"Them or me, Walter, them or me."
"Still . . ."
"Self-preservation. Simple as that."
"But the morality!"
"Fuck morality. If some mental defective is running at you with a butcher knife, are you gonna have qualms about blowing his brains out?"
"Certainly."
"You always were peculiar."
"No need to get personal," Walter complained.
"Are you coming to the store with me, or not?"
"I'm coming."
"Then let's go."
"What is it that you're planning to buy?" Walter asked as he pulled the door shut.
"A toothbrush. Aqua."
At the Sav-on Drug Store four blocks from Walter's home, Merton did buy a toothbrush -- a translucent blue one chosen by Walter. He also bought a pair of rubber dishwashing gloves, a squeeze bottle of Ivory Liquid detergent, and a pair of pliers. Walter bought a bottle of Excedrin and a Good Housekeeping.
While Walter drove out of the parking lot, Merton opened the lowest button of his shirt, reached inside, and pulled out three small packages.
"You didn't pay for those?"
"Are you kidding?"
"Why not? If you're short on cash . . ."
"It's not the money. I didn't want some dumbass cashier remembering who bought these things if the cops come around asking."
"So you stole them. What if you'd been caught?"
"God, you're such a nag. Would you try shutting up for a change?"
"No need to get nasty, Merton. I was just asking you a simple question. You're so touchy, always so touchy."
"You ask too damn many questions."
"It's only because I care about you. I don't want you to end up back in jail . . . or killed! I wouldn't be able to stand it." He turned toward Merton, tears in his eyes. "Is that so dreadful?"
"God, you're a pain in the ass."
Walter sniffed, wiped his nose and didn't answer.
Merton fastened his shirt button and picked up one of the stolen packages.
"What is it?" Walter wanted to know. "Or am I not allowed to ask?"
"Ask away. It's a wall-fastener set."
"A what?"
Merton read aloud from the package. "Complete set for hanging pictures, mirrors, shelves, signs, etc. Twelve feet of picture wire, twelve screw eyes, six wall fasteners, six screws."
"What do you want that for?"
"For the same thing as this." He picked up another small package. Like the other, it was a rectangle of printed cardboard with the contents displayed inside a clear plastic bubble. The bubble of this one held two spools. "Handi-wire," Merton said. "And here we have a roll of Electrical Sealing Tape."
"I don't understand why you need such things."
"You don't have to."
Chapter Sixteen
Ina
That afternoon, business was lighter than usual at the Discount Garment Center, so Leon Jones accepted his daughter's request to leave work early. She started for home shortly after three o'clock.
Though Ina Jones worked at her father's store, she no longer lived at his home, having moved out a year earlier after an especially nerve-wracking night with Johnny Carpenter in her bedroom. Not that it hadn't been romantic. On the contrary, it still held honors as the most romantic night of her life: sneaking downstairs after midnight to open the kitchen door for Johnny; leading him through the dark house and into her bedroom; letting him pull the nightgown over her head, then slowly removing all of his clothes as they stood shivering in the moonlit room; lying carefully down on the bed and making silent, fantastic love. It had been beautiful, unforgettable, and fear of her father catching them in the act had scared the living hell out of her.
The next day, she'd told her parents that she wanted a place of her own. They agreed at once. They not only agreed, but they helped her find a pleasant, three-bedroom house a mile away from home and they loaned her enough money for the down payment. After several months living alone except for occasional overnight visits from Johnny, Bob, Stu or Herb, she advertised in the Sierra Evening News for a roommate. Of the six women responding, she chose a friendly blonde named Faye Everett.
Her choice of roommate had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Faye's steady boyfriend was a hunk named Bass Paxton.
Sure it didn't.
And her decision to leave work early on this particular Saturday afternoon had absolutely nothing to do with the possibility of catching Bass in a delicious position with Faye. A remote possibility, but it could happen.
They would probably be back from their canoe trip by now. After all, they'd taken off early in the morning, and it wasn't that far down the lake.
If she knew Faye at all -- and she knew her very well -- Faye would return from such an excursion feeling filthy and exhausted. Her first order of business would be to take a shower. Maybe Bass would get into the shower with her. Maybe they would even make love there. Probably not, though. Faye would probably make him wait so they could do it comfortably on the bed.
Ina wouldn't be surprised at all to find them asleep in Faye's room.
That might be a very nice thing to find.
She imagined Bass sprawled naked on top of the sheets, his body lit by rays of sunlight from the window.
Her spirits fell when she drove up to her house.
Bass's red Pontiac was nowhere to be seen.
Still, what did that really prove? Maybe he'd parked it in the garage, or something.
Hardly likely, Ina thought.
She parked in the driveway, eased her car door shut, then walked quickly but silently to the front door of her house. Carefully, she unlocked the door and opened it.
The living room was deserted.
She shut the door, stepped out of her shoes, and walked to the hallway. All three bedroom doors stood open.
Oh, let them be here. Please. Asleep in Faye's room.
And maybe let Bass wake up and see me and smile.
And come to me.
She walked slowly down the hall, heart thudding hard as she looked into each doorway.
Nobody.
Disappointment gave her a hollow ache.
It's all right, she told herself. I beat them home, that's all. They might show up any second.
She entered her bedroom. Leaving the door open, she took off her clothes. Naked, she hung up her skirt and blouse in her closet. Then she carried her panties and bra down the hallway.
They could show up right now.
And here I'd be.
Bass'd sure get himself an eyeful.
But the front door didn't open. She entered the bathroom and dropped her bra and panties into the clothes hamper.
Out in the hall again, she listened for the sound of the front door opening. She could almost hear it. But not quite.
She was excited. Awfully excited, and awfully nervous because she suddenly knew that she wasn't returning to her own room.
She walked into Faye's bedroom.
Its carpet was cool and soft under her bare feet, warm where a patch of sunlight lay across it. The closet door stood open. The bed was neatly made. She went to Faye's dresser.
In the mirror above it, she looked at herself. Her eyes seemed flat and blank, the way they often looked when she was aroused. Her lips were parted. She licked them. Then she lowered her eyes to the dresser top. To the polished-oak jewelry box. She opened its lid.
There were plenty of rings and earrings, a single brooch, a few necklaces. Ina didn't care about them. She lifted out a shelf loaded with earrings and found, in what Faye called her "not-so-secret compartment," the silver and turquoise necklace that Bass had given her.
Ina picked it up. She held it to her chest. Its cold weight felt exciting against her skin. Had Faye ever modeled it for Bass naked?
Fastening the clasp behind her neck, she stepped back from the mirror for a longer view. Her fingertips touched the smooth stone, the intricate silverwork. Then they strayed over her breasts, brushing against her nipples.
If Faye and Bass walked in the front door right now, there probably wouldn't be enough time to take off the necklace and put it back where it belonged.
Not enough time to get out of Faye's bedroom.
Ina would be caught, humiliated.
The thought of it frightened her -- and heated her desire.
She stepped close to the dresser. Without taking off the necklace, she began to open the drawers. She found Faye's panties, folded and neatly stacked. Brassieres. Panty hose. Not quite as many pairs as Ina might have expected, but enough. One drawer held several nightgowns. One held only sweaters. There were six drawers in all. She searched every one of them, being careful not to disturb the neat arrangement of the contents.
She didn't know what she hoped to find -- something belonging to Bass, maybe. Something personal. Something intimate.
Her hands trembled as she searched, and continued to tremble as she went to the closet.
There was something wrong about the closet.
Ina was puzzled. Her arousal diminished. She flipped through the hangers, no longer searching for an object to link her with Bass but trying instead to discover what made her nervous about the closet.
On tiptoes, she scanned the length of the shelf above the clothes bar.
Crouching, she let her eyes roam the dozen pairs of shoes on the closet floor. The shoes were set up in a single neat row near the back wall, but there were three gaps in the row.
Three pairs of shoes were gone.
Abruptly, Ina stood up straight. The hangers! The hangers were wrong. Of course.
Flicking through the suspended clothes, she found nine empty hangers.
Proud of her systematic approach to life, Faye never kept spare hangers in her closet. "Extra ones only end up on the floor," she'd explained.
She'd done her laundry and ironing after work yesterday.
How could there be nine empty hangers?
Ina rushed over to Faye's bed, dropped to her knees and lifted the edge of the bedspread. The dark space between the box springs and the carpet was empty.
Suitcases are gone.
She went somewhere.
Without telling me.
On her feet, Ina hurried over to the dresser. With trembling hands, she reached behind her neck and unfastened the clasp of the necklace.
Where the hell did Faye go?
It was just supposed to be a little canoe trip, not a weekend at a motel or something!
Jealousy made a painful twist inside Ina's belly. She shut the jewelry box hard. After a quick look around to make sure she'd left no signs of her snooping, she lurched into the hall and ran to her bedroom.
Chapter Seventeen
Pepsi Break
Rusty sat alone in his office. He turned a cold Pepsi bottle slowly with one hand, staring at it, thinking.
He'd hoped that Bill would somehow crack open the case. "Oh, sure, it was Joe Blow's van, I'd know it anywhere." Or, "I happened to take down the license number." Or, "I snapped a photo of it for my scrapbook."
No such luck. There rarely was.
But the van was unusual. There couldn't be too many with a mirror above a water bed. Not in an area the size of Sierra County.
Who says the van's local. Might've been passing through.
The killer had almost certainly known Alison Parkington, though. A lone woman driving through the mountains at that time of night -- in her nightgown, no less -- would have to be nuts to pick up a stranger.
She'd have to be nuts to be out there at all like that.
Maybe she went out in hopes of finding a stranger to pick up.
Feeling horny.
But it was certainly possible -- even likely -- that the rendezvous had been arranged in advance. A lover's tryst. Except the guy didn't exactly love her, not if he'd brought along a hacksaw.
Guys don't just wander around with hacksaws.
Any way you slice it, this was premeditated.
Slice it. Good one.
What about special circumstances?
He saw a dab of amber fluid at the bottom of his Pepsi bottle, so he raised the bottle and let it dribble into his mouth. Warm, but good and sweet.
Special circumstances?
Not likely. The victim wasn't a law enforcement officer. She'd already been dead before the decapitation took place, so it didn't look like there'd been any torture to speak of. No multiple murder involved. . . .
That we know of.
Could've been a killing for hire. . . .
Not my concern, anyway. Let the DA worry about whether it's a capital crime. My job's to catch the guy.
But how?
He'd have to take a closer look at Alison Parkington, find out if she was seeing anyone.
Check out all our local sex offenders too. See if we've got any necrophiles on record.
Find that van.
Chapter Eighteen
Wake-up Call
Ina raised her face out of the pillow, stretched until her bare skin felt taut and sensitive against the sheet, then reached over to the nightstand and picked up the ringing telephone. "Hello?" she asked, her voice husky from sleep.
"Ina?"
The voice sent a surge through her. Trying to sound casual, she said, "Oh hi, Bass. How are you doing?"
"Not too bad, all things considered."
Expecting his next words to be a request for her to call Faye to the phone, she quickly asked, "How was the canoe trip?"
"Didn't Faye tell you?"
"No."
"We found a body this morning."
"A body? You mean a dead body?"
"As dead as they come," he said.
"Jeez."
"Yeah."
"Where'd you find it?"
"At the Bend."
"No kidding? Man, what a way to start your day."
"It was pretty weird," Bass muttered.
"What sort of . . . How did the person die?"
"Somebody cut off her head."
"Eh!" Ina jerked the phone away from her face as if a repulsive bug were crawling on its mouthpiece.
"Ina?" the faint voice asked. "Ina? You still there?"
She brought the phone closer. "Yeah, I'm here."
"Sorry. I shouldn't have been so blunt about it."
"It's okay. God. The head was cut off?"
"Like with a saw or something."