My mind wandered. It’s hard to give serious consideration to cases outside your own, which is one of the reasons we meet like this. I did wonder what kind of cold sonofabitch could shoot a woman in the heart with a crossbow at close range. And I wondered where our man was now, our Horridus, from the Latin horridus meaning rough or bristling. As I thought about what he looked like and where he worked and what he saw when he looked in a mirror, the discussion of other crimes swept past my brain: more rumors of blame for the county bankruptcy of ’94; political crap going down again in one of our state assembly districts; mobile Asian gangs running strong in central county; white supremacists in Newport Beach; two old women raped in a nursing home in Yorba Linda.
But no matter how I tried to listen, all I could really focus on was The Horridus, how little we knew about him and how sure I was that his escalating fantasy was becoming an escalating nightmare for the rest of us.
Who are you?
Where?
Four
“Nervous?”
“A little.”
“That’s good. Some nerves make you sharp, but they won’t come across on video.”
Hypok held open the door for her and smiled as she went in.
“Just have a seat right there and relax, Abby,” he said. “I’m going to walk you through a few questions, just so you’ll know what’s coming. All right?”
“Sounds good,” she said. She arranged her purse strap over the back of the chair.
“Abby,” he said. “That really is a nice name. You don’t hear it much. Abigail?”
“No, just Abby.” She smiled. It was the kind of smile Hypok liked — good teeth and healthy lips and not nightclub looking at all, more girl next door. Her hair was light and straight. “Yours was... I’m sorry!”
“David Lumsden, and don’t be. I’m good at remembering names.”
He sat across from her and glanced through her biographical information again. He remembered all of it from the night before.
“This is going to be fun,” he said. “Skiing, sailing, country western dancing. Cooking, dining out, close friends, a bottle of wine with that someone special... yeah... this is going to be easy. Do you mind talking about yourself?”
“Well, I’ve never done it on camera before.”
She smiled again. She was pretty, prettier than the still shots that were attached to her application. Nice figure, probably. He liked the way her face opened up when she talked and smiled, the way she seemed to have nothing in the world to hide. She probably didn’t. He wondered what she thought of his new hairstyle — short, bleached bright white and brushed up on the sides and front like a surfer in the fifties. Of course, she didn’t have the old style to compare it to. He blinked twice.
“Abby, remember one thing — you’re talking to me, not to the camera. You and I are having a conversation about you. Talk to me like I’m a friend, and forget everything else. That’s all you’re going to be doing, talking to a friend.”
He smiled as he looked at her through the viewfinder of the video camera. He loosened the tripod-mounting nut and raised the angle of vision just a little. Her image jumped. He started in with his usual spiel, telling her he’d be asking about herself and what she liked to do, what qualities she admired in the opposite gender, a little about her home and work life — just keep things kind of light and general. She nodded along as he talked. She’d worn a red blouse, one of the colors suggested in the Bright Tomorrows kit. Her lipstick was a matching shade, which gave her a kind of overt, forthright sexuality. According to her bio, she was thirty-one and divorced, a secretary for one of the big land development companies in the city of Irvine. She had a five-year-old daughter named Brittany. They lived in Irvine in a ground-floor, end-unit apartment with a tiny fenced backyard that housed a collection of bright plastic toys — a blue and orange slide and ladder, a low-slung pink and violet bike with whitewall tires and training wheels, some big balls in a white basket.
Hypok analyzed the lighting on her. He’d front-light the young, attractive Bright Tomorrows members because it was honest and revealing of beauty, especially in the eyes. The older ones, or the ones with bad skin, that was a different story. You wanted them to look good, but you wanted to present them somewhat honestly, too, so the members who chose them had an idea what they really looked like. In fact, the only complaint that the Bright Tomorrows execs had voiced was that his work was occasionally too flattering.
“Abby,” he said, “I’m just going to go with the front lighting — it shows you real clearly and you look nice.”
“Whatever you think’s best.”
“I’ll back-light some of our more mature members, but you, I don’t have to.”
“I guess we have to have some truth-in-lending here.”
“You’ll look good. You’re attractive and relaxed. Don’t worry. Now, I’m going to start the camera running, then I’ll ask you some of those questions and we’ll just have a little talk. Feel free to move your hands to make a point, whatever you’d normally do in conversation. Just don’t swivel on the chair — that drives the camera crazy and makes you look ill at ease. And remember, we can shoot this ten times if you don’t like what we get. The whole idea is to make this little tape something you’ll be comfortable with. All right?”
“Okay.”
He watched her through the viewfinder.
“Take a deep breath and let it out, Abby. Then we’ll start.”
He watched her smile, straighten on her inhale, then slowly let it out. Nice top. He hit the record button.
“Hello, Abby.”
“Hello.”
“Nervous, still?”
“Not so bad now.”
She smiled beautifully and blushed just a little. He laughed and so did she.
“So tell me, Abby. I hear you like to sail and you like to ski. Which do you like the best?”
She said it depended on the weather and where you were. She’d actually only been sailing once or twice, but skiing she did a lot, mostly on the local slopes. Hypok felt that she was already coming off as sort of a ditz, so he steered her onto work. She said a little about her secretarial job, the pressure, the way it satisfied her to put in a good day’s work so she felt like she’d earned her free time. A worker bee, he thought: most happy when situated in a hive. He always liked people with a strong sense of purpose. He could see how much this job meant to her.
“Is it true that secretaries do 80 percent of the work and get 20 percent of the credit?” he asked.
“More like ninety-ten!”
“Ninety-ten! I think you’re due for a big raise, then. Do you always get something extravagant for Secretary’s Day?”
“Well, let’s see — that’s next week, isn’t it? Last year was lunch at El Torito and a really nice watch.”
“I thought you got a watch when you retired.”
“Here, check it out...”
She raised her wrist to the camera and wriggled it. She smiled again — it was a truly beautiful smile and she understood this — and then brought her wrist back to her lap and giggled. It made him think of his own Medic Alert wrist bracelet with the serpent on it. He rubbed it now, lightly, for luck.
“They take pretty good care of me, I have to admit,” she said with another goofy but radiant smile.
“Well, Abby, tell our Bright Tomorrows guys just what it means to take good care of you. What qualities do you admire in a man?”
Hypok sat back and looked at her expectantly, thinking: sense of humor, honesty, in touch with his feelings, fit, secure. That was one thing about the women — they always said exactly the same thing.