The Night Walker (Nightmare Hall)

by Diane Hoh

  But then, someone who would strike another human being’s skull with a hammer wouldn’t balk at pinning his crimes on someone else, would he?

  An emotionally exhausted Tobie had fallen sound asleep shortly after Ivy had been taken away. She lay sprawled across the narrow bed, one hand tangled in her mop of red hair.

  A wave of sympathy washed over Quinn. Tobie had already been through so much, and now this …

  The question now was, she thought as she sat at her desk and turned on the lamp, how many people on campus knew she was a sleepwalker? Had there been other people out in the hall that first night? She hadn’t asked Tobie, but there could have been. For that matter, Simon or Tobie might have accidentally let it slip. Or they could have been discussing it somewhere on campus and been overheard.

  She would ask Tobie tomorrow if she had told anyone about her nocturnal habits. Because it seemed painfully clear that her sleepwalking was what made her a target for framing.

  The following morning Quinn decided to look for Suze. It was time to find out exactly why Suze had lied to her about fishing Reed’s purse from the wrecked car. What would make Suze lie about something like that?

  As Quinn went into the bathroom to shower, it occurred to her that Suze might know she sleepwalked. Tobie might have told her, maybe thinking that Quinn needed more than one keeper, in case Tobie wasn’t around one night. And Suze knew which room was Quinn’s, knew she owned the yellow raincoat, could have come and gone when no one was home. They didn’t always lock their door. In fact, they hardly ever locked it. They’d never seen any reason to lock it.

  But then, not only had they not expected anyone at Devereaux to come in and steal things, they certainly hadn’t expected anyone to come in and hide things.

  Suze? It was hard to imagine her doing something as vicious as slugging someone over the head with a hammer.

  Well, hey, it was hard to imagine anyone doing something so awful. And almost impossible to think it could be someone she knew.

  But, of course, it had to be someone she knew. Or someone who knew her. And, in fact, knew a lot about her. Knew that she had a hard time staying in bed at night.

  After her shower, Quinn couldn’t find the hair dryer. Tobie often borrowed it — and like everything else, she rarely put it back.

  Muttering to herself, Quinn began to hunt. It was too cold to go outside with wet hair. She’d freeze. Where had Tobie put the stupid dryer?

  She checked around Tobie’s dresser and night table, which were covered with a jumble of tissues, books, pens, and other stuff, but no hair dryer.

  Impatient and very annoyed, Quinn looked around Tobie’s unmade bed. When she crouched down and peered underneath, she didn’t really expect to find the hair dryer. Even someone as careless as Tobie probably wouldn’t have tossed a hair dryer under a bed.

  And the hair dryer wasn’t under there.

  But the hammer was.

  Chapter 18

  QUINN KNELT BESIDE THE bed and stared at the hammer as if it were a reptile about to strike. From where she knelt, she could clearly see the rusty stains on the claw. Blood …

  She sank back on her heels. It had happened again. Something used in an attack on campus had made its way into her room.

  But this time, it wasn’t under her bed.

  It was under Tobie’s bed. Tobie …who had been so shattered by Peter Gallagher’s death that she was still seeing a counselor. Unhappy Tobie …

  How unhappy?

  It would have been so easy for Tobie to plant all those things in their room.

  The thought made Quinn sick. But if not letting anger out could make someone walk in their sleep and punch out a sister and wreck a tennis racket, maybe a broken heart could do the same kind of thing. Maybe Tobie didn’t really know what she was doing. Or couldn’t help it. Maybe that’s why she was seeing a counselor.

  Had Tobie really been with Danny all of last evening?

  Hating herself, Quinn got up and went to the telephone to call Danny’s frat house. When he was on the line, she said, “Danny, it’s Quinn. Tobie’s in the shower, but she wanted me to call and ask if you’d happened to find her wallet. She thought she might have dropped it when you guys were out last night.”

  “You mean Thursday night,” Danny said.

  “No … I thought she said last night.”

  “I didn’t see Tobie last night. She holed up in her room all day yesterday. Said she felt lousy. I’ll check my car, though, see if she left it there Thursday night.”

  Quinn hung up. Tobie had lied about being with Danny last night.

  Why?

  She couldn’t keep wrestling with this thing on her own. The attack on Tim and Ivy had been the worst one yet. Playing amateur detective wasn’t going to solve anything.

  Making up her mind, Quinn gathered together the raincoat, the skirt and blouse and paint-stained sneakers, and gingerly toed the hammer out from underneath the bed with one foot, being careful to wrap a tissue around her hand before she picked it up and stuffed it into a plastic bag with the other items.

  Then she left the building and drove to town, straight to the police station.

  “I found these in my room on campus,” she told the officer she’d been directed to. “I thought you should have them.”

  The policeman was big, with a thick crop of graying hair and a friendly smile. The smile disappeared when she emptied the plastic bag out upon his desk, which was littered with newspaper articles and manila folders.

  They talked for nearly an hour, and when she had finished answering his questions, he seemed convinced that she had no idea how the raincoat had gathered its glass, how the skirt, blouse, and shoes had collected paint stains, or how the hammer had ended up under her roommate’s bed.

  “I’ll just keep these,” he said, stuffing the items back into their bag. “Should be a lot of help.” He fixed intelligent eyes on Quinn. “Might be a good idea if you didn’t say anything to anyone about coming here, okay?”

  Quinn nodded. She understood.

  She was about to leave when she glanced down at the desk, the surface now free of her things, and gasped.

  A picture of Tobie Thomason was staring back up at her from a newspaper clipping. The caption beneath the photo read:

  GIRL TESTIFIES AGAINST

  BOYFRIEND’S ATTACKER

  “What … what is that?” Quinn managed, one shaky finger pointing toward the desk.

  The policeman’s eyes followed Quinn’s finger. “You know her?”

  “She’s … she’s my roommate. Why do you have that clipping on your desk? Can I read it?”

  “I can tell you what it says. Your roommate,” he tapped the photo with a finger, “sent a real sleaze bag to prison for a very long time. Name of Gunther Brach. He decided to help himself to someone else’s funds. Tried to take it from this girl’s boyfriend, Peter Gallagher.”

  Quinn nodded. “I know about that. But I didn’t know Tobie testified.”

  “It’s not our case,” the officer said. “Happened over in Riverdale. But when all this stuff started on campus, the Thomason girl’s parents gave us a call. They were worried about her. Testifying was real hard on the girl. Got a lot of death threats by phone and mail before the trial. Could have backed out, but she didn’t. The force in Riverdale thinks there was someone else in the car with Brach that night, someone who didn’t want Miss Thomason to testify. By the time they picked the guy up after the robbery, he was alone, and insisted he’d been alone all night. But they figure he took his accomplice home before they caught up with him.”

  “Do you have any idea who that was? With him when he did it, I mean?”

  The policeman shook his head. “Could have been a pal, a girlfriend, who knows? Brach wasn’t talking. Honor among thieves, that kind of thing, I guess. He wasn’t going to rat on a friend. I talked to one of the officers on the case. Apparently, there were a couple of possibles in court every day. A heavyset blonde girl who stared daggers at
Thomason while she was testifying, and a couple of young fellows looked like they might be friends of Brach’s.

  “But they never got anything concrete on any of them, and, like I said, Brach wasn’t talking.”

  “And Tobie’s parents are worried now?” Quinn couldn’t blame them. If all the parents knew what was happening on campus, the student body would be yanked out of Salem so fast, the dorms would empty like sinking ships.

  “The girl … your roommate … did a real fine job of testifying. Brach was convicted and hauled off to prison. But according to her parents, once that was over, the girl fell apart. Really went to pieces. I guess it’s no secret that she had to be hospitalized. They were real open and honest about it, so I guess since you’re her roommate, you probably know all about it.”

  No. No, I didn’t know, Quinn thought sadly.

  “Can’t blame the poor kid,” the officer went on. “Watching her boyfriend die, then being scared to death by threats, and then having to testify in open court. Took a lot of guts to get up there on the stand. She okay now?”

  Good question. Was Tobie okay? Or had the horror of watching Peter Gallagher die and the death threats afterward and the testifying done far more damage to her mind than anyone suspected? Had her stay in the hospital worked? Or not?

  “Yes,” Quinn said, “she’s fine. We’re all upset by what’s happening on campus, though. I wonder, do you know the names of those people who came to the trial every day? The blonde girl, and the two guys?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. But I can probably find out. Why? You know something I don’t?” His eyes narrowed. “Not thinking of playing detective, are you, miss? This is serious business, you know.”

  “No. I don’t know anything.” Was that ever true! “I was just curious.”

  “Well, give me a call later. Maybe I’ll have the names then. Don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t have them, especially with the Thomason girl being your roommate.”

  Quinn thanked the officer and left.

  By the time she arrived back on campus, she hadn’t figured out a single thing. Except that Tobie had been through hell. And maybe she had come out of it okay, and maybe she hadn’t. Had she been lying about writing Simon that letter? The way she’d lied about being with Danny last night?

  Wouldn’t having someone you loved taken away from you make you hate other happy couples?

  Quinn got out of her car in the parking lot to find Simon standing on the curb, smiling.

  “Been out joyriding on this gorgeous afternoon?” he asked, coming over to her and giving her a quick kiss. “Can’t blame you. I’m hurt that I wasn’t invited, though.” He pretended to pout.

  “I … I had to run to the mall. Did you try the room? Was Tobie there?”

  “Nope. Nobody home. Any plans for this afternoon?” Simon asked casually.

  There wasn’t a single thing she could do until Tobie returned, or until she talked to the policeman again and got those names. A blonde girl … a couple of guys … that could be anybody. Anybody.

  She wanted the attacker who had tried to frame her to be anybody. Anybody but Tobie.

  “No. I have no plans. I wouldn’t mind taking a canoe out on the river, though.” Maybe getting off campus and onto the water would clear her mind, help her think more clearly.

  Out on the water, the sun shining down on them, the river quiet, the time passed quickly. The bright sunshine had warmed the air again, and theirs wasn’t the only canoe on the river. It was almost possible for Quinn to believe that she’d imagined everything that had happened recently. It was almost possible to pretend that the campus of Salem University was as calm and peaceful as when she’d first arrived in late August.

  That seemed like years ago.

  When, sunburned and tired, they arrived back on campus at dusk, Simon was starving. “I’ll go shower and change,” he suggested. “Fast. I’ll come back and pick you up in an hour for dinner, okay?”

  She wanted to talk to Tobie. But she had to eat, and Tobie might not be home yet. They could talk after dinner. “Okay. See you then.”

  Tobie wasn’t in the room, and there was no sign that she’d been there.

  Quinn wrote her a note, asking her to please wait in the room if she got back before Quinn did. Then she took a quick shower and changed into jeans and a sweater. Now that the sun had gone down, it would be chilly outside.’

  While she was waiting for Simon, she called Ivy’s room, asking for Suze. She still hadn’t found out why Suze had lied about Reed’s purse.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Ivy said. “Do you really expect Susan to be in on a Saturday evening? Quinn, you know better than that. But I’ll tell her you called.”

  I am just not getting any answers, Quinn thought, annoyed, as she hung up. All these questions, and not a single answer in sight.

  As she turned away from the telephone, her eyes drifted past the clock on her nightstand, and then, when she noticed the position of the hands, returned to it in surprise. Ninety minutes had gone by since she and Simon had parted. Ninety minutes? He’d said an hour. And he’d said he was starving, and would hurry.

  Simon was never late.

  She called his room.

  No answer.

  She waited fifteen minutes and then called again. It didn’t take Simon more than a few minutes to walk from Lester to Devereaux. It wouldn’t have taken fifteen minutes.

  She called Danny at the frat house. He wasn’t there, either.

  Then she called Simon’s room again.

  All she heard was the sound of the telephone ringing in an empty room.

  Quinn didn’t know what to do. Almost eight o’clock. Where was he?

  Maybe he’d run into someone in the lobby or the elevator and was out in the hall caught up in a conversation. Probably political. Simon never could resist a heated political argument.

  There was no one in the hall when Quinn opened the door of her room and peered out. The sixth floor was quiet. Everyone had gone to dinner.

  Something crawled up Quinn’s spine. Who was she kidding? Simon wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t be this late without calling.

  She hurried her steps, heading for the elevator.

  Pushed the button, bouncing nervously from foot to foot as she waited for it to arrive.

  At last it did.

  The door slid open.

  To reveal Simon, lying on his back on the floor of the cage, his eyes closed, a small but very red pool of blood puddling underneath his sandy hair.

  Chapter 19

  QUINN STAYED WITH SIMON at the infirmary until, although he hadn’t regained consciousness, she was sure he was okay. It hurt to see him lying there, so still, a white bandage wrapped around his head like a turban.

  “He was hit from behind,” one of two policemen who had been called to the scene told her in the tiny waiting room. “Stepped into the elevator, someone was waiting for him there, and wham! Must have been someone he knew, or he wouldn’t have turned his back on them, the way things have been going on this campus lately. Probably never knew what hit him.”

  Quinn winced.

  “Maybe he saw something, maybe not,” the policeman continued. “When he wakes up I’ll see what I can find out’.”

  The infirmary physician wouldn’t let Quinn stay. “Simon will sleep all night,” she assured Quinn. “He’s going to be fine. Someone’s aim wasn’t too accurate. You go on home, get some rest. Call here in the morning and someone will tell you if he’s ready to be discharged.”

  On her way out of the infirmary, Quinn spotted the policeman she’d talked to at the station. He was standing in the doorway, alone.

  On an impulse, Quinn hurried over to him. “Officer,” she said, “did you ever find out the names of those people?”

  He stared at her, a blank expression on his face. “What people?”

  She felt like a fool. He didn’t even remember who she was.

  “I’m Quinn Hadley. Remember, I talked to yo
u this afternoon about the Peter Gallagher case? In Riverdale? You said the police thought that Gunther Brach’s girlfriend or some of his pals might have been in the car that night. You said the girl was in the courtroom every day. Did you call Riverdale and get those names?”

  The big, beefy man thought for a minute. “Oh, yeah, I did call over there. Guy at the desk said he didn’t remember any of the names and was too busy to look it up. They’re having some kind of Founders’ Day celebration over there, said the place was a madhouse. But he thought the girlfriend’s name started with an S. Said it was an unusual name, that’s why he couldn’t remember it. Going to call me back, when he has time. You might want to check with me at the station later today or tomorrow.”

  The only girl’s name beginning with an S that sprang into Quinn’s mind was Suze. Nothing unusual about the name Susan.

  Did the names really matter, anyway? If you’d been involved in a criminal trial, wouldn’t you change your name? And what better time to change your name than when you went off to college? No one there would know what your real name was, unless you were unlucky enough to run into someone you knew.

  Someone you knew …was that the connection they’d all been looking for? If one of Gunther’s friends really was at Salem now, maybe the couples who had been attacked were all from Tobie’s hometown, people who knew and recognized Gunther’s friends.

  No. That wasn’t right. Tobie was from Riverdale, but Reed and Jake weren’t. They wouldn’t know anything about the case.

  Then what was the connection?

  When Quinn got back to the dorm, she took the stairs to the sixth floor. Just looking at the elevator where she’d found Simon, unconscious, was enough to make her sick.

  Simon was the only person to be attacked when he was alone. Did that mean anything?

  Tobie still wasn’t home. Quinn called Nightmare Hall, and Cath Devon told her she hadn’t seen Tobie all day.

  Where was she?

  Quinn didn’t want to stay in the room alone. She needed to talk to someone about what happened to Simon. No one knew yet.