Even in the dark, she could see his playful leer.
"Let me get my purse," she said. "I'll put this away." She swung the pistol around and showed it to him. "I didn't know who I might be running into."
"Just me."
"Yep." She turned away from him.
"Wow!" he said.
"Yeah, I know. I should've changed."
"Not on my account."
"Glad you like it."
Bass close behind her, she stopped for her purse. Pressing a forearm across her chest to hold the front of her gown in place, she bent down and picked it up.
As she straightened, Bass said, "Let's go in the back door. I'm still a bit nervous about the front."
"No problem," Pac said.
She slipped the .380 into her purse as she followed Bass to the rear of the house.
He pulled open the screen door of the porch, letting her enter before coming inside himself to open the kitchen door. "I swept up the broken glass," he said, and turned on the kitchen light.
The house was warm and a bit stuffy.
Bass led the way into the living room. He turned on a lamp.
Pac expected him to sit down. Instead, he faced her and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He chewed his lower lip. His eyes looked somber.
"Did you come about Faye?" he asked.
"I phoned her parents. She's not there yet. She hasn't been in touch with them."
"So she's still among the missing?"
"For the time being."
With a loud sigh, Bass took a hand from his pocket and rubbed the side of his face. "Well, that's something, anyway. You dropping by at this hour . . . well, it scared me. You know? I was afraid . . . I don't know . . . that something might've turned up."
"Something did turn up, but not about Faye." From her purse, she took the photos Rusty had given her at the hospital. She held them out toward Bass. "Do you recognize this man?" she asked.
Bass glanced at his hands. They were black with grease. He wiped them on the front of his shirt. Though neatly tucked in, his shirt was smudged and streaked. "Working on the car," he muttered, and reached for the photos. He studied them for several seconds, frowning. Then he asked, "Am I supposed to know this guy?"
"He's shaved his head since those were taken."
"Ah." Bass studied the face. Finally he said, "This is him, isn't it? Yeah. It's him, all right. The one who chased me tonight. And the one we saw at the Bend -- the guy who killed what's-her-name. Parker?"
"Parkington. Alison Parkington."
"Yeah, her. Do you have him?"
"Not yet. Not that I know of, anyway."
Chapter Forty-seven
Merton's Tale
A quiet rapping on the rear door of the van awakened Merton. He opened his eyes and stared up at his reflection in the enormous mirror. His naked body, lit in red, looked bathed in blood.
The boy was gone.
What a kid. Steve? Yeah, that was his name.
He'd been an easy make. Reluctant all the way but giving in, giving in, until there was nothing more to give and he found himself doing what he'd always been taught that only perverts do. And loving it. And crying afterwards because of his shame.
Maybe the kid had come back.
Maybe he squealed.
The knocking came again.
Merton sat up, swung his legs off the bed and reached down for his jeans.
"Who's there?" he called.
"I'm looking for Mister In-Between."
The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn't Steve's.
"Who is it?"
"Bill."
"Are you alone?"
"Yeah."
"I don't want to see that freaky bitch you hang out with, so if she's with you send her back to your truck."
"She isn't here."
Merton pulled on his jeans. On his way to the rear door, he fastened the waist button and slid the zipper up. He opened the door. Bill was standing a few paces behind the van. He wore a pale T-shirt, dark shorts, and no socks or shoes.
Leaning out the rear of his van, Merton scanned the moonlit clearing. He saw Bill's car, but no sign of Trink. "I hope you dumped her for good."
"Yeah, I did," Bill said. "We had a fight."
"Good deal. Lose her for good, that's my advice."
"Yeah. I've had enough of her. But I think she tried to follow me out here. Someone was tailing me a while ago. I'm pretty sure I lost whoever it was, but . . ." He glanced around.
"You'd better get in here fast," Merton said.
"Sure."
He crawled backward, giving Bill room to enter. Once inside, Bill pulled the door shut.
"She comes along," Merton said, "she'll wish she hadn't."
"Yeah."
"She likes body-piercing, I'll pierce her."
Bill nodded, chuckling softly.
"So, what can I do for you?" Merton asked him.
"How about some hash?"
"How about a free sample?"
"Hey, great."
"Make yourself comfortable," Merton said, and crawled to a cupboard. He opened it, took out the pipe and a baggie of hash, then sat on the edge of his bed. Reaching into the plastic bag, he picked out a small chunk of hash. He placed it onto the wire mesh of his pipe. He lit it with a match, drawing on the pipe, sucking the rich smoke into his lungs.
"Did you hear about that dead woman they found?" Bill asked him. "The one without a head?"
"Sure I heard," Merton took another puff. "What about her?"
"They found her really close to here."
"So what?"
"Some guy was seen with her body."
"Yeah?"
"I read about it in the paper. The thing is . . . the guy who killed her? He sounded a lot like you."
"Did he?"
"Yeah. A lot."
"Is that why you're back tonight? Think I might be the killer?"
"Sort of."
Merton eased himself down from the bed and crawled toward Bill, who was kneeling just inside the rear doors.
"I'm not the one who killed her," Merton said. On his knees, he opened his jeans. They went loose and slipped down a few inches. He sucked some hash smoke into his lungs, then gave the pipe to Bill. As the boy smoked, Merton took his left hand. "Here," he said, drawing the hand toward him. "Touch."
He felt Bill's cool fingers.
"This hasn't touched a woman since I was sixteen years old," he said, his voice husky. "And it didn't touch one last night."
"I'm not saying it did."
"But you think I killed her, don't you?"
"I don't know."
"If I didn't fuck her, I didn't kill her. The same guy did both. And I saw it happen."
"You saw it?" Bill asked, his hand sliding, gently caressing.
"Saw it," Merton said, "but didn't do it."
"When?"
"After you and that bitch went back to the truck last night. You know how stoned I was."
"Out of your gourd," Bill said, still slowly stroking him.
"So I went for a little walk in the night. I wanted to see what the moon looked like on the river."
Trembling, Merton took the pipe back. He sucked from it and held the smoke deep in his lungs. He let it out slowly. "A man was naked on the other side of the river. Shocked the hell out of me, seeing him over there. I thought maybe I was hallucinating, but I didn't really think so." He slipped the pipe back into Bill's mouth. "Anyway, I didn't want to get caught spying on him, so I stayed hidden in the trees. Couldn't take my eyes off the guy. You should've seen him in the moonlight, Billy. He had himself a real good build. His skin was all wet and gleaming. . . . His saw gleamed, too. His hacksaw."
Bill's hand stopped moving. "He had a hacksaw with him?"
"You bet he did. I couldn't figure out why, at first. But someone else was there with him. Someone I hadn't noticed. A woman. I had my eyes on him the whole time, so I didn't spot her till he walked across the sand and knelt down over her body. For a long time, he just seemed to be staring down at her. Then he put down the saw and climbed onto her and fucked her."
Bill took out the pipe. "She was dead?" he asked.
Merton shrugged. "No idea. Might've just been out cold. Either way, she just laid there." He chuckled softly. Reaching out, he unbuckled Bill's belt.
Bill gripped his hand. "What happened after that?"
"After he got done fucking her, he cut off her head. Let go of my hand."
Bill released it.
With both hands, Merton worked to unfasten Bill's waist button. "He sawed her head right off, just like a guy sawing a log for the fireplace." The button came undone. The zipper skidded down. "I couldn't believe it. I had to be hallucinating. All that hash." He pulled down Bill's shorts and underwear. "So later that morning, when I was sure he'd gone, I swam across the river to find out for sure. Even when I touched her, I wasn't completely sure the whole thing was real." He reached for Bill's genitals.
Bill grabbed his hand and stopped it. "Don't."
"What's your problem tonight?"
"Sheriff!" Bill shouted.
Merton lunged at Bill, tumbling the boy backward. He raised his fist, ready to hammer it down.
Then the van's rear door flew open.
A voice he knew from long ago shouted, "Stop!"
He looked up.
A big, freckled hand, washed in crimson light, aimed an enormous revolver at his face. Behind the hand and out of the light was the broad, grim face of Sheriff Rusty Hodges.
"We meet again," Hodges said.
"Fuck you."
"Pull up your jeans and climb out."
Chapter Forty-eight
Fishy Business
Ready to leave, Pac started across the living room of Bass's house.
"Do you think I'll be safe here?" Bass asked, walking beside her.
"You'd be better off back at the motel. You were supposed to stay there, you know."
"You know what?" Bass said. He made an embarrassed smile. "Going off to hide in that motel made me feel like a chicken. You know, like I was running away. I didn't like that feeling, so I came home." He laughed once.
Pac, stopping a stride away from the front door, reached out for the knob.
"Almost didn't make it, either," Bass said. "My brakes went out about halfway here." He frowned. "You don't suppose . . . ? Maybe Merton tampered with them?"
"Possible," Pac said. Her hand dropped away from the door knob. Turning, she faced Bass. "What's the matter with the brakes?" she asked.
"I didn't get a chance to find out. I was just in the process of taking a look when you showed up."
"That's what you were doing in your garage?"
"Right."
"You're braver than I am," she said.
"How's that?"
"If I lost my brakes, I'd park my car on the street. Or I might risk pulling into the driveway. But I sure wouldn't drive into the garage. I'd be afraid of taking out the back wall."
"Guess it wasn't a real smart move," Bass said.
"No. It wasn't." Pac slipped her right hand inside her purse. She took hold of her Sig Sauer but didn't pull it out. "Let's take a look in your garage, Bass."
"Hey." He laughed. "You're kidding, right?"
"Wrong."
"Do you have any idea how late it is?"
"I know exactly how late it is."
"I'm tired," Bass said. "I bet you are, too."
"I'm tired, all right. But I'd still like to have a look in your garage before I go. I'd like to find out why you lied."
He shrugged. "I didn't lie. You're gonna feel like a real ass."
"I'd be a real ass if I didn't check."
"What do you think you'll find in there?"
"Let's have a look and see."
"You're gonna feel like an ass."
"Knock it off, all right? Just take me out to the garage and we'll get it over with. If it checks out, fine. I'll be on my way."
"Let's go, then. I've got nothing to hide."
Turning away, he started toward the kitchen.
"Let's go out this way," Pac said, and opened the front door.
"You're getting awfully pushy, you know that?"
"Just doing my job."
"I've had a tough day," Bass complained. "It was bad enough my canoe trip got ruined by that damned body and I had to spend half the day explaining. Some asshole has to kidnap Faye and try to kill me. But now, to top it all off, I'm being treated like a criminal by my best friend's wife."
"You're starting to behave like one."
"And what's your hand doing in your purse?"
She showed him by pulling out her pistol.
"Very nice," Bass said. "Now what're you gonna do, shoot me?"
She stepped away from the door and waved him toward it. "Get out there and open the garage."
"I ought to make you get a search warrant," he said, going out the door.
"That's your right." She followed him outside, keeping her pistol down by her leg.
"Maybe I'd better do that. I don't see why I should be so cooperative, you treating me like a piece of shit."
"If you insist on a warrant, I'll place you under arrest and take you in. Just to make sure you don't try to dispose of whatever it is that you don't want me finding."
"This is what happens -- give a woman a little power, all of a sudden she turns into a fuckin' Nazi."
"Do I have your permission to search your garage?"
"Sure. Sieg Heil!"
"Grow up, Bass."
They walked to the garage's side door. Muttering words that Pac couldn't quite make out, Bass unlocked the door and swung it open. He reached into the darkness. Moments later, the garage filled with light.
Pac entered it behind him.
Built for two cars, the garage housed Bass's red Pontiac and a fifteen-foot powerboat on a trailer. The air was still very warm from the long, hot day. Pac smelled grease, gasoline, and other odors she couldn't place. The mixture was unpleasant, but not overwhelming.
"Well?" Bass asked. "What do you want to see?"
Pac didn't answer. Standing just inside the door, she scanned the garage. Sheets of cardboard covered the two windows. On the wall near the front was the control panel for the automatic door opener. Above the powerboat, the canoe lay across the ceiling beams. There was a refrigerator in the comer near the sink. Next to it stood a freezer chest. Then a workbench.
Tools hung on a pegboard behind the cleared workbench: a level, a ball peen hammer, a claw hammer, assorted sizes of screwdrivers and wrenches, and three varieties of saws.