Proffer was saying, “My God, what are we gonna do?”
That was a fair question, Surcher knew. “Try to find the bird,” he answered.
“What are you gonna do to protect these kids?” Proffer
asked.
Surcher said, “Station Troopers all over the place— that’s one thing—” He paused, “And tell those parents to keep them in at night, for another thing.” He paused, “Until we find the answer, that is.”
Proffer nodded, but had grave doubts about the second thing. He knew his Sawyersville kids.
“PoOr old John!” Proffer said now.
They all agreed.
“He sure gave his life, didn’t he?” Proffer added.
They all nodded.
“He did, alright,” Surcher told him. “And—he had found the answer.” He added.
“I hope his insurance and everything was alright,” Tiger said, quietly.
“My God, if it isn’t, the town ought to provide it,” Proffer said.
“Well, he no doubt had police insurance, most local forces have—” Surcher told them, “It’s not bad. Not too bad at all,” He said, quietly.
Tiger nodded his head. As did Proffer.
There was silence.
“Mike—” Surcher said, finally, “Are there any karate experts in the school—that you know of?”
Tiger looked his way. Thoughtfully.
“Not that I know of.”
“Was John killed that way?” Proffer spoke up.
Surcher nodded. “I think so.”
Silence.
“You’re not one, are you, Mike?” Surcher inquired, mildly.
Tiger grinned, “Wish I was,” he told him.
“Don’t get me wrong—” Surcher put in.
“Aw. don’t worry—” Tiger grinned.
“I just thought you might have some Phys Ed class in it—”
“My God no,” Tiger told him.
Again, silence.
Surcher mused. He had a lot of looking to do. And looking out too—when that “assistance” arrived. He knew. He had a lot of looking to do in Jeannie Bonni’s house today—this morning—for example. There was something he would find one of these days which would lead him straight to the lunatic. He knew it. But there was also something else he knew, which wasn’t too good: he might not. Nothing. He (and/or the “assistants”) might just have to wait like chumps until the thing had run its course, grim as that could be. For he knew these things did run their course, chilling thought though it was. It was even possible that one day the nut would just hand himself in. It had
happened.
He spoke now to his assistants.
“I want you to ask every girl in the school one question: “Has anyone ever made a pass at you, a sexual pass, with sexual intentions?” He paused, letting that sink in. Tiger mused, hearing it, it was some question. “I mean anybody. This is very important. It could be a teacher, a classmate, some guy out on the street—I mean anywhere. Take all the names down.” He paused again. “There should be a good batch of them.” He stopped, surveying them, and Proffer, and Tiger. This was one approach to the matter he had so far not put enough emphasis on. First he had wasted too much time with that colored boy and then that Janitor. Though he had done right, he knew. For anybody—within limits—could be the culprit. Sitting there, musing, he tried to build up a picture in his mind of the kind of man he would be, when and if they finally cornered him. Obviously. someone with something. A way with the girls. And Police Chiefs. Something. An expert killer. More and more, as he sat there, he saw his man as an adult, a formidable one. Though he couldn’t discount a school kid. Anyone. So far. no one impressed him. He sighed, within himself, almost glad in a way that “assistance” was coming. Though of course he would prefer to see the affair right through to the end, possibly the bitter end, with his own team. He gazed at Proffer, and Mike McDrew. No, neither of those two. On that karate thing, which he had sneaked in, McDrew hadn’t even batted an eye, he knew. Surcher was up the creek.
“I’ll bet you quite a few of the girls won’t be around today," Proffer told him.
Tiger wondered about that, casting a passing glance at his watch, in the process.
“We’ll see them at their homes, that's all then,” Surcher told him. He turned to Tiger, “Things all set up for that meeting with the parents?”
“All sot." replied Tiger, “Tomorrow morning, here in the auditorium.’’
“’Good,” said Surcher, still looking at him. “I hope we can get their cooperation—” For a brief moment, his eyes locked with Tiger’s.
“So do I,” said Tiger.
“We’li certainly try our best,” said Proffer.
Surcher’s eyes left Tiger, and he sat quietly a few moments, looking down at the table, tapping his finger against it, half a dozen times at least.
‘Two cheerleaders—a majorette—” he murmured.
“A police chief—” Tiger put in.
“Cod almighty—” Proffer winced. ...
On the sidewalk in front of his house, just a few minutes after stepping out of the door, Ponce remembered—everything. It roared through him like a flood, staggering him. He had to lean against one of those big shade trees to keep from falling over. He was poleaxed. His heart was pounding. He was sweating. He hoped to God his mother wasn’t near one of those big front picture windows. If she saw him, she would come running out after him. Rusty Joe had already buzzed off to school on his bike, with his pals, so that was o.k. Ponce just leaned there against that tree for a few minutes, absolutely about to keel over. There was no doubt about it—It Had Happened. He closed his eyes, he almost swooned, only the tree kept him from toppling over, as the details fell into place, in him. He saw that dream, the world’s most beautiful thing, Miss Betty Smith. He was with her, they were doing things. He had never known or even heard of such thrilling, incredible, miraculous moments as when they were doing those things. What things. Ponce hung on. When she was doing things. For Ponce remembered: He hadn’t done a thing. Nothing. He had just lain there, totally unable to move, a hot, massive column between his legs, pointing straight upward, for her. How she loved it. How she had loved it. It. He remembered it. He had never in his wildest dreams touched close to such mystery and ecstasy. He remembered the wild climax of it Fantastic moments there. Hours. Eternity there. Her cries, her divine cries as that climax swept and surged all through them, her body had surged, and jolted, like a—volcano! Or was he the volcano? That was itl Certainly! Ponce remembered, leaning against that tree, propped up there, his heart battering at him. The hot fluid, the love fluid, bursting out of him, shooting into her, filling her. She was crying out—Ponce remembered it. She had clutched him, surging against him. She had kissed him and kissed him. . . . Was it still in her? How she had cried out! Calling his name. . . . Ponce opened his eyes, coming around somewhat, calming down, little by little, somehow. ... And afterward—he remembered now—she had lain there, upon him, murmuring and talking, she had talked such a long time to him, kissing him, caressing him, tenderly. He saw her face. Her sweet mouth. Her eyes. Her warm, sweet breath. Just above his face. . . . Ponce closed his eyes again. . . . Then, she lay by his side, and helped him, murmuring softly all the while to him, stroking him. Helping him—to move. To regain his power of movement. . . . What a long while! Ponce opened his eyes again. He moved off the tree, and after a few wobbly moments, started walking away, up the street. ... He didn’t know how long it had taken, only finally he found he could move his head at least. Sitting up, she had supported his head in her lap. That divine lap. Above him, her breasts. She let him suckle her breasts. . . . Ponce walked like a man in a trance, up that street, remembering that. . . . And then— when—he didn’t know when—she had helped him get dressed. He could still only move his arms and head by then. She made him something warm to drink. She caressed him and talked to him more. . . . Finally, she had driven him home. He remembered it, late, late at night— or was it dawn? He could just barely walk, with her support, he remembered his arms about her neck, and shoulders, and her arm about his waist, as they made their way slowly. ... In the car, as she drove, his head rested on her shoulder. . . . She kept murmuring, talking softly, all the way home. . . . It wasn't a dream. He knew it . . . At his house, she had opened the door. . . . Upstairs. . . . Up those stairs, with her. . . . She helped him to undress. • . . The only light was the moon. ... He remembered