Authors: Faye Kellerman
Rukmani wiped sweat from her face. "Are you about to embark on one of those macho male-bonding experiences?"
"It's a dangerous omen, Ruki…Y being up in the daytime." Poe lit a cigarette, waved to the old man. Y waved back. "I'll meet you back at the car."
Walking downhill was especially difficult, trodding through sheaves of grass yellowed by the unrelenting summer heat. At this time of year, the city threw all sorts of specials to boost tourism in the Mohave: three nights, four days at the suchand-such, complete with buffet breakfasts and including tickets to the popular blah, blah, blah all for the price of a dollar.
Anything to get them into the air-conditioned casinos.
Poe haltingly made his way down, meeting Y on level ground. In the sun, the air was oppressive, but the cemetery had the courtesy to provide shade in the form of canopied elm trees. Y brought out a goatskin of moonshine and the two men cooled themselves under one of the tree's lacy boughs.
"This stuff is terrible," Poe said.
"It's got a good aftertaste."
"Doesn't make up for its terrible beforetaste." Poe took a whiff of his smoke. "Sad state when you need nicotine to wipe out the taste of bad alcohol. Anyway, what's a bat like you doing up in the daytime?"
"I'm paying my last respects."
Poe inhaled the smoke, then chuckled. "So you were also one of Honey's? Good for you, old man."
Y glared at him. "I'm not here to be congratulated. I'm here because that son of a bitch you were talking to got away with it again. What are you going to do about it?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Aren't you a homicide cop?"
"So they say."
"Then investigate the goddamn homicide, Romulus. If you
do
something, Poe, then maybe you'll actually arrest someone!"
Poe dropped his cigarette on the grass and stepped on it. He picked up the butt and dropped it in his pocket. "You know, Y, you're one queer bird. When I tried to investigate the homicide of a woman you had loved, you shut down like an overheated engine. Now you're egging me on with Honey. So what aren't you telling me, old man?"
"Fuck you, Poe!" Y bolted off.
Poe caught up with him, grabbed the old man's buckskin shirtsleeve. "You self-righteous son of a bitch! You know damn well Lewiston didn't murder her—"
"Go to hell."
"Linda Hennick killed herself—"
"Let go of me!"
"Did you hear me, Y? She
killed
herself! She committed suicide—"
"You cops are a bunch of jokers."
"You want to bury your head in fiction or do you want to hear the truth? Because God forbid something should sully the image of your true love. You know, Chief, for once I agree with you. Linda Hennick
wasn't
crazy! Her nighttime jaunts weren't the psychotic rambles of a disturbed woman. They were Linda Hennick having a good old time. She was a good-lifer, Y—a bored housewife who willingly turned herself into a rich man's whore—"
Poe felt his head split open from the force of Y's fist crushing his nose. Blood gushed from his nostrils. Instinctively, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. He stared at Y, then at his bloodied shirt. He sighed with more pity than anger. "Lewiston was right about one thing. You are a lovesick old fool."
As Poe hobbled off, Y gripped his arm. About to speak, the old man opened his mouth, but no sounds came out. He clutched his shirt, then began to fall backward. Poe caught him before he hit the ground and carried him under the shade of a tree. Poe reached inside Y's pocket and pulled out a nitro capsule. He broke it open and held it under the old man's nose. Wiping Y's clammy face, Poe spent a few tense moments waiting for the medicine to kick in.
It seemed like hours. But, in fact, color quickly began to return to Y's cheeks.
"I'm all right," the old man said between gasps for air.
"Just relax."
"How's your nose?"
"My nose is fine."
"Broken?"
"Just bloodied. You're too old to do real damage."
Y managed a sick smile. Then the corners of his mouth turned down. As his eyes watered, he looked the other way.
Poe spoke softly. "Y, you know the suicide note that you said was planted? It wasn't."
Y didn't answer.
"It was her handwriting," Poe said. "She wrote the note. I'm sure of it."
"So what? He made her write the note! He probably had a
gun
to her head!"
"No, Y, I don't think so." Poe wiped the old man's brow. "I think you're right about certain things. I think that Lewiston did go to her hotel room that night. And he probably did beat her up. Probably because he wanted to scare her into silence. But the beating wasn't what did her in. According to the coroner's report, she died of
self-inflicted
knife wounds to her wrists. And I believe the report."
Again, Y gazed outward at nothing.
Poe said, "She took herself out slowly. She was punishing herself, Y, trying to attain…absolution or something." He took a deep breath. "Linda died because she had an attack of
real
conscience. She felt horribly guilty about what she'd done. Which is more than I can say about Honey Kramer."
Y looked at Poe questioningly.
"Same thing twenty-five years ago, Chief. An unknown mutilator/murderer called the Bogeyman took out a local girl named Janet Doward. The murder gave Parker Lewiston some mighty black ideas. I think Lewiston copycatted the Bogeyman and killed his own unknown chickie—a kid who, like Sarah Yarlborough, died with
grass
under her fingernails. She was
found
by Linda Hennick, but paid for by Lewiston."
Y looked away.
"I believe that Linda, like Honey, had
pimped
for him—found him young playthings. And probably there are other women in between Linda and Honey who also pimped for Lewiston. And who's to say there aren't murders in between that I don't know about. What can I say, old man? Lewiston is in a rut."
No one spoke.
Then Y said, "Romulus, you told me you only found one Bogeyman case in your back files."
Poe said, "Y, this is where your song and dance about Lewiston paying people off carries weight. No doubt Parkerboy paid people off to quash the investigation. Hell, if he tried to bribe me—a police officer—I'm sure he'd have no qualms about paying off a petty bureaucrat to misfile a simple case. After all, the Jane Doe was an unidentified drifter."
Y said, "Lewiston tried to bribe you?"
"Offered me money to forget his sending out his goons. Same thing." Poe paused and licked his lips. "You know what, old man? I would never have known about that second case except for you.
You
were the one who told me that there were
two
cases accredited to the Bogeyman. You and Alison. And I believed you both, Y. So I kept looking for a second file…looking until I eventually found something."
No one spoke.
Then Poe said, "Linda Hennick brought Jane Doe to Lewiston because she was a nothing, like Sarah Yarlborough. He sent out his love-starved, aging whores to find throwaways for him. And that was Linda Hennick to a T—a once beautiful but quickly aging love-starved woman who had been forced to settle for Gerald Hennick."
A pause.
"Because the man Linda wanted had married someone else. And after Linda became pregnant by Mr. Married Gigolo, she had to take what she could get."
"Your father," Y said.
Poe focused his eyes on the old man's face. "You knew all along, didn't you?"
"You're not the only wiseass with an ace up his sleeve."
"Did you know when Alison and I were going together?"
"I had suspicions."
"So you stood on the sidelines while I screwed my half sister."
"I said I had my suspicions. I didn't say I was sure!" He grunted. "Besides, you weren't complaining."
Poe buried his head in his hands. When he lifted his face, he noticed his hands were all bloodied. He wiped his palms and nose with a handkerchief.
Y said, "You'd better be careful, Poe. Insanity is often inherited from your parents. And like you said a few minutes ago…" The old man's smile became wicked. "Linda Hennick wasn't crazy. So what does that say about
your
old man if he was Alison's father?"
"I'm quaking with terror."
But deep inside, Poe was uneasy.
What
did
it say?
The old man grumbled, "Help me up."
"Why should I help you?" Poe grumped. "You're an old, mean bastard."
"Romulus, I'm a survivor." Gently, Y slapped Poe's face. "Like someone else I know."
FIFTY-TWO
T
HE SAME
damn recurring dream. By now Poe knew it by heart.
As the sun blasted on the bleak ground, microbes began to appear on the surface of the recently subsided crater. They were pinpoint, teeny things that wriggled and squiggled and scampered over the sand's surface, weighing next to nothing.
They made Poe itch. He scratched in his sleep.
It was the first time the bugs had seen sunlight. Within moments of hitting air, long-dormant nuclear bodies began to waken as the mites moved away from their anaerobic state into the aerobic process of converting oxygenated air into energy.
They skittered across the desert floor to firmer ground. Once they were planted on stable soil, they started to coalesce into a blob—shapeless, formless, unrecognizable as anything. Soon more bugs joined the biological soup, until it started to thicken in dimension. The gloop elongated upward, grew toward the sky as if it were heliotropic. As if a sculptor were working magic, the clump lengthened into something around two or three feet tall and five feet wide.
Poe's eyes jerked spasmodically under his lids as he tried to follow the motion.
The protoplasm cinched around the front part to form a grotesque neck and head—embryonic in nature, with a mouth too wide and ears too low-set. But then the form refined itself until small red eyes appeared, deep-set into bony orbs. Minutes later came a long, hairy snout that held sharp teeth. Then pointed ears covered with red fur.
He started trembling—looking at the same monstrous face he had seen at NTS.
Cellular divisions down below. The blob forming dense leg bones, then the musculature—thick haunches that were strong and developed. Outpouchings off the ends of the bones turned into paws that elongated and grew nails as keen as razors. Eventually hair covered the entire beast.
His heart pounding as he slept fitfully. Aware that he was dreaming, but unable to rouse himself to wakefulness.
The coyote shook out its fur like a wet dog.
Usually the dream ended here. But this time, the coyote looked him squarely in the eye. Then it opened its mouth and sound poured forth. Something about returning to him, that they were eternally linked, bound by love and blood. But for now, it had work to do in a city filled with angels.
Then the vision faded.
As usual, he woke up filled with dread, confused and disoriented. He forced himself to open his eyes.
The moonlight pierced through the open windows as the crickets chattered, clicked, and hissed. Naked and coated with sweat, he lay on his side atop his foldout couch, staring at the shadow of his kitchen, listening to the hum from his batteryoperated fan as it pushed hot air from one side to the other. Every few seconds, he felt the relief of a passing breeze only to have it snatched away, leaving him mired in sluggishness.
Slowly, groggily, he wiped sweat and fear from his brow.
The usual routine, Poe. Talk it out, talk it out.
You're not crazy.
It's just a dream, it's just a dream.
Everything is going to be okay.
And he had logical reasons for believing that.
Because things had returned to their former states. Life had taken on a routine buzz. Jensen had been restored to the force, transferred out of Homicide and into GTA. They hadn't spoken much, but Poe had heard he was doing well.
That's good. See, even Jensen is doing okay.
You'll be okay, too.
And then there was Patricia. The brass had wanted to transfer her, but Poe had insisted on keeping Deluca in Homicide. She had been grateful, announcing that she'd prove him right. He had taken her out to dinner about a week ago to talk about that night…to make sense of it all.
At first, they spoke about physical, indisputable things. About Deluca's Saturn hidden in one of the many caves surrounding the city proper. Once it was in impound, Poe had searched the car and had found a needle and syringe that contained traces of some kind of knockout drug used by Alison to control Patricia.
But how Alison had been able to get the needle into Patricia was anyone's guess. Even Patricia had no idea, remembered almost nothing until she had reawakened inside Alison's Explorer.
Between you and me, Patricia, do you remember anything that
happened before you woke up, tied up in her car?
Patricia thought about the question a long time. She had become very uneasy in his presence.
I saw this big bird, sir. Like a hawk or an eagle swooping down
on me. It must have knocked me down
. A pause.
It must have
knocked me out.
A big bird?
Poe questioned.
A real big one, yes, sir.
Like as big as a person?
Excuse me, Sergeant?
Was the bird as big as a person? Say…as big as Alison?
I don't think so, sir
. Squirm, squirm.
But…but it was big.
And you don't remember seeing anyone else?
It was getting dark. I don't remember seeing anyone.
Alison was nowhere in sight?
I don't remember
seeing
her. But that doesn't mean she wasn't
there. Obviously she was
. Patricia laughed.
She couldn't have
come out of thin air.