This one particular night, Rob took sixty.
Emily, out on a late date, decided to stop by his room on her way to the late night bath she liked to linger in, and when she got no response, she decided he was asleep and she'd go in and give him a little sisterly kiss.
She found him sprawled on the floor of his room and barely breathing.
Within twenty-five minutes, he was in the hospital emergency ward.
And within twenty-four hours after that, he began a three year stay at a mental hospital called Hastings House.
He killed his first woman on the night of May 11, 1978. This was the first time he escaped the mental hospital.
After a few hours' freedom, during which time he ate a good steak dinner and rented a car, he drove up into the hills where he saw a somewhat plump but pretty young woman standing in front of a somewhat battered 1968 Fairlane, the hood up, and steam pouring out of the radiator. She seemed so helpless and disconsolate that she looked positively fetching. The image of a helpless woman appealed to him enormously.
He pulled in behind where she'd parked just off the road, got out, and went over to her.
He smiled. "You look like you've got your hands full."
"I sure do." She touched surprisingly delicate fingers to her face and shook her head. "I'm supposed to be at a wedding shower in twenty minutes."
"Why don't I take a look?" he said, sounding like a doctor about to peek in at a sore throat.
He saw the problem immediately. A hole in her radiator. A rock could have put it there or kids sabotaging cars in a parking lot.
He leaned back from inside the hood. "Tell you what. Why don't I give you a ride? There's a Standard station down the way. They can come back and tow your car in and if it's not too far out of my way, I can give you a ride to your party."
"Jeez, it's gonna need towing?"
He smiled again. "Afraid so."
She didn't say thanks for the offer of a ride; thanks for looking at my car. She was as cheap as her watch.
"So what's wrong with it?"
"Hole in your radiator probably."
Cars went by, most of them filled with teenagers prowling the night. Rock music trailed in their wake like banners fluttering in the wind.
"Jeez," she said, "why does this crap always happen to me?"
"My name's O'Rourke," he said. The odd thing was, the false name surprised him. He had no idea why he'd used it. No idea yet what he really had in mind. He put out a slender hand (he'd always hated his hands, tiny as a fourteen year old girl's, the wrists delicate no matter how long he lifted weights) and she took it.
"Paula. Stufflebeam."
"Now there's a sturdy name for you."
"Hah. Sturdy. Shitty is what you mean."
They got in the car and started driving. The radio played Andy Gibb. The girl started singing along very low and then asked if he could maybe turn up the radio a little. Even in his radio playing he was conservative. Kept it low all the time.
When the song was over, she looked at him and said, "This is a nice car."
"Thank you." He wasn't sure why but he didn't want to tell her it was rented.
"If I woulda got married last fall, I woulda had a car like this. The guy really had bucks."
"Oh?"
"But he was all fucked up, pardon my French. Nam. He had these nightmares. He scared me."
"I'm sorry for both of you."
"Well, like my mother says, there's always more fish in the sea."
The night was busy. Mosquitoes slapped against the windshield. Distantly he could smell the river and the hot fishy odours on the darkness. Donna Summer came on. He wondered what Lisa was doing tonight. Probably something fashionable. Her last note indicated that she had become involved in theatre and had met the neatest acting coach. He wondered if she had already betrayed her husband and if she was sleeping with this acting coach.
He knew he had to hurry. He had to get back to the hospital before he was reported missing.
Two blocks from the Standard station, he suddenly veered right, still not knowing why. A sign said WARNER PARK, TWO BLOCKS. The Beatles sang Paperback Writer.
"Hey," she said.
"Pardon me?"
"This ain't the way to the gas station."
"No?"
"No."
He increased his speed. He was now going forty miles per hour. He had to be careful. He could get stopped by a cop.
She looked at him. "Don't get any ideas. About me, I mean."
"Wouldn't you like to look over the city? Just sort of take a break?"
"I don't even know you."
He turned toward her. Smiled. "I'm not going to put the make on you, if that's what you're afraid of." He frowned. "I'll be honest with you."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. My girlfriend-" He sighed. His words sounded painful beyond belief. "My girlfriend left me for somebody else."
"That's too bad."
"So right now I could use some company, you know? Just a friend."
"But I gotta be at that wedding shower."
"Just a few minutes is all. Just go up and look out over the city. Just a few minutes."
"Well-"
"And I won't try anything. I promise."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
She sighed. "Some guy dumped me once so I know how you're feeling, the pecker." And again she sighed. "I could only spend a few minutes."
"I've got things to do myself."
"You mind if I smoke this roach I got in my purse?"
"Not at all."
"I'm not a doper or anything. I just like a little grass once in a while. It relaxes me."
"Fine."
She took out this tiny roach clip and then inserted this even tinier roach in it. He was amazed that she got it going. She took three heavy tokes on it and then leaned her head back against the seat. The Bee Gees sang Stayin' Alive.
"You want a toke?" she said.
"No thanks."
Her voice was kind of raspy now. "It really relaxes me."
"Yes, that's what you said."
After he parked the car, they got out and went to the edge of a grassy cliff. The night air was slow and hot, filled with fireflies and bam owls. Below them the city lay like a vast drug dream, unreal in the way it sprawled shimmering over the prairie landscape and then ended abruptly, giving way to the plains and the forest again. Next to him, Paula Stufflebeam smelled of sweat and faded perfume and sexual juices. She had a run in her stockings so bad he could see it even in the moonlit darkness and oddly enough it made him feel sorry for her. She wasn't cheap, she was poor and uneducated and there was a difference. He had to keep this in mind whenever he took to judging people from the eyrie of his privileged life.
"So who'd she dump you for?" Paula said after they'd been there a few minutes.
"A lawyer."
"A lawyer, huh? Bet he pulls down the bucks."
"No. He's a civil rights lawyer."
"You mean like black people and people like that?"
"Right."
"Oh." She didn't sound impressed. "Well, you know what my mother told me."
"That there're plenty of other fish in the sea?"
"Right."
He slid his arm across her shoulder and brought her closer to him. He'd never been good at making out. He'd always been afraid he was doing all the wrong things. But tonight he felt a curious self-confidence.
He brought her to him and she surprised him by coming along willingly. He felt her press up against him, the shift of her breasts beneath the polyester of her dress, the faint wisp of hair spray, and the bubblegum taste of her lipstick. Their groins were pressed together, too, and he felt a hard, breathless lust start to increase his heartbeat.
"I really don't have time to do anything," she said after pulling gently away from him.
"I know."
"But you could always call me sometime."