Ed Gorman - Voodoo Moon

"Any idea how long you think she'll be?"

"I'm not sure, Robert. If I may call you that. But I'll be sure to have her call you if she gets the chance."

If.

Given that Tandy's fate was clearly in Courtney's hands, I doubted I'd be seeing her tonight.

"Tell her I need to talk about the drawing."

"The drawing," she repeated. "Got it. Now I'd better get back inside."

Oh, yeah, she would be sending Tandy right out.

Idrove over to Wendy's and got a salad in the drive-through. I stopped at a convenience store for a quart of Hamms. I drove slowly back to the motel. It was kind of a make-out night. All the hot small-town cars up, their radios illegally loud. I saw a college-age girl in an old battered Plymouth. She had a University of Iowa parking sticker on her windshield. She wasn't really what you'd call a babe-actually, I've always been attracted to the quiet, pretty, bookish types instead of the babes-but I made up a little history of her. Good-looking, bright girl from poor family has to work so hard she never has time for a social life. And then she meets the famed Right Guy, not unlike me, who eloquently and persuasively convinces her with his silver tongue, not unlike mine, that she is truly a beauty and needs only self-esteem to realize all the good and great things waiting for her. She looked over at me for a moment and I was tempted to roll down my window and tell her all the things in my head. But I figured with my luck, I'd get arrested and she'd run off with the bail bond guy or something.

There was a good Robert Mitchum picture, Track of the Cat , on TNT. I watched the whole thing. It was ten o'clock. Two hours since being deflected by the unctuous Courtney.

I decided it was time to try the Gileses. See if they were asleep yet.

I dug out the phone book and called.

Mr. Giles answered on the first ring.

I hung up.

I tried Tandy's room. Busy. Tried the operator. She got a busy, too. Should she report it? No, thanks. Courtney had no doubt taken the phone off the hook.

Restless. Paced. Tried Tandy again. Busy.

Then somehow it miraculously became ten-thirty. Tried the Gileses' again. Mr. Giles barked "Who is it?" after the first ring.

I sat down and finished off the beer. And fell asleep. Tension was gone; exhaustion overcame me. I hadn't slept well in a couple of nights. Now I was drained.

The Exercise-in-a-Spray infomercial was on. That's right. No dieting. No exercising. Just spray this on your body and you magically begin to lose weight and tone up. Gee, and to think there were probably cynics who thought that the stuff didn't work.

I went to the bathroom and came out and tried Tandy. She surprised me by answering. "Wow. What a night, Robert. NBC."

"How's the drawing going?"

"Oh, that. I really haven't had time to get back to it yet."

"Oh."

Pause. "I'll try, though. I'm too wired to sleep, anyway. And I do keep getting these flashes. Just like the old days, Robert. Laura always said it would come back to me." Hesitation. "Every time I think of her, I feel like shit. I turned out to be just like her. I like all this celebrity stuff. And I was always making fun of her for it." Teary-voiced. "I loved her so much, Robert. Our relationship got so complicated by the end, I know. But the bottom line is that I loved her so much." Another hesitation. "I really will work on the drawing, Robert. Maybe something'll come to me in the middle of the night. You know, the way it used to."

"If you get anything-"

"I'll call you right away. Thanks for being such a sweetie."

We hung up.

I went in the bathroom and changed into dark clothes.

Moonlight cast long, gothic shadows over the Giles house. Every window was black with night. Inky clouds partially obscured the moon. Soon enough, it would be raining.

I'd parked half a block away and walked up the alley. When I reached the back of the house, I charted my course.

Back porch roof to a small, black, ornamental wrought-iron balcony built just under the attic window. Apparently, the builder had hoped to reenact Romeo and Juliet here someday. And then I'd get inside the attic. If Claire didn't scream, I'd be all right.

It was fairly easy work and I did it almost soundlessly. My palms got scraped up on the rope I lassoed the balcony with, but other than that there was no real difficulty. When I reached the balcony, I pulled myself up and stepped inside the wrought-iron enclosure. And felt the balcony start to collapse all around me. It hadn't been built to hold a 162-pound man. I moved carefully and quickly.

I pulled the rope up from below. A dangling rope was a sure giveaway.

I crouched and peered into the window. Saw nothing. Too dark. As I was waiting for my eyes to adjust to this particular darkness, the thunder started.

It was summer thunder, deep and vast, racing all the way down the sky to set objects and souls trembling. There was enough caveman DNA in me to recognize the thunder's booming warning of cosmic malice. This was when you went to the back of the cave and clutched your family to you and pretended that you were not afraid at all. But your wife knew and you knew she knew. You just hoped that the little ones didn't know. It was important that the chief hunter of the family be, in their eyes, anyway, fearless.

The rain came not long after.

I hunched beneath the overhang of roof as well as I could. But it wasn't much help. I still couldn't see much.

The layout started to take shape. Large, partially finished attic that was mostly a bedroom. I guess I'd been expecting one of those hellholes you hear about where children are held captive. The smells and the blood and the weapons of torture.

No such evidence here.

I could see a bed, bureau, small TV, toilet, sink, older-model refrigerator.

Not just a bedroom, after all. A tiny apartment.

Then I saw, in the center of the floor, the metal chain bolted to the floor. I followed the length of chain until it disappeared somewhere in the covers of the bed.

I thought of the chain-dragging noise I'd heard from the other side of the door.

I tried the windows. Locked tight. There would doubtless be a hook on the other side. And I doubtless wouldn't be able to lift it.

The rain increased. Hard. Cold.

And the ornamental balcony began to shift beneath my feet.

I started to knock-hoping I could rouse Claire from her bed and her no doubt drugged sleep-when the spotlight caught me.

I turned and saw, through the silver rain slanting cold in the yellow beam of the spotlight, the unmistakable shape and colors of a police car.

"You going to tell me what you were doing up there?"

"I'd rather tell Chief Charles."

"Well, I'd rather be home in bed with my wife. But that doesn't mean jack shit, does it, Mr. Payne?"

Fuller was in fine form. Ever since meeting in the interrogation room, he'd let it be known, none too subtly, that he didn't care for me, Tandy, or out-of-towners in general.

He was finally getting a chance to express himself.

"You going to attack her?"

"Who?"

"Claire. The woman who lives in the attic."

"Yeah. That's just what I was going to do. Rape her."

"It happens."

"Well, it doesn't happen when I'm around. I just wanted to talk to her."

"You couldn't go in the front door?"

"I tried that. Her folks wouldn't let me see her."

"Then that should've been that. You got your answer and the answer was no."

"Would you please call Chief Charles?"

"You know what time it is?"

"I'll take the blame. Just please call her."

"I'm afraid not. I'm going to take you to the shop."

"The shop?"

"That's what we call the station."

"Then I'll call the chief."