anything, Mr. Bates. It's just that I need all the facts I can get. You say she came alone?"

"She came alone, she took a room, she left the next morning. She's probably a thousand miles away by now--"

"Probably." Mr. Arbogast smiled. "But let's take it a little slower, shall we? Maybe you can remember something. She left alone, is that it? About what time would you say?"

"I don't know. I was asleep up at the house Sunday morning."

"Then you don't actually know she was _alone_ when she left?"

"I can't prove it, if that's what you mean."

"How about during the evening? Did she have any visitors?"

"No."

"You're positive?"

"Quite positive."

"Did anyone else happen to see her here that night?"

"She was the only customer."

"And you were on duty alone?"

"That's right."

"She stayed in her room?"

"Yes."

"All evening? Didn't even make a phone call?"

"Of course not."

"So you're the only one who knew she was here at all?"

"I've already told you that."

"What about the old lady--did _she_ see her?"

"What old lady?"

"The one up at the house, in back of here."

Norman could feel the pounding now; his heart was going to beat its way right through his chest. He started to say, "There is no old lady," but Mr. Arbogast was still talking.

"I noticed her staring out of the window when I drove in. Who is she?"

"That's my mother." He had to admit it, there was no way out. No way out. He could explain. "She's pretty feeble, she never comes down here any more.

"Then she didn't see the girl?"

"No. She's sick. She stayed in her room when we ate supp --"

It slipped out, just like that. Because Mr. Arbogast had asked the questions too fast, he'd done it on purpose just to confuse him, and when he mentioned Mother, it caught Norman off guard. He'd thought only about protecting _her_, and now --

Mr. Arbogast wasn't casual any more. "You had supper with Mary Crane, up at your house?"

"Just coffee and sandwiches. I--I thought I told you. It wasn't anything. You see, she asked where she could eat, and I said Fairvale, but that's almost twenty miles away, and it was raining, so I took her up to the house with me. That's all there was to it."

"What did you talk about?"

"We didn't talk about anything. I told you Mother's sick, and I didn't want to disturb her. She's been sick all week. I guess that's what's been upsetting me, making me forget things. Like this girl, and having supper. It just slipped my mind."

"Is there anything else that might have slipped your mind? Like say you and this girl coming back here and having a little party --"

"No! Nothing like that! How can you say such a thing, what right have you got to say such a thing? I--I won't even talk to you any more. I've told you all you wanted to know. Now, get out of here!"

"All right." Mr. Arbogast pulled down the brim of his Stetson. "I'll be on my way. But first I'd like to have a word with your mother. Maybe she might have noticed something you've forgotten."

"I tell you she didn't even _see_ the girl!" Norman, came around the counter. "Besides, you can't talk to her. She's very ill." He could hear his heart pounding and he had to shout above it. "I forbid you to see her."

"In that case, I'll come back with a search warrant."

He was bluffing, Norman knew it now. "That's ridiculous! Nobody'd issue one. Who'd believe I'd steal an old car?"

Mr. Arbogast lit another cigarette and threw the match into the ash tray. "I'm afraid you don't understand," he said, almost gently. "It isn't really the car at all. You might as well have the whole story. This girl--Mary Crane--stole forty thousand dollars in cash from a real estate firm in Fort Worth."

"Forty thousand --"

"That's right. Skipped town with the money. You can see it's a serious business. That's why everything I can find out is important. That's why I'm going to insist on talking to your mother. With or without your permission."

"But I've already told you she doesn't know anything, and she's not well, she's not well at all."

"I promise I won't say anything to upset her." Mr. Arbogast paused. "Of course, if you want me to come back with the sheriff and a warrant

"No." Norman shook his head hastily. "You mustn't do that. He hesitated, but there was nothing to hesitate about now. _Forty thousand dollars. No wonder he'd asked so many questions, Of course he could get a warrant, no use making a scene. And besides, there was that Alabama couple down the line. No way out, no way at all_.

"All right," Norman said. "You can talk to her. But let me go up to the house first and tell her you're coming. I don't want you busting in without any explanation and getting her all excited." He moved toward the door. "You wait here, in case anyone drives in."

"Okay." Arbogast nodded, and Norman hurried out.

It wasn't much of a climb up the hill, but he thought he'd never make it. His heart pounded the way it had the other night, and it was just like the other night now, nothing had changed. No matter what you did, you couldn't get away from it. Not by tiying to behave like a good boy and not by trying to behave like an adult, either. Nothing helped, because be was what he was, and that wasn't enough. Not enough to save him, and not enough to save Mother, If there was going to be any help at all now, it would have to come from her.

Then he unlocked the front door and climbed the stairs and went into her room, and he intended to speak to her very calmly, but when he saw her just sitting there by the window he couldn't hold it back. He began to shake and the sobs came tearing up out of his chest, the terrible sobs, and he put his head down against her skirt and he told her.

"All right," Mother said. She didn't seem surprised at all. "We'll take care of this. Just leave everything to me."

"Mother--if you just talked to him for a minute, told him you don't know anything--he'd go away, then."

"But he'd come back. Forty thousand dollars, that's a lot of money. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"I didn't know. I swear it, I didn't know!"

"I believe you. Only _he_ won't. He won't believe you and he won't believe me. He probably thinks we're all in on it together. Or that we did something to the girl, because of the money. Don't you see how it is?"

"Mother --" He closed his eyes, he couldn't look at her. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get dressed. We want to be all ready for your visitor, don't we? I'll just take some things into the bathroom. You can go back and tell this Mr. Arbogast to come up now."

"No, I can't. I won't bring him up here, not if you're going to --"

And he couldn't, he couldn't move at all, now. He wanted to faint, but even that wouldn't stop what was going to happen.

In just a few minutes, Mr. Arbogast would get tired of waiting. He'd walk up to the house alone, he'd knock on the door, he'd open it and come in. And when he did --

"Mother, please, _listen_ to me!"

Bub she didn't listen, she was in the bathroom, she was getting dressed, she was putting on make-up, she was getting ready. _Getting ready_.

And all at once she came gliding out, wearing the nice dress with the ruffles. Her face was freshly powdered and rouged, she was pretty as a picture, and she smiled as she started down the stairs.

Before she was hallway down, the knocking came.

It was happening, Mr. Arbogast was here; he wanted to call out and warn him, but something was stuck in his throat. He could only listen as Mother cried gaily, "I'm coming! I'm coming! Just a moment, now!"

And it _was_ just a moment.

Mother opened the door and Mr. Arbogast walked in. He looked at her and then he opened his mouth to say something. As he did so he raised his head, and that was all Mother had been waiting for. Her arm went out and something bright and glittering flashed back and forth, back and forth --

It hurt Norman's eyes and he didn't want to look. He didn't have to look, either, because he already knew.

Mother had found his razor. . . .

TEN

Norman smiled at the elderly man and said, "Here's your key. That'll be ten dollars for the two of you, please."

The elderly man's wife opened her purse. "I've got the money here, Homer." She placed a bill on the counter, nodding at Norman. Then she stopped nodding and her eyes narrowed. "What's the matter, don't you feel good?"

"I'm--I'm just a little tired, I guess. Be all right. Going to close up now."

"So early? I thought motels stayed open until all hours. Particularly on Saturday nights."

"We don't get much business here. Besides, it's almost ten."

_Almost ten. Nearly four hours. Oh, my God_.

"I see. Well, good night to you."

"Good night."

They were going out now, and he could step away from the counter, he could switch off the sign and close the office. But first he was going to take a drink, a big drink, because he needed one. And it didn't matter whether he drank or not, nothing mattered now; it was all over. All over, or just beginning.

Norman had already taken several drinks. He took one as soon as he returned to the motel, around six, and he'd taken one every hour since then. If he hadn't, he would never have been able to last; never been able to stand here, knowing what was lying up there at the house, underneath the hall rug. That's where he'd left it, without trying to move anything; he just pulled the sides of the rug and tossed them over to cover it. There was quite a bit of blood, but it wouldn't soak through. Besides, there was nothing else he _could_ do, then. Not in broad daylight.

Now, of course, he'd have to go back. He'd given Mother strict orders not to touch anything, and he knew she'd obey. Funny, once it had happened, how she collapsed again. It seemed as if she'd nerve herself up to almost anything--the manic phase, wasn't that what they called it?--but once it was over, she just wilted, and he had to take over. He told her to go back to her room, and not to show herself at the window, just lie down until he got there. And he had locked the door.

But he'd have to unlock it now.

Norman closed the office and went outside. There was the Buick, Mr. Arbogast's Buick, still parked just where he had left it.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if he could just climb into that car and drive away? Drive away from here, far away, and never come back again at all? Drive away from the motel, away from Mother, away from that thing lying under the rug in the hall?

For a moment the temptation welled up, but only for a moment; then it subsided and Norman shrugged. It wouldn't work, he knew that much. He could never get far enough away to be safe. Besides, that thing was waiting for him. Waiting for him --

So he glanced up and down the highway and then he looked at Number One and at Number Three to see if their blinds were drawn, and then he stepped into Mr. Arbogast's car and took out the keys he'd found in Mr. Arbogast's pocket. And he drove up to the house, very slowly.

All the lights were out. Mother was asleep in her room, or maybe she was only pretending to be asleep--Norman didn't care. Just so she stayed out of his way while he took care of this. He didn't want Mother around to make him feel like a little boy. He had a man's job to do. A grown man's job.

It took a grown man just to bundle the rug together and lift what was in it. He got it down the steps and into the back seat of the car. And he'd been right about there not being any leaking. These old shag rugs were absorbent.

When he got through the field and down to the swamp, he drove along the edge a way until he came to an open space. Wouldn't do to try and sink the car in the same place he'd put the other one. But this new spot was satisfactory, and he used the same method. It was really very easy, in a way. _Practice makes perfect_.

Except that there was nothing to joke about; not while he sat there on the tree stump and waited for the car to go down. It was worse than the other time--you'd think because the Buick was a heavier car that it would sink faster. But it took a million years. Until at last, _plop!_

There. It was gone forever. Like that girl, and the forty thousand dollars. Where had it been? Not in her purse, certainly, and not in the suitcase. Maybe in the overnight bag, or somewhere in the car. He should have looked, that's what he should have done. Except that he'd been in no condition to search, even if he'd known the money was there. And if he _had_ found it, no telling what might have happened. Most probably he would have given himself away when the detective came around. You always gave yourself away if you had a guilty conscience. That was one thing to be thankful for--he wasn't responsible for all this. Oh, he knew all about being an accessory; on the other hand, he had to protect Mother. It meant protecting himself as well, but it was really Mother he was thinking about.