Allhallow's Eve: (Richard Laymon Horror Classic) (4 page)

‘Dexter?’ Sam called again.

The house was silent.

He stepped around the end of the bed. He dropped to his knees, and glanced under it. Nothing there except the electric blanket control. He got up, and looked inside the closet. A few pairs of shoes were scattered on the floor, but the old Dingos weren’t among them.

He’s in uniform, then
.

Sam shut the closet door. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, took a deep breath, and felt a tightness in his bladder.

Damn, why hadn’t he locked the bathroom door, last night? Must’ve scared the hell out of that poor kid …

He left the bedroom.

He walked down the hall, past the open bathroom door.

Might as well take care of it now.

Stepping into the bathroom, he glimpsed himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. Looked damn edgy. He rubbed his face. He bent down, and lifted the toilet seat, and saw an eyeless face look up at him through the pink water, gray hair floating as if tugged by a strange wind, tongue lolling.

The lid banged down.

Sam backed against a wall, gasping. Hot fluid gushed up his throat. He covered his month. The sink was too
far. He jerked open the shower curtain and bent over the tub and his teary eyes looked down on the blur of a split torso, detached arms and legs.

The rear doors of the coroner’s van were slammed shut. Sam and the other four officers of the Ashburg Police Department stood on the front lawn of Dexter Boyanski’s house, silent until the van was out of sight.

Berney Weissman, the assistant chief, took off his silver-rimmed glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. ‘All right,’ he said in a weary voice. ‘Let’s take a look at what we’ve got so far.’

‘We’ve got zilch,’ said Chet Summers.

During the past two hours, they’d sketched and photographed the crime scene, searched the house, vacuumed the bathroom floor, and lifted two dozen latent prints. Most of the prints on the labeled cards could probably be weeded out later, as belonging to either Dexter or Sam.

‘We know it happened last night,’ Sam said.

‘Between nine and twelve,’ Berney added, quoting the coroner’s estimate. ‘Chet, you go back to the station and check the log book. See if any calls came in that might have a bearing. Go through the whole day, everything till now. Then get in touch with Ethel and George, find out if anything happened that they maybe didn’t bother logging.’

Chet nodded, and walked to his car.

‘I’ll take this side of the street. Sam, you take the other side. Buck, I want you over on Jackson Street – maybe someone behind Dexter’s place heard something.’

‘A lot of folks’ll be at work,’ Buck said.

‘So we’ll come back again tonight. Let’s go.’

Sam crossed the street, heading for the corner house. Damn it, he’d spent last night only three blocks from here. After dancing at the Sunset Lounge, they’d driven up Jackson Street to Cynthia’s house. At about eleven o’clock. They might just as easily have taken Jefferson instead, and gone right past Dexter’s place, maybe seen a strange car parked in front, or heard a noise …

Well, it hadn’t happened that way. No use spending brain power on a pile of ifs.

He pressed the doorbell of the corner house, and heard ringing chimes inside. A dog started yipping. From its high-pitched frenzy, he guessed it was a small dog. Probably one of those miniature poodles. He waited a few seconds, then rang the bell again. The dog
yip-yapped
frantically.

Sam wrote the address on his clipboard. Beside the address, he wrote, ‘No response – (dog).’

Then he cut across the yard to the front stoop of the next house. He pushed the doorbell. This one buzzed.

A gaunt man in a green jumpsuit opened the door and looked up at Sam like a weasel peering from its hole. The friendly, curious tone of his voice
surprised Sam. ‘What can I do for you, officer?’

‘A crime was committed across the street last night. I’m interviewing everyone on the block. Did you see or hear anything …?’

‘At whose place?’

‘The Boyanski …’

‘Dex? Shitfire! What’d they do to ’im?’

‘He was murdered.’

‘Dex?’ Sorrow and disbelief filled the man’s eyes. ‘Goddamn.’

‘Did you notice anything?’

‘What time you say it happened?’

‘Between nine and midnight, probably.’

He ran a hand over his thin, gray hair. ‘Damn, I wish I had. I was reading in the back room, most of that time. We’d get together over a six-pack, you know. Goddamn.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘If I was you, I’d take a mighty hard look at what Thelma was doing, last night. You know Thelma?’

Sam shook his head. ‘Never met her.’

‘Just have a look at what she was up to last night. That’s all.’

‘You think she killed him?’

‘Well, you know she ran off with that bartender, Babe Rawls, from over at the country club. That was five-six years ago. Nearly busted Dex’s heart. I told him, though. “Dex,” I said, “you can thank your lucky stars you’re rid of that gal.” Took him a long spell to get over her, but he finally did.’

‘I thought she’d moved to Milwaukee.’

‘That’s what I heard, too. Saw her over at the Food King yesterday afternoon, though.’

‘We’ll look into it,’ Sam said. ‘Could I have your name?’

‘Charley Dobbs.’

He wrote it on his clipboard. ‘Thank you for the help, Mr Dobbs.’

‘He was a good man, Dex.’

‘Yes.’

‘Goddamn.’

The door shut. Next to Charley Dobbs’s name, Sam wrote, ‘Saw nothing. Thelma in town?’ Then he crossed the lawn to the next house. Nobody answered the door. He wrote ‘No response’ beside the address, and moved on.

This house was directly across the street from Dexter’s place. The door opened as he reached toward its bell.

‘Officer?’ The sleek blonde wore tweed slacks and a white blouse as if dressed for a luncheon – or a visitor.

‘My name’s Sam Wyatt.’

‘I’m Ticia Barnes.’ She offered her hand, and he shook it.

‘Do you have a couple of minutes, Mrs Barnes?’

‘Certainly. Please come in.’

He thanked her, and stepped into the house.

‘Would you care for some coffee?’

‘No thanks, I just had some.’ He followed her into the living room. He could smell the warm odor of coffee, and wanted a cupful. But he preferred to avoid bathrooms. God, he’d never be able to raise a toilet lid without seeing Dexter’s head …

‘Are you all right?’ asked the woman.

He nodded. ‘It’s been a rough morning.’

‘I should imagine.’ She sat near the end of the couch, and nodded toward a chair. ‘I noticed all the … activity at Mr Boyanski’s house. The coroner was there?’

‘Mr Boyanski was killed last night.’

Her lips pursed. She said, ‘Ooooh.’

‘Did you see or hear anything?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. I always draw the curtains at night, and of course it’s been too chilly, lately, to leave the windows open. Was Mr Boyanski
murdered
?’

‘Yes.’

‘How horrid! Right across the street?’

‘We’re not sure that’s where he was killed, but we … found him there.’

‘Dreadful.’

‘Was anybody else in the house who might’ve seen something?’

‘My husband’s away on business. He’s
forever
away. My daughter may have noticed something, though. Her bedroom windows face the street. What time …? Do you know when it happened?’

‘Probably between nine and midnight.’

‘Aleshia was in her room, then,’ the woman said. ‘I hardly ever see her, since we gave her that telephone. So she may very well have noticed something. Of course, she’s in school right now. A junior at Hi. She won’t get home until – oh – around five, I imagine. Cheerleader practice.’

Sam noted it on his clipboard, and got up. ‘I’ll drop by this evening, then.’

‘Fine. Any time after seven.’ She rose. ‘Are you certain I can’t get you some coffee?’

‘I’m certain. Thanks, though.’

They walked toward the door.

‘You don’t suppose …?’ She hesitated. ‘I do get nervous, sometimes, being alone so much. Is there any chance … You don’t suppose he’ll strike again, do you?’

‘It’s possible. I’d keep my door locked, just in case.’

‘We’ve never had a murder across the street.’

‘We don’t get many in this town.’

‘The fewer the better, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Me, too.’ He thanked her.

‘We’ll be expecting you later, then.’

‘Right,’ he said, stepping outside.

‘Good luck.’ With a quick smile, she shut the door.

Sam made notes on his clipboard, then crossed the yard to the next house. He pushed the doorbell button, but didn’t hear it ring inside. So he knocked on the aluminum frame of the screen door. A few moments later, the inner door opened.

‘Hi Ruthie.’

‘Sam?’ The hefty woman rubbed an eye with the palm of her hand. She wore a quilted, pink robe and her feet were bare. ‘What’s up? Some kind of trouble?’ She swayed to one side and craned her neck as if to see what might be going on behind him.

‘Dexter’s been killed. Murdered.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh my
God
.’

‘It happened last night, between about nine and twelve. We’re going door-to-door to see if anyone noticed anything unusual.’

‘Anything unusual,’ she muttered. ‘I better call Mike. Maybe he …’

Sam shook his head. ‘No need to bother him, just now. I’ll stop by the store, later on today.’

‘I’m going in,
soon as I get myself together. I’ll tell him to give it some thought. You know, I
did
see something struck me a little strange.’

Sam’s pulse quickened.

‘I ran out of cigarettes, last night, and remembered I had a pack in the glove compartment. I was right, too. Found half a pack. Anyway, I was heading back to the house and I heard a car start up. It was Dexter’s car. He pulled out of his driveway and headed up the road real fast. I remember thinking he must’ve got some kind of emergency call.’

‘What time was that?’

She frowned. Her tongue pushed against her cheek, bulging out the pale skin as if a nervous animal were trapped in her mouth and trying to burst out. ‘During the news,’ she finally said. ‘The ten o’clock news. I was waiting around for that silly sports announcer to come on – the one that looks like a chipmunk? He didn’t come on till almost the end, and that’s when I made a beeline outside to fetch my cigarettes. So I guess it must’ve been around ten twenty-five.’

Sam wrote it down. ‘Which way did Dexter go?’ he asked.

Ruthie nodded to her left. ‘He went speeding up that way, and turned left on Third Street. His tires squealed, he took the corner so fast.’ Her tongue made a knob in her cheek again, and she shook her head. ‘Wherever he went, he was in a big rush.’

‘You rat on me, I’ll cut your dick off. You understand?’ Nate pushed his face close to Eric’s. Though only sixteen, the boy had dark whiskers like someone much older. He also had breath that made Eric think of dead snakes baking in the sun. ‘You understand, fag?’

‘I’m not a fag.’

‘Oh yeah? Coulda fooled me.’

‘You’ve got my money. Why don’t you just leave me alone?’

‘’Cause you’re a wimpy little fag, shitface.’

He spat on Eric’s face, and grinned. Eric gagged at the sweet smell of the dripping saliva. With a laugh, Nate shoved him against a urinal.

‘Thanks for the loan, fag.’ Nate left.

Still gagging, Eric hurried to a sink. He splashed water on his face, then scrubbed it with the grainy pink soap powder. After rinsing, he thought he could still smell Nate’s spit. He gagged again, and once more scoured his face.

The bathroom door swung open.

‘Prince!’

He recognized the voice of Mr Doons, the vice principal. Quickly, he splashed water onto his face.

‘Prince, what’re you doing in here? Have you got a pass?’

‘No sir.’

‘What’re you doing out of class?’

He reached for the paper towel dispenser. ‘I came in between periods, Mr Doons.’

‘What are you, deaf? The bell rang five minutes ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it, Prince. When’re you gonna shape up?’

Eric rubbed his face with the rough, brown paper.

‘Answer me.’

‘What do you want me to say?’ he asked, his voice trembling. He swallowed. He didn’t want to cry, especially not in front of Mr Doons.

‘You’ve got a crappy attitude, Prince.’