Jonathan Kellerman - Blood Test

A figure stepped out from behind the oil drums.

“Put it down, Doug.”

Sheriff Houten stepped into the clearing, trim and sure-footed. The Colt.45 extended like a nickel-plated handshake.

“Put it down,” he repeated, leveling the firearm at Carmichael’s chest.

“Leave it alone, Ray,” said the blond man. “Got to finish what we started.”

“Not this way.”

“It’s the only way,” insisted Carmichael.

The lawman shook his head.

“I just got off the phone with a fellow named Sturgis at L.A. Homicide. He was making inquiries about the doctor here. Seems somebody took a shot at him last night and gunned down the wrong man. Next day the doctor disappeared. They’re looking for him in earnest. I figured he might have ended up here.”

“He’s trying to break up my family, Ray. You warned me about him yourself.”

“You’re confused, boy. I told you he’d asked about the back road so you’d find yourself another hiding place. Not to put you up to killing the man. Now drop that axe and we’ll talk about it calmly.”

He held his gun steady and looked down at me.

“Damn stupid of you to go snooping around, Doctor.”

“It seemed better than being a stationary target. And there’s a little boy in that trailer who needs medical attention.”

He shook his head fiercely.

“Boy’s gonna die.”

“Not true, Sheriff. He can be treated.”

“That’s what they told me about my wife. I let them cut her up and fill her with poisons and the cancer ate her up just the same.” He returned his attention to Carmichael:

“I backed you up to a point, Doug, but it’s gone too far. Lay down the axe.”

The two of them locked eyes. I seized the opportunity to roll out of hacking range.

Carmichael saw me and swung his weapon.

The.45 blazed. Carmichael jumped back, screaming in pain. He clamped one hand to his side, blood seeping out around his fingers. Incredibly, the other continued to grip the axe.

“You — you hurt me,” he muttered, incredulous.

“Just a flesh crease,” said Houten evenly. “You’ll survive. Now let go of the damned axe, boy.”

I stood and inched toward the discarded rifle, staying out of the blond man’s swinging range.

The door to the trailer opened, spilling cold white light down the pathway. Nona ran out calling Carmichael’s name.

“Get the rifle, Sis!” he yelled. The command emerged from between pain-clenched jaws. The hand holding the axe was shaking. The one at his side was glossy red from wrist to fingertips. Blood rolled viscously over his knuckles and dripped to the ground.

The girl came to a stop, watching wide-eyed as the dirt at Carmichael’s feet sprouted a spreading crimson flower.

“You killed him!” she shrieked and ran toward Houten, striking out blindly. He straight-armed her while keeping a bead on the wounded man. She flailed away at him without doing any damage. Finally he shoved her aside and she staggered off-balance before falling.

I edged closer to the rifle.

Nona picked herself up.

“You filthy old fuck!” she screamed at the Sheriff. “You were supposed to help us and now you’ve killed him!” Houten looked past her woodenly. Suddenly she flung herself at Carmichael’s feet. “Don’t die, Doug. Please. I need you so bad.”

“Get the rifle!” he screamed.

She looked up at him blankly, nodded, and marched toward the weapon. She was closer to it than I and it was time to move. As she stooped to retrieve it I dove.

Carmichael saw me out of the corner of his eye, pivoted and slashed down at my arm with the axe. I jerked back. He grunted in agony, his wound leaking copiously, and slashed again, missing me by inches.

Houten crouched, two-handed the.45, and shot Carmichael in the back of the head. The exit trajectory tore open his throat. He clutched at his neck, sucked in air, gurgled, and dropped.

The girl snatched up the rifle and cradled it knowingly. She stared at the body on the ground. Carmichael’s limbs twitched autonomically and she watched, transfixed, until they were still. Her hair was loose and blowing in the night breeze, her eyes frightened and moist.

Carmichael’s bowels opened with a burst of flatulence. The beautiful face hardened. She looked up, pointed the weapon at me, shook her head and arced around, aiming at the sheriff.

“You’re just like the rest,” she spat at him.

Before he could reply she shifted her attention back to the corpse, began talking to it in a singsong voice.

“He’s just like the rest, Doug. He didn’t help us because he was good, because he was on our side like you thought. He did it because he was a fucking coward. Afraid I’d tell his dirty secrets.”

“Quiet, girl,” warned the sheriff.

She ignored him.

“He fucked me, Doug, just like all the other filthy, evil old men with their filthy cocks and their sagging balls. When I was just a little girl. After the monster broke me in. The righteous arm of the law.” She sneered. “I flashed him a sample and he lapped it up. Couldn’t get enough. Had to have it every day. In his house. In his truck. Picked me up while I walked home from school and drove me up to the hills to do it. What do you think of our old friend, Ray, now, Doug?”

Houten shouted for her to shut up. But his voice lacked conviction and he seemed to sag, looking shriveled and helpless despite the big gun in his hand.

She continued to address the body, sobbing.

“You were so good and trusting, Doug... You thought he was being our friend, helping us hide out because he didn’t like doctors any better than we did... Because he understood. But that wasn’t it at all. He would have given us up in a minute but I threatened to expose him if he did... To tell everyone that he fucked me. And knocked me up.”

Houten looked at the Colt. Harbored a terrible thought and dismissed it. “Nona, you don’t wa—”

“He thinks he’s Woody’s daddy, cause that’s what I’ve told him all these years.” She stroked the rifle and giggled. “Course now, maybe I was telling the truth, maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I don’t even know. We never did do any blood tests to find out, did we, Ray?”

“You’re crazy,” he said. “You’ll be locked up.” To me: “She’s crazy. You can see that, can’t you?”

“Is that so?” She put her finger around the trigger and smiled. “I guess you know all about crazy. All about crazy little girls. Like little old fat crazy Maria, always sitting by herself, rocking and writing dumb crazy poems. Talking to herself, wetting her pants, and carrying on like a baby. She was crazy, wasn’t she, Ray? Fat and ugly and a real head case.”

“Shut your mouth—”

“You shut yours, you old bastard!” she screamed. “Who the hell are you telling me what to do? You fucked me every day, taking sloppy seconds without complaining. Shot your scum into me and knocked me up.” She smiled eerily. “Maybe. Least that’s what I told Crazy Maria. You shoulda seen the look in those piggy little eyes. I gave her all the details. About how you lapped it up and begged for more. Sheriff. I must have upset the poor thing, cause the next day she took a rope and—”

Houten bellowed and came at her.

She laughed and shot him in the face.

He collapsed like wet tissue paper. She stood over him and pulled the trigger again. Braced herself against the recoil and put yet another slug into him.

I peeled her fingers off the weapon and let it fall between the two corpses. She offered no resistance. Put her head on my shoulder and gave me a lovely smile.

I took her with me and went looking for the El Camino. It wasn’t hard to find. Houten had parked it just outside the gap in the fence. Watching her closely, I used the radio to make my calls.