“I’m afraid I don’t. Except that it will have something to do with Poe. The connection may be mostly in his mind. But there will be one.”
“And do you have any theory about when this might happen?”
“According to that last phone call, he’s already started.”
He scribbled something into his notepad. “I assume someone has reviewed the missing-persons reports?”
“Yes, but remember, this is Vegas. There were eighteen missing-persons reports filed last night. Four of them concerned teenage girls.”
“Any likely suspects?”
“A group of three. Wandered away from a cheerleader clinic. No one has seen them since.”
“Three? At one time?”
I nodded grimly. “As I said, Edgar’s actions will escalate. Until his plan is completed. During the phone call, he spoke of a day of ascension-when something big was going to happen, something that would change everything. I called some of the local Christian churches. They say Easter is generally considered the day of ascension. But since this is October, I doubt if that’s Edgar’s target date. He’s planning his own ascension, on his own timetable. Like any other self-respecting savior.”
The Feeb almost smiled. “Does this put us in the role of Judas Iscariot?”
I returned the expression. “I’ll be happy to kiss the man on the cheek. Next time I see him.”
During the drive to Carson City, Darcy read police reports to me. It was funny listening to him, and not just because of that uninflected voice. His vocabulary was incredible; we never hit a word he didn’t know. But his pronunciation was often far from the mark. I got the impression he had done a good deal more reading than he’d done talking. I suppose he wasn’t the first person to find books more comfortable than other people. But I still liked being with him, and I know he liked being with me. And that felt good.
“Did you know there are over nine hundred missing-persons reports filed in Clark County each year?” he asked as he shuffled between files.
“Your point being?”
He was staring at a group of photographs. The cheerleaders. “They seem like nice girls, don’t you think? I hope the Bad Man doesn’t do anything mean to them.”
Poor sweet Darcy. “I could be wrong. But how else do you explain their disappearance?”
“Spontaneous combustion?”
“Seems unlikely.”
“White slavery ring? Did you know that white slavery rings are still active in Kuwait and many Middle Eastern nations? But I don’t know about Las Vegas.”
“Let’s hope that isn’t it.” What kind of books did O’Bannon have in that library? “I can’t be certain, Darcy. But my instincts tell me Edgar grabbed these girls. And I’ve learned to trust my instincts.”
“Me too,” Darcy said, surprising the hell out of me. “You’re usually right.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“Ninety-three point six six percent of the time so far.”
“Thanks, Spock.” I wasn’t going to ask how he’d calculated that. Or what he considered to be my mistakes.
His head tilted to one side. “You smell good today.”
“I do? Oh-you mean no coffee breath.”
“Uh-uh. Something else.”
And I guess I knew what that was, too. I’d made it through the night again without taking a drink. And I could do it again. I knew I could. I had the strength now. And the really strange thing was that I knew I was getting that strength-at least in part-from Darcy.
“I didn’t like that funny smell. I like Susan smell better.”
Good thing I knew he was autistic. Otherwise I might have him arrested.
We didn’t know that Tiffany was dead. But I still found my voice choking, my eyes tingling, throughout the interview. Was this the first time I’d done something like this since David? Or perhaps, was this the first time I’d done something like this sober since David?
“It seemed such an innocent, harmless activity,” Mrs. Glancy said. “Cheerleading camp. What could happen?”
It’s not your fault, I wanted to tell the woman. But it wasn’t my place. “The team sponsor says she and the others disappeared after dinner. Around nine.”
“And that is so unlike Tiffany.” She dabbed her eyes. She was medium-sized and of medium weight, with a pleasant face that had probably aged twenty years in the last twenty hours. She did all the talking. Her husband was a physician, and like most doctors I had encountered, words were not his best thing. He sat beside her, not speaking, barely moving. Stunned.
Tiffany was their only child.
“She’s never run off before?”
“Of course not,” the mother said. “Tiffany is a good girl. Responsible. She’s on the honor roll, you know.”
“I, um, didn’t.”
“She’s not just some dumb blond cheerleader,” her father said, speaking for the first time. Apparently this was a point he felt compelled to make. “She had a real head on her shoulders.”
“And so kind,” the woman continued. “So considerate of others.” Her face flattened for a moment. “I’ll bet it was that JJ’s idea. I never cared much for her.”
“That was one of her friends, right?” I checked my files. “One of the other cheerleaders who disappeared.”
“I often told Tiffany she should be more careful. People judge you by your friends. But you know girls that age. They don’t listen. Do you have a girl that age?”
“Niece,” I offered.
“Oh, well then, you know. They don’t listen. Not a bit. Even the smart ones.”
Darcy sat in an overstuffed chair, picking at the armrest. I knew he was uncomfortable. All this misery-he absorbed it like a sponge. He might not understand emotion, but in a way, that could increase the discomfort of being around it. I just hoped he wouldn’t have another breakdown. I couldn’t deal with that now.
“Does she have any friends in Las Vegas?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Does she have an interest in gambling?”
“Of course not.”
“Rock and roll? There are several rock stars playing the Strip this week.”
“She’s more interested in Broadway. Show tunes, you know.”
“Does she like to… dress up?” Had to tread carefully here. But I hadn’t forgotten that Helen had a secret life her mother knew nothing about. It was possible this one did, too. Possible they both made the same mistake that put them in Edgar’s clutches.
“Dress up? How?”
“Oh… provocatively. Sexy.”
“My Tiffany would never do that.”
I had to push. “Those cheerleading skirts are usually pretty short.”
“That’s entirely different. That’s a sign of school spirit.”
Mmmm. “You think she’d have any interest in sex clubs?”
Mrs. Glancy clutched her bosom. “I-I-never-!” She looked at her husband, who was no use at all. “Are you planning to help our Tiffany or destroy her reputation?”
“I’m planning to find her, ma’am. And that means I need to know as much about her as possible.”
Dad cleared his throat. “I think maybe I should call Dick Conners.”
The family lawyer, no doubt. That would gum up the works. And frankly, I didn’t have the time. Not with the clock on these girls already ticking. “Does she have any hobbies? Interests?”
The woman was still glaring at me, but she eventually answered. “She likes to collect Dumbo figurines. You know, the flying elephant. She must have a hundred of them. And she wants to be a policewoman.”
That’s one you didn’t hear every day. “Tiffany wants to be a cop?”
“Yes. Especially after nine-eleven. She always has been very respectful, even worshipful, around our public servants. Heroes, she calls them. Police, firefighters. All that.”
A cheerleading policewoman. Couldn’t hurt. “Is she friendly? Outgoing? Would she talk to strangers?”
“Very friendly. But I would hope she has the sense not to talk to someone she doesn’t know. Especially in Las Vegas.”
I folded up my notepad. This was getting nowhere. Time to search the girls’ room. They would protest-I might even have to sit through a phone call to Dick Conners-but eventually they would relent. Because whatever their faults or foibles, they wanted their little girl back. And they knew the longer she was gone, the less likely that became. As did I.
It was nice being with Susan again. She’s almost like she used to be before the Bad Man took her but sometimes her hands shake and I can tell her stomach hurts and she looks like she’s going to cry but her smell is better and she’s back and she let me read to her while she drove the car. I wish I could drive the car but they wouldn’t let me get a license and I know I could do it but not unless they let me try and maybe Susan would let me after we catch the Bad Man and her hands don’t shake so much anymore. I know she likes me. I know she likes me.
Next time I’m going to ask her about babies.
Tiffany was the strongest, as it turned out. Who would have guessed that the spoiled rich girl would be the most resilient of the threesome? Hidden depths, he supposed. Dark secrets such as the prophet often saw lurking just beneath the surface. But those depths held dangers. They had to be eliminated.
He’d taken her through the entire “Pit and the Pendulum” scenario, just as he had the other two. But whereas Judy and JJ had disintegrated into hysteria, Tiffany had kept hold of her senses, even after the blade gave her a few rather significant slices. She had remained defiant, even through her pain.
Additional measures were required.
When Tiffany awoke, she found herself strapped to the table, still naked. It was amazing, he noted, how nakedness and physical discomfort increased their vulnerability. He had made the room positively frigorific, so much so that her body was covered with goose pimples.
“Good morning, Tiffany.”
“You can’t hurt me,” she said through dry and cracked lips.
“I’m glad to hear that, my dear. It will make what I have to do next so much less trying. Are my hands cold?”
He pressed the palms of both hands down on her abdomen. She flinched.
“I feared they might be. Hard to keep warm this time of year. The temperature is having a rather remarkable effect on your body.”
“I don’t know why you’re doing this, you sick fuck, but it isn’t going to work! I’ll never do what you want. If you’re going to rape me, then go ahead and do it. Get your filthy rocks off so I can get out of here!”
“My dear Tiffany, you mistake my intentions altogether. And you have a mouth like a sewer.”
“You’re a disgusting little creep. I bet your thing is just as short as you are. That’s probably why you have to get your thrills hurting teenage girls.”
“My darling-”
“Where’re Judy and JJ? What have you done to them?”
“They’re in another room.”
“Are you torturing them, too?”
“Not at all. They’re being quite compliant. Only you are-”
“Then let me see them!”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible yet. But in time-”
She twisted and strained against the straps, trying with all her might to get free.
He laid a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back to the table. “You’ve cut yourself.” He pointed to an abrasion across her left breast, just above the nipple.
“It was your damned pendulum, you-”
“Looks nasty. Could be infected. Needs attention.”
“Leave me alone!”
“Fear not, I know just the thing.” He lifted a bucket and placed it on the edge of the table where she could just see it. “Heavy. Needs to be stirred.” He took a large wooden ladle and swirled it through what appeared to be a thick gray muck. “There. That’s better.”
“What is that? What are you going to do with it? Are you going to put that on me?”
“Of course not. This is not the salve. This is but the living environment.” He dipped the ladle into the bucket, this time just skimming the surface.
It came back with something.
He brought the ladle around so that she could see it, letting a splotch of gray goo splash down on her neck. It was small, thin, and writhing, greenish black in color. As he held it close to her face, the putrid smell made her turn away.
“What the hell is that?”
“Don’t you know, Tiffany? It’s the best thing for an infection. In the prophet’s time, all the best physicians used them, a practice that has sadly fallen out of favor.” He leaned in closer, pressing the lip of the ladle against her cheek. “It’s a leech.”
“Get it away from me!”
“No, no, you don’t understand. It’s a good little creature. It’ll clean your wounds. Suck out the poison.”
“I said, get it away!”
“Don’t be silly. You’ll hurt his feelings. Now where was that wound? Oh, yes.” He tilted the ladle until the leech slowly oozed out and plopped onto her left breast.
“Get it off me! Get it off!”
“Don’t fuss so. Let it do its work.”
“Get it off!” Her voice screeched, panic rising. She squirmed as the slimy creature oozed its way across her. “Get-it-off!”
“Many hardy souls such as yourself are quite resilient when it comes to physical torment or fear, yet still have a weakness. Spiders, perhaps. Loud noises. But I suspected that you might have a touch of tactile defensiveness. We all do, of course, to varying degrees. But your case might be more extreme.” He smiled. “Oh, look. The little beastie has found the wound. Engaging suckers.”
“Please make it stop.” She was sobbing, her voice bubbling, tears streaking. “Please make it stop.”
“Just leave it to him. He knows what’s best for what ails you. Oh-look! Another wound.” With his fingertip, he traced a line up the inside of her upper thigh. “Fortunately, I have more of these salutary animalcules.”
“No! Not there!”
He plopped another leech onto her leg. Tiffany writhed and shivered, thrusting herself forward and backward, right and left, trying to shake it off, to no avail.
“Is that a pimple on your face? Oh, I hate those.”