Roy’s mind went into high gear. “If Julia had been a kind presence in the boy’s life, and Efram killed her for threatening an unmasking... or if an affair had led Rosemary to kill her competition, as you put it... either one would explain our menace’s grudge against my father.”
“Yes. Your father rubber-stamped the Lee family version of the death as strictly an accidental fall. That he almost certainly did so honestly, if mistakenly, would not dissuade a deranged Dennis from adding him... and then you and your boy... to his vengeance list.”
Roy shook his head. “My God.”
“My God indeed.”
“You’ll... you’ll look into this further?”
“Oh yes. And Chief Sturgis is eager to cooperate. For now, however... like so much in this case... we have to live with informed speculation. Somewhat informed, anyway.” A sigh came over the phone. “Okay, I guess that’s all I have for you.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“I’d say so,” Cutter said with his own wry laugh. Then, dead serious: “Don’t let the sad story of Julia Miller cost you your first good night’s sleep in a while.”
“Do my best.”
In the guest room, Helen was stretched out in the dressing gown on top of the covers under the framed Hawaiian landscape she’d begun on their honeymoon. She’d been reading The Thorn Birds and set it aside on her nightstand. The reading lamp was the only light in the room and it gave off a nice warm golden glow.
“Was that anything?” she asked him.
Roy shut the door behind him. “It was everything.”
He sat on edge of the bed near her and shared with her all Blake Cutter had told him.
“Is it over?” she asked him breathlessly. “Really over?”
He nodded. “It’s over.”
“Truly?”
“I think so. Blake Cutter knows what he’s doing. And he’s put a damn fine team together.”
She smiled. “Language.”
He leaned over and kissed her. Sweet, not lingering, but very, very sweet. She touched his face.
“These things Blake said about your father,” she said, “and how you and Richie may have got onto the grudge list... are you all right? Does it upset you?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. My dad was as straight a shooter as they come. If he ruled that nurse’s death as accidental, he was either right, or just honestly wrong. Everybody makes mistakes.”
A half smile appeared. “You’re telling me.”
He had half a smile for her, too. “I hope I’m not the mistake you made.”
“No. You... us? That’s something I got right and then... screwed up. We never really did have it rough before, did we?”
“Not like this. But who the hell ever did? Of course, your dad made it a little rough, when we moved in together. Pulled the financial rug out from under you.”
“That little apartment off-campus was fun. That’s where I learned to cook.”
“And where I learned to eat your cooking.”
She slapped him gently on the shoulder. “I got to be pretty darn good at it.”
“You did. You still are.”
She stared past him into their mutual past. “We hardly had any furniture. Remember? We couldn’t even afford a bed.”
“All we needed was that mattress.”
They embraced. Kissed.
“Richie was right,” he told her, holding her.
“About what?”
“Your heart is beating fast.”
“Yours, too.”
Then he was kissing her neck, slipping the dressing gown off her shoulders, and kissing them. She slipped out of the outer garment and revealed the baby-blue baby doll beneath.
“Who did you pack that for?” he asked her, eyes big.
“I thought I might have to bribe you,” she said sultrily, “to get my way.”
Then she pulled the baby doll over her head and revealed all that lovely creamy flesh, the flaring hips, the narrow waist, the high ribcage, those full breasts, so high and proud with their puffy settings for prominent tips — all of her just as his eyes and hands and mouth remembered. She tugged herself out of the baby-doll panties, gave them a toss, and he clambered out of his pajamas. Then they kissed and caressed and he eased on top her of and the mattress sang.
“What’s going on in there?” came their son’s voice through the wall.
They fell into each other’s naked arms, laughing, and Roy called out, “We’re just talking!”
Giggling, she climbed on top and rode him gently at first and then picked up speed till he rolled her over and finished her fast and hard till they had both shuddered to a stop, though the mattress kept on squeaking for a while.
“I hear something,” the voice on the other side of the wall said, “and it’s not talking!”
Roy looked at Helen and Helen looked at Roy.
She said, “You’ve just got to take that stethoscope away from him.”
Other than the usual symphony of insect song and bird chirps, the night was cool and clear and quiet, not even any traffic sounds with the roadblock still in place.
Officer Fred Dickson and his partner, Officer Lou Rawley, were catching a smoke on the side of the Ryan house opposite where all the action had been the previous two nights. Fred had just commented that he couldn’t see why the roadblock hadn’t been shut down yet.
“I mean,” the skinny officer said, “they caught the guy, didn’t they?”
The report had come in on their prowl car radio.
“Don’t bitch,” his pudgy partner said. “It means we get some time off and these long hours will finally friggin’ end.”
Fred shivered though it wasn’t really all that cold. “I’m just glad we got this weirdo off our hands.”
“Personally,” Lou said, “I wanna get a look at this character. See if those crazy sketches do him justice.”
Fred sighed smoke. “You think there’s any chance Cutter’ll pull us off tonight?”
Lou shrugged. “Might. I mean, what’s the point? What are we doin’ hangin’ around this mausoleum if they got the killer in custody?”
“Ah, it’s not so bad here.” Fred gestured toward the attic window, no air conditioner on this side. “That kid’s a hoot. Little live wire. And his mom is a looker and a half.”
The pudgy cop tossed his spent cigarette sparking into the night. “Yeah, that Doc Ryan’s a dope if he lets a piece of tail like that slip away.”
“Be respectful. She’s nice.”
“She’s nice, all right,” Lou said, leering. Then he huffed his own sigh. “I better call in and see where things stand. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Cutter’ll call it.”
“Don’t count on it. He’s a book man.”
“Ain’t he at that.”
With a wave, Lou disappeared into the dark. A minute or so later, Fred dropped his smoke, heeled it out, and the menace called Dennis came down from where he’d been perching atop the wall and grabbed Fred by the head and twisted, taking him down onto the grass, riding him all the way. Fred was whimpering and flailing, but the flailing stopped when Dennis, sitting on the back of the fallen cop, twisted that neck further, in a sharp manner that the mechanics of the human spine did not allow.
The officer lay silent now.
Little noise had been made by either attacker or victim, just a crack like the snap of a celery stalk. Anyway, the dead man’s partner was already sitting behind the wheel of their patrol car, unaware, with the door open and the radio tuned to the correct frequency with nothing coming over right now but static.