The noise was sickening and Shiff went down like chopped cotton. He lay in the grass motionless. Lockwood leaned over him and took his pulse; it felt thin and uneven, and then it just stopped.
“Fuck ‘em,” Lockwood said, exhausted. He grabbed the tire iron and stood up, looking around. Where the hell had Shiff come from? he wondered. There was nothing out here. And then he saw a small break in the tall grass at the edge of the yard. It looked like it might be a footpath.
The Wind Minstrel had waited until past midnight to avoid God’s wrath. But now, it was Monday morning and he could wait no longer.
Shirley had stopped his glorious erection. This messenger for Shirley, this look-alike, had destroyed his penile glory. He would kill her slowly to complete the Beast. He would take her head in a garbage bag back to his barge deep in the Manatee wetlands. He would assemble the Beast in the moonlight and pray to Satan for his miracle. Then he would wait for the Beast to speak and tell him how to avoid the Journey of Redemption. He looked at her, into her frightened eyes.
“Please don’t. Please …” Karen said softly.
“Please don’t. Please …” The Wind Minstrel mimicked. And then he put down the oscillating saw that he would eventually use to cut the spinal cord at the sixth cervical vertebra. He picked up the 10006 surgical scalpel and drew it once, seductively, across Karen’s neck. Then he began his cut.
She screamed out in pain, as the scalpel sliced into her.. .
Lockwood was moving down the footpath but he couldn’t see anything. It was then that he heard Karen’s scream. He looked around but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The screaming continued as he stumbled toward the direction of the sound, until finally he was kneeling over a small vent tube with a metal Chinese rain hat over it at the foot of the garden. The pipe was only two inches in diameter but he could hear Karen’s strangled cry for help coming from deep below. It was terrifying and ripped through his soul.
How the fuck I get down there? He started thrashing around looking for a way. Then he remembered Shirley’s obit. Her father had been a Baptist minister who designed bomb shelters. If this was a bomb shelter, there had to be a trapdoor somewhere right above the vents. He got to his feet and quickly tried to find it. He could now hear the terrible screams coming right up through the ground below. They seemed to be coming right up under his feet! He found a metal hatch that was hinged to a concrete lip, a short distance off the footpath. He threw it back and looked down. Fifteen feet below, he could see light. The screaming was louder. He turned around and started to climb down the metal rungs of the ladder, still clutching the tire iron.
The Wind Minstrel had laid open a flap on Karen’s neck but had missed her jugular vein because she had bucked violently on the table. He had hit her, knocking her dizzy, but she continued to fight him. He was just trying to make his second cut when he heard Bob Shiff coming back down the metal ladder.
“Hold her,” he instructed. Then he turned and saw Lockwood standing in the small bomb shelter clutching the tire iron. He screamed and lunged at Lockwood, who swung the tire iron and missed completely. The tool hit the wall and flew out of his hand. Lockwood threw two slow, awkward punches that barely connected and did no damage; his coordination was way off. Then Leonard Land, with the scalpel still in his hand, grabbed him, threw him down, then landed on top of him, pinning him under his 367-pound frame.
“Fuck you! Fuck you!” The Wind Minstrel shouted as he rose up and stabbed Lockwood with the scalpel.
Lockwood rolled desperately. The scalpel missed his chest and went up to the hilt in his right shoulder. The tip stuck deep in his scapula bone, and then Lockwood rolled further, pulling the scalpel out of The Wind Minstrel’s hand. The blade was still embedded in Lockwood’s shoulder when the huge killer grabbed for the fallen tire iron and swung it. Lockwood took that blow on the side of the head and it almost put him under.
Suddenly the lights in the bomb shelter went out. At first, Lockwood thought he had gone unconscious, but the pain never left. Then his eyes adjusted and he was looking over the huge man’s shoulder, right up the round hatch fifteen feet above, into the moonlit sky… . Suddenly, something filled the opening. Then he saw Malavida’s face in the center of the hatch.
Malavida threw himself down the opening, free-falling, headfirst . . and landed on Leonard Land’s massive back.
Malavida was momentarily dazed, but he managed to snake his arm around Leonard’s neck and pulled back, trying to execute a choke hold. They struggled in silence for several seconds. Lockwood’s head was not three inches from Malavida’s. Their eyes locked, and somehow their stares gave strength to one another. Then, in the circle of moonlight coming from above, he could see Malavida’s look of fierce determination turn to desperation. The Chicano had used up all his resources. Leonard started to rise.
“My shoulder,” Lockwood hissed. “In my shoulder.”
Malavida’s eyes went down and saw the scalpel buried in Lockwood’s shoulder. With his left hand he let go of Leonard’s neck and grabbed for the scalpel handle, as Leonard rose and got to his feet. Malavida was riding his huge back, but the bloody scalpel had come out of Lockwood’s shoulder and was now in Malavida’s hand. Leonard spun around and slammed backwards into the wall, knocking Malavida into the concrete.
Malavida fell from the huge man’s back and now, in the almost total blackness of the bomb shelter, Lockwood rolled to his feet and charged at the spot where he thought Leonard was. Miraculously, Lockwood caught him in the back with his shoulder and, with spent legs, drove him into the concrete wall as hard as he could. Then he heard Leonard scream out in agony. Leonard came away from the wall and stood in the center of the room, his eyes wide. In the dim moonlight coming down the hatch, Lockwood could not immediately tell what had happened. Then Leonard started grabbing weakly at his kimono.
It was then that Lockwood saw the scalpel buried deep in Leonard’s chest. Lockwood had driven him right into Malavida’s blade. The huge man shuddered for a minute in the shaft of moonlight. “Mother,” he finally whispered, and then he fell forward on his face.
Lockwood crawled to Malavida, who was washed with his own blood from the ripped stomach incision. All of his stitches were now torn.
“Where’s Karen?” Malavida said softly.
Lockwood pulled himself up and moved to Karen, whom he could barely see, tied to the table. Her eyes were wide but she was alive. Lockwood looked at the gash on her neck and then, in the almost total darkness, he untied her and helped her off the table.
She knelt beside Malavida. Lockwood didn’t think either of them could climb the ladder. Malavida was semi-delinous and bleeding profusely.
“Called cops,” Malavida said, weakly.
“You okay?” Lockwood whispered, completely spent.
The Chicano nodded. “Hey, Zanzo.”
Lockwood looked over.
“Held your back.”
“You sure did,” Lockwood admitted.
The three of them sat on the floor, Karen between them. “Thank you,” she said to them both. Neither Lockwood nor Malavida had the strength to answer her. Unexpectedly, relief filled Karen’s eyes with tears. She took each of their hands and they sat there.
The three of them were still holding hands when the police arrived.
Chapter 42
A HOME WHERE HIPPOS
CAN ROAM
All of them ended up at the hospital in Bradenton. Karen’s throat and Lockwood’s shoulder were stitched up, but Malavida was rushed into surgery. His fever had climbed to a life-threatening 105 degrees. He had developed peritonitis and they opened him up again, drained out his intestines, bombed him with antibiotics, and prayed. He was back on the critical list. Karen spent five hours getting her broken teeth temporarily capped. Tuesday night her teeth finally settled down enough so she could sleep. On Wednesday afternoon Malavida was upgraded to “serious.”
The story unfolded on TV over the next two days, and it was obvious to
the entire nation that the three of them had stopped a violent and seriously deranged serial killer. Lockwood had been on the phone to Bob Tilly in Washington. He was determined to keep Malavida from going back to Lompoc and was working with Tilly on an idea. The police had found The Wind Minstrel’s barge buried under a tangle of vines in the wetlands. The barge’s freezer delivered up a gruesome offering of body parts. It would take almost a month before tissue matches could identify all of them. Besides Candice Wilcox and Leslie Bowers, there were parts of three other women in the freezer. Tashay Roberts had not been heard from.
Lockwood and Karen ate most of their meals in the hospital cafeteria. Lockwood’s speech was improving daily, but even so, they had fallen into long lapses of silence, consumed by their own thoughts. Lockwood called Minnesota every evening and talked to Heather. The sound of her voice warmed him like nothing else.
“Daddy, will we still go to a farm?” she asked him each time he called.
“It’s a promise, Pumpkin,” he answered.
Her voice communicated both hope and disbelief.
Malavida was sitting up by the fourth day. Tubes were hanging like tendrils off the pole by his bed, but his color was back. He looked up at Lockwood and Karen and smiled his beautiful smile.
“I guess I don’t get my running start, do I, Zanzo?”
“No running for you at all for a while,” Karen said.
“So I’m headed back to Lompoc?”
“I’ve been working on that,” Lockwood said. “I think I got something arranged. But you’ll be surrounded by cops.”
“Great. What have you got me signed up for this time? Am I a target on the Customs Academy shooting range?”
“I got Bob Tilly, who’s now Director of All Operations in D. C., to agree to take you on as a computer specialist. He’s arranging for you to be transferred on an early release program from Lompoc. If Karen is crazy enough to want to get into the Pennet computer again, you can do it for her.”
“And what about you?” Malavida asked.
“I’m gonna go look for a new home for Heather.”
“Where?”
“A farm. I got a lead on a place in Northern California. It’s on the coast at Drakes Bay. They need somebody to run the acreage … citrus, I think, buncha trees. I’ll be like a caretaker or something. But Heather can have horses and we can settle down. You guys are welcome to come and help me watch fruit grow.”
And then Lockwood put his hand on Malavida’s shoulder. “I didn’t think this would happen … but I’ve come to have great respect for you, Mal. I’d really like to be your friend,” Lockwood said.
“You already are,” Malavida answered. And they both knew it was true.
Through all this, Karen said nothing.
Later that night Lockwood and Karen decided to have their last dinner together. Lockwood had a plane ticket to Minnesota and was scheduled to pick Heather up the next day. They went to a little beach restaurant in Gulf City just north of Bradenton. In a touch of irony, from the window table they could see the mouth of the Little Manatee River. After they were seated, they sat in silence. Karen fidgeted with her napkin.
“I want you to take care of Malavida,” Lockwood finally said. “I got real fond of him. Don’t let him fall back in the drink.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
They ordered dinner, and then Karen reached out and took Lockwood’s hand. “When I first saw you, I thought you were running on your own fumes … but I was wrong. You turned out to be special.”
“Karen, this can’t go anywhere… .”
“Why not?”
“I have to raise Heather.”
“I’m good with children.”
He sat quietly and didn’t answer.
“You know about Mal and me, don’t you?” she finally said.
He held her amber eyes with his before answering. “I can live with that,” he said. “It’s not that… .”
“John, I’ve gone through my adult life looking for things to excite me. I’ve been jumping off high places, strapped in strange-looking equipment, racing cars, crashing, anything to stay involved with my own life. It’s self-destructive. I haven’t made the right choices.”
“Nobody does.”
“Malavida is more than either of us thought when we picked him up at Lompoc. Aside from being handsome and smart, he’s loyal and brave … but I don’t love him.”
“Karen—”
“Will you just shut up and let me do this? Okay?”
He fell quiet, waiting for her to finish. “I think I knew I was falling in love with you from the beginning. I told myself I wasn’t. You aren’t what my father would have picked. But I think it’s time I started picking what I want. I didn’t want to settle down… . I was programmed to be my father’s little genius. Live his dream. But I’ve learned something through all this: The demon chasing me isn’t boredom, it’s the lack of true commitment. I know now I don’t need thrills, I need substance. I was trying to hold on to my old routine because it was all I knew. I was afraid of my feelings. So I used Malavida to try and destroy any chance I had with you.”
Lockwood thought she looked beautiful in the orange light of the setting sun. He would have liked to find out what they could’ve had together, but he needed to take care of Heather before worrying about himself. The only thing he knew for certain was that the timing was wrong.
“No go, huh?” she said softly.
“If I’m ever going to be what I want to be, I have to stop breaking promises to the people I love… .” It was all he could say. It was the only thing that still made sense to him.
The next day he flew to Minnesota. Rocky and Marge looked at him with distrust as he picked up his daughter and left on the next flight for Northern California.
They rented a white Ford pickup in San Francisco and drove along the coast to Drakes Bay. The road was wide and the day was bright, and they sat side by side on the front seat of the truck and sang: “Oh, give me a home where the hippos all roam, and Heather and the antelope play… .” Lockwood and Heather smiled broadly as they sang, but they were both missing Claire.
The farm where Lockwood was going to be the caretaker was large and rustic. He had been hired because of a recommendation given over the phone by Bob Tilly. From the hill where the caretaker’s house was situated, they could see the blue-gray Pacific Ocean in the distance. There were fifty acres of pear trees, and Lockwood was instructed on how to handle all of the equipment by the grizzled old man who had run the farm but was retiring. Lockwood was told that during the canning season, contractors would come in with crews and pick the crop for him. All he had to do was test the soil, make sure there was enough water, and light the smoke pots during a freeze. He got Heather enrolled in the Drakes Bay Elementary School and they settled into a life that was peaceful and quiet. Several times he found himself thinking of Karen. He finally decided she had been the right woman at the wrong time, but he pushed those thoughts away. He had broken his promises to Claire over and over. He knew she was up there watching and he didn’t want to disappoint her again. On weekends he and Heather shopped around for a horse. They ended up buying a four-year-old gaited mare with a quiet disposition. Heather named her “Miss Muffet.”
Two months later, Claire released him.
When the dream started, he was walking in a desert. He was alternately too hot and too cold… . Then he came upon an oasis. Claire was waiting there. She was standing in front of a house and she led him inside. When he sat down, he could see that it was Rocky’s living room. They sat on the faded print furniture. In the dream, Claire held his hand. She was even more beautiful than before. Her blond hair had grown long again, the way it had been when he met her.
“You can’t be a good father if you’re half a man,” she told him. Her blue eyes looked at him with the same love that he had seen when they first married. “You tried to do the right things but I expected too much,” she told him. “The things that shaped you,
you couldn’t control, and they drove us apart. But I will always love you, John. Always. I’m in a better place, darling. I can look down and see your pain. Whatever you do for yourself, you’ll be doing for me. I know you won’t ever again break your promises to Heather. Just don’t break your promises to yourself.”
When he awoke, he lay still in bed. He could hear the wind blowing through the cypress trees outside the house. The dream had been so vivid that he was startled by it. Claire’s voice had been so clear, exactly the way he remembered it. He listened to the wind and the sound of the leaves rustling.
He got out of bed but became angry at himself. The dream was his own subconscious attempting to free him. He had taken so much from Heather and Claire; now was his time to give back. But in his heart he was lonely.
He heard a noise coming from Heather’s room and slowly moved down the hall. He looked in. The light was on and he could see her sitting at her desk, writing in her school binder. She turned and saw him. “Oh, Daddy, just a minute, I want to put this all down… .” she said, as she continued writing.
He entered the room. “Pumpkin, you should be asleep.” He went to her and sat on the edge of the bed. “You have to get up early and feed Miss Muffet before school.”
“I know… . It’s just … I had this incredible dream and I wanted to write it all down so I wouldn’t forget,” she said. Then she closed her binder and looked at him. “It was Mommy. She came to see me,” Heather said. “She was just like before, Daddy. She was so beautiful. Her hair was long and, in the dream, she held my hand.”
“What did she say?” Lockwood had a lump in his throat. “She told me you were in pain. Is that true, Daddy?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I am. But I’ll get better. We both will.”
“She said that she loved us and that we had to let her move on. It was so clear, Daddy. So clear … like she was right in the room with me.”
“I know,” Lockwood said softly.
He took Heather’s hand and led her across the room to her bed. He tucked her in and then leaned down and kissed her. Heather held him for a long time.
Final Victim (1995) Page 33
