Timmy stirred and murmured a protest when Bruno tied a relaxed gag around his mouth, then fell back into a deep sleep.
Bruno knew he had to be picked up tomorrow morning by the landscaper’s truck. There would be no explanation for him not being there. But the kid should be okay until I get back, he thought. Even if he wakes up, he can’t get out and he can’t pull the gag off. His hands are tied behind him.
Now that the end was near, he knew that he was not only deadly calm, but would stay deadly calm. He looked down at Timmy’s sleeping face. There was enough light from the full moon that he could see it clearly. “You would’ve looked just like your daddy someday,” he said, “and your mommy is right in that house and doesn’t know you’re here. Wait till she finds out you’re missing.”
He knew he should leave but could not resist reaching into his pocket and taking out a tiny case. He opened it and took out shiny bright blue lenses and put them in his eyes. He had worn them that day because they would stand out just in case anyone got close enough to describe him. He remembered how he had heard Timmy’s wail five years ago: “Blue Eyes shot my daddy.”
Yes, I did, he thought. Yes, I did.
He took out the lenses, saving them for tomorrow.
Leo Farley could not sleep. The cop in him was sending him a warning. He tried to brush it off.
Laurie is okay, he reminded himself. I’m glad Alex Buckley is in that house. It’s obvious that he likes Laurie, but more important, he knows she’s facing a potentially explosive situation tonight with that bunch in the same house.
Timmy sounds great, and I’ll see him Sunday. Then why in hell am I so sure that something is seriously wrong? Maybe it’s just all these heart monitors on me. They’d drive anyone crazy.
The nurse had left a sleeping pill on his night table. “It’s not strong, Commissioner,” she had told him, “but it will take the edge off and let you get some sleep.”
Leo reached for it, then threw it back on the table. I don’t want to wake up half-groggy, he thought angrily.
And anyhow, I know it won’t help me go to sleep.
92
At three o’clock in the morning, Jane got quietly out of bed, opened the door of her room, and padded along until she reached the room where Muriel Craig was sleeping.
Her noisy snoring was sufficient proof that she was under the influence of excess liquid refreshment. Jane tiptoed over to the bed, bent over, and raised the pillow she was holding. Then, with a sudden quick movement, she jammed it over Muriel’s face and clasped it down.
The snoring stopped with an abrupt gagging sound. The strong hands of her attacker held the pillow like a vise. Muriel began to gasp for breath.
Her hands flew up and she tried to push the pillow away. “Don’t bother,” someone whispered.
Any remnant of the fog in her brain disappeared.
I don’t want to die, Muriel thought. I don’t want to die.
Her long fingernails dug deep into the back of her assailant’s hands, and for a moment their grip loosened. Muriel pushed away the pillow and screamed. But then the pillow came back even more forcefully over her face. “You didn’t think I’d let you have him,” Jane hissed, her voice ragged and her tone vicious as she again clasped the pillow tightly over Muriel’s face. “Maybe they know I killed Betsy, but you won’t get a chance at him. He’s mine. He’s mine.”
Throughout the second floor, everyone heard the scream and felt utter disbelief.
Alex arrived first, wrestling with Jane and throwing her to the floor. As he turned on the light, he saw that Muriel’s face was blue. She was not breathing. He pulled her out of the bed, laid her on the floor, and began CPR.
As Robert Powell ran down the hall, Rod and the four graduates came rushing from the other direction. Wild-eyed Jane looked from one to the other of them and began to flee, still clutching the pillow.
“You?” Powell shouted and began to follow her. “It was you?”
Stumbling and gasping, Jane ran down the stairs and through the kitchen. Shoving the patio door aside, she ran into the darkness, not knowing where to go. She was beside the pool when Robert Powell grabbed her.
“It was you,” he said. “All this time it was you? For twenty years I have seen you every day and never suspected for one minute that you killed my Betsy.”
“I love you, Rob,” she moaned. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“You can’t swim, can you? You’re afraid of water, aren’t you?” With a sudden motion, he shoved her into the pool, then buried her frantic pleas for help by shouting: “Jane, Jane, don’t be afraid, we’ll help you, Jane, we’ll help you. Where are you?”
When he was sure that she was sinking, he continued running past the pool house and down the driveway until, exhausted, he sank onto the ground. That was where he was found when a squad car came roaring around the driveway. A policeman knelt beside him. “It’s all right, Mr. Powell, it’s all right. Do you know which way she went?”
“No.” Robert Powell’s breathing was labored, his complexion ghastly white. Just then the outdoor lights burst on, and every corner of the grounds became visible. “Maybe the pool house,” he breathed. “Maybe she’s hiding in there.”
Sirens screaming, other squad cars began racing down the driveway. Ed Penn was in one of them.
“Look in the pool house,” the policeman with Powell shouted.
One of the officers raced to the door of the pool house and was pushing it open when another cop shouted, “She’s down here.”
He was standing by the pool looking down. Jane, faceup, was lying at the bottom. Her eyes were open and her fists were closed as if she were still grasping the pillow. The officer dove into the pool and struggled to bring her to the surface. The other officers helped him drag her out of the pool and they positioned her on the ground. They pumped her chest and applied CPR. After several minutes they stopped their futile attempt to revive her.
Inside, Alex had managed to get Muriel’s heart beating. The graduates and Rod were standing motionless in the room. As Muriel fought her way back to consciousness, she moaned, “Rob, Rob.”
Nina’s hysterical laughter could be heard through the house.
93
Bruno stood on the sidewalk for a full fifteen minutes before Dave Cappo pulled up in the grounds van promptly at 8 A.M. Dave was bursting with excitement as they headed for the Powell estate.
“Did you hear everything that’s going on?” he asked.
“What’s that?” Bruno asked, saying to himself, I don’t care.
“Somebody tried to kill somebody at the Powell place last night.”
“What?”
“It was the housekeeper. She killed Powell’s wife twenty years ago,” Dave said breathlessly. “She tried to do it again to someone else last night, but she got caught in the act. She tried to get away and fell in the pool-turns out she couldn’t swim.”
Did they find Timmy? Bruno thought in terror.
“What do you think of that?” Dave was asking. “I mean, for twenty years those four graduates have been under suspicion, and it turns out none of them did it.”
“What’s happening up there now?” Bruno asked. If they found Timmy, I can have Dave take me home right now. I can say I don’t feel well. I can be out of this town in minutes. Timmy doesn’t know who picked him up. But they’ll come looking for me fast…