The Taint (11 page)

FORTY

“Rachel won’t be disappointed if you don’t bring home a fish?” Joyce sat up in the bed, pulling the covers along.

“She hates fish.” He ran a finger along her arm.

“Isn’t that kind of sneaky, pretending to go fishing?”

“No.” He kissed her elbow. “This is more fun anyway.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her where you were really going?”

“She wanted me to get some rest, and if she knew where I was . . . she’d know I wasn’t resting.” He pulled her back down on the bed.

“Nathan.” Joyce laughed. “Let me get my breath.”

“In a minute.”

“Look at that; the sun is going down. You’ve been in bed all day.” Joyce got up and put on a terrycloth robe.

Nathan sighed and sat up. “It’s age, I guess.”

“What’s age?” She regarded him suspiciously.

“A few years back it would have been until the sun came up.”

“God, you’re smug. Now get out of bed—I’m the one who worked all night. If I can get up, so can you.”

“Heartless woman.”

“Of course I am, you ripped it out.”

He followed her into the kitchen, pulling his pants on. “God,” he said, stretching, “I feel like a new man.”

“So do I,” she said into the refrigerator.

“What? Dissatisfaction? Would you care to accompany me back to the bedroom?”

She turned to face him. “I want to get married.”

“Ah, that again.”

“How long has it been, Nathan?”

“I know, but . . .”

“Four years.”

“Joyce, this isn’t the time.”

“It’s never the time. Never. You’re busy with the hospital, the patients, Rachel’s problems, it’s always something.”

“You knew when we started that it had to be this way,” he reminded her.

“Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“No I don’t know. I can’t read your mind. I don’t know what you’re feeling. There was a time, not so long ago, when I thought you started this just because you needed nurses.” A tear rolled down her face. “I’m tired of being alone.”

He crossed to her and put his arms around her. “You’re not alone.”

“Yes I am, when it counts.”

“But there’s still so much to be done.”

“It’ll never all be done. You’ll always be working on projects, always tied up with details and plans . . . and I know that it’s important to you. But what about me?”

“I love you.”

“Yes, in the dark, where no one can see. We don’t even go out together.”

“I find it a little ludicrous to think of dating at my age.”

She moved away from him, her arms at her sides, her chin tilted upward. “All right, you don’t have to marry me, but at least let me move into your house. Make it public. Everyone does it.”

He brushed the tears from her face, smiling gently. “I’m not . . . we’re not . . . everyone.”

“Nathan, I love you. From the moment we first met. But I want more. And if you can’t give it to me, I’m going to have to leave.”

A slight frown on his face. “This is not a good time. And Rachel . . .”

“Rachel is a grown woman. She’s bound to find someone of her own, and she’ll be gone again. You told me that she lived with her fiancé—she certainly will understand about us.”

“You’re right, of course.” He took her hand and led her over to the table, sitting down on a chair and pulling her onto his lap. “There are other things. Our ages, for instance. I’m fifty-five, you’re a very young thirty.”

“People don’t care about those things anymore.”

“This is a small town.”

“I’ll put gray streaks in my hair.”

He laughed. “And a shawl and a cane?”

“Whatever it takes. But I don’t think anyone will care. It’s just you and me.” She kissed his mouth and he could taste the salt of her tears.

“You’re sure,” he asked.

“I want to be with you.” She kissed him again, and ran her fingers down his naked back. Then she stood and put out her hand to him while loosening her robe with the other.

“It may be rhetorical,” he said, getting to his feet. “Tonight could be the end of me.”

“There are worse ways to die.” She took him in the bedroom and closed the door.

FORTY-ONE

Rachel walked along the narrow aisles in the general store, trying to determine if she’d forgotten anything while Calvin Price rang everything up at the front. It was an entirely different experience, shopping in the tiny store. No convenience foods but in place of them, Calvin stocked fruits and vegetables put up in jars by the local housewives.

And the smell in the store was heavenly, home-grown herbs and spices and fresh bread made at the restaurant down the road.

There were bolts of material along the back wall, and a glass-covered display case filled with local curios.

Now, with Calvin boxing her groceries, she made her way back to the display case and leaned over to look in. The case was lined with a black felt-like material, and the items were arranged in groups. Arrowheads. Small semi-precious stones, and some clay figures.

“Anything you like?” Calvin had come up beside her.

“Those figures—can I see them?”

He pulled a ring of keys out of his apron pocket and looked them over intently before selecting one and fitting it into the lock. It was the right key and he folded back the glass door.

She reached in and picked up one of the small forms, turning it over in her fingers. It was very light and fragile, and the features were fine-drawn. A wolf. She looked at the others.

“Where did you get these?”

“Guy came by, a while back, sold them to me.”

“Someone from around here?”

“Nope. Never saw him before.”

She picked up a second figure, a coiled snake, its fangs meticulously delineated.

“These are very good. Did he do them himself?”

“Never asked.” Calvin nodded at the figures. “Want ’em?”

“How much?”

“Maybe . . . ten bucks each.” His eyes shifted.

“All right.”

“You want all five?” He was as close to being startled as he would ever get.

“Yes. Do you have a box, or something sturdy so they won’t be crushed?”

“I’ll look in the back.” He disappeared through a door to the right.

She gathered up the remaining tiny figures—a bear, a hyena and a lizard—and took them to the front of the store.

It was some time before Calvin reappeared carrying an empty cigar box. “Found it,” he said simply and put it on the counter in front of her.

She flipped the box and tapped it, emptying it of tobacco remnants. She put the figures in and looked at him. “He just came once and you never saw him again.”

“No, I said, I never saw him
before
he came to the store. I saw him plenty of times after.”

“Where?”

“Out. Walking. Used to eat down the road once in a while.”

“These are really remarkable. If you happen to see him again, I want to find out where he’s staying. I’d like to know where he got these if he didn’t make them himself. And if he did make them . . .”

“Hasn’t been around in some time.”

“Do you think he was vacationing in the park? They might have a record of his name.”

“The man wasn’t vacationing, I can tell you that.”

“How do you know?”

“He looked like he was starving. Thin and pale, and weak on his legs. Sickly.”

“Didn’t you offer to get some help for him? If he was sick . . .”

“There’s people you just don’t mess with.” Calvin lifted one of the boxes. “And he was one of them.”

FORTY-TWO

Jon bumped into Eric Wilson as he arrived at the office, almost knocking him to the floor. He reached out a hand to steady him.

“Sorry.”

“Just on my way to the hospital to relieve Andy,” Eric said.

Jon nodded and went into the inner office, closing the door behind him.

Notes from Earl. No sign of Nora Samuels, the Burroughs’ next of kin had been located and arrangements were being made to claim the bodies, the typed reports were in from the autopsies, and no new bodies were found.

Another note, from dispatch. Rachel Adams had called twice.

He looked at the note. Her home number was listed but it might be about one of the cases. He hesitated and then picked up the phone.

She answered on the second ring.

“Rachel, it’s Jon. I got your message.”

“Can you come over to the house?”

“Ah, I just came on duty, I’ve got some things to clear up here . . .”

“I had a visit from Louisa Tyler’s sister this afternoon. She had some interesting things to say.”

“Hm. I talked to the San Diego PD—probably more of the same.”

“But even more important, she called and talked to Susan at the hospital a little while later. She gave her the name of Wendall Tyler’s psychiatrist. And I just got off the phone with him.”

“It’ll be an hour.”

“That’s fine, I have a few things to do.”

He listened to her hang up the phone and slowly returned the receiver to the cradle.

Proximity.

Rachel opened the door to let him in and then began to pace, taking sips from a glass of amber liquid.

“I think I’m on to something,” she said and looked at him. “Want a drink?”

He shook his head no. “Talk.”

“Right. Wendall Tyler has been in trouble for most of his life . . . he’s been arrested a couple of times and gets turned loose. He begins to feel invincible, like he’s beyond the reach of the law . . .” she looked at him, “above prosecution. He has a vicious temper and never starts anything he isn’t sure that he can finish.”

“Until now.”

“Just listen. He’s had a rotten childhood, been a juvenile delinquent and an adult criminal. His in-laws think he’s a fortune hunter, and none of them will have anything to do with him. Now . . . there’s Louisa.”

“Louisa was too good for him.”

“Her family thought so, maybe Wendall thought so, but Louisa didn’t think so. She loved him. She chose him over her somewhat stuck up family. How does that make him feel?”

“You tell me.”

“He loves her. She stands by him every single time that he gets in trouble, she defies her family and she believes in him. She’s the only good thing in his life.”

“Go on.”

“He wouldn’t hurt her.” She stopped at the fireplace and finished her drink. “He would protect her. Remember, he thinks he is invincible. Now, they’re up here for a drive because Wendall likes to drive when he’s feeling pressured. They stop and get out of the car, maybe they’re a few yards apart. And someone attacks Louisa, snaps her neck right in front of his eyes—he can hear it crack.” She crossed over to the chair he was sitting in and sat on her heels in front of him. “And in one stroke he’s lost Louisa and the precious illusion of power.” Her voice was a whisper. “He wasn’t strong enough to protect the one person he truly loved.”

The silence lengthened and they held each other’s eyes, Rachel’s hand on his knee.

“Does the psychiatrist agree with your theory?”

“He agrees that Tyler had an Achilles complex, and that Louisa was his vulnerable spot.”

“You really don’t think he did it, do you?”

“No.”

“His temper . . .”

“. . . was never directed at his wife.”

“Did you talk with his psychiatrist about hypnotizing him?” Her hand was distractingly warm.

“He agrees it might work, although it would be very stressful for the patient.”

“Dangerous you mean.”

“There are always risks.”

“But are they justifiable?”

Rachel nodded. “I think they are. If I prepare him to re-live Louisa’s death and try to suggest that he give up his pain, it’s possible that he’ll be controllable.”

“Do you mean more than one session?”

“It will take several, I think, depending on his response. But he needs to work this out as much as we need to know what happened. It will be a relief for him to discharge everything that’s pent up inside him.”

“But it could explode.”

“Not if I . . .”

“Just give me a straight answer.”

“It’s almost impossible to predict how a given subject will react under hypnosis. Yes, he might become violent.”

“Then the only way that I’ll let you hypnotize him is if I’m in the room with you.”

“He is my patient,” she reminded him.

“And I can arrest him and take him out of the hospital.”

“You’re very good at imposing restrictions and conditions, aren’t you? First Nathan had to be there, and now you. If I wait much longer it’ll be so crowded in the room I’ll have to call it in.”

“Rachel, I’m not backing down. Either you agree to my terms right now or I’ll start making arrangements to have him transferred to a locked facility. This is murder we’re talking about.”

She put her hands up in surrender.

“You win.” She rose and turned in one graceful motion, walking back to the fireplace. “Might makes right, is that what they used to say?”

He got out of the chair and looked at her for a moment before extending his hand.

“Friends?”

She put her hand in his. “God knows, I’d hate to be your enemy.”

When he got back into town he was flagged down by Malloy, and he pulled the Bronco to the side of the road and got out.

“Not another one,” he said as Malloy came up to him.

“No, but something peculiar. I haven’t been able to raise Hudson over in Tower One in a couple of days. I didn’t think much of it at first, because we’re both in and out a lot.”

“But now it’s peculiar . . .”

“I drove on over this afternoon, had a look around. The tower was deserted, and wide open, which is against our policy. The jeep was parked, keys in the ignition, and I could tell by the moisture pattern on the soil that it hadn’t been moved in days.”

“He’s disappeared.”

“It sure looks that way.”

“It’s pretty rugged up there. Maybe he took a fall.”

“That could be, he’s in a much denser forest, and there are rock formations, cliffs, caves . . . I don’t know. Anyway, I want to set up a search for him.”

“We’re still looking for that old woman who walked out of the hospital on Saturday. There are a lot of places we can be pretty sure they’re not.”

“There’s a lot of territory still to cover, though.” Off in the distance a dog barked and Malloy jumped, startled. “I’m kind of jumpy lately,” he said.

“With reason.” Jon swung the Bronco door open.

“It’s a funny thing. I’ve always liked the isolation and the solitude of working up here, and I never minded about the bears and the wildcats or anything else. But I’m scared at night, when I go to sleep. I lock the doors and sleep with my rifle in my hand. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m an intruder, and there’s something that wants me out.”

He drove along the back roads, his headlights off, relying on the faint moonlight and his night vision to keep him from straying.

The radio was static, unintelligible, the faint green light of the dials like a pair of eyes watching him. It hissed.

“You’re spooked,” he said to himself and pulled up at a turnout in the road.

He got out of the truck and walked a short distance away, one hand on his gun. Listening.

And on into the night, while the storm clouds gathered in the west.