Whispers (39 page)

He went to her, kissed her on the cheek, took her hand, which was ice-cold. “Listen, Hilary, he’s dead. Because of the stab wounds you inflicted, Frye lost half the blood in his body. They found him in a huge pool of it. He lost all that blood, and then he lay in the hot sun, unattended, for a few hours. He simply couldn’t have lived through that.”

“Maybe he could.”

Tony lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her pale fingers. “No,” he said quietly but firmly. “Frye would have had to die from such a blood loss.”

Tony figured that she was suffering from mild shock, which was somehow responsible for a temporary short circuit of her senses, a brief confusion of memories. She just was getting this attack mixed up with the one last week. In a minute or two, when she regained control of herself, everything would clear up in her mind, and she would realize that the man who had been here tonight had not been Bruno Frye. All he had to do was stroke her a little bit, speak to her in a measured voice, and answer all her questions and wild suppositions as reasonably as possible, until she was her normal self again.

“Maybe Frye wasn’t dead when they found him in that supermarket parking lot,” she said. “Maybe he was just in a coma.”

“The coroner would have discovered it when he did the autopsy.”

“Maybe he didn’t do the autopsy.”

“If he didn’t, another doctor on his staff did.”

“Well,” Hilary said, “maybe they were especially busy that day—a lot of bodies all at once or something like that—and they decided just to fill out a quick report without actually doing the work.”

“Impossible,” Tony said. “The medical examiner’s office has the highest professional standards imaginable.”

“Can’t we at least check on it?” she asked.

He nodded. “Sure. We can do that. But you’re forgetting that Frye must have passed through the hands of at least one mortician. Probably two. What little blood was left in him must have been drained out and replaced with embalming fluid.”

“Are you sure?”

“He had to be either embalmed or cremated to be shipped to St. Helena. It’s the law.”

She considered that for a moment, then said, “But what if this
is
one of those bizarre cases, the one in ten million? What if he
was
mistakenly pronounced dead? What if the coroner
did
fudge on the autopsy? And what if Frye sat up on the embalmer’s table, just as the mortician was starting to work on him?”

“You’re grasping at straws, Hilary. Surely you can see that if anything like that happened, we’d know about it. If a mortician found himself in possession of a dead body that turned out not to be dead after all, that turned out to be a virtually bloodless man urgently in need of medical attention, then that mortician would get him to the nearest hospital in one hell of a hurry. He’d also call the coroner’s office. Or the hospital would call. We’d know about it immediately.”

She thought about what he had said. She stared at the kitchen floor and chewed on her lower lip. Finally, she said, “What about Sheriff Laurenski up there in Napa County?”

“We haven’t been able to get a response out of him yet.”

“Why not?”

“He’s dodging our inquiries. He won’t take our calls or return them.

“Well, doesn’t that tell you that there’s more to this than meets the eye?” she asked. “There’s some sort of conspiracy, and the Napa sheriff is part of it.”

“What sort of conspiracy did you have in mind?”

“I . . . don’t know.”

Still speaking softly and calmly, still certain that she would eventually respond to his gentle and reasonable arguments, Tony said, “A conspiracy between Frye and Laurenski and maybe even Satan himself? A conspiracy to cheat Death out of his due? An evil conspiracy to come back from the grave? A conspiracy to somehow live forever? None of that makes sense to me. Does it make sense to you?”

“No,” she said irritably. “It doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. If you said it did, I’d be worried about you.”

“But, dammit, something highly unusual is happening here. Something extraordinary. And it seems to me that Sheriff Laurenski must be a part of it. After all, he protected Frye last week, actually lied for him. And now he’s avoiding you because he doesn’t have an acceptable explanation for his actions. Doesn’t that seem like suspicious behavior to you? Doesn’t he seem like a man who is up to his neck in some sort of conspiracy?”

“No,” Tony said. “To me, he just seems like a very badly embarrassed policeman. For an officer of the law, he committed a damned serious error. He covered for a local big shot because he thought the man couldn’t possibly be involved in rape and attempted murder. He couldn’t get hold of Frye last Wednesday night, but he pretended that he had. He was totally convinced that Frye wasn’t the man we wanted. But he was wrong. And now he’s thoroughly ashamed of himself.”

“Is that what you think?” she asked.

“That’s what everyone at HQ thinks.”

“Well, it’s not what I think.”

“Hilary—”

“I saw Bruno Frye tonight!”

Instead of gradually coming to her senses, as he had hoped she would do, she was getting worse, retreating further into this dark fantasy of walking dead men and strange conspiracies. He decided to get tough with her.

“Hilary, you didn’t see Bruno Frye. He wasn’t here. Not tonight. He’s dead. Dead and buried. This was another man who came after you tonight. You’re in mild shock. You’re confused. That’s perfectly understandable. However—”

She pulled her hand out of his and stepped back from him. “I am not confused. Frye was here. And he said he’d be back.”

“Just a minute ago, you admitted your story doesn’t make any sense at all. Didn’t you?”

Reluctantly, she said, “Yes. That’s what I said. It doesn’t make sense.
But it happened!
”

“Believe me, I’ve seen how a sudden shock can affect people,” Tony said. “It distorts perceptions and memories and—”

“Are you going to help me or not?” she asked.

“Of course I’m going to help you.”

“How? What will we do?”

“For starters, we’ll report the break-in and the assault.”

“Isn’t that going to be terribly awkward?” she asked sourly. “When I tell them that a dead man tried to kill me, don’t you suppose they’ll decide to commit me for a few days, until they can complete a psychiatric evaluation? You know me a hell of a lot better than anyone else, and even you think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he said, dismayed by her tone of voice. “I think you’re distraught.”

“Damn.”

“It’s understandable.”

“Damn.”

“Hilary, listen to me. When the responding officers get here, you won’t say a word to them about Frye. You’ll calm down, get a grip on yourself—”

“I’ve
got
a grip on myself!”

“—and you’ll try to recall exactly what the assailant looked like. If you settle your nerves, if you give yourself half a chance, I’m sure you’ll be surprised by what you’ll remember. When you’re calm, collected, more rational about this, you’ll realize that he wasn’t Bruno Frye.”

“He was.”

“He might have resembled Frye, but—”

“You’re acting just like Frank Howard did the other night,” she said angrily.

Tony was patient. “The other night, at least, you were accusing a man who was
alive
.”

“You’re just like everyone else I’ve ever trusted,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I want to help you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hilary, don’t turn away from me.”

“You’re the one who turned away first.”

“I care about you.”

“Then show it!”

“I’m here, aren’t I? What more proof do you need?”

“Believe me,” she said. “That’s the best proof.”

He saw that she was profoundly insecure, and he supposed she was that way because she had had very bad experiences with people she had loved and trusted. Indeed, she must have been brutally betrayed and hurt, for no ordinary disappointment would have made her as sensitive as she was now. Still suffering from those old emotional wounds, she now demanded fanatical trust and loyalty. The moment he showed doubts about her story, she began to withdraw from him, even though he wasn’t impugning her veracity. But, dammit, he knew it wasn’t healthy to play along with her delusion; the best thing he could do for her was gently coax her back to reality.

“Frye was here tonight,” she insisted. “Frye and nobody else. But I won’t tell the police that.”

“Good,” he said, relieved.

“Because I’m not going to call the police.”

“What?”

Without explaining, she turned away from him and walked out of the kitchen.

As he followed her through the wrecked dining room, Tony said, “You have to report this.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Your insurance company won’t pay if you haven’t filed a police report.”

“I’ll worry about that later,” she said, leaving the dining room, entering the living room.

He trailed her as she weaved through the debris in the front room, heading toward the stairs. “You’re forgetting something,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m a detective.”

“So?”

“So now that I’m aware of this situation, it’s my duty to report it.”

“So report it.”

“Part of the report will be a statement from you.”

“You can’t force me to cooperate. I won’t.”

As they reached the foot of the stairs, he grabbed her by the arm. “Wait a minute. Please wait.”

She turned and faced him. Her fear had been driven out by anger. “Let go of me.”

“Where are you going?”

“Upstairs.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Pack a suitcase and go to a hotel.”

“You can stay at my place,” he said.

“You don’t want a crazy woman like me staying overnight,” she said sarcastically.

“Hilary, don’t be this way.”

“I might go berserk and kill you in your sleep.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Oh, that’s right. You think I’m just confused. Maybe a little dotty. But not dangerous.”

“I’m only trying to help you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of doing it.”

“You can’t live in a hotel forever.”

“I’ll come home once he’s been caught.”

“But if you don’t make a formal complaint, no one’s even going to be looking for him.”

“I’ll be looking for him.”

“You?”

“Me.”

Now Tony was angry. “What game are you going to play—Hilary Thomas, Girl Detective?”

“I might hire private investigators.”

“Oh, really?” he asked scornfully, aware that he might alienate her further with this approach, but too frustrated to be patient any longer.

“Really,” she said. “Private investigators.”

“Who? Philip Marlowe? Jim Rockford? Sam Spade?”

“You can be a sarcastic son of a bitch.”

“You’re forcing me to be. Maybe sarcasm will snap you out of this.”

“My agent happens to know a first-rate firm of private detectives.”

“I tell you, this isn’t their kind of work.”

“They’ll do anything they’re paid to do.”

“Not anything.”

“They’ll do this.”

“It’s a job for the LAPD.”

“The police will only waste their time looking for known burglars, known rapists, known—”

“That’s a very good, standard, effective investigative technique,” Tony said.

“But it won’t work this time.”

“Why? Because the assailant was an ambulatory dead man?”

“That’s right.”

“So you think maybe the police should spend their time looking for known
dead
rapists and burglars?”

The look she gave him was a withering mixture of anger and disgust.

“The way to break this case,” she said, “is to find out how Bruno Frye could have been stone-cold dead last week—and alive tonight.”

“Will you listen to yourself, for God’s sake?”

He was concerned for her. This stubborn irrationality frightened him.

“I know what I said,” she told him. “And I also know what I saw. And it wasn’t just that I
saw
Bruno Frye in this house a little while ago. I heard him, too. He had that distinct, unmistakable, guttural voice. It was him. No one else. I saw him, and I heard him threatening to cut off my head and stuff my mouth full of garlic, as if he thought I was some sort of vampire or something.”

Vampire
.

That word jolted Tony because it made such a startling and incredible connection with several things that had been found last Thursday in Bruno Frye’s gray Dodge van, strange items about which Hilary couldn’t possibly know anything, items that Tony had forgotten until this morning. A chill swept through him.

“Garlic?” he asked. “Vampires? Hilary, what are you talking about?”

She pulled out of his grasp and hurried up the stairs.

He ran after her. “What’s this about vampires?”

Climbing the steps, refusing to look at Tony or answer his questions, Hilary said, “Isn’t this some swell story I’ve got to tell? I was assaulted by a walking dead man who thought
I
was a vampire. Oh, wow! Now you’re absolutely positive that I’ve lost my mind. Call the little white chuckle wagon! Get this poor lady into a straitjacket before she hurts herself! Put her in a nice padded room real quick! Lock the door and throw away the key!”

In the second-floor hallway, a few feet from the top of the stairs, as Hilary was heading toward a bedroom door, Tony caught up with her. He grabbed her arm again.

“Let go, dammit!”

“Tell me what he said.”

“I’m going to a hotel, and then I’m going to work this thing out on my own.”