"You wouldn't be imposing."
"But you weren't expecting us, and we--"
"Young lady," Joshua said impatiently, "do you know how long it's been since I've had house guests? More than three years. And do you know why I haven't had any house guests in three years? Because I didn't invite anyone to stay with me, that's why. I am not a particularly gregarious man. I don't issue invitations lightly. If I felt that you and Tony would be a burden--or, worst of all, boring--I wouldn't have invited you, either. Now let's not waste a lot of time being overly polite. You need a room. I have a room. Are you going to stay at my place or not?"
Tony laughed, and Hilary grinned at Joshua. She said, "Thank you for asking us. We'd be delighted."
"Good," Joshua said.
"I like your style," she told him.
"Most people think I'm a grump."
"But a nice grump."
Joshua found a smile of his own. "Thank you. I think I'll have that engraved on my tombstone. 'Here lies Joshua Rhinehart, a nice grump.'"
As they were leaving the office, the telephone rang, and Joshua went back to his desk. Dr. Nicholas Rudge was calling from San Francisco.
***
Bruno Frye was still on top of the woman, pinning her to the mattress, one muscular arm across her throat.
She gagged and fought for breath. Her face was red, dark, twisted in agony.
She excited him.
"Don't fight me, Mother. Don't fight me like this. You know it's useless. You know I'll win in the end."
She writhed under his superior weight and strength. She tried to arch her back and roll to one side, and when she failed to throw him off, she was shaken by violent involuntary muscle spasms as her body reacted to the growing interruption in her air supply and in the supply of blood to her brain. At last, she seemed to realize she would never be able to get free of him, that she had absolutely no hope of escape, and so she went limp in defeat.
Convinced that the woman had surrendered spiritually as well as physically, Frye lifted his arm from her bruised throat. He raised up on his knees, taking his weight off her.
She put her hands to her neck. She gagged and coughed uncontrollably.
In a frenzy now, his heart pounding, blood roaring in his ears, aching with need, Frye got up, stood beside the bed, stripped off his clothes, threw them on top of the dresser, out of the way.
He looked down at his erection. The sight of it thrilled him. The steeliness of it. The size of it. The angry color.
He climbed onto the bed again.
She was docile now. Her eyes had a vacant look.
He ripped off her pale yellow panties and positioned himself between her slim legs. Saliva drooled out of his mouth. Dripped on her breasts.
He thrust into her. He thrust his demon staff all the way into her. Growling like an animal. Stabbed her with his demonic penis. He stabbed and stabbed her, until his semen flowered within her.
He pictured the milky fluid. Pictured it flowering from him, deep inside of her.
He thought of blood blossoming from a wound. Red petals spreading from a deep knife wound.
Both thoughts wildly excited him: semen and blood.
He didn't go soft.
Sweating, grunting, slobbering, he made thrust after thrust after thrust. Into her. Into. In.
Later, he would use the knife.
***
Joshua Rhinehart flipped a switch on his desk phone, putting the call from Dr. Nicholas Rudge on the conference speaker, so that Tony and Hilary could hear the conversation.
"I tried your home number first," Rudge said. "I didn't expect you to be at the office at this hour."
"I'm a workaholic, doctor."
"You should try to do something about it," Rudge said with what sounded like genuine concern. "That's no way to live. I've treated more than a few overly-ambitious men for whom work had become the only interest in their lives. An obsessive attitude toward work can destroy you."
"Dr. Rudge, what is your medical specialty?"
"Psychiatry."
"I suspected as much."
"You're the executor?"
"That's right. I presume you heard all about his death."
"Just what the newspaper had to say."
"While handling some estate matters, I discovered that Mr. Frye had been seeing you regularly during the year and a half prior to his death."
"He came in once a month," Rudge said.
"Were you aware that he was homicidal?"
"Of course not," Rudge said.
"You treated him all that time and weren't aware that he was capable of violence?"
"I knew he was deeply disturbed," Rudge said. "But I didn't think he was a danger to anyone. However, you must understand that he didn't really give me a chance to spot the violent side of him. I mean, as I said, he only came in once a month, I wanted to see him at least once every week, and preferably twice, but he refused. On the one hand, he wanted me to help him. But at the same time, he was afraid of what he might learn about himself. After a while, I decided not to press him too hard about making weekly visits because I was afraid that he might back off altogether and even cancel his monthly appointment. I figured a little therapy was better than none, you see."
"What brought him to you?"
"Are you asking what was wrong with him, what he was complaining of?"
"That's what I'm asking, all right."
"As an attorney, Mr. Rhinehart, you ought to be aware that I can't give out that sort of information indiscriminately. I have a doctor-patient privilege to protect."
"The patient is dead, Dr. Rudge."
"That doesn't make any difference."
"It sure as hell makes a difference to the patient."
"He placed his trust in me."
"When the patient is dead, the concept of doctor-patient privilege has little or no legal validity."
"Perhaps it has no legal validity," Rudge said. "But the oral validity remains. I still have certain responsibilities. I wouldn't do anything to damage the reputation of a patient, regardless of whether he's dead or alive."
"Commendable," Joshua said. "But in this case, nothing you could tell me would damage his reputation one whit more than he damaged it himself."
"That, too, makes no difference."
"Doctor, this is an extraordinary situation. This very day, I have come into possession of information which indicates that Bruno Frye murdered a number of women over the past five years, a large number of women, and got away with it."
"You're joking."
"I don't know what sort of thing strikes you as funny, Dr. Rudge. But I don't make jokes about mass murder."
Rudge was silent.
Joshua said, "Furthermore, I have reason to believe that Frye didn't act alone. He may have had a partner in homicide. And that partner may still be walking around, alive and free."
"This is extraordinary."
"That's what I said."
"Have you given this information of yours to the police?"
"No," Joshua said. "For one thing, it's probably not enough to get their attention. What I've discovered convinces me--and two other people who are involved in this. But the police will probably say it's only circumstantial evidence. And for another thing--I'm not sure which police agency has primary jurisdiction in the case. The murders might have been committed in several counties, in a number of cities. Now it seems to me that Frye might have told you something that doesn't appear all that important by itself, but which fits in with the facts that I've uncovered. If, during those eighteen months of therapy, you acquired a bit of knowledge that complements my information, then perhaps I'll have enough to decide which police agency to approach--and enough to convince them of the seriousness of the situation."
"Well...."
"Dr. Rudge, if you persist in protecting this particular patient, yet more murders may occur. Other women. Do you want their deaths on your conscience?"
"All right," Rudge said. "But this can't be done on the telephone."
"I'll come to San Francisco tomorrow, at your earliest convenience."