by Stephen King
‘You can quit that now,’ Ralph said. ‘Mother and Father are here. How are you?’
‘My arm hurts like blue fuck, but otherwise I’m okay. Did you get him? El Cuco?’
‘We got him,’ Ralph said. ‘Holly got him. He wasn’t human, but he died, just the same. His days of killing children are over.’
‘Holly got him?’ He looked at her. ‘How?’
‘We can talk about that later,’ she said. ‘Right now I’m more concerned about you. Have you passed out? Are you lightheaded?’
‘I got a little dizzy walking over here. Seemed to take forever, and I had to rest a couple of times. I was hoping I’d meet you coming out. Praying, more like it. Then I saw this truck. Must belong to the shooter. John P. Hoskins, according to the registration. Is he who I think he is?’
Ralph nodded. ‘Of the Flint City police. And it’s was. He’s dead, too. I shot him.’
Yune’s eyes widened. ‘What the hell was he doing here?’
‘The outsider sent him. How he managed that I have no idea.’
‘I thought he might have left the keys, but no joy on that. And nothing for pain relief in the glove compartment, either. Just the registration, his insurance card, and a bunch of crap.’
‘I’ve got the keys,’ Ralph said. ‘They were in his pocket.’
‘And I’ve got something for pain,’ Holly said. She reached into one of the voluminous side pockets of her beat-up suit coat and brought out a large brown prescription bottle. It was unlabeled.
‘What else have you got in there?’ Ralph asked. ‘A camp stove? Coffee pot? Shortwave radio?’
‘Work on that sense of humor, Ralph.’
‘That’s not me being funny, that’s true admiration.’
‘I concur most heartily,’ Yune said.
She opened her traveling pharmacy, dumped an assortment of pills into her palm, and put the bottle carefully down on the truck’s dashboard. ‘These are Zoloft … Paxil … Valium, which I rarely take anymore … and these.’ She carefully slid the rest of the pills back into the bottle, saving out two orange ones. ‘Motrin. I take it for tension headaches. Also for TMJ pain, although that’s better since I started using a night guard. I have the hybrid model. It’s expensive but it’s the best one on the …’ She saw them looking at her. ‘What?’
Yune said, ‘Just more admiration, querida. I love a woman who comes prepared for all eventualities.’ He took the pills, swallowed them dry, and closed his eyes. ‘Thank you. So much. May your night guard never fail you.’
She looked at him doubtfully as she stored the bottle back in her pocket. ‘I have two more when you need them. Have you heard any fire sirens?’
‘No,’ Yune said. ‘I’m starting to think they’re not coming.’
‘They will,’ Ralph said, ‘but you won’t be here when they arrive. You need to go to the hospital. Plainville’s a little closer than Tippit, plus the Bolton place is on the way. You’ll need to stop there. Holly, will you be okay driving if I stay here?’
‘Yes, but why …’ Then she hit her forehead lightly with the palm of her hand. ‘Mr Gold and Mr Pelley.’
‘Yes. I have no intention of leaving them where they fell.’
‘Messing up a crime scene is generally frowned on,’ Yune said. ‘As I think you know.’
‘I do, but won’t allow two good men to cook in the hot sun and next to a burning vehicle. Do you have a problem with that?’
Yune shook his head. Droplets of sweat shone in the bristles of his Marine-style haircut. ‘Por supuesto no.’
‘I’ll drive us around to the parking lot, and then Holly can take over. Are you getting any relief from that Motrin, amigo?’
‘I am, actually. It ain’t great, but it’s better.’
‘Good. Because before we get rolling, we have to talk.’
‘About?’
‘About how we’re going to explain this,’ Holly said.
24
Once they were in the parking lot, Ralph got out. He met Holly coming around the hood of the truck, and this time it was she who hugged him. It was brief but strong. The rental SUV had mostly burned itself out, and the smoke was thinning.
Yune moved – carefully, with several winces and hisses of pain – into the passenger seat. When Ralph leaned in, he said, ‘You’re sure he’s dead?’ Ralph knew it wasn’t Hoskins he was asking about. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. He didn’t exactly melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, but close. When the shit hits the fan out here, they’re going to find nothing but his clothes and maybe a bunch of dead worms.’
‘Worms?’ Yune frowned.
‘Based on how fast they were dying,’ Holly said, ‘I think the worms will decay very rapidly. But there will be DNA on the clothes, and if they should happen to run it against Claude’s, they could get a match.’
‘Or a mix of Claude’s and Terry’s, because his change-over wasn’t complete. You saw that, right?’
Holly nodded.
‘Which would make it worthless. I think Claude is going to be all right.’ Ralph took his cell phone from his pocket and put it in Yune’s good hand. ‘You’ll be okay to make the calls as soon as you start getting some bars?’
‘Claro.’
‘And you know the order of the calls?’
As Yune ticked them off, they heard faint sirens coming from the direction of Tippit. Someone had noticed the smoke after all, it seemed, but the person who saw it hadn’t bothered to come and investigate himself. Which was probably good. ‘DA Bill Samuels. Then your wife. Chief Geller after that. Finishing up with Captain Horace Kinney of the Texas Highway Patrol. All the numbers are in your contacts. The Boltons we talk to in person.’
‘I’ll talk to them,’ Holly said. ‘You’re going to sit still and rest your arm.’
‘Very important Claude and Lovie get on board with the story,’ Ralph said. ‘Now go on. If you’re still here when the fire trucks arrive, you’ll be stuck.’
With the seat and the mirror adjusted to her satisfaction, Holly turned to Yune and to Ralph, still leaning in the passenger door. She looked tired but not exhausted. Her tears had passed. He saw nothing on her face but concentration and purpose.
‘We need to keep this simple,’ she said. ‘As simple and as close to the truth as we can get.’
‘You’ve been through this before,’ Yune said. ‘Or something like it. Haven’t you?’
‘Yes. And they will believe us, even if they’re left with questions that can never be answered. You both know why. Ralph, those sirens are getting closer and we have to go.’
Ralph closed the passenger door and watched them drive away in the dead Flint City detective’s pickup. He considered the hardpan Holly would have to cross in order to avoid the chain, and thought she’d manage it just fine, skirting the worst of the holes and washes in order to spare Yune’s arm. Just when he thought he couldn’t admire her more … he did.
He went to Alec’s body first, because it was the harder one to retrieve. The vehicle fire was almost out, but the heat radiating from it was fierce. Alec’s face and arms had blackened, his head had been burned bald, and as Ralph grabbed him by the belt and began hauling him toward the gift shop, he tried not to think of the crispy bits and melted gobbets that were being left behind. And of how much Alec now looked like the man who had been at the courthouse that day. All he needs is the yellow shirt over his head, Ralph thought, and that was too much. He let go of the belt and managed to stagger twenty paces before bending over, grasping his knees, and throwing up everything in his stomach. When that part was done, he went back and finished what he had started, dragging first Alec and then Howie Gold into the shade of the gift shop.
He rested, getting his breath back, then examined the shop’s door. It was padlocked, but the door itself looked weather-worn and flimsy. The second time he hit it, the hinges gave way. The interior was shadowy and explosively hot. The shelves were not entirely empty; a few souvenir tee-shirts embla
zoned with I EXPLORED THE MARYSVILLE HOLE still remained. He took two and shook off the dust as best he could. Outside, the sirens were very close. Ralph thought they wouldn’t want to drive their expensive equipment across the hardpan; they’d stop to cut the chain, instead. He still had a little time.
He knelt and covered the faces of the two men. Good men who had fully expected to have years of life left in front of them. Men with families who would grieve. The only good thing (if there was anything good about it) was that their grief would not become a monster’s meal.
He sat beside them, forearms resting on his knees, chin on his chest. Was he responsible for these deaths, too? Partly, perhaps, because the chain always led back to that catastrophically unwise public arrest of Terry Maitland. But even in his exhaustion, he felt he did not need to own all of what had happened.
They will believe us, Holly had said. And you both know why.
Ralph did. They would believe even a shaky story, because footsteps didn’t just end and there was no way maggots could hatch inside a ripe cantaloupe with its tough skin intact. They would believe because to admit any other possibility was to call reality itself into question. The irony was inescapable: the very thing that had protected the outsider during its long life of murder would now protect them.
No end to the universe, Ralph thought, and waited in the shade of the gift shop for the fire trucks to arrive.
25
Holly drove to the Boltons’ sitting upright, hands on the wheel at ten and two, listening as Yune made the calls. Bill Samuels was horrified to learn that Howie Gold and Alec Pelley were dead, but Yune cut off his questions. There would be time for questions and answers later, but that time was not now. Samuels was to re-interview all the witnesses who had been previously questioned, beginning with Willow Rainwater. He was to tell her straight out that serious questions had been raised about the identity of the man she had taken from the strip club to the train station in Dubrow. Was she still sure that person had been Terry Maitland?
‘Try to question her in a way that plants doubts,’ Yune said. ‘Can you do that?’
‘Sure,’ Samuels said. ‘I’ve been doing it in front of juries for the last five years. And based on her statement, Ms Rainwater already has a few. So do the other witnesses, especially since that tape of Terry at the convention in Cap City went public. It’s got half a million hits just on YouTube. Now tell me about Howie and Alec.’
‘Later. Time is tight, Mr Samuels. Talk to the wits, starting with Rainwater. And something else: the meeting we had two nights ago. This is muy importante, so listen up.’
Samuels listened, Samuels agreed, and Yune moved on to Jeannie Anderson. That call was longer, because she both needed and deserved a fuller explanation. When he finished, there were tears, but perhaps mostly of relief. It was awful that men had died, that Yune himself had been injured, but her man – and her son’s father – was okay. Yune told her what she needed to do, and Jeannie agreed to do it immediately.
He was preparing to make the third call, to FC Chief of Police Rodney Geller, when they heard more sirens, this time approaching. Two Texas Highway Patrol cars blasted by them, headed for the Marysville Hole.
‘If we’re lucky,’ Yune said, ‘maybe one of those troops is the guy who talked to the Boltons. Stape, I think his name was.’
‘Sipe,’ Holly corrected. ‘Owen Sipe. How’s your arm?’
‘Still hurts like blue fuck. I’m gonna take those other two Motrin.’
‘No. Too much all at once can damage your liver. Make the other calls. But first go to Recents and delete the ones you made to Mr Samuels and Mrs Anderson.’
‘You would have made a hell of a crook, señorita.’
‘Just being careful. Prudente.’ She didn’t look away from the road. It was empty, but she was that kind of driver. ‘Do it, then make the rest of your calls.’
26
It turned out that Lovie Bolton had some old Percocets for back pain. Yune took two of them instead of the Motrin, and Claude – who had taken a first aid course during his third and last stretch in prison – bandaged his wound while Holly talked. She did so rapidly, and not just because she wanted to get Lieutenant Sablo some real care. She needed the Boltons to understand their part in this before anyone official showed up. That would be soon, because the officers from the Highway Patrol would have questions for Ralph, and he would have to answer them. At least there was no disbelief here; Lovie and Claude had felt the presence of the outsider two nights ago, and Claude had been feeling him even before that: a sense of disquiet, dislocation, and being watched.
‘Of course you felt him,’ Holly said grimly. ‘He was plundering your mind.’
‘You saw him,’ Claude said. ‘He was hiding in that cave, and you saw him.’
‘Yes.’
‘And he looked like me.’
‘Almost exactly.’
Lovie spoke up, sounding timid. ‘Would I have known the difference?’
Holly smiled. ‘At a glance. I’m sure of it. Lieutenant Sablo – Yune – are you ready to go?’
‘Yes.’ He stood up. ‘One great thing about hard drugs – everything still hurts, but you don’t give a shit.’
Claude burst out laughing and pointed a finger-gun at him. ‘You got that right, brother.’ He saw Lovie frowning at him and added, ‘Sorry, Ma.’
‘You understand the story you have to tell?’ Holly asked.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Claude said. ‘Too simple to screw up. The Flint City DA is thinking of re-opening the Maitland case, and you-all came down here to question me.’
‘And you said what?’ Holly asked.
‘That the more I think about it, the more I’m sure it wasn’t Coach Terry I saw that night, just someone who looked like him.’
‘What else?’ Yune asked. ‘Very important.’
Lovie answered this time. ‘The bunch of you stopped by this morning to say goodbye, and to ask if there was anything we might have forgotten. While you were getting ready to leave, there was a phone call.’
‘On your landline,’ Holly added, thinking, Thank God they still have one.
‘That’s right, on the landline. The man said he worked with Detective Anderson.’
‘Who spoke to him,’ Holly said.
‘That’s right. The man told Detective Anderson the fellow you-all were looking for, the real killer, was hiding out in the Marysville Hole.’
‘Stick to that,’ Holly said. ‘And thank you both.’
‘We are the ones who should be thanking you,’ Lovie said, and held out her arms. ‘You come here, Miss Holly Gibney, and give old Lovie a hug.’
Holly went to the wheelchair and bent down. After the Marysville Hole, Lovie Bolton’s arms felt good. Necessary, even. She stayed in their embrace as long as she could.
27
Marcy Maitland had grown exceedingly wary of callers since her husband’s public arrest, not to mention his public execution, so when the knock came at her door, she first went to the window, twitched aside the drapes, and peeped out. It was Detective Anderson’s wife on the stoop, and it looked like she had been crying. Marcy hurried to the door and opened it. Yes, those were tears, and as soon as Jeannie saw Marcy’s concerned face, they started again.
‘What is it? What’s happened? Are they all right?’
Jeannie stepped in. ‘Where are your girls?’
‘Out back under the big tree, playing cribbage with Terry’s board. They played all last night and started again early this morning. What’s wrong?’
Jeannie took her by the arm and led her into the living room. ‘You might want to sit down.’
Marcy stood where she was. ‘Just tell me!’
‘There’s good news, but there’s also terrible news. Ralph and the Gibney woman are all right. Lieutenant Sablo was shot, but they don’t believe it’s life-threatening. Howie Gold and Mr Pelley, though … they’re dead. Shot from ambush by a man my husband works with. A detective. Jack Hoskins is his nam
e.’
‘Dead? Dead? How can they be—’ Marcy sat heavily in what had been Terry’s easy chair. It was either that or fall down. She stared up at Jeannie uncomprehendingly. ‘What do you mean, good news? How can there be … Jesus, it just keeps getting worse.’
She put her hands over her face. Jeannie dropped to her knees beside the chair and pulled them away, gently but firmly. ‘You need to get yourself together, Marcy.’
‘I can’t. My husband’s dead, and now this. I don’t think I’ll ever be together again. Not even for Grace and Sarah.’
‘Stop it.’ Jeannie’s voice was low, but Marcy blinked as if she had been slapped. ‘Nothing can bring Terry back, but two good men died to redeem his name and give your girls a chance in this town. They have families, too, and I’ll have to talk to Elaine Gold after I leave here. That’s going to be awful. Yune has been hurt, and my husband risked his life. I know you’re in pain, but this part is not about you. Ralph needs your help. So do the others. So pull yourself together and listen.’
‘All right. Yes.’
Jeannie lifted one of Marcy’s hands and held it. The fingers were cold, and Jeannie supposed her own weren’t much warmer.
‘Everything Holly Gibney told us was true. There was an outsider, and he wasn’t a man. He was … something else. Call him El Cuco, call him Dracula, call him the Son of Sam or of Satan, it doesn’t matter. He was there, in a cave. They found him and killed him. Ralph told me he looked like Claude Bolton, although the real Claude Bolton was miles away. I talked to Bill Samuels before I came over here. He thinks that if we all tell the same story, everything will be okay. It’s likely we can clear Terry’s name. If we all tell the same story. Can you do that?’
Jeannie could see hope filling Marcy Maitland’s eyes like water filling a well.
‘Yes. Yes, I can do that. But what is the story?’
