The Pines (30 page)

“Barry?” Steve looked around.

He’d gotten tired of honking the horn and had left the car door open and the motor running.

“Yo, Barry?” He walked around to the other side of the tower. Where could he be? He wondered if someone could have happened along and given him a ride. But he must have known Steve would come back for him.

The last of the twilight faded rapidly, and he stood under the tower, wondering what to do.

Something dark dripped onto his hand. And again. He looked up. He stared a long time, only slowly comprehending what he saw. An unraveled version of Barry dangled from the platform overhead.

Monday, August 10

He had to do something. Impotent and cold, the rage congealed in his gut. When Anna died, he’d been helpless. But he would do something about this. He would.

He had to.

But it wasn’t his fault. Earth throbbed beneath the rhythmic beat of his tires, and he squirmed in denial. The pounding headache had returned, and he doubted now that it would ever leave. The woods retreated behind him, and as he drove, he dwelt on his visit to Barry’s wife.

Barry’s widow. He’d left her not half an hour ago. Poor Cathy. She’d seemed so glad to see him, glad to see anyone. Not that she’d cried—a numbness had claimed both their faces—but she’d kept saying her father would be over later. And she’d kept muttering something that sounded like “be all right—just need a little rest.”

Poor Cathy. She shouldn’t have been alone in that house. There was time enough to be alone.

“We used to try,” she’d said. “But then we found out his—what do you call it?—his count was too low. That really bothered him. I think he would’ve made a good father. Was that the phone? My dad might call before he comes. Did Barry ever say anything to you? About me and Larry? You can tell me, Steve.”

His mind wrenched away from the morning.
What happened?
Gears ground with a chattering whine as he shifted into the next lane. Did Barry climb that ladder trying to escape something? Was he dragged up there? Tires shrilled.
You’re a cop
—
be
a cop.
The car yawed.
Find out what killed your partner.
Roadside vegetable stands gave way to suburbs.
Do something about it.

Houses with small garages and rectangular lawns began to dominate the coarse countryside, and soon these gave way to liquor shops and roadside adult bookstores that advertised live nude sex shows. As opposed to dead, clothed ones, he wondered. There seemed to be a gas station every hundred yards or so. A sign pointed the way to a school for retarded adults. Traffic grew dense as he approached a strip mall, and still the pines ran in thin packs by the highway.

The way she’d carried on. Steve shook his head. Just as though she hadn’t known what a two-timing louse Barry had been. He flinched at that—thinking ill of the dead. Thinking ill of someone he’d caused to be dead.

The inside of the battered Volkswagen smelled of beer and old sweat. No, the headache would never leave now.

He supposed at the very least he’d be fired, and he wondered if he’d be officially suspect in Barry’s death. Buzby hadn’t asked many questions yet, questions about where he’d been, about why Barry had been unarmed. But he would ask…and soon.

Flies battered the screen door from both sides, their bodies like black hailstones.

Athena stood in the doorway as an old woman might, one trembling hand against the screen. And dry-eyed, she watched as swallows swooped and darted through the yard.

The phone rang. Probably Doris again. She didn’t move. She clutched a filthy cleaning rag in her hand and listened to the gentle stirring of the wind.

Flies pattered.

While his grieving daughter waited for his visit, Frank Buzby swaggered about the clearing in his cowboy boots. His sideburns were untrimmed and whitish, his face and neck sunburned a deep red. As always, he held himself with the self-conscious stance of an aging bodybuilder.

The lieutenant came over to speak to him again, and Frank made an effort to look solemn. The death of one of his officers—and his son-in-law, to boot—had made Frank the focus of a lot of official consideration, and he relished it. Several troopers milled about the fire tower, their voices drowned by the croaking barks of the bloodhounds. The dog handler restrained the beasts only with difficulty. The smallest hound, an ugly, bristling animal, whined loudly.

Suddenly the dogs fell silent. Then—given their head—they belled for the woods.

Shouting a gruff order, the lieutenant beckoned his men toward the pines, and Buzby followed.

The fire tower stood silent and abandoned. The blue-and-whites sat empty on the road. No one heard the call coming in over the car radio.

Through static, the voice of a rookie blabbered about having found a naked corpse staked on the ground. He begged for immediate assistance. “…badly decomposed…maggoty…can’t even…what sex it…” A sound like choking mixed with the static.

“You mean you bought that blouse before you was married and it still fits?” Pam sounded more dismayed than astonished. After all, astonishing things had been happening lately: the kitchen was spotless, and Athena was all dressed up. Pam was getting used to surprises.

Sponging down the table for the third time in half an hour, Athena kept one eye on her sister-in-law. Pam had adjusted so well, so oddly well, to Lonny’s death. Perhaps immersing herself in Athena’s problems kept her mind off her own. In some ways, she seemed not to realize what had happened. Yet she could speak of it, had conducted herself surprisingly well at the hasty funeral in which her husband had been interred near his parents. But sometimes a look played across her face, almost a smile really, as if she thought all this just some private joke. Athena suspected Pam didn’t actually know he was dead, didn’t really understand it. It just hadn’t hit her yet. After all, she remembered how long it had taken her to grasp it.

WALLACE MONROE
. A headstone.
BORN. DIED.

“’Thena, I just can’t get used to your hair like—” Someone knocked. “What’s that?” Pam grabbed the skillet. “Who’s there?”

“Would you quit that?” Pausing to switch off the grumbling scanner, Athena went to the door.

“Hiya, honey. Are you all right? I brought doughnuts.” Doris entered, carrying a white pastry bag. “You look great.”

“I’m glad you could make it.”

“Don’t be silly.” She tried to offer Pamela her condolences, but Pam’s eyes remained fixed fearfully on the door. “Hey, ’Thena, what’s the matter with the dog?”

In the corner, Dooley lay curled on an old piece of rug.

“No, Pamela. Leave it open. Let’s get some air in here.”

“Open? You want it open? But…but the mosquitoes and all.”

“Steve fixed the screen, Pamela. Leave it.” Turning, she saw Doris’s raised eyebrows. “Troopers.”

It took a minute. “Christ, you’re kidding. Poor dog.”

Athena flustered about the kitchen, self-consciously playing hostess.

“Yeah, thanks. I’d love a cup.” Doris settled herself at the table. “I like the hairdo.”

“You don’t think it’s too young for me? All I did was wash it and brush it out. You don’t think it’s weird of me to do it now?”

Sitting at the table, they listened to Pam slurp her sweet coffee. “Well,” Pam said at last, “I got to go up and sit with Matty.” Reluctantly, she deposited her cup in the newly scoured sink and left the room. They heard her go heavily up the stairs.

Doris touched Athena’s arm. “Okay, honey. What’s this about? Why were you so insistent about my coming over here to night?”

“I should get a plate for the doughnuts.”

The screen door opened, and Athena’s face froze. Steve entered with a stack of books and papers.

“No, that’s all right. I got them.” He dropped the books on the table. “What happened here?”

“State troopers shot him,” Doris answered. “Ain’t that a bitch?”

He crouched by the injured dog and scratched the broad skull. Dooley sighed, tail thumping feebly on the floor.

“Am I allowed to ask what all this stuff is for?” Doris fingered the books, already guessing. “What do you think of her hair?”

“Uh…it looks…makes your face look…I never saw you so…”

“Sit down, Steve,” Doris growled. “What did you do? Rob a bookstore?”

“Just about.” He smiled thinly. “You should’ve seen me. I had to show my badge and bluster a lot to get so many out. Also, I think I’m involved with the librarian.”

Doris laughed too loudly. Shaking her head, she watched him spread the books out in front of him, and suddenly she wanted desperately to avoid dealing with this.

“Well, you’re here again, I see.” Pam flitted in and made straight for Steve. “It’s nice to have a cop around. That Barry always made us feel nice and safe, didn’t he, ’Thena?” She played with the ribbons on her dress. “Don’t the place look nice? Oh, ’Thena really cleaned in here today. All day long. I’m so glad her friends is here. I just come down to get a doughnut. For Matty.” She broke a jelly doughnut in half and put one piece on a plate and the other in her mouth. She turned to leave, smiling at him with her cheeks bulging, then just stood, chewing. “I wanted to ask you something, ’Thena,” she began, clearly wracking her brain. “I wanted to ask you…Matty’s almost asleep. Do you want me to do the sheets tomorrow?”

“Where is your son?” Steve asked. “I never did get to see him.”

“Pamela, could you and I talk about this later? We’re rather busy just now.”

“I didn’t think you was busy.” Looking skeptical and hurt, she shuffled out of the room. “I thought you was just having coffee.”

They stared at the volumes on the table. “Well.” Doris exhaled smoke and paged through the first book that came to hand. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.
The Encyclopedia of American Folklore.
Say anything about the barrens? Barrens…barrens…nope. Wait. ‘Barren ground—traditional—ground reserved for Satan’s use.’”

Athena spoke. “Look up Jersey Devil.”

Steve and Doris exchanged glances.

“Jersey Devil. Let’s see now.” Doris dragged deeply on her cigarette. “Nope. There’s a Devil’s River, Texas. Listen to this: ‘Lobo, the Wolf Girl.’” She scanned it. “All about this naked chick who used to be seen doing things like devouring freshly killed goats in the company of two large wolves.” She let the book fall closed. “Sounds yummy,” she added, the facetious tone of her voice not matching the vaguely accusatory look she gave Steve.

“Do you suppose that’s what we’re dealing with?” asked Athena, her voice clear and fragile. “Someone…feral?”

“What?” Doris studied her face. “You mean like the—what do they call them?—the wolf children in India? I saw something about that in the paper once.” Suddenly, she smiled. “So that’s why we’re here. We’re monster hunting.” Picking up another book, she examined the binding, but the title had worn away. She opened to the title page:
A History of the New Jersey Pine Barrens
, compiled by the Federal Writers Commission, copyright 1933. “This is a real gem.” She paged through it. “There’s a whole chapter on the barrens in New York and Pennsylvania. What’s the matter, honey?”

“I only just remembered something. My grandmother used to talk about the Georgia pine barrens.”

“So long as we’re talking about the so-called Jersey Devil…” Steve cleared his throat, and the women turned to him. “I’ve got some notes here. I checked out all the different versions of the story. The mother is variously recorded as Jane Leeds Johnson in 1735, and as a Mrs. Shrouds in 1855. I looked for anything that made sense, anything that might give us a lead.” He squinted at the notebook and shrugged. “A lot of it’s pretty crazy, and certain things vary with the telling, like about its being born with teeth, drawing blood with milk. I think we can discard that sort of thing as pure folklore. Still, the basics stay pretty much the same.”

Doris stared at him. “Before we get too far into this, I’d just like to know why. I mean, you know that feeling you get when you’re the only person on the bus who isn’t communicating with a UFO? You start to wonder if you’re the crazy one. I mean, are we really assuming the actual Jersey Devil is involved here?”

He told them about the starving woman who’d been picked up in the woods, and about the dead body found staked in the sand that morning. “I found myself recalling things Athena said.” He kept his eyes on the table. “About there being a history of unsolved murders out here. Seems to me if we’re going to find out what happened to—”

“Barry.”

“What?”

“It was Barry,” Athena told him. “He said that. Not me.”

“So?” Doris set down the book she’d been holding. “What’s the story? Exactly?”

“You’ve never heard it?” he asked.

“Let’s hear your version.”

“Well, let’s see, near as I can figure, a deformed child was born to a woman in the pines. She apparently kept it hidden for years, locked up in a shuttered room. After her death, the child went berserk with hunger and took to making raids on the local farms.”

“A star is born,” muttered Doris.

“That’s all really. The stories say he always escaped to the swamps. In time, mysterious raids on livestock, even the deaths of small children, always got attributed to him. Anyway, there’s a lot of that sort of thing, stories about the Devil. The creature was even said to mutilate strong men.” His face drained white as Doris sucked in her breath. He shuffled through papers.