Psycho - Three Complete Novels (26 page)

The directory was missing. He’d have to call the operator for information.

Norman reached for the receiver, then pulled his hand away. He couldn’t call. Nobody asks for addresses; even if she gave it out, the operator would remember. In a place like this, everybody was curious about strangers. The minute he hung up, she’d probably call Sam and Lila and tell them someone was looking for them. It would be a dead giveaway.

Dead.
He wasn’t dead and wouldn’t be, if only he took care. But he had to act quickly. No time—

Norman left the booth, moved out from under the light, and crossed at the corner, passing the tavern there. Its windows were darkened, thanks to Sunday-closing laws. All the windows on the street were dark, all but one.

One storefront up ahead was lighted. He couldn’t see it clearly until he started forward, then peered across the street at the sign.

Loomis Hardware.

A light in the window, but that was just for display. It was the other light that mattered—the one overhead, shining dimly from the back of the store.

Someone was inside.

Norman started across the street, then slowed.

Careful now, stop and think. Be cautious. The thing to do was move on, cross at the corner, and come back along the side of the store, in case anyone might be looking out. Stay in the shadows.
Out of sight, out of mind.

Norman nodded to himself, then moved quietly. It was only when he reached the shadowed shelter of the narrow walkway between the store and the adjoining building that he began to giggle softly. He had to, because the old saying was wrong. As he came around to the back door and fumbled with the latch, he was out of sight.

But he wasn’t out of his mind.

— 10 —

L
ila Loomis was at home when it happened, sitting in the darkened living room and watching some stupid game show on television. The program wasn’t her choice; reception was poor because of the storm, and Channel 5 was the only one coming through clearly. At least the show served to distract her attention from what was going on outside.

For the hundredth time she found herself wondering about what she was seeing. The game was silly and the questions offered to its contestants were even sillier.
Here we go now with the Giant Jackpot! For ten thousand dollars in cash, a brand-new Ford Galaxie, and a fun-filled, all-expenses-paid week’s vacation for two at the beautiful Acapulco Hilton
. . .
What was Jackie Onassis’ maiden name?

“Minnie Schwartz,” Lila murmured. Then, catching herself, she smiled at her own silliness. Talking back to the tube made no sense at all, but lately she’d fallen into the habit. And she wasn’t the only one; other people seemed to be responding to quizmasters, talk-show hosts, and the anonymous idiots who shouted out commercials over a background of some unseen heavenly choir lifting angel voices in praise of a liquid fertilizer. A few more years of this, and everybody would end up talking to themselves.

Lila was just about to get up and go into the kitchen when the evening news came on. She settled back and listened gratefully. The normal voice and features of the commentator offered welcome relief after the phony hysteria of the gameshow’s MC and the shrieking responses of the grinning contestants.

Most of the bulletins concerned the recent storm, and the top story dealt with the terrible bus accident over at Montrose. Fortunately for Lila’s peace of mind, there was no live coverage of the scene, though the newscaster promised film at eleven. She made a mental note not to tune in; maybe it was childish of her, but she just couldn’t stand the sight of death or suffering.

Lila shook her head, dismissing the self-criticism. It wasn’t just a childish reaction; she of all people had the right to feel that way, after what had happened. Of course it had been years ago, ancient history, and she hadn’t been present when her sister and the detective were murdered by that maniac. But Lila had seen Norman Bates coming at her with a knife in his hand, and the fear remained. Sometimes it returned in dreams; she’d shiver and cry out until Sam took her in his arms and comforted her.
Honey, it’s all right.
Then he’d switch on the light beside the bed.
See? No one’s there. You had a nightmare.

Even now, Lila wished Sam were here. Way past seven, and he was still at the store, working on those figures. He had to, of course, with the quarterly tax payment coming up, and Sunday afternoon was the best time to do the books. But it ruined plans for a decent dinner, and there was no point in even thinking about going out later in the evening.

Not that they’d want to anyway, after this storm. Still, it was over now, thank goodness, and reports of local damage and power outages around the country didn’t really concern her. Lila was only half listening when the newscaster started to talk about the all-points alert for a patient who’d escaped from the State Hospital this afternoon after murdering a visitor.

“Authorities believe he fled in a van belonging to the murder victim, who was a member of a religious order, the Little Sisters of Charity. The patient, Norman Bates, is still at large.”

Norman Bates.

Lila froze.

Murdering. Escaped. Still at large.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Everything was frozen now, the way it was in the nightmares. But she was wide awake. And Norman—

Somehow she managed to externalize her perception again, listening closely as the commentator brought her another late bulletin. “Lightning struck the Weiland Nurseries greenhouse in Rock Center late this afternoon, with damages estimated at—”

Was that all?
She’d missed the rest of the report about Norman when she panicked. But damn it, she had a right to panic, every right. And if that ignoramus reading the news had any brains, he’d panic too.
This isn’t just another bulletin. Norman’s loose!

And she was talking to the tube again, talking to herself. When the one she should be talking to was Sam.

Lila rose, went to the TV set, shut it off. Then, crossing the room in darkness, she turned to switch on the lamps, but stopped herself in time.

No lights. What if
he
was out there?

But how could he be? Even if Norman knew where she lived, there was no real reason to think he’d come here. Except that people like Norman weren’t guided by reason or reality.

Lila was still standing beside the lamp when she heard the sound.

Suddenly alert, she strained to listen, but now there was silence.
Just nerves. Imagining things.

Then she flinched as it came again—a muffled scraping.

Footsteps?

She couldn’t identify the noise, only locate its source. It was coming from outside.

Now, once more, silence. Silence and darkness. Not hearing, not seeing, Lila edged her way to the front window. Her hand trembled as she raised the shade to one side. Slowly, just an inch, enough to look out and see—

Nothing.

The walk, the lawn, the street beyond, stood empty in the night.

And the sound came again as the tree beside the house swayed in the wind, its upper branches brushing against the eaves of the roof.

Norman wasn’t here.

Lila didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she found herself exhaling in sudden relief.
You see, it was your imagination. Why should Norman want to harm you? You’re not his enemy. He wouldn’t come here.

Then, as she let the shade swing back into place, the relief faded into realization.

Of course he’s not here. In Norman’s mind there was another enemy. He’d be coming after Sam.

Lila was trembling again by the time she reached the end table and found the phone. Fumbling in the dark, she forced herself to concentrate, counting off the unseen digits as she dialed the number of the store.

Then she waited for the ring, but it didn’t come; all she heard was a buzzing sound. Busy signal? No, the tone was wrong. What had they said on the news about a power outage?

As she replaced the receiver, the scraping noise resumed outside. Now, even though she knew its source, she held her breath once more. Perhaps this time she could hear another sound over it, the sound of a car motor. Sam’s car coming down the street, pulling into the driveway—

Silence.

If Sam had been listening to the radio at the store, he’d have heard some kind of news report and come home to her. But there was no car, so he hadn’t listened, didn’t know.

She glanced at her watch; the luminous hands on the dial told her it was eight o’clock.

Eight o’clock. Even if he hadn’t heard anything, he should be home by now. Unless—

There was no need to pursue the thought. The need was to stumble across the room into the kitchen, grope for her purse on the serving counter, carry it to the back door. And then to peer out through the door-window toward the walk beyond, making sure no one was standing there.

The walk was empty. Slowly she opened the kitchen door and stepped outside. Night wind fanned her face as she turned and surveyed the backyard, the side lawn, the stretch of walk leading to the street. All clear.

Gripping her purse, she shut the door and went up the walk, glancing at the darkened outline of the house next door. Maybe she ought to tell the Dempsters, let Ted drive her to the store. Then she remembered that her neighbors were away; they’d said something about visiting their married daughter in Ravenswood over the weekend. And the people across the street had left this morning for a vacation at the lake.

Lila emerged onto the street, slowing to scan the sidewalk leading to the right. Nothing moved there but the shadows under the trees. But in the shadows—

Don’t panic. Just keep your eyes open, take your time, only three blocks to go.

She kept telling herself that, over and over again, but in spite of everything, Lila found herself hurrying. The shadows were merely shadows and the night was silent except for the sigh of wind and the quickening clatter of her heels against the wet cement of the sidewalk.

Then, turning onto Main Street, Lila saw the headlights of a car coming from the left.

Sam?

She halted, ready to wave, but it wasn’t their station wagon that swept past her, and the face of the driver was unfamiliar. Perhaps she ought to have waved anyway; now it was too late, for the car rounded the corner up the street, making a right turn. Main Street was empty again.

Lila moved forward. One more block. She was approaching the store now, glancing ahead to look through the lighted window.

But the light was out.

She slowed, staring through the glass into the darkened store beyond.

Don’t panic. Maybe he’s just closed up, gone out the back way to the car.

Lila started along the walk at the side of the building, moving slowly, cautiously. She gone only a few yards when she caught sight of the station wagon parked next to the alley exit in back. Its doors were closed and the driver’s seat was empty. Sam hadn’t left.

Then why were the lights out?

Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Or maybe—

Now it came to her, the other thought, the one she’d tried to push out of her mind. Sam’s visit to Dr. Rowan last month, and the medical report—the electrocardiogram.
Nothing serious, just a little murmur, don’t worry about it.
But doctors didn’t know everything, and half the time those reports were wrong. Suppose Sam had had a heart attack?
Don’t panic.

Carefully, Lila made her way down the walk. She moved silently, and only silence greeted her as she rounded the corner to reach the back entrance. The blinds of the windows on either side were drawn, and the door was shut. A touch of the knob told her it was locked.

There was a key in her purse, but she didn’t reach for it. That was one lesson she’d learned from that awful experience years ago. Play safe, don’t take chances when you’re alone. And if something
had
happened to Sam, there was nothing she could do about it unless she got help.
Don’t panic.

Lila turned and walked past the empty station wagon to the alley beyond, pausing to inspect its expanse in both directions. There was no sound, no movement in the night.

Satisfied, she walked along the alley to the right, emerging on the side street at the far end. Across the way, the courthouse stood in the square. She started over to it, moving past the wet, empty benches and the granite shaft of the war memorial. The building beyond was dark, but here on the annex side the door was unlocked, and a light shone out from the corridor behind it.

Entering, Lila climbed the stairs and moved down the hall. As she did so, she had this feeling—what was it called,
déjà
view, or
vue,
something like that, when you think a thing has happened before?

Then she corrected herself. It was memory, not feeling. This
had
happened before, years ago, when she and Sam were looking for the murderer of her sister. They’d come here on a Sunday morning to see Sheriff Chambers, and the clerk—what was his name?—Peterson, old man Peterson, told them he was at church. Peterson and Chambers were both gone now and she was here alone, but the similarity of her present errand to the former one was unnerving. Lila’s pace quickened as she crossed the threshold of the office at the far end of the corridor.

Little old Irene Grovesmith sat at her desk, reading a magazine. She put it aside to peer up owlishly over her reading glasses, then recognized her visitor and nodded.

“Lila—”

“Hello, Irene. Is Sheriff Engstrom busy?”

“You can say that again.” Behind the thick lenses, Irene’s eyes narrowed in sour disapproval. “Left here more than three hours ago. Going over to Montrose on account of that bus crash, you heard about it? He promised me he’d be back by seven at the latest, and here it is, past eight-thirty. The squawk’s out, and the phones don’t work either. They’re supposed to be fixing the lines now.”

“Then there’s no way I can get in touch with the sheriff?”

“I just told you—” Irene caught herself, took off the glasses, and cleared her throat self-consciously. “Sorry. What’s the trouble?”