Chain Letter (29 page)

Eric Valence was on such a late-night vigil with the police computer when he came
across the file on the late Neil Hurly. Eric almost skipped over it. The file didn’t
appear to be that of an unsolved murder case. But a sentence did catch his eye. One
from the county coroner. Apparently this Neil—he was only eighteen at the time of
his death—had perished in a fire in his home. His body had been so badly burned that
identification of his remains had been difficult. The situation had been further complicated
by the fact that there were no current dental records available on Neil. In summary,
the coroner wrote that an emerald ring on the victim’s left hand had been used to
substantiate that it was Neil Hurly who had gone up in smoke. The matter was further
verified by the mother’s testimony that her son had been sleeping alone at home when
the fire broke out. In other words, case closed.

The thing that got Eric about the report was that it had been an emerald ring that
had gone through the fire. Eric was no expert when it came to jewelry, but it just
so happened that the year before he had been seriously involved with a girl named
Meryl Runion, who had an expensive appetite for emeralds. Naturally, because he thought
he was in love at the time, and because Meryl twisted his arm about the matter, he
tried to buy her an emerald ring for her birthday. Being a practical man on a limited
budget, however, he did a little research before making his purchase. One of the things
he discovered about emeralds was that they did not make good stones to set in rings.
They were soft, and they chipped easily. An expensive emerald could be ruined just
by forgetting to remove it before washing the dishes. Eric decided that he should
buy Meryl an emerald set in a necklace or a bracelet. But then Meryl met this young
lawyer who drove a red Porsche and forgot to return his calls. Eric didn’t buy her
anything.

Eric was instantly suspicious of the identification of Neil Hurly’s remains. If Neil
Hurly had been wearing an emerald while lying in a burning house, the emerald should
have been destroyed. Yet the coroner’s note indicated the emerald had survived the
fire intact. How many coroners knew of the softness of an emerald? Eric was only familiar
with the gem’s fragile nature by chance. It made him wonder if the ring had been placed
on the body’s hand after the fire. If that was so, it raised an even more startling
question.

Was it Neil Hurly who had died in the fire?

The file contained X-rays of what was left of Neil’s skull and teeth. As stated, the
X-rays had done the coroner no good because he had no dental records for comparison.
Eric doubted that the man had tried hard to find records. Why should he? The mom was
probably right down the hall saying, “That’s my son who died, I know it.” Eric studied
Neil’s history. He had moved to Los Angeles from Canyon, Arkansas, at the age of fourteen.
Canyon was listed as Neil’s place of birth. In all those fourteen years Neil must
have gone to the dentist at least once.

Eric sat back from the terminal. He had no idea where Canyon was in Arkansas. It was
probably a small town, and that fact should help him. He didn’t waste time speculating
on the matter. He looked up the area code for Arkansas—it had only one. Then he called
Information there. Canyon was tiny. All told, the information assistant gave him a
list of three dentists, and two of those were a husband and wife team who shared an
office. Eric jotted the numbers down on a notepad. He was already opening his own
file on Neil Hurly. There was something not quite right—he could sense it. “Something’s
afoot,” as Holmes might have said to Watson.

Eric was not able to call the dentists until morning. He did so from his apartment
identifying himself as an assistant coroner with the LAPD. The lie went over well
because he was able to use his uncle as a reference, calling him the officer in charge
of the case. Eric had yet to tell his uncle what he was doing,
but he doubted that the dentists would check. As it turned out the couple had no Neil
Hurly in their files. But the secretary of the third guy, Dr. Krane, remembered the
Hurlys well. She sounded about eighty years old but very bright.

“Of course I knew Neil,” she said. “He was such a sweet young man. They moved to Los
Angeles when Neil was about to enter high school. Would it be all right to ask why
you need his X-rays?”

It was clear the woman knew nothing about Neil’s supposed death. Eric made his voice
sound older. “I’m afraid, madam, we have reason to believe that Neil Hurly has been
the victim of a fire at his house. There are few remains, and we need the X-rays to
make a positive identification.”

The woman sounded distressed. “That’s horrible. Was the mother killed as well?”

Eric didn’t want to complicate the matter by having the mother alive. It was always
possible Dr. Krane’s secretary would want a permission note from the mother before
releasing the X-rays.

“I’m afraid she perished in the fire,” Eric said, feeling like a jerk.

“That’s so sad,” the woman replied. “Do you think it was an accident?”

“The case is still open.” Eric cleared his throat. “Could you please mail the X-rays
overnight express to the following address? It would be much appreciated.”

“Of course.” He could hear her reaching for a pen. “I’m ready.”

Eric gave her the address of the West Covina police station in care of Sergeant John
Valence. Then he got off the phone quickly. His heart was pounding, but he was feeling
good.

· · ·

He walked into the station the next evening beside his uncle. John was surprised when
Eric snapped the overnight mail envelope out of his box before he could go through
it.

“What are you up to?” his uncle asked with a twinkle in his eye. At the station Christmas
party Sergeant Valence was always the first choice to play Santa Claus. There was
a jolliness about him that Eric found endearing.

“I’ll tell you when I know something exciting,” Eric promised.

His uncle shook his head. “Just don’t get me in trouble. I have only a year before
my pension.”

Eric hurried back to the computer and compared the dentist’s X-rays to those of the
coroner. The coroner’s photographs of his X-rays did not have the high-quality resolution
of the dentist’s X-rays, but it didn’t matter. Eric was no specialist, but even he
could see at a glance that the X-rays were from two different people. Neil had had
a series of fillings on the lower right side of his mouth when he was thirteen. The
guy who had burned to death in Neil’s house had no fillings on that side.

Neil Hurly had not burned to death in the Hurly home. But someone had wanted it to
look as if he had.

Who?

Why?

The questions of an unfolding mystery. Eric was bursting with excitement. This was
better than sex with Meryl Runion. Well, he wouldn’t know that for sure. They had
actually never done it. But it was better than making out with her. Meryl had always
had bad breath.

Eric went in search of Mrs. Hurly’s new address. He couldn’t find it. She wasn’t in
the phone book. But he did have her old address, the place where the house had burned
to the ground. If he went to the neighborhood and asked around, he should be able
to find out where she was living. He had already decided that when he got her new
address, he’d drop by the house rather than call her. He’d show the woman the evidence
and see how she reacted. For all he knew, she might have been the one who set the
whole thing up.

Eric briefly wondered if Neil would answer the door.

F
or the gang Thursday came and left with no drama. Alison spent the day with Fran,
going to the mall and the movies. Fran held up surprisingly well, only crying once
over dinner. Alison stayed by her side until twelve midnight. It was Alison’s plan
to stay overnight, but Fran said it wasn’t necessary. Her parents were home sleeping,
and besides, Fran snored like a bear and was always embarrassed to have anyone else
sleep in the same room with her. Alison left her with a hug and a promise to call
in the morning.

Alison did call Fran on Friday morning, and her old friend was just fine. The news
spread through the group, and Tony and Kipp began to relax. Brenda didn’t, however.
It was unnecessary, she said. She hadn’t been worried initially. Joan had called her
mom to tell her she had decided to spend
an extra day in the mountains, so she was still unavailable.

Then Friday night arrived.

Alison went to bed early. Tony was still not talking to her, and the stress was wearing
her out. She drank a glass of warm milk and crawled under her covers. The last thing
she remembered before falling asleep was that Fran had told her she was going downtown
that night to some party.

Then Alison was asleep, and she had no more conscious thoughts.

But curious images did float in her unconscious mind, bringing with them strange sensations.
She was in a wide open space but felt claustrophobic. The air pulsed in nauseating
patterns of red and purple light. A painful throbbing sound seemed to come from every
quarter, totally out of sync with the oscillating colors. There was also a haze of
smoke that stank of rotten eggs. But most of all was her intense feeling of despair.
It wrapped like a steel coil around her heart and brought pain.

As Alison listened in her dream, she thought she could hear the distant wails of people
in torment. Their faint cries came to her through the din of the throbbing and were
so twisted they could have been the sounds of animals being tortured to death. But
she could see no one, even though she herself felt watched. It was as if the horrible
space had eyes of its own, made out of the sickening light and deafening noise. Eyes
that were constantly aware and always displeased. Above all else, she wished to God
she could be anywhere but where she was.

Then suddenly she was sitting bolt upright in bed—in the dark, where all bad things
happened. The phone beside her bed was ringing, and her heart shrieked in her chest.
She reached over and grabbed it.

“Hello?”

“Alison?”

“Yeah.” She had to take a breath. “Who is this?”

“Mrs. Darey.”

The fear came in a wash, instantaneously. “Is something wrong with Fran? What’s happened
to her?”

Mrs. Darey wept. “I don’t know. The hospital called. They say she’s been in a car
accident. They wouldn’t say how she was. They want me to come to the hospital, but
my husband’s not here, and I’m so upset I can’t find my glasses. Ali, can you take
me to the hospital? I don’t think I can drive like this.”

Alison realized the woman had momentarily forgotten that she lived almost an hour
away in the valley. She spoke gently. “Sure, I can take you to the hospital. But it
might take me a while to get to your house. I’m going to have my boyfriend, Tony,
come over and get you instead. You’ve met him. Then I’m going to drive directly to
the hospital and meet you there. Would that be OK?”

“I suppose.” Sobs poured from the poor woman. “When they won’t tell you how your daughter
is, does that mean she’s dead?”

“No, Mrs. Darey. It only means they’re not sure yet what’s wrong with her. There might
be nothing wrong with Fran. I’m sure
there isn’t. Now give me the name of the hospital that called you.”

Mrs. Darey was able to convey the vital information. Alison reassured her once more
and then hung up and called Tony. He answered immediately. He hadn’t been asleep—she
could tell by his voice. She glanced at the clock. It was one in the morning.

“Tony, it’s Alison. Bad news.”

“Fran?”

“Yes. Her mom just called. Fran’s been in an accident.”

“What happened?”

Alison gave him what information she had. Tony said he could be at Fran’s house in
ten minutes. He sounded alert but calm, far from the way she felt. If anything had
happened to Fran, she was never going to forgive herself for having let her go out
alone.

“You were waiting for this, weren’t you?” Alison asked. “You’ve been staying up.”

“I was waiting for something,” Tony said. “I didn’t know what it would be.”

Alison almost choked on the question. “Do you think she’s dead?”

Tony sighed. “I try not to think these days. It makes my head hurt.”

· · ·

Fran Darey was dead.

The three of them got the news at the same time. Although Alison had considerably
farther to drive to the hospital, it had
taken Tony a while to get Mrs. Darey out of her house and into his car. She had been
so overcome with grief. Fran’s mother fainted when she heard the news. A team of white
coats suddenly appeared and wheeled her away on a gurney. Alison’s head was spinning.
The doctor who had delivered the news to them could have been telling them Fran had
a bad cold—from the tone of his voice. He was middle-aged, and his green surgical
gown was splashed with dried blood. He worked the emergency room in the center of
the city, where shootings and stabbings were a way of life. He probably told people
their loved ones were dead all the time. No sweat off his back.

“How did this happen?” Alison moaned to the doctor as she sagged into Tony’s strong
arms.

The doctor shook his head. “Ask the police. They’re out back with the ambulance drivers.
I understand she drove straight into a tree.”

Alison asked a stupid question. “Are you sure she’s dead? I mean, couldn’t she somehow
be revived if you tried real hard?”

The doctor regarded her with a blank expression. “She’s as dead as they come. We won’t
be able to revive her. I’m sorry.”

Tony wanted to check on Mrs. Hurly. He looked shaken but still in control. Alison
let him go. She wanted to talk to the police before they disappeared. She caught one
of them in the parking lot as he was climbing into his squad car.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m a friend of that girl who was just brought in. The one
in the car crash. Were you at the scene of the accident?”