In his robe, his bare chest showed. And so did his white, scrawny legs. He had the pale and bony look of a hospital patient. "Just let me throw on some clothes."
"You look fine, Walter. Grab your keys."
"Really, now . . ."
"Hurry."
"All right, all right." Scampering away to find the keys, he said, "Don't get snippy with me, thank you very much." He rushed out of sight.
Merton waited in the foyer.
"Found them!" Walter sang out. A few moments later, he came scurrying along, holding the keys high and jangling them like bells.
Merton opened the front door.
Following him outside, Walter said, "I do hope you haven't done anything awful."
"Just move your car."
Merton crossed the neatly trimmed front yard to the curb where his van was parked. He climbed inside and started the engine. At the end of the block, a Jeep Cherokee turned left and headed toward him. He ducked until he heard it pass. When he sat up again, the garage door was open. White exhaust spurted from the tailpipe of Walter's old Dodge.
As the Dodge backed out of the garage, Merton shifted into first gear. He waited until Walter pulled into the street. Then he drove forward and swung into the driveway. The open garage ahead of him looked cool and shady and safe, like a cave. He drove forward slowly. The shadow covered him. The noise of his engine swelled. He turned the key. The noise died, and he climbed out of his van.
Not waiting for Walter, he shut and locked the garage door. He entered the house, walked directly to the bathroom, stripped off his clothes and stepped under the shower.
He was drying himself when Walter pushed open the bathroom door.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Merton asked.
"It's my bathroom. I don't have to knock. Especially when someone barges in without so much as a 'may I please' and helps himself to a hot shower."
"You're just a dirty old man."
"Be that as it may . . ."
"Would you like to finish drying me?" Merton asked, holding out the towel.
Walter shook his head. "No, I would not. You're just trying to change the subject."
"Sucky-wucky, Wally?"
"I didn't come in here for that, and you know it."
"Right."
"Are you ready to explain yourself?"
Merton raised his eyebrows. "Explain what, for instance?"
"Oh, don't be that way with me. This is Walter. Walter? Remember me? Of course you do, or you wouldn't have come running to me this way. So don't treat me like a nobody. I won't have it."
"Would you like me to leave?"
"No!"
"I'd be happy to leave."
"I'm not suggesting that you leave. I'm merely saying that I deserve some consideration and the least you can do is offer an explanation as to why you simply barged in the way you did. Don't you think I'm entitled to that?"
"Sure." Merton wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked down a corner.
"Are the police after you again?"
"Could be."
"Are they?"
"I wouldn't be terribly surprised."
"Don't you be coy with me."
"My clothes are filthy. How about throwing them in the washer?"
"What did you do, Merton?"
"I had a little trouble, that's all."
"Oh my dear God, you did it again, didn't you? I knew it. I knew it the moment I saw your face."
"Hey, look, I'm a little tired. I'm gonna sack out for a while. Why don't you make yourself useful and wash my clothes?"
"You haven't changed, Merton. You haven't changed at all."
"I've changed. Just watch them try to nail me this time. Isn't gonna happen."
Chapter Seven
Rusty's Return
Pac watched the tow truck drag the Jaguar, like a carcass, into the trees.
"What happens now?" Bass asked her.
"We'll need formal statements from you and Faye. We'll also want you to look at some mug shots."
"Just like TV, huh?"
"Sort of. Excuse me." Turning away, she called to Jack. "Could you come here a second?" As the deputy walked toward her, she said to him, "I'll wait here for Rusty. You go ahead and drive Faye back to the station."
"Why can't she go with me?" Bass asked.
"It's just standard procedure. We like to keep witnesses separated."
"Afraid we'll try to cook up a story?"
"Well, not particularly in your case, but --"
"We weren't separate before. I mean, if we'd had any intention of making up lies, we could've done it before I phoned you guys. The thing is, Faye's really shook up. I think she'd be better off staying with me."
Jack stepped in. "The longer you argue about it," he said, "the shorter your Saturday's getting."
"Good Christ, maybe we should've just left the damn body down there. If I'd known we'd get hassled like this . . ."
"Nobody's trying to hassle you, Bass. If you'll just take it easy, everything'll be taken care of and you can probably be on your way in an hour or so."
"I don't see why I can't drive Faye to the station, that's all."
"If we let you," Pac said, "Rusty'll find out we violated procedure. He'll have our butts."
"Well, I'm not looking to get anyone in trouble."
"Okay. I know. Now, why don't you just follow Deputy Staffer's car back to the station? He'll take Faye. It's only a ten or fifteen minute drive."
"I guess it'll be all right," Bass muttered. "But can somebody give me a hand with the canoe? Or do I have to leave it here so somebody can steal it?"
"Oh, I think we can let you have it." Pac stepped toward the canoe.
"I'll get that for you," Jack said, hurrying ahead of her.
"Thanks, Jack. You're a gentleman and a scholar."
"Well, I might be a gentleman, anyhow."
Together, Bass and Jack hoisted the canoe off the ground and set it onto the roof rack of the Pontiac.
"Thanks," Bass said. "I'll take care of it from here." He started securing it.
While Jack stood nearby and watched, Pac walked over to him. He smiled at her. "And how's that ol' Harney doing?" he asked.
"Oh, he wasn't real keen on me running off to work on our anniversary."
"Your anniversary, huh? How many does that make it?"
"It's our third."
"Well, congratulations. And give my best to Harney, okay?"
"Will do. Thanks. By the way, Rusty said he wants you to bring back a rake and go over the beach down there, see what you can find."
"Sure thing."
When they were gone, Pac opened the passenger door of Rusty's patrol car. His uniform and service revolver were there, where she'd put them after coming up from the beach. She picked them up, then locked the car and walked over to her patrol car. With a beach towel from her trunk, she started down the steep trail.
She half expected to meet Rusty on his way up, but there was no sign of him, not even when she reached the sand. She walked to the shore. She looked across the river, past the embankment at the far side and into the shadows of the pine forest.
No Rusty.
I'll give him fifteen minutes, Pac thought.
Sitting in the sand at the edge of the river, she crossed her legs and waited. The minutes passed slowly. The sun felt hot. After thirteen minutes, she got to her feet, walked to the foot of the trail and entered the trees. Between two manzanita trees growing close together, she hid Rusty's uniform and revolver.
Then she stripped down to her brassiere and panties. The breeze felt good on her bare skin as she walked to the shore. Dropping the towel, she entered the water. Its cold clamped her feet. She gritted her teeth and groaned, but didn't turn back. It flowed around her ankles, her calves, her knees. Not so bad anymore, now that the initial shock had passed. But she dreaded how it would feel when she took the plunge.
Let's put that off for a while.
She took shorter, slower steps, the frigid water climbing her thighs.
Across the river, movement caught her eye.
She stopped. As the water swirled around her thighs, she saw a man stagger out of the pines.
"Rusty!"
He raised an arm and waved, then worked his way down to the shore, bent over and hobbling.
"Are you all right?" Pac called.
"Far from it. Feel like nitro went off in my drawers."
"Can you swim?"
"Time will tell."
She watched him wade into the river, dive and begin swimming toward her. Though he seemed to have very little kick, his powerful arms pulled him along. As he neared Pac, he said, "Sure beats walking."
"What happened?"
"Caught one in the nuts."
"Ouch."
"There's an informed opinion."
Suddenly feeling a rush of embarrassment, Pac bent her knees. The water surged up her body. Fresh from the melting snow pack higher up the mountains, it felt like ice shoving up against her groin and between her buttocks. She half expected steam to rise. She felt as if somebody'd clamped frozen pliers onto her nipples. But at least she was covered, now, to the shoulders.
Turning onto his side, Rusty sidestroked past her. "Were you coming to look for me?"
"Just felt like taking a swim."
"Sure," Rusty said.
He swam almost to the shore, then got to his knees and stood in the shallow water. He looked back at Pac. "Coming?" he asked.
"Would you bring my clothes? They're with yours between those two manzanitas over by the bottom of the trail."
"Trying to hide them?"
"What else? I couldn't just leave them out in the open when I went to your rescue."
"Where's everyone else?"
"Birkus got here and took the body. Jack's taking Faye to the station, and Bass is following in his own car."
When Rusty began walking in his careful, stooped way toward the line of trees, Pac started wading for shore. She stepped onto dry land as Rusty vanished into the trees. While he was out of sight, she used the towel to dry herself.
The sunlight felt wonderful. Its heat spread over her skin like a soothing warm fluid. She wanted to take off her bra and panties, but she didn't know when Rusty -- or someone else -- might come along. So she kept them on. Though she rubbed them with the towel, they remained damp and clingy and nearly transparent.
Rusty didn't reappear for several minutes. Finally, he stepped out of the trees fully dressed and carrying Pac's uniform.
Pac held the towel against herself.
Rusty handed the uniform to her, then turned away.
"Thanks," she said. She dropped her towel to the sand, bent over, and stepped into her trousers. "So what'd you come up with on your excursion beyond the river?"
"Other than a sore pair of cojones? Some kids. Teenagers. A creep named Bill and a creepette by the name of Trink. A couple of real prizes. They were in the back of a pick-up truck over at the Sweet Meadow roadhead. I got Bill to admit he'd seen a car last night. It was there when they arrived to smoke their weed or compare ring holes or whatever."
"Ring holes?" Pac asked, pulling her blouse on.
"These two pieces of work had more perforations than Bonnie and Clyde. Anyway, Bill was just starting to tell me about the car, and that's when disaster struck. Trink nailed me from behind. Next thing I knew, I was coming to and they were long gone."
"You figure they know more?" Pac finished buttoning her blouse.
"Sure. If nothing else, they oughta be able to tell us something about the car they saw."
'I'm decent now," Pac announced.
Rusty turned to her and held out her bolstered Colt. "I must say, you look better out of uniform."
"Thank you, sir. So do you." She buckled the gun-belt around her waist. "By the way, I told Jack to bring back a rake."
"Good. You stay here till he arrives. Give him a hand. Did you get any good latents off the Jag?"
"Some partials on the driver's side. The passenger side was clean, though. Somebody'd wiped it."
"Anything else?"
"I'll vacuum the car after we get it to the station. Maybe that'll turn up something."
They walked toward the slope. "What do you think happened here, Pac?"
"I'd say the victim drove out last night with a man in her car. Otherwise, why did he wipe the passenger side? He'd planned to kill her, so he had a car of his own planted across the river at Sweet Meadow. Maybe he kept the saw in that car, too. Anyway, they walked down to the river and did some swimming. Looks like she died of suffocation, so he may have drowned her."
"It's a good possibility," Rusty said.
"Well, the autopsy'll tell us."
"So what else happened?"
"After she was out of the river, he raped her."
"Raped?"
"You testing me, boss?"
"More like testing myself," he said. "You're more observant than me and you're not exactly a dummy."
"Well, thanks."
"Okay. Why do you say he raped her?"
"She obviously didn't give consent. Being already dead."
"Sharp as a tack. So how do you know it was after she'd drowned?"
"If it'd been before, the river would've washed the semen off her."
"One more question," Rusty said.
"Fire away."
"The rape. Did he do it before or after he cut off her head?"
"Rusty!"
"I'm serious."
"Before."
"What makes you think so?"
"Just a gut feeling," Pac said.
"Go on."
"Without her head on, I just don't think he'd feel very inclined. You know?"
Rusty smiled grimly and shook his head. "You don't know guys."
Chapter Eight
Zelda
Leaving his daughter-in-law sitting in a shaded area near her patrol car, Rusty drove out to the main road. As he headed north, he radioed Madge and had her put out an APB on the 1994 gray Chevrolet pick-up truck, license plate Bob-William-David 793.
He stopped at the Texaco station. The owner, Herby Swaymen, came out of the office. "Morning, Sheriff," he said. "Beautiful day, don't you think?"
"Lovely," Rusty said, and climbed out of his car. "Just want to use the phone," he explained.
"Public phone. Help yourself."
Rusty walked over to the telephone booth. He flipped through the directory, running his eyes down the listings for Sierra College. He didn't want the student residence hall, the student book store, or the campus food service. Academic and administrative offices had to be the number. He picked up the phone, fed it a quarter, and tapped the number in. As he listened to the ringing, he clamped the handset against the side of his neck and took out his notepad and pen.