Эд Горман - Blood Moon

“Well, for one thing, believe it or not, I really don’t like to see little kids get kidnapped. And for another thing, I think she figures into a case I’m working on. By helping you, I’m probably going to help myself.”

“I don’t know who took her.”

“I think you do. And I think you know why. And I think that’s why you went to the Brindle farm this afternoon.”

He sat up even straighter, daubed at his split lip some more.

“Tell me about the farm, McNally. Who did you meet there?”

His gaze shifted subtly to the right. I instinctively understood the significance of that — he was watching somebody, namely his wife, do something behind my back — but by then there wasn’t much I could do. I guess because she’d sort of taken my part with her husband, I’d figured she wouldn’t help him hurt me in anyway. But you never know about husbands and wives. You just never know.

I started to turn to the right, and that’s when she hit me on the crown of the head.

I had no idea what her weapon of choice happened to be, but whatever it was, it was damned effective.

I felt my head start to split open, felt a dark cold rush up my nostrils and start to spread through my respiratory system, and felt my knees go. And that was it; then I didn’t feel anything at all.

“Let me help you up.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Maybe I hit you a little too hard.”

“I think you did.”

“Here. Just sit down here right on the couch. I’ll get you a couple of aspirin. I mean, I’ll bet your head hurts.”

“I suppose your husband’s gone?”

“He’s afraid — I’ve never seen him like this. Somebody’s trying to kill him, I think.”

“Who?”

She just shook her head.

“I want you to tell me who was out at the Brindle farm with your husband this afternoon.”

“I don’t know.”

She put her hand out as if to touch me, then stopped herself. “I’ll get you those aspirin.”

The dog lapped my face all the time Eve McNally was gone, big slurpy dog kisses and hard killer dog breath. When Eve returned, she handed me a glass of water, then dropped two aspirin tablets into my palm and then shooed Sara away.

“I’m sorry, mister,” she said, “I really don’t know who he met at the Brindle farm this afternoon, and I really am sorry I hit you so hard.”

And just what was I supposed to say to that?

I took another break and looked over more of Peary’s notes for the second or third time.

“Killings abruptly stopped,” he noted in pencil. “I doubt this was because the killer lost his passion for the hunt. More likely, he found a better way of disposing of bodies.”

I found a pay phone and called one of my friends at Quantico, asking him to run a search through the FBI computers. I wanted to know if there were a precedence for a case where a killer abruptly changed the way he was disposing of his victims. The computer would search through tens of thousands of cases, checking patterns to see if this abrupt change had been noted before.

I told him that this was real urgent. He told me to try back in a couple of hours.

Dearest Reece,

When your letter arrived last Tuesday, I canceled a tennis date at the country club I was telling you about. I didn’t want anything to interfere with the pleasure of reading your letter. As I told you when I first wrote you, since I saw you on that talk show I’ve been able to think of no one else but you. No one else even remotely interests me.

I can’t tell you how many different feelings your letter evoked in me — joy at knowing that you want our relationship to continue; sorrow at knowing that, for the next few years anyway, we won’t be able to be together physically; and pride that somebody like you would find worth and value in somebody like me. I really am, as I’ve told you, the classic poor little rich girl... raised on a great deal of money but no love at all thanks to my mother dying at so early an age and a father who was too busy with his girlfriends and businesses to give me any real love.

I was afraid that you’d lose interest in me if I told you the truth about my marriage record — three strikes and you’re out? Isn’t that the baseball rule? Well, I’ve been married three times, and none of them lasted longer than six months. I know this is supposed to be a reflection on me, but I hope you interpret this the way I do... that I simply hadn’t met the right man until you came along.

I’ve gone on a diet. Even though you can’t see me — though I do plan to visit you soon — when I saw you on TV I said to myself, “There’s a man who appreciates a good female body.” You’re so handsome, Reece, and yet there’s such kindness and tenderness in your eyes. I want everything to be perfect for you. So I’m planning to lose eight pounds in the next two months. So that when we meet—

I have nightmares of you in prison. A few years ago I read a Good Housekeeping article written by a woman whose husband was behind bars. Until then, I’d had no idea how terrifying a place prison can be. Nor did I have any idea of how many prisoners are killed in prison.

You don’t belong there, Reece. I know that you’ve made mistakes in your life — but who hasn’t? As I told you, thanks to the inheritance my father left me, I’ve already contacted a very high-powered New York criminal attorney and he believes we have a very good chance of getting you a new trial. And if the state supreme court orders one, there’s at least a 50–50 possibility, he says, that the district attorney will decline to try you again, given how much time has passed since your conviction.

Then we can be together, darling. Forever.

Remember how I told you that your letter evoked so many different feelings in me? Well last night, when I got in bed, I lay there naked for a long time in the darkness, your letter upon my breasts. And I had a sexual experience like none other in my life, Reece. With my two husbands, I had a very difficult time reaching satisfaction but last night— Well, last night, your letter on my breasts and my TV image of your face in my mind, I had no trouble at all. I was a complete woman at last. Just imagine what it will be like when we’re actually together.

I’m enclosing a Tibetan prayer I learned when I studied with a very legendary Maharishi in Connecticut a few years ago. I’ve found that in moments of conflict and crisis, this prayer helps me find my true inner self and become calmed. I hope the prayer helps you as much as it’s helped me.

A few days ago, I called the warden’s office and asked his rather snotty secretary if I could send you some things. She disallowed about half of what I was going to box up and send to you. I was so angry by the time I hung up, I called Senator Paxton’s office and demanded to speak directly to him. My father was a major contributor to the Senator’s various campaigns so he not only took my call but also agreed to help me with the warden.

Dusk is falling outside my bedroom window now; the sky gray-blue except for the horizon which is a kind of pearly pink. Even though it’s a little chilly, I keep two of the French windows open slightly so I can smell the clean new spring. You’ll love this manor house when you come to live in it, darling. I suppose you’II be a little intimidated by it as some of my friends have been, but the staff here always does its best to keep people at ease. After showing you the house, the first place I’ll take you is to the stables. My father had two horses that nearly won the Kentucky Derby and one horse that actually won the Preakness in 1971. I’m sure you’ll love the horses as much as I do. I’m sure you will.