Richard Laymon - The Lake

“Yeah. They should be here any minute now.”

“I didn’t want to get you involved like this.”

“I am involved, Leigh. With Deana.” More than you know, he thought grimly. “Try not to worry—we’re gonna get her back in no time.”

“I’m not so sure, Warren. You may change your mind about that. Take a look at these…” Leigh jerked her head at the photographs spread on the table. Tears welled up again.

Warren’s face darkened as he scanned the pictures. He went cold with shock and anger. “My GOD!” he breathed, his voice rising. “He left THESE? The guy’s a psycho, a sadistic fuckin’ maniac! How could he do this—to her… then take pictures… and bring them here…” His voice broke off.

“You’re telling me. I couldn’t sleep… came into this room—and found these here on the floor. As well as one he’d stolen earlier. I called Mattie. She wasn’t around… so I left a message on her answering machine. Then I found the two officers… God, it was just too awful.”

“You need a drink.” He went over to the wet bar.

They heard thumping on the door.

“Police, Ms. West. Open up!”

Warren left the bar. “I’ll get it. You stay here.”

Leigh nodded dumbly.

She heard Warren open the door, introduce himself. Then men’s voices. One said, “Where are they?”

Leigh got up. She met the cops coming down the hall.

“They… they’re…” She cleared her throat. “One’s in the kitchen—the other’s in the den… Through here, Officer. And you are?”

“I’m Officer Craig and this is Officer Bronson, ma’am.”

They showed their IDs and disappeared into the kitchen.

Warren looked at Leigh’s pale face, her dark-ringed eyes, and wondered if he should call her doctor.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, following her to the living room.

“I’m so worried… and there’s something I didn’t mention, Warren. Mace was here. He was in the house when I called you. He implied something might have happened to Mattie. Hope to Christ it hasn’t.”

She looked at him anxiously.

“Maybe he got to her. Like he got to those cops in there…”

Warren’s jaw tightened.

The phone rang.

Leigh hurried into the hallway. She picked it up.

It was Mattie.

Leigh gasped a sigh of relief.

“Got your message, Leigh. What happened? It sounded serious.”

“It was. Is . Halliwell and Bodine were murdered. Mace got to them, Mattie. The cops are here now. So is Warren. Any news of Deana?”

Leigh closed her eyes tight. Please God let there be news. Good news.

“ ’Fraid not, Leigh. I’m comin’ over ASAP. Tell you what I know. We can compare notes…”

Leigh put the phone down, hoping Mattie had something constructive to say. Like she’d got a plan, had an idea—anything that’d save Deana from Mace.

By the time Mattie showed, the bodies had been taken away. More officers were poking around. Checking doors, windows. Taking prints.

Mattie’s eye caught the photos scattered on the coffee table.

“Just run it by me, Leigh,” she said quietly. “What happened?”

Leigh repeated everything she’d told the officers.

Including the fact that Mace had already been in the house when she’d called Mattie.

Leaving them to it, letting Leigh get on with her story, Warren went to the kitchen and made coffee. A few minutes later, he brought in three steaming mugs, and cream and sugar on a tray. He set the tray before them.

“It’s been a terrible experience for you, Leigh,” Mattie was saying.

Leigh remained silent, then said, “Mace implied something may have happened to you, Mattie.”

“He did? Well, it hasn’t. Don’t intend that it should, either. As for the photographs, Leigh,” she let out a deep sigh, “what can I say—that it’s Mace up to his old tricks again? Yeah,” she said, shaking her head, her lips tight, remembering the scrapbook they’d found at his apartment. “We sure gotta find badass fuckin’ Mace in one helluva hurry.”

Diving into her shoulder bag, she picked out a folded plastic sack and protective gloves. She drew the gloves on, easing them over her fingers.

Glancing at the photographs, she separated them with her fingertips. Staying silent for a while. An icy chill creeping through her body. This looked like the business. She hoped they weren’t too late.

Slowly, she gathered the prints together.

Shook open the sack, slid them inside.

“I’ll get these over to the lab. Have forensic check them out. Could be, apart from Mace’s dabs, some little thing—fibers, DNA, soil deposits—that might give us a lead. We gotta catch him, Leigh…”

“Don’t I know it!” Leigh choked back a sob. “That’s my daughter out there, Mattie. Sure… we’re gonna catch him, all right. But I can’t just wait here! God, Mattie,” her voice rose, “I can’t just do nothing! ”

“What can you do, Leigh? We got trained people out there. We know what he’s up to—given his family history an’ all. He’s tracking down his sister… Meanwhile, he’s… Christ, we’re talking serial ki—” She broke off, embarrassed. “Sorry, Leigh—shouldn’t have said that. Anyhow, we brought Ava Sorensson in on the job. Maybe she’ll come up with something.”

“Ava Sorensson?”

“Yeah. She’s a criminal psychologist. Best in the business. If she can’t crack Mace, nobody can.”

“Well, if she can help…,” Leigh murmured doubtfully. Then: “Mattie, it’s time Warren knew the story behind all this.” She gave him a hesitant smile.

“It might help,” he put in wryly.

“Sure,” Mattie said. “That figures. Let it roll, Leigh.”

Warren settled back and listened.

Deep in thought, Warren left for home, leaving Leigh with Mattie. And a team of cops. Wishing they’d move their asses, get out there, comb the countryside or whatever it was they were supposed to do. But just find Deana.

He prayed she was still alive…

Christ, she’d better be. If I knew where the hell to look, I’d find the bastard myself… Warren sat at the dining table, head down, scanning a map of the West Coast, hoping some divine hand would guide him to where Deana was hidden…

He wasn’t having much luck.

Frowning, he traced a finger around the Bay Area, up to Mill Valley, then San Rafael, then down again to the Santa Cruz Mountains… Sighing impatiently. Knowing he hadn’t a hope in hell of finding Deana this way…

“I know where your girl is, Warren… At least, I think I do.”

His head came up. He threw Sheena a sharp glance.

Standing there, her back to the picture window, she looked pale and somehow disoriented.

“Well?” he asked tersely. “Tell me. Right now, Deana’s probably being beaten up, abused—Christ only knows what else the bastard’s doing to her. She’s in real danger, Sheena, so whatever you think you know, let’s have it, before it’s too late.”

“Y’ain’t gonna like it, bro.” Sheena’s pallor made him wonder what the hell she’d “seen.” Usually, he didn’t set much store by her “feelings,” but right now, any lead was better than none—and by the way she looked, she may, just may, have hit on a clue.

“She’s in a dark place… could be underground. Whatever, wherever, she’s in a dark, enclosed space. And,” she added quietly, studying his face, not liking the haunted look in his eyes. “She hasn’t long to go, Warren. She knows it, too.”

Warren leapt up and raced to the window. He grabbed her shoulder.

“Can you tell me where this… dark place is? Can you see any landmarks— anything? ”