Flesh

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

After filling Barney in on all that had happened the previous night, Jake returned to his car. He tore up the photograph of Roland. He felt guilty about damaging evidence, but Roland was dead, there would be no trial, and he didn’t want to show the picture around with the naked body parts surrounding the guy’s head. Once the parts were removed, he drove out to the place where he had burned the Volkswagen.

The car had been towed away, leaving only black smears and ashes. Jake searched there first, spreading the ashes with his shoes. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to find. The thing’s charred body? The tiny remains of its skeleton, if it had one?

When he finished there, he wandered around the area looking at the pavement, the grass strip between the curb and sidewalk, the sidewalk. Thursday, the thing had left some blood on the pavement of Latham Road behind the burning van and in the weeds on the other side. Today, there was nothing to see.

Jake told himself that the creature had probably died inside the Volkswagen. Maybe he should go over to the yard, later on, and sift through the remains of the car’s interior. In the poor light last night, he might easily have missed something. Besides, he’d been tense and eager to get home. He needed to make the search again, thoroughly and in daylight.

Picture in hand, he headed for the apartment house on the corner to begin the door-to-door inquiries.

Alison hung up the telephone after explaining to Gabby that she wouldn’t be able to work for the next few days. He’d heard on the radio about the killings and her narrow escape, so he was sympathetic and said she should take off as much time as she needed.

She had another call to make. This one wouldn’t be so easy. It was necessary, though.

She misdialed and hung up before the ringing started.

Her stomach hurt. Her heart pounded. The pulsing of it made her face throb. Sweat slid down her sides. She stood up, took off Jake’s robe, sat again on the sofa, and dialed Evan’s number.

His phone rang once.

“Hello?” He sounded tense.

“Hi. It’s me.”

“Alison. My God. Are you all right?”

“You heard about last night?”

“Of course I heard about last night. Christ. Are you all right?”

“I’m a little beat up, but I’m okay.”

“My God, I couldn’t believe it. You could’ve been killed. I’ve just been sick ever since I heard about it. I didn’t even go to my classes. You should’ve called.”

“I did call. Just now.”

“I’ve been through hell.”

“I’m sorry. It hasn’t been a picnic for me, either.”

“Who was it? Who did it?”

“A freshman named Roland.”

“Some guy you know?”

“I’d met him a couple of times.”

“Was he after you, or what?”

“I guess so.”

“What for? I mean…”

“I guess he wanted to rape and kill me.”

“Jesus Christ. Did he…touch you?”

“He didn’t rape me.”

“Thank God for that. You, what, fought him off?”

“Yeah.”

“Christ, it’s my fault. I should’ve been there. If you’d let me drive you home…you shouldn’t have left, you know. That business was just a mistake, like I said. You should’ve stayed at my place, last night. None of this would’ve happened.”

“Would’ve happened to Helen, regardless,” she said. “And even if I’d spent the night with you, I would’ve gone home sooner or later.”

“You should’ve stayed.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Where are you, now?”

“I’m safe.”

“Well, I know you’re safe—the guy’s dead, right? They said on the news he got killed in a fire.”

“Yeah.”

“So where are you?”

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

“That’s a crock. Who told you that?”

“A policeman.”

“Well, shit. What’s the big idea?”

“He thinks I might still be in some danger.”

“I don’t get it. The bastard’s dead, right? So where’s the danger?”

“I’m going to do as I’m told.”

“Since when?”

“Don’t be a creep, Evan.”

“I need to see you.”

“You can’t.”

“Alison. We have to talk.”

“We are talking.”

“Face-to-face.”

“I’m not up to a confrontation.”

She heard him sigh. For a long time, he said nothing. Alison finally broke the silence. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay. I figured I owed you that.”

When Evan spoke again, he sounded weary. “I honestly didn’t know you were asleep last night when I…touched you. I love you, Alison. When I think what almost happened to you last night, it kills me. Please, I need to see you. Please. Tell me where you are. I’ll come over and we’ll talk. Just talk, I promise.”

“I’ll call you in a day or two.”

“No, please. Alison, I’m so wasted. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I can’t do anything except think about you. I promise, I won’t give you any trouble. I just need to see you, to be with you for a while. I’m begging you.”

Alison shut her eyes and leaned back against the sofa cushion. This was worse than she’d expected. Evan sounded miserable, desperate.

It’s my fault, she thought. I’ve done this to him.

“I guess we could meet somewhere,” she finally said. “How about Wally’s?”

Evan said nothing.

“That all right?”

Alison heard a faint sound of ringing. “Someone at your door?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Evan whispered. The ringing came again.

“You’d better see who it is.”

“I don’t care,” he whispered. “It can’t be you, so I don’t care.”

“I’ll hang on.”

“I can’t go to the door. I’m not wearing anything. I just got out of the shower.”

The bell rang again.

“Probably just a salesman, anyway.” After a few moments, he said, “Okay, he’s gone.”

“I was saying we could meet at Wally’s.”

“That’s awfully public.”

“That’s the idea. I don’t want any hassles.”

“Christ, Al. Okay. Wally’s. What time?”

“What time is it now?”

“About noon.”

“I’ll need some time to clean up and walk over there.”

“I can pick you up.”

“Thanks anyway. How about one-thirty?”

“Okay. I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Fine. See you then.” She hung up.

She didn’t want to see Evan.

Some things, she thought, you have to do.

It won’t be so bad.

It’ll be awful. I’ll have to tell him it’s over, tell him face-to-face and make him understand it’s final.

It’ll be awful, but it won’t last forever. Then it will be ended and I’ll come back here and Jake will show up, sooner or later.

Jake.

Just keep thinking about Jake, and the rest won’t be so bad. He’ll be here tonight.

This is getting nowhere, Jake thought. At more than half the doors he tried, nobody responded. The missing occupants, he supposed, were either in class or at work.

Of those people he spoke to, several had watched last night’s spectacle, but many claimed ignorance of the entire affair. None admitted to knowing the identity of the young man in the photograph, though three were pretty sure they had seen him on campus at one time or another. Nobody had seen anything, last night or today, that looked like a snake. Nobody had seen or heard anything strange except for the uproar over the car fire.

It seemed pointless, but Jake didn’t give up.

He had gone to every door of every apartment building on this side of the block except the one at the corner. Unlikely, he thought, that anyone so far from the scene noticed anything. But he might as well check, anyway, before crossing the road and trying the other side.

At the first two apartments on the ground floor, nobody came to the doors. At the third, he heard music inside. He rang the bell.

A woman in her late twenties opened the door. She was as tall as Jake, with a terry cloth headband around her black hair, thick eyebrows that almost met in the middle, prominent cheekbones, full lips, a jutting jaw, and broad shoulders. Her breasts strained the fabric of a top that looked like two red bandannas knotted together. Her belly was tanned and flat, striped with a few runnels of sweat. Her hips had the breadth of her shoulders. Instead of pants, she wore something that reminded Jake of a pirate’s eye patch—a black strap that slanted down from her hips, a black satin triangle not quite large enough to cover her hairless pubic area.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Jake said. “It’s police business.” He held his wallet open.

She glanced at the badge, ignored the ID card, and licked some sweat from the corner of her mouth. “Come on in out of the cold,” she said.

He stepped into the apartment. In spite of the fan and open windows, the heat seemed worse than outside. The woman turned away, and Jake watched her walk to the stereo. A slim black strip clung to the center of her buttocks, leaving the flawless cheeks bare. They flexed as she walked.

She seemed as casual about her attire as if she were wearing a three-piece suit. Jake wished she would put on something to cover herself.

The woman turned the stereo down, and turned around. “Want some iced tea?”

“No thanks.”

“I’m Sam. Samantha Summers. Maybe you already know that.”

He shook his head. “Jake Corey,” he told her. “I’m making inquiries around the neighborhood about a situation last night.”

“So you’re not here to bust me, huh?”

“For what?”

Her heavy lips curled into a smile. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. Corrupting the staid mentality of minors?”

“You’ve been doing a lot of that?”

“Some might say so. I’m an associate professor of philosophy at the university.”

Jake thought, You’re joking. Then he thought, Why didn’t I ever have a prof like this?

“Maybe I’ll sign up,” he said.

“Do that. I’ll help open you mind to the imponderables.”

“I could do without imponderables.”

Sam sat on the carpet in front of him. She lay back, folded her hands behind her head, and began doing sit-ups. Her legs were spread. She touched an elbow to the opposite knee, lowered her back to the floor, curled upward and touched the other elbow to the other knee. “How can I help you?” she asked without pausing.

You could help by stopping that, Jake thought. “Did you see this student last night?” he asked, and held the photo of Roland above her knees while she sat up three times. He tried to keep his eyes on the back of the picture.

“Dracula,” she said.

“He thought he was, maybe. He’s dead.”

Sam stopped. She took the photo from Jake and crossed her legs. “Dead?”

“He killed at least two people that we know about. Maybe more. When I found him last night, he was dead.”

“Well, I saw him. It was sometime after one o’clock. Maybe as late as two.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s not a person I’m likely to forget. He used to get on my nerves following me around campus. His name’s something like Rupert or—”

“Roland. Where did you see him?”

“I was out running. I run five miles every night.”

“At one o’clock?”

“I like the night.”

“Where was he?”

“Just up the block. A young man was helping him into his car.”

The words hit Jake like a blow to the stomach.

“He seemed pretty out of it. I assumed he was drunk. I see a lot of that around here. Students don’t appear very adept at holding their liquor.”

“And somebody was with him? Do you know who it was?”

Her thick eyebrows lowered. “I don’t know his name. I do know that he’s a graduate student in the English department with a teaching assistantship.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

Sam shook her head. She handed the photo back to Jake.

“I have to find him right away. It’s urgent.”

“Was he in on the killings?”

“I doubt it. But Roland was…carrying a disease. I need to get to this guy before he infects someone.”

“If I had a school yearbook…”

“You don’t have one?”

“Afraid not.”

“Will you be here for a while?”

“I’ll stick around.”

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

Professor Teal didn’t come to the door, so Jake hurried around the side of the house and climbed the stairs. He broke the Crime Scene ribbon, used his lock picks, and let himself inside.

Any of the three girls, he thought, might have school yearbooks. But he remembered, from his quick inspection of the house last night, that an entire wall of the attic room was lined with bookshelves. It must be Alison’s room, he thought; she had mentioned running downstairs to warn Helen.

At the top of the attic stairs, Jake stared at the mussed bed. This is where it happened, where she woke up and struggled with Roland, where her mauled body would’ve been found if…oh, she nailed the bastard good. Hard to imagine that the same girl he found curled at the foot of his bed this morning could be savage enough to inflict such damage on someone.

Her purse was on the floor beside Jake’s feet. I should get it for her, he thought. And maybe some clothes.

There were clothes scattered on the carpet near the purse: white running shoes half covered by knee socks, a rumpled blue blouse, a bra with wispy transparent cups, white shorts with panties still inside them as if she had pulled both down at the same time.

Jake picked up the purse and stood there, staring at the clothes. Less than ten minutes ago, he’d been with Sam. Astonishing Sam in her bandannas and patch. But she hadn’t affected Jake a fraction as much as the sight of Alison’s discarded clothing on the floor.

For godsake, he told himself, this is no time to get turned on.

Reluctantly, he looked away. He went to the bed, set the purse down, and searched the shelves. In seconds, he found three yearbooks—slim volumes that stood inches taller than most of the other books. He pulled them down. The cover of each was embossed with the title, Summit, and the year. The most recent had last year’s date. Jake scowled. He wanted the current edition. Then he realized that the Summit covering this year probably hadn’t been issued yet.

The guy better have been enrolled last year, he thought.

He tossed the books onto the bed.

On his knees, he reached under the bed. He found a suitcase and pulled it out.

You shouldn’t do this, he told himself. You should get the books over to Sam.

It’ll just take a minute. If I don’t, I’ll have to make a special trip.

You just want to go through her things, whispered a small voice he didn’t like very much.

He carried the suitcase to Alison’s dresser, set it on the floor, and opened it.

In the top drawer of the dresser were nightgowns, panties and bras. He grabbed a handful of panties, trying not to think about them, and put them quickly into the suitcase. He was tempted not to get any bras for her, felt guilty about that, and took out two. In the next drawer, he found socks, pantyhose, slips. He took only socks. There were sweatshirts, T-shirts, gym shorts, and a jumpsuit in the next drawer. He took a T-shirt, a pair of red shorts, and the jumpsuit. The bottom drawer held sweaters. He didn’t bother with them.

From her closet, he selected a sleeveless sundress, two blouses, and a pair of faded blue jeans. Then he went to the pile of clothing on the floor. He wanted to see her in the white shorts. He picked them up and shook them until the panties dropped through a leg hole. He watched the panties flutter to the floor. He was proud of himself for not touching them. With the shorts in one hand, he gathered up her shoes and returned to the suitcase.

Anything else she might need? he wondered, and scanned the room.

He saw the bulletin board on the wall beyond her desk Snapshots were tacked to it.

She won’t need those, Jake told himself. Get going.

But he wanted to look at them, wanted to look at Alison.

He walked over to the desk. Most of the photos showed Alison, but she was with a guy. The same guy. In one, he was pushing her on a swing. In another, they were sitting on a blanket in the shade of a tree. Another showed them kissing.

Jake’s stomach hurt.

The guy was handsome, in spite of his glasses, and he looked in good shape.

This is what I get for snooping, Jake thought.

He felt better, however, when he remembered Alison saying she had broken up with her boyfriend last night.

This guy had been dumped.

Good riddance.

Jake hefted the suitcase, picked up Alison’s purse and yearbooks, and rushed downstairs.

After soaking in the bath for nearly an hour, Alison felt a little better. The hot water had soothed her tight muscles. It had done nothing, however, to take away the deeper tightness, the cold sick feeling that seemed to grip her insides.

If there was only a way to turn off her mind.

Or change channels. Get rid of the bad shows starring Roland and Helen and Celia and the dead policeman and Evan. Turn to the Jake channel. The Jake show was comforting, sometimes exciting. All the others hurt.

Alison stepped out of the tub, dripping, and began to dry herself with a soft towel.

Everything would be much better if she could just avoid seeing Evan.

You have to go. You have to finish it.

I don’t have any clothes.

Alison wanted that for an excuse, but she’d had plenty of time to consider the problem and find a solution.

She hung the moist towel over a bar, and left the bathroom. The air in the hallway felt cool. In Jake’s room, the windows were open. A nice breeze came in.

She went to the closet, took out a plaid shirt and put it on. Buttoned, it resembled a dress. A short, loose dress to be sure, but it would have to suffice. She rolled the sleeves up her forearms. Then, she found a belt and fastened it around her waist.

On the inside of Jake’s closet door was a full-length mirror.

The shirt didn’t look that much like a dress. It looked like a man’s shirt. She pulled at it, rearranging the tucks to make it hang more smoothly.

Returning to the bathroom, she brushed her teeth using a finger smeared with Jake’s toothpaste.

Finally, she went into the kitchen. On the wall beside the telephone was a notepad and pen. She tore off a sheet and took it to the table.

“That’s him,” Sam said.

Jake’s heart slammed in his chest. “Are you positive?”

“I got a good look at them both. There’s no doubt about it. He’s the one who was helping Roland into the car.” She slid a finger across the page of photographs and stopped it beneath the name. “Evan Forbes.”

Alison’s dumped boyfriend. The man in those snapshots on her bulletin board.

No need to worry, Jake told himself. They’d split up.

But she’d said she should call him, let him know she’s okay.

What if she tells him where she’s staying?

“I need to use your phone.”

“Help yourself.”

Jake dialed his home. He listened to the ringing.

Come on, pick it up. Come on, Alison. Answer the damn phone!

It rang fifteen times before he hung up.

“Do you have a directory?”

Sam rushed from the room. She ran back, clutching a telephone book, and thrust it at Jake.

He flipped through the pages. Forbes was listed. Jake recognized the address: the apartment building in front of which he’d found Roland’s car parked last night. He’d already been there, knocking on doors.

“Thanks, Sam.”

He ran.

He kicked the door. With a splintering crash, it flew open.

The carpet at his feet was crusted with dried blood.