The Headsman (46 page)

But that was then. Nowadays no school meant he could sleep in. It also meant he’d wasted an hour doing that dopey homework. But what the hell, if there was no school tomorrow, which was a sure bet, he’d have to turn it in the next day anyway. So it wasn’t a total loss.

The lights were on everywhere in the Boggs house. He decided to leave the Bronco on the road. No sense taking chances by trying to sneak it into the driveway; Alice’s parents might spot it there. He turned off his headlights and came to a stop, then shut off his engine and climbed out of the vehicle.

5

The headsman stood in the lee of the Boggs garage. Protected by the overhang from the driving snow, he watched the girl through the window of her second floor room.

Even the storm was helpful to him, cutting off the house from the rest of the world. His shoulders and legs were wet; the ancient black cloth of his garments had soaked through to his skin. But he paid no attention to the dampness and the cold, concentrating only on the figure of the girl as she moved about the room.

She was a pretty thing, with long sandy hair and a ripe body. As he watched, she lifted the telephone and smiled seductively as she spoke into it. She appeared to giggle, and then threw her head back, and from her expression it was easy to guess that she was talking to a young man. She spoke into the phone for some minutes, and when she hung up she clapped her hands once, as if she’d heard good news. Then she abruptly left the room.

He watched and waited.

A moment later she surprised him by opening the side door of the house and peering out into the night. She hadn’t turned on the light, and for a moment he wasn’t sure who had opened the door. But then he saw her clearly enough, even though visibility was further reduced by the swirling snowflakes. She closed the door and was again lost from his sight, and seconds after that she reappeared in her room.

Ah—he had it then. She was expecting someone to come through that door at the corner of the house. Undoubtedly the same someone she’d spoken to on the telephone.

And now she was preparing herself—getting ready for her visitor, he was sure of it. She pulled off her sweater and tossed it aside, then removed her bra. Her naked breasts were firm and full and tipped with wide pink nipples. He could see her gazing into a wall mirror, turning one way and then another, looking critically at her image. She picked up a vial of what he surmised was perfume and dabbed a little between her breasts.

The girl moved away, and seconds later returned to his view, again looking into the mirror as she drew on a clingy, ivory-colored blouse. She brushed her hair, and then applied lipstick to her mouth. When she finished she went on studying her reflection until, satisfied at last, she moved away from the window.

The headsman gripped the hickory haft in both his gloved hands and swung the mighty double-bladed ax up onto his shoulder. His gaze left the lighted window of the girl’s room and swept down to the side porch. He waited.

Some time later, perhaps a half hour, he heard the sound of an engine. He poked his head around the corner just far enough to see headlights approaching from down the road, their beams shining weakly into the falling snow.

As he watched, the headlights went out and the vehicle came to a stop a short distance from the Boggs house. The figure that climbed out of the driver’s seat was Billy Swanson.

The boy paused for a few seconds, evidently looking things over, and then made his way up the driveway, lumbering through the deep snow. He climbed the steps onto the side porch and slipped through the door, closing it after him. A few moments later the headsman caught a glimpse of the boy and the girl together as they passed the window in her room. Their arms were draped around each other and they were laughing.

There was no rush; he knew exactly what they’d be doing a few minutes from now. He wanted to give them time to begin.

Sixteen

A DEADLY SURPRISE

1

J
UD WAS LUCKY
to get home, even with the car’s snowtires and its limited-slip rear end. He had to crawl along the icy roads at a pace not much faster than walking, and twice he narrowly avoided sliding off into a ditch. When he reached his cottage he parked the Plymouth out front and decided to leave it there. For the rest of the night he’d use the Blazer. Only a vehicle with four-wheel drive would be able to move in this storm.

Once inside he kicked off his brogans, which were soaked through, and then stripped and went into the shower. The hot needle spray was restorative, helping to soothe and relax muscles stiff from tension.

When he’d toweled down he put on a fresh uniform and heavy wool socks and a pair of hunting boots that came almost to his knees. He went into the kitchen and cracked a can of beer, and by the time he’d drunk it he was feeling better. He tossed the empty into the garbage and stuffed a frozen chicken something or other into the microwave. While it was cooking he got himself another beer. He didn’t turn on the TV, because he didn’t want to see himself being held up in front of the world as Chief Asshole in the little village of Braddock.

He thought of Sally. She’d been among the crowd of reporters at the press conference earlier, and seeing her had added to his embarrassment. He hoped she’d left her office and gone home by now, but knowing her as he did she was probably still there. He went into his bedroom and called the
Express
, and the woman who answered said she’d left some time ago. That was a relief. Then he tried her home number and got no answer. Maybe she’d stopped for something on the way. He’d try her later.

The meal was ready after a few minutes, and he ate it absent-mindedly, hardly tasting what he was putting into his mouth. When he finished he shoved the tray into the garbage pail and went into the living room, carrying his beer. He was still hungry; frozen dinners apparently had been concocted to feed dwarfs. But the hell with it. He wasn’t about to heat up another one, and besides, he had to get back to the stationhouse.

Outside the storm was in full stride, the wind very strong. It rattled the roof and moaned in the tall pines that stood on the slope just beyond the cottage. This was no night to be anywhere but inside. As a matter of fact, it would be great to be able to stay right here. He’d build a big fire, get out the Gibson and play for hours, drink about a hundred beers. Best way in the world to get his mind off his troubles.

But forget it. Stormy winter nights were when a cop earned his paycheck and then some. The worst times he could remember during his years on the force had been on nights like this one. There would be at least one more bad wreck, and if the snow kept falling a number of people would be stuck in their cars. One or two might be stupid enough to leave their vehicles and try to make their way on foot, and it was a good bet they’d wind up frozen stiff. The police usually had a couple of those every winter.

Reluctantly, with one more longing glance at the guitar case leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, he returned to the kitchen and tossed away his empty beer can. From the back hall closet he got out his fur cap and put it on, then hauled on his fleece-lined oilskin. He turned off the lights and clumped out to the garage where the Blazer was parked.

2

The door on the side porch remained unlocked. The headsman turned the knob slowly and silently, then stepped inside, his ears alert to catch the slightest noise. But the hallway was dark and quiet, the only sounds distant ones. From the front of the house came the burble of a television set, and from the floor above him drifted the thump and wail of rock music.

He closed the door and paused, listening. Melting snow dripped from the ax he held in his right hand and trickled down his black clothing. He placed one foot on the first tread of the stairs and began to climb, intent on moving silently. There were two people up in that room, and surprise was essential.

This was different from when he’d gone to the Dickens house. At that time he’d
wanted
to make noise, because he wanted the girl to hear his heavy footsteps on the staircase and be terrified. He saw her now in his mind’s eye, recoiling from him, her hands extended as if to ward him off, her mouth working, her eyes popping. And then her features had grown even more contorted as she saw the ax rise higher and higher, until it began its journey downward, the glittering blade plunging toward her throat.

But tonight he had to move quietly. When he reached the landing he saw that he was in a hallway. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out that there were doors farther on, but only the nearest one had light showing from underneath it. That would be the girl’s room, at the rear corner of the house. It was where she’d led the Swanson boy and where they had been when the headsman saw them through the window.

Many minutes had passed since the boy had entered the room. They’d be rolling around in her bed by now. The headsman could envision them grunting and straining, their bodies slick with sweat. He placed his ear against the door of the room, but all he heard from inside was the relentless pounding of the music.

Very gently, he gripped the knob and turned it. The door was locked. That meant he’d have to alter his plan somewhat, but not much. With what they were doing, they’d be unaware of what was happening until he was virtually on top of them. They would look up from the bed and he would be there, and they would be convulsed by fear, just as Marcy Dickens had been. And Buddy Harper.

And Janet Donovan.

And the others.

Even though his gloves were wet, his grip on the haft was tight and secure. He raised the ax, and his nostrils picked up the faint odor of oil from the polished steel. With great care, he placed one of the razor-sharp blades in the crack of the door, where the tongue of the lock met the striker. Then he flexed the heavy muscles of his shoulders and set himself.

3

By the time he got his clothes off, throwing his parka and sweater one way, his shirt another, and stumbling out of his jeans, Billy was ready to come. That actually happened to him sometimes, he’d get so excited. But when it did it wasn’t such a big deal—within minutes he’d be ready to go again. The only thing was, he didn’t want to
waste
any of this.

But when he stripped Alice’s blouse away he thought he’d get off right then, she looked so great. Her breasts were as good as anything he’d ever imagined, even when he locked himself in the bathroom at home and made love to one of the dream girls he could conjure up in his imagination. Her skin was a creamy pink color, and her jugs had those great nipples standing there, just begging him to nibble on them. And then when he pulled off her skirt and her pants and pushed himself against her he was aware of the crinkly texture of her pubic patch and goddamn, that almost did it all over again.

They fell onto the bed together and the hell with foreplay; within seconds he was inside her, and within seconds after that he
did
come, and then he just lay there in her arms, her fingernails gently tracing circles on the flesh of his back.

Alice spoke in her throaty voice. “That was beautiful, Billy.”

He had to smile to himself, hearing that. Beautiful? Christ—it was over almost before he got started. But then, maybe she’d come too. She certainly had been excited enough. And he had to hand it to her, this had been a terrific idea. In fact, the trip through the snow and then sneaking up to her room and jumping into bed had made it just that much more of a turn-on.

He rolled off her and lay on his back as his breathing returned to normal. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his chest, and his arms and legs felt as if they’d turned to rubber. Alice snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder. The stereo was playing a record by Tiffany, one of his favorite singers. It was funny, but he hadn’t even noticed it before this. He put an arm around Alice and scratched the back of her neck.

“Mm-m. I love that.”

“I loved all of it.”

“Me too. I just meant I love it when you scratch my neck. I’m like a puppydog when you do that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Billy, you know what I think sometimes, when we’re together like this?”

“What?”

“I think how nice it would be if we were married.”

Holy Jesus, where did
that
come from?

“I mean, I know we can’t and we’re too young and all that, but it’s fun to, like, pretend—you know?”

“Sure. I think I know what you mean.” In fact, he knew exactly what she meant, and the thought of it was nauseating.

She pressed herself tight against his side. “We’re so close and all, and I really think you’re great. You like me a lot too, don’t you?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I sure do. Hey, Alice, you’re still on the pill, aren’t you? You take one every day?”

“Sure. Of course I do. Don’t worry—I don’t want to get pregnant.” She was quiet for a few seconds, then abruptly raised herself on one elbow and looked down at him. “You didn’t think I
did
want to, did you?”

“Me? No.”

“I’m not one of those retards who think it’d be fun to have a baby so you could pet it and play mommy with it. Like it was a doll or something.” She lay back down again. “Doris Persky did that last year. Did you hear about it?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I knew she had a kid.”

“She’s so awful. She got knocked up and she wasn’t sure who did it. She tried to blame it on Donny Lonzik so she could get him to marry her, but Donny’s father got him out of it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Some kids do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Get pregnant on purpose.”

“I believe it. Hey, you don’t have any grass, do you?”

“No. It’s been kind of hard to get lately.”

“You’re telling me. But I hear there’s a new guy dealing. Hangs around school after it gets out. I’ll have to see if I can score some off him.”

“Great. Get me some too, will you?”

“Sure.”

She was silent again for a time, and he began to wonder if she’d dozed off.

But then she spoke up. “You know what I can’t stop thinking about?”