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“Our parents.” She was numb. “John and Irene Blix.”

“Blix. So, Mrs. Hayes, may I have please their address?”

She told him their address and phone number.

“So.”

“They were…murdered?”

“Murdered, yes.”

“I think I know who did it.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? Damn it, I know who killed them!”

“So. You tell me, please.”

“It was my ex-husband. His name is Roy Hayes. He was released yesterday—I mean Saturday. Sometime Saturday.”

“So. Released from what?”

“San Quentin.”

“So.”

“He was in six years for raping our daughter.”

“So.”

“So he must’ve killed Karen to find out where I am.”

“Did she know, please?”

“Yes, she knew.”

“So. You are in danger. Describe your Roy Hayes, please.”

As she gave the man a description of her exhusband, she saw Sandy returning with a bag of potato chips. The bag was open. Sandy was pinching chips, one at a time, and pushing them sideways into her mouth.

“So. He drives?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what. He may have taken one of Karen’s cars. They’ve got a yellow Volkswagen and a white Pontiac Grand Prix.”

“So. The years?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at her daughter munching potato chips outside the booth. Turning away, Donna began to cry.

“Please, Mrs. Hayes. Are the cars new?”

“The VW, it’s a ’77. I don’t know about the other. A ’72,’73.”

“So. Very good, Mrs. Hayes. Very good. Now, if I may suggest, call the Tucson police, so, and inform them of your situation. Perhaps an escort to the airport.”

“Airport?”

“So. Your parents are not to be alone during this time of tragedy.”

“No. You’re right. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“So.”

“Thank you, Mr. Woo.” She hung up. Sandy knocked on the plastic wall of the booth. Ignoring her, Donna searched her purse for coins. She found them, and made another call.

“Santa Monica Police Department,” said a woman. “Officer Bleary speaking. May I help you?”

“Do you have a Morris Woo?”

“Just a moment, please.”

Donna heard a telephone ring. It was picked up. “Homicide,” said the man. “Detective Harris.”

“Do you have a Morris Woo?”

“He’s not in just now. May I help you?”

“I talked to a man on the phone.” She sniffed, and rubbed her nose. “He claimed to be a Sergeant Morris Woo. I just wanted to make sure he’s really a police officer.”

“So?” 2.

After a brief, tearful call to give her parents the news, she hung up and left the booth. “Let’s go back to the motel.”

“What’s wrong?” Sandy was crying. “Tell me!”

“Aunt Karen and Uncle Bob. They’ve been killed.”

“No they haven’t!”

“I just talked to a police officer, honey.”

“No!”

“Come on, let’s go back to the motel.”

Instead, the girl threw herself against Donna, hugging tightly as she cried.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 1.

When Jud climbed out of his car, he saw Donna sitting on a front step of her cabin and he knew that something was wrong. He went toward her. She saw him, and stood. He took her in his arms, and she began to cry softly, quietly, her back trembling under his hand. Jud stroked the back of her head. Her cheek was wet against his face. He held her for a long time.

Then Donna looked up at him. She sniffed, smiled an apology, and rubbed her face with her sleeves. “Thanks,” she said.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, her lips pressed tightly shut. “Can we go for a walk?” she asked.

“I know a nice place. We’ll have to go in the car, though.”

“Before we go, I’d better get registered for tonight.”

“Good idea,” Jud said. “I’ll have to do that, too.”

Together, they went to the motel office. They registered. Then they returned to Jud’s car. “Where’s Sandy?” he asked.

“Sleeping.”

“She seems to do a lot of that, doesn’t she?”

“It’s a good way to escape.”

“Is she all right?”

“No. Probably not.”

They climbed into the Chrysler, and Jud drove out to Front Street.

“We saw your car in town this morning,” Donna said in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

“I took the tour again.”

“You mean they had a tour? I would’ve thought the police…”

“The police don’t know about the killing, apparently. The body’s gone. So’s the blood. It looks like somebody did a nice clean-up job.”

“Scrub-a-dub-dub.” Donna met his glance, and frowned. “That’s what Axel does. He’s in charge of cleaning the place.”

“Axel’s in this thing up to the armpits. So’s his mother. They all are. It’s a family enterprise. All it takes is a murder, now and again, to keep the tourists coming.”

“If the body’s gone, though…”

“I think they got nervous, killing someone so close to the other three. Nervous enough to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Why did they kill her—they? Now you’ve got me believing it. Why did they kill her, if they didn’t want the publicity?”

“She was gonna burn the place down.”

“I guess that’s a good enough reason. What’s your next step? Do you try to find her body?”

“That wouldn’t do us much good. What we’ve gotta find is the man in the monkey suit.”

“Then what?”

“If I have to, I’ll kill him.”

“You intend to kill him, don’t you?”

“I doubt if he’ll give me a choice.”

They were silent as they drove past Beast House. After they rounded the bend, Donna said, “Have you killed very many people?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…think about it much?”

He glanced at her, then steered onto the shoulder of the road and stopped. “You mean, does my conscience bother me?”

“I guess that’s what I mean.”

“I never killed a guy who didn’t have it coming.”

“Who judges that?”

“Me. I judge him and sentence him.”

“How can you?”

“I hear voices.”

She smiled. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. I hear a voice. It’s usually mine saying, ‘I’d better nail this bastard before he nails me.’ ”

“You’re awful.”

He laughed softly. And then he felt a cold tightness inside him. He swallowed. “Sometimes what I hear are the voices of the dead. People I never knew. People I saw in news photos, or with my own eyes. They say to me, ‘I’d be alive today if this bastard hadn’t canceled my ticket.’ Then I look at the living and they say, ‘That bastard’s gonna kill me tomorrow.’ And then I judge him and then I execute him if I can. I figure I’m paying him back for the dead, and I’m saving a few lives. Maybe this sounds terrible, but my conscience is pretty happy with itself.”

“Do you kill for money?”

“If he’s the kind of guy I’m willing to kill, there’s always someone who’s glad to pay me for it.”

They got out of the car. Jud took Donna’s hand and led her across the road. “Do you mind a workout?”

“Okay by me.”

They entered the forest. Jud went first, seeking out ways through the tightly grouped pines and around impassable areas of rock or fallen trees. Twice, he stopped to let Donna rest.