P. Parrish - An Unquiet Grave

Bloom was staring at him, and Louis had the sense that he was testing him for some kind of reaction.

“And we identified that tool in Seraphin’s house,” Bloom said. “It was an old obstetrical instrument called a quadruple dilator. Made in the 1800s. It disappeared from one of the hospital showcases about a year ago.”

Louis remembered the prongs on the end, and he could see how it must have worked. He knew it wasn’t a random choice of weapons for Ives. He had taken a tool specifically designed to destroy a woman’s sexuality.

Seraphin’s words came back to him: Your man is impotent. He’s grown angrier over the years, an anger magnified by his inability to perform.

An image came to him of Ives standing in the corner of the boathouse, rubbing Seraphin’s blood on his pants, desperately trying to arouse himself.

“Jesus,” Louis whispered.

“What?” Bloom asked.

“You asked me before why Ives hated his doctor. Why did he hate someone who let him live out his rape fantasies?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Seraphin may have been cruel, but she was a doctor. She would not have released Ives back into the world without somehow making sure he was no longer dangerous. She castrated him.”

Bloom’s eyes narrowed as he tried to picture it. “More bullshit,” he said. “And who gives a damn anyway?”

“You should,” Louis said.

“All I care about is finding those two bodies, putting them in the ground, and stamping this one closed,” Bloom said. He nodded toward the administration building. “And I’ll be glad when they knock this damn place down and we can forget it was even here.”

A gust blew up behind them, sweeping the dry snow up in a sudden eddy. Louis blinked against the wind as he looked at the red brick buildings.

“I need to get on the road,” Louis said.

“I’d like you to stay in Michigan a few weeks.”

“No,” Louis said. “I’m going home.”

“I still got questions,” Bloom said.

“I gave you a five-page statement.”

“One that reads like a horror novel. One with no ending.”

Louis didn’t answer.

Bloom shook his head, lips tight; then he turned and yanked open the passenger door to the cruiser, bending inside. When he came up, he had Louis’s Glock in his hand.

Bloom thrust it out. Louis accepted it and started away.

“Hey.”

Louis turned back to Bloom.

“I’m going to be calling you in Florida.”

“You do that.”

Louis got in the Impala and shifted into Reverse. He hit the brake, his gaze going back to the administration building, then to the bulldozer sitting nearby.

“I’d like to make one more stop,” Louis said, looking at Phillip. “Do you mind?”

Phillip gave him a slow nod. “Whatever you need to do, Louis.”

The car was quiet except for the scratching noise coming from the backseat. Louis looked in the rearview mirror. Doug Delp had his head down and was scribbling in his notebook.

Louis looked back at the road. He didn’t know if he could trust Delp. But he did know now that he could trust his own instincts. And his instincts were telling him that there was a story that needed to be told about Hidden Lake and that Delp was the only one who could do it.

Phillip was sitting silent in the passenger seat. He had agreed to let Delp write the story, but only after Louis had convinced him that Hidden Lake needed to be exposed and that Delp would be sensitive to Phillip’s privacy. But Louis hadn’t told Delp that Claudia was alive. Or that she and Phillip had a child.

He planned to. But he wanted to make sure he got something from Delp in return.

As they drove through the endless cornfields, Louis continued to tell Delp everything he knew about Hidden Lake. Ives, Seraphin, the rapes, it all came spilling out of him.

When Louis got to the part about being locked in the tunnels, he paused, his eyes trained on the road. After a moment, he went on, his voice as steady as he could manage. He started to talk about hearing the girl’s screams and stopped again.

Louis’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. Delp was looking at him, waiting for more.

“You want to come back to that part?” Delp asked.

“Yeah.”

Louis glanced over at Phillip. There was a sadness in his expression, like hearing the story had made him regret what he had put Louis through.

Louis used the rest of the drive to finish the story, pausing only once, when he got to what had happened in the boathouse. Delp was still writing when Louis turned onto the lakeshore road. Then his head shot up, his eyes swinging left, to the gray lake.

“Where are we?” Delp asked.

“Be quiet.”

Louis turned into the drive and parked behind Enid’s car and the black Jag. He looked at Phillip. Phillip was sitting back, shoulders stiff, eyes unblinking. His hands were clasped together in his lap. Louis waited for him to move. Or breathe.

The front door to the house opened and Rodney came out, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Phillip pushed open the car door and slipped out, hesitating a moment before he walked to the porch.

Rodney said something, then stuck out a hand. Phillip did not take it. Rodney spoke again; then the two of them walked inside the house.

Delp leaned on the front seat. “What’s going on? Who is that guy? What the hell are we doing here?”

“Shut up.”

Louis sat watching the house, glancing down at his watch. One minute, two. . five.

He opened the car door and got out. “Stay here, Delp.”

Louis shut the door on Delp’s protests. He walked to the porch and opened the front door, slipping inside. He closed the door quietly and stood for a moment in the foyer.

It was quiet. Louis heard a sound and looked to the living room on his left. Enid and Rodney were sitting across from each other, stiff on their chairs.

Whispers. Coming from the sunroom at the back of the house. Claudia’s soft voice. Phillip’s softer answer. But he couldn’t hear anything that was being said.

Louis bowed his head. I shouldn’t be here .

He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Delp was standing by the Impala, a cigarette in his shivering hand. He tossed it to the ground as Louis came near.

“Claudia DeFoe is in that house, isn’t she?” Delp said.

“Yes,” Louis said, looking back to the house.

“You’re not going to let me in there, are you?”

“Not yet.”

Delp paused. “Quid pro quo,” he said.

“That’s right,” Louis said.

Delp’s eyes went to the house. “What do I have to do?”

“You’re good at finding things, Delp,” Louis said. “There’s someone I want you to find for Phillip.”

He looked out the wet windows. The American Airlines jet was sitting in the cold rain. The waiting area was crowded with snowbirds, college students, and irritable children off to their first trip to Disney World.

“Looks like you’re finally boarding,” Phillip said.

Louis checked his watch. “I should be home by four.”

Phillip nodded, drawing a tired breath, his gaze moving to the tarmac and an incoming flight. Louis watched him, seeing the same pensive look that had been there since the drive back from Saugatuck yesterday. Phillip wasn’t sad so much as solemn, like he realized one door had closed but another was standing open. The old resoluteness was there in his eyes, too. At least now Phillip knew . And Louis could see that he was going to deal with it.

Frances. .

Louis didn’t know about her. There had been no time to really talk. He would write her when he got home.