Thirteen West (26 page)

Except the police would have a doctor examine her. She'd have to tell all sorts of people what happened, tell more than once. They'd stare at her and think that, after all, she'd let him in.

Sally was sure she'd never go to sleep but she drifted off, only to jerk awake, heart pounding. He was outside her bedroom door, another moment and he'd be inside, standing over her, a huge bear of a man, an ugly ogre...

She pressed her hands to her face. Daddy Keith, she must have dreamed about him. He was dead, dead.

How she'd hated and feared him. When her mother married him, Sally had insisted he wasn't really her daddy so he made her call him Daddy Keith. Strange she hadn't thought of him in years and years. How he'd come into her bedroom when he didn't like something she'd done during the day. Never punished her when it happened but made her wait, afraid and trembling in bed.

"Do you know what happens to bad little girls?"

Sally would shake her head, too scared to answer.

"They get dropped out the window." Then he'd grab her from her bed and hold her by her ankles out the apartment window, four stories up. Paralyzed with fright, sure he intended to drop her, she'd pass out and find herself alone and in bed when she came to.

Sometimes he'd say, "They get dunked in cold water," and he'd shove her into the shower, pajamas and all and hold her there until she nearly froze to death.

The worst was when he tell her, "Bad girls get squashed like nasty little spiders." Those times he'd climb onto the bed and lay on top of her, his hateful bulk squishing her into the mattress, his chest pressing into her face so she couldn't breathe. Then part of him would start pushing at her, scaring her into a dark world of escape. He was always gone when she came back to herself but sometimes there was nasty stuff on her pajamas.

Her mother never came to her rescue. Why had she never stopped him? Sally gave a sob of laughter. Why ask? Her mother had been completely cowed by Daddy Keith, like she was by Randall, her current husband. At least Randall had always completely ignored Sally.

No wonder she'd blocked Daddy Keith almost completely from her mind—all those nightmare memories needed repressing. He must have been borderline psychotic, the mature Sally told herself, but the child inside her projected the old horror, making Sally cower under the covers, her frightened stare fixed to the bedroom door.

He's not out there. He's dead.

Something slithered from the back of her mind, a horror connected with his death but she shoved it back, unable to process any more.

A sentence from Dr. Kovel's book on madness came to her. "...forms of terror that sit around our campfires..."

Like red-eyed monsters in the dark, waiting.

And she'd let in one of them with Frank.

* * *

In the parking lot, Frank sat in his red Corvette, staring unseeing into the fog. Though he shivered in the chill damp, he made no move to start the car.

He felt light and insubstantial, as though his body had been drained of all weight and could drift away. Maybe that was because he didn't feel part of his body any more. Inside and out was the gray blankness of fog. No sound, no lights. No tomorrow.

His teeth chattered and the slight click startled him into awareness. Cold, he'd never be warm again, the chill was in his marrow. He noticed his jacket on the seat next to him and shrugged into it. Glancing at the lighted dial of his watch, he saw it was after eleven. The evening shift would soon be getting off work. Tomorrow he had to work.

He reached and flicked on the key. How long had he been in the car? Long enough for Sally to have called the cops if she intended to do that. He wished they'd come, arrest him, punish him. His mother had died without forgiving him.

Sally had scared the shit out of him, fainting again. He'd thought maybe he'd killed her. But after she came to she'd gotten up. He couldn't have hurt her too badly. Under his hands her bones had felt fragile, like a bird's. She was so small....

Finding himself getting excited by remembering what he'd done, Frank slammed out of the parking lot, almost missing the exit drive. The fog closed about him but he drove wildly, paying no heed to whether he was on the shoulder or over the center line.

Sally, Sally. Would she come to work tomorrow? Would she report him to Dr. Fredericks?

He'd be exposed for what he was—a molester of children. Frank shook his head. No, no, Sally was almost twenty. She wasn't
Doris
. She wasn't a child.

But what about the next one? He shuddered.

Sally was no child, but she hadn't wanted him. He'd forced her. He'd raped her. Instead of disgust at himself, desire rose in him like nausea. He gritted his teeth and shoved the accelerator to the floor.

Chapter Seventeen

"Of course I understand the circumstances," Crawford said to Dr. Fredericks in his office. "Although I must say I'm surprised at Barry Jacobs."

"We can only hope the
L.A.
papers won't pick it up," Dr. Fredericks said. "They'd manage to make the hospital responsible, as always. I wouldn't ask you to take the extra MOD if Tony Newbold hadn't gone out of town. Apparently he traded tonight with Barry so he could attend a wedding. And, as you know, Larry Haskins is on vacation until next week. We're somewhat short-handed."

"You realize I'm also on call Thursday night?"

"I think you can manage, Crawford. Naturally you'll get compensatory time off."

"How long will Barry be out?"

"He ought to be covering his own wards by the end of the week. I'll keep him off call for another week."

"So, I'll have my wards and his and Tony's today, call tonight, then half Barry's wards for the rest of the week?"

"Yes. Tony will be back tomorrow to pick up the other half." Dr. Fredericks smiled, regarding Crawford with his small, bright eyes. "Do you think I'm asking too much of you?"

"As you pointed out—I'll manage," Crawford said tartly.

* * *

Sven Taterson put on the green jacket as he left the
Administration
Building
. Though it was after lunch, the sky was still overcast and the wind damp. His library job was a bummer. He was forever answering questions, but there was no one there he could really talk to.

Industrial therapy, they called it and he really didn't mind working, but if he had to he ought to have a say in what he did. He increased his pace, eager to get to Harry.

As soon as Harry caught sight of him he sprang up from the bench and beckoned.

"You got news?" Tate asked.

"He said this afternoon. Might be there already."

"We'll go see."

"I don't know," Harry said. "Seems like all the wards got techs out walking people right now."

"Come on. They won't pay us no never mind."

The two men sauntered down the path, first deliberately heading away from their goal, then circling back.

Dolph, shuffling along outside the fence behind a day shift tech from Thirteen West, spotted the green jacket and watched carefully, noting when the man called Tate slipped behind bushes and disappeared.

Dolph waited till the tech stopped and began talking to a female tech from another ward before he slipped away, hurrying toward where he'd last seen Tate.

"Hey, wait up," Harry complained to Tate. "You're traveling like a warthog with a stick of dynamite up his ass."

Tate paid no attention, pushing aside fronds of shrubbery, making his way toward the wall surrounding the grounds. There, that was the palm he always sighted by, a big old date palm squatting between two of the tall skinny kind. Now, take ten paces to the left. He hunkered down and pulled at a large rock that had taken both him and Harry to cart over here when they dug the hole.

"Thought I wasn't never gonna catch you," Harry complained, squatting down beside him. "Anything in there?"

"I'm looking." Having gotten the rock shoved aside, Tate stretched out on the ground and reached his arm inside the hole that ran under the wall to the other side. A section of clay pipe stolen from the grounds shed kept the dirt from collapsing into the hole.

His fingers touched paper, a paper bag. He drew it toward him, hearing bottles clink together. Saliva ran into his mouth.

"Yeah," Tate told Harry, pulling the bag free. "Look here."

Tate left the two wine bottles inside the bag, removing the two pints of whiskey, one for Harry and one for him. He twisted the cap off his and took a pull.

"Jesus, stash it! Someone's coming," Harry warned. At the same time Tate heard crashing in the bushes.

Harry thrust his unopened bottle into the bag and jammed the bag back into the hole, shoving the stone over the opening. Tate had to recap his and was too late to do anything but push the bottle into the inside pocket of the jacket he wore, zipping it in.

Dolph burst upon them with a ward tech immediately behind him.

"Gotcha," the tech cried, hooking Dolph around the neck. He eyed the other two men. "Well, Tate," he said, "what are you and your friend planning to do—fly over the wall?"

"Weren't doing anything," Tate muttered. "Just like to get away from jerks like him." He pointed at Dolph. "Isn't it enough I got to have him on the ward with me? No, he's got to follow me around outside."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard that before. You guys better come back to civilization with me." He shook Dolph. "You going to behave?"

Dolph had no objection to returning once he knew the man called Tate had to come with them. He didn't resist when the tech pulled him along by the arm. When they got to the inner courtyard, the tech collected Mousie and W.W. from the female tech who'd watched them.

Hands on Mousie's wheelchair, he said to Dolph. "Inside the fence for you next outing." Looking at Tate, he added. "You're coming in with me."

"Hey, I got a grounds pass. You got no right—"

"Any pass can be revoked. Come on, don't argue—you know you're not supposed to be off hiding in the bushes." Harry rolled his eyes and hunched his shoulders at Tate. "Where do you belong?" the tech asked Harry.

"Who, me? Twelve East. But I got a pass."

"You better get back there. I'll be calling them when I get to the ward, let them know what's going on. You better be there."

Going to shake me down for sure, Tate told himself as he trailed behind the tech who was pushing Mousie ahead in the wheelchair, Dolph walking ahead. Got to ditch the jacket first. My room'll be locked, can't get in, most of the rooms'll be locked this time of the day, everybody in the day room.

Who won't be? That teenager—they shocked her this morning. Maybe drop the jacket behind the door in there if I can manage without getting caught. No place else. Get it later.

While the tech was occupied unlocking the outer door, Tate slipped off the green jacket. Dolph, watched him and tried to pull away from the tech, who jerked him forward, inside the building. Dolph continued to try to reach Tate and the tech snarled at him, hauling him through the second door and pushing him down the hall.

Taking advantage of the tech's distraction, Tate darted inside Laura Jean's room. Nobody in there but her and she looked out of it. Good. He flung the jacket behind the door and nipped out without being noticed.

"Dolph needs a shot, I'd say," the tech told the day charge nurse. "Ran off on me, tried to get away again when we got back here. Must be getting set to blow like he did that one night. And old Tate here needs a shake down. Been out in the bushes with a friend from the alky ward. I can smell something on him. Maybe you should call Twelve East and let them know about their stray lamb."

Dolph got his shot and was put into the day room. Tate was herded off to his room for a strip down.

"Hey," the tech demanded, "didn't you have a jacket on?"

"Gave it to my buddy outside there," Tate said. "Belongs to him."

The tech frowned, trying to remember, finally shrugging. "They'll check him, too. Won't do you much good if that's where you stashed it. Get dressed. You're clean."