“I’d say they can’t,” Abe said.
“Hope those cops know what they’re doing.”
“They asked us to stay out of it. We’ll stay out of it.”
Near the dark front porch, Purcell pointed to each side. The two uniformed patrolmen spread out. They positioned themselves to the left and right of the porch stairs. Purcell and Lucy mounted the stairs. Lucy drew her revolver and flattened her back against the wall. Purcell stepped in front of the door.
“I can’t see,” Gorman complained in a whiny voice.
“Shut up,” Abe muttered.
He stared at the distant door. He saw the shape of Purcell raise a hand to knock. He couldn’t hear the knock. Purcell lowered the hand to his side.
Abe realized he was holding his breath. He let it out.
Then a dim blue swath of light silhouetted Purcell and someone standing in the doorway. Abe heard his heartbeat. Seconds were passing. Purcell must, he thought, be talking to the person. Who was it, Maggie Kutch? Probably denying…
A man’s voice, faint with the distance, cried out, “No!” Purcell suddenly hunched. A gunshot popped in Abe’s ears. Purcell doubled over and staggered backwards. As he tumbled down the porch stairs, a blast from somewhere to the side sent the cop with the shotgun spinning. The other cop whirled around and aimed toward the pickup. Before he could fire, a shot kicked his head back.
Lucy froze against the wall as if crucified.
Abe dashed between the parked cars. He jerked the revolver from the back of his jeans as he raced in a crouch up the driveway. “Hit the deck!” he yelled at Lucy.
The front door slammed shut, cutting off the blue glow.
Lucy crouched. An instant later came the flat bang of a rifle. She dropped to one knee and swung her revolver toward the pickup. She fired four quick rounds. A man cried out, came stumbling into Abe’s view from the cover of the pickup’s hood, fell to one knee and aimed his rifle at Lucy. He jerked and flopped to the thunder as bullets from Lucy and Abe and Jack socked his body.
Abe straightened up. He heard nothing but the ringing in his ears.
The sprawled man didn’t move.
Lucy was still on one knee. Through the ringing, Abe heard shell casings clatter and roll on the wooden floor of the porch. He realized she was reloading.
He and Jack hurried forward. He crouched over Purcell. The man was on his back, clutching his belly and squirming. “Take it easy,” Abe told him. “We’ll get help for you.”
He heard quick footsteps behind him. As he stood, a blink of light illuminated the chief’s contorted face and bloody shirt. “For Christsake, Hardy!”
Gorman sidestepped and took another photo of Purcell, then rushed toward the officer who’d fallen to the left of the porch stairs.
Jack, kneeling by the one to the right, called, “This one’s dead.”
Lucy backed down the stairs, her revolver aimed at the closed door.
Light flashed as Gorman shot two photos of the cop at his feet. Abe shoved him roughly aside and dropped down next to the motionless body. This one had a chest wound. He searched the neck for a pulse. “Dead,” he called. He straightened up. “Lucy, get back to your car and radio for an ambulance.”
With a nod, she took off running for the road.
Jack was standing above the man who’d ambushed the two officers. Abe went over to him. “It’s the old shit that took our tickets,” Jack said.
“Guess we cancelled his,” Abe said.
Gorman, panting, ran up beside them. His flash lit the skinny, grizzled old man. In the instant of brightness, Abe saw half a dozen bullet holes in the front of his sodden shirt and trousers: small entry holes from Lucy’s .38, large exits from the slugs that had caught him in the back. Gorman stepped to his feet, crouched, and took another picture.
“We going in?” Jack asked. His voice was hushed and eager.
“Right.”
“She’s gonna be ready.”
“She’ll expect us to break through the front door. We’ll go in the back.”
“There is no back door,” Gorman pointed out.
“There’s the tunnel.”
“Where you killed the beast?”
“Want to see it?” Jack said.
“I must.”
“Better grab a weapon,” Abe told him.
With a nod, Gorman rushed over to the head-shot policeman. Abe and Jack reloaded while he took two photos of the dead man, knelt down, and lifted the revolver out of the grass.
“Do you know how to use it?” Jack asked.
“I’ve had some experience.”
“Just don’t point it at anyone you don’t plan to shoot.”
“I’m not a fool,” Gorman said.
Abe stepped over to Purcell. The chief still held his belly, but he was no longer squirming. “We’re going in to take care of business,” Abe told him. “Hang on here. An ambulance is on the way.”
As they started for the road, Abe saw Lucy running toward them. Clamped under one arm was a first-aid kit. Abe rushed up to her. “We’re going in through a tunnel under the house.”
“Maybe I’d better…”
“Take care of Purcell. Keep an eye on the front door, but don’t try to go in.”
She nodded.
“Who shot Purcell?”
“The Kutch woman. Maggie. She was just talking calmly and all of a sudden…”
“If she comes out, blow her down.”
“You’re fucking-A right I will.”
Abe slapped her back, and ran for the road. Jack and Gorman followed. Abe stopped at one of the police cars long enough to find a long-barreled flashlight. Racing across Front Street, he glimpsed headlights far to the left. From somewhere in the distance came the sound of a siren. He dashed past the Beast House ticket booth, vaulted the turnstile and ran up the walkway.
“Wait up!” Gorman called.
He took the porch stairs two at a time, stopped in front of the door, and rammed the heel of his shoe into it just below the handle. With a splintering crash, the door flew open.
He switched on the flashlight.
Jack came up behind him.
“Wait up,” Hardy called again. A moment later, he came huffing up the porch stairs.
The three men entered the house.
The beam of Abe’s light caught the snarling face of a creature near the foyer wall. He turned his revolver on it, but held fire as he realized it was nothing but the old, stuffed monkey posed to hold umbrellas. He let out a deep breath.
“Let’s take it cautious,” he whispered. “There’s one beast unaccounted for and three women.”
“Do you think they might be here?” Gorman asked.
“Anything’s possible,” Jack told him.
“The tunnel’s our way in,” Abe said, “but it’s their way out if they decide to retreat.”
“Do you think they had time to get here?”
“Yes,” Abe said. He started forward, the powerful beam of his flashlight pushing a stream of brightness into the dark.
Tyler swung off the road behind Abe’s mustang. The ambulance sped by. Near the porch of the Kutch house, a woman stood up and waved both arms. On the ground around her lay several motionless shapes. Tyler’s throat constricted.
“My God,” Nora muttered.
The ambulance skidded onto the driveway, siren wailing, light flashing. It raced toward the woman.
“Follow it,” Janice said from the backseat.
Tyler stepped on the gas, swerved around Abe’s car, and swung onto the driveway. The ambulance stopped. She slowed as she drew up behind it. Two attendants jumped down and ran to the back. As they opened the rear doors, she set the emergency brake.
“That guy down over there’s a cop,” Nora said.
Tyler bolted from the car. She sprinted past the ambulance. In the glare of the whirling red lights, she saw a body to the left of the porch. It wore a uniform. A woman with a revolver in one hand was on her knees beside a man, gesturing to the attendants as they rushed forward with a stretcher. The man on the ground was a stranger.