Black Christmas

by Lee Hays

  Shocked, Jess reacted. “Oh, my God!”

  Then there was a click and she heard a dial tone. At the phone company Graham banged his fist against the wall and shook his head in frustration. He slipped off the earphones and dialed a number. Standing by the window with her hand over her mouth, an incredulous and frightened look on her face, Jess Bradley heard the ringing of the telephone. She looked around in a daze, saw the instrument and walked in a stupor toward it. At the fifth ring she picked it up and said in a weak voice, “Hello?”

  It was Ken Fuller, “I’m sorry, Jess, We didn’t get it. Graham just called me. There’s wasn’t enough time. He has to try every connection. Unless he gets lucky. Anyway, next time you’ll just have to try to keep him on the line longer. Do you think you can?”

  When she didn’t answer he asked, “Are you there, Jess. Did you hear me? You’ll have to keep him on longer.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Are you all right? You don’t sound too good.”

  Making an effort she said, “No. I’m fine.”

  “What happened, Jess? You cried out there at one point, right at the end, before he hung up. Something like, ‘Oh, God.’ Did you recognize something?”

  “No. I guess it was just kind of getting to me. I feel pretty sick, to tell you the truth.”

  “We all do. Did the call make any sense to you? Did it sound like something or somebody, anybody you know?”

  “Uh, no. No, it didn’t.”

  “Are you sure? Before, when he called, did he use more than one voice like this?”

  “Yes. He used several different voices.”

  “The same ones?”

  “I’m not sure. I think . . . No, I think the man’s voice was different.”

  “Damn it, I don’t know what to think. Jess, now tell me, is it possible, do you think maybe it’s possible that it’s somebody putting you on? Some kid you know. Something like that?”

  “No,” she answered dully, “I don’t think so.”

  “I see. Jess, I meant to ask you before. Who was that guy who was leaving the house tonight when we arrived?”

  “My boyfriend, Peter.”

  “Were you having a fight?”

  “Sort of. But—”

  She was interrupted by the sound of a lot of noise coming from Fuller’s office. Over the phone she could tell that someone had come in and that there was a great deal of hollering going on.

  An old farmer named Jack Weller was in the arms of two policemen, struggling to get into Fuller’s office. Behind him another officer was bending over and trying to look back to examine his nether regions which were covered with red spots.

  Weller was yelling at the top of his lungs in a high-pitched voice, “I’m not lettin’ no son of a bitch trespass on my land in the middle of the night, no matter what kind of uniform he’s wearin’. You hear that, sonny?” he hollered out to the man in the other room.

  “Oh, shit,” Fuller said. “Excuse me, Jess. I’ll have to call you back, okay?”

  “Yes,” she answered, telling herself that she was not sure that she would ever answer the phone again.

  “I’ll call you back in a while. We’ll get him on the next one.”

  Hanging up he turned his full attention to the man whom the officers had managed to pull back out of his office, getting up from his desk and going to the outer area and yelling, “What the hell is going on!”

  One of the officers who held Weller said, “He fired on a police officer when we were trying to search his barn.”

  “Goddamn right I did! Do it again, too. Bastard was trespassin’.”

  “Cogan got an ass full of buckshot.”

  Cogan, who was still bent over said, “Yeah, and I’m gonna make the son of a bitch pick everyone of them out with his scrag teeth. You stupid old bastard, you could of killed someone.”

  “Next time,” Weller hollered, “you’ll get the gun up your ass, too, sideways.”

  Fuller turned and went back into his office, his hand to his head, slamming the door behind him.

  Back in the house Phyl came out of her room followed by Jess. She was tying a bathrobe around her and her eyes were heavy with sleep.

  Jess was saying, “I’m sorry I woke you. But I had to tell someone. God, Phyl, what am I going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” As they started down the stairs she added, “Look, if you really think it was Peter, why didn’t you just tell the police?”

  “Because I’m not really sure! What a mess. It didn’t sound like him, but I don’t know. Suppose it wasn’t. How could I do that to him?”

  “He should be stopped. Whoever it is should be stopped. I’ve hardly had a minute’s sleep. Clare’s missing. You’re a wreck, there’s a dead high school girl out there. He should be stopped. This house is a nightmare. There’s been so much noise. What was all that yelling about? I heard a scream.”

  “Barb had an asthma attack. She was having a nightmare. Who wouldn’t after all we’ve been through? And she’d had so much to drink.”

  “Is she all right, now?”

  “Yeah, she’s okay. She’s sleeping it off.”

  They went into the living room and Jess lit a cigarette. “Christ, I gave up smoking. I wish I knew where Mrs. Mac had her sherry hidden. I’d kill the whole damn bottle.”

  “Try to calm down, Jess.”

  “He repeated almost word for word what Peter said to me tonight. Almost word for word.”

  “Couldn’t it be a coincidence?”

  “God, Phyl, I don’t know. I’m so confused. I wish I were a kid again. I was watching those little kids singing Christmas carols and I remembered. I wish I were ten years old.”

  “Look, I don’t really think it could be Peter. You know I don’t like him much, but I don’t think he’s sick, not that sick. He gets my goat the way he acts so superior sometimes because he’s talented, but that doesn’t make him some kind of nut.”

  “I can’t believe he would do this. He’s so gentle most of the time. He has a temper but usually only when he’s under a lot of pressure, when he’s tired. But to deliberately, and I can’t even believe it’s compulsive, that he can’t help himself . . . It’s so unlike him. I’m really so sick and scared I don’t know what to do.”

  “Are you sure that policeman is still out there?”

  Phyl got up and to answer her own question she went to the window where she stared at the car parked across the street. “Yeah, he’s still there. Probably sound asleep, if he isn’t frozen to death.”

  The man in the car, Jennings, was not asleep. Nor was he frozen. But he was dead, very dead, with his throat cut.

  Back in the house, the telephone began to ring.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The telephone continued to ring as Jess and Phyl stared at one another across the living room. Instantly it continued its harsh summons. Finally, with a sigh, Jess went to it and looking at Phyl prayerfully picked up the receiver, saying the inevitable, “Hello?”

  At the switching station Graham, when the red light appeared, put down his container of lukewarm coffee and slipped on the earphones. At the same time he dialed Fuller’s private line and when Ken answered told him to be alerted.

  “Yeah. See if you can get it. We’ll hold our breaths.”

  Peter Smythe said, “Jess?”

  Over the phone she reacted when she heard his voice, tried to keep the quavering out of her own voice as she answered. “Peter?”

  Starting to cry, Peter said, “Oh, God, Jess. Help me.”

  Ken Fuller had picked up the other phone and he heard Peter’s voice, listening curiously to the conversation.

  As Phyl watched her Jess said to Peter, “Look, Peter, don’t cry. We can straighten things out. There’s nothing to get so upset about.”

  “Jess, we can’t kill the baby. Please Jess. We can’t kill the baby! Do you hear me? It isn’t right.”

  Scrambling through the panels, plugging into every light, Bill Graham was tryin
g desperately to find the source of the call.

  Jess remained still for a moment and when Peter stopped speaking she waited but he said no more. At last she asked, “Peter, where are you?”

  “Please, Jess, please! You know how I feel about the baby. Please, it’s not right. You can’t kill a baby.”

  “Please, Peter. Don’t do this to yourself.”

  Still crying, Peter said, “Don’t hurt the baby.”

  “Stop this, Peter!”

  “That’s what they always do. We can’t be like them.”

  “Peter, tell me where you are?”

  There was a click and Jess heard the dial tone, as did Ken Fuller. He put the other phone to his ear just in time to hear Graham say, “I’m sorry, Ken, the calls just aren’t long enough.”

  Through a partly opened door at the top of the stairs the man looked down through the dark wooden railing. The angle was such that he could just see into the living room and the telephone that sat on a table by the doorway. Breathing heavily he waited for a minute, then scurried back down the hall.

  Jess sood watching Phyl whose head was averted, staring out the window, wishing she had left the room when Peter called.

  Both girls jumped when the phone rang again and Jess, as she was the closer of the two, answered it.

  “Jess, it’s Ken Fuller. Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”

  “You listened to that?”

  “Yes. We’re monitoring all of the calls to try to find out who it is and where he’s calling from. Jess, what did he mean about killing the baby? Is it related to the other call? Jess?” There was a long pause and when she didn’t answer him he said, “I think it’s important that you tell me what that call was all about.”

  Jess sagged and leaned against the table. Looking helplessly across the room at Phyllis who was still at the window she said, “I’m pregnant. I told him I didn’t want to have the baby.”

  “When did you tell him this?”

  “Today,” she answered flatly.

  “ ‘We can’t kill the baby.’ That’s a strange way to put it, don’t you think?”

  Jess shrugged, wishing she could just hang up and run from the house never to use a telephone again. “Peter’s an artist. He’s a composer, a musician, very high strung. He tends to dramatize things sometimes, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “He’s neurotic is what you’re saying?”

  Defensively Jess answered, “No more than a lot of people.”

  There was another long pause and Fuller finally said, “Jess, are you sure you’re telling me the whole truth? I’ve got a strong feeling you’re holding something back from me. Look, I don’t want it to be your boyfriend; I don’t want it to be Peter. But I’ve got to check out every possibility. It’s my job, and maybe, well, it does fit together. Look, think back. Was Peter with you any time when you got any of those calls?”

  She thought for a moment and then said in an excited voice, “Yes! Yes, he was here! He was at the house when the first call came tonight. That’s right. He was here tonight. He was taking a nap upstairs when the call came so it couldn’t have been him. It couldn’t have been Peter!” Happily she turned to Phyllis and said, “Phyl, it couldn’t have been Peter. He was here one of the times.”

  “You see? So there’s no need to worry,” Fuller said. “All the same I’d like to talk to him. He’s obviously very upset, and it wouldn’t do . . . We don’t need your line tied up for one thing. Could you tell me where he is? Where I can get in touch with him?”

  “He lives at Baker House but when he gets like this he goes over to the Music Conservatory; you know, part of the Recital Hall, and he has a key so he goes in and plays.”

  “Thanks. We’ll try to trace him. If you get any more calls you’ve got to keep them on the phone longer. You’re not giving our man enough time to trace. Talk to him. Charm him if you have to.”

  “I’m trying. I really am. But it’s not easy. It really upsets me and then I can’t think of anything to say.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s okay. You’re doing a good job but try to hold him a little longer. I’ll talk to you in a while.”

  “Right. Sure.” She hung up and ran to Phyl saying, “Thank God!”

  Phyl smiled at her. “I knew it couldn’t have been Peter.”

  Sergeant Nash was standing beside Lieutenant Kirby describing to him the progress of the search as he pointed out the various areas on the map that hung on the wall of the police station.

  “Yeah,” the Sergeant was saying, “they’ve covered the entire campus area and now they’re moving over towards the lake. I don’t know where we’re going to go from there. The lake’s frozen, by the way. If—”

  “Don’t. I don’t even want to think about the lake tonight. Let me figure out where we go from there, Nash. But it’s not going to be to the bottom of the lake. You might have them check tomorrow, though, to make sure is hasn’t been broken through any place. It doesn’t look to me as if our killer cares much about hiding his victims. That Quaife girl was practically out in the open.”

  “Right, Lieutenant. By the way, there are more men coming in from Willowdale.”

  “Good. They can start at the south end of the town and just work their way through on a house to house search.”

  “Okay,” Nash said, his voice registering his doubts about the efficacy of a house to house search for a man they could not identify.

  Fuller returned to his desk and sat down, shaking his head. Then he got up and came back into the front room calling to the sergeant.

  “Nash, I want you to see if you can get the Dean of Admissions on the phone. I know he’s going to love you for this, but it’s necessary. I want to see the records on a Peter Smythe, a student at the Music College. It’s spelled S—M—Y—T—H—E. If he has to go over to the office try to placate him. But he has to go. And have a car sent round right away.”

  While he was giving his instructions to Nash, the two girls were standing in the kitchen of the sorority house. Water was running in the sink as Phyl prepared to fill the kettle. All thoughts of sleep had left her for the moment and Jess too, seemed more awake, elated almost. Phyl watched Jess leave the room and then called after her, “Hey, Jess! Do you want one or two?”

  Just beyond, in the dining room, Jess stood looking out the window. “Two, please. You should see. There’s a big crowd coming down the street.”

  Suddenly she heard a blood-curdling scream from the kitchen and she rushed out there to find Phyl standing against the wall trembling, her finger pointing toward the window of the kitchen door where a man’s face peered in at her. He was obviously speaking but they could not hear what he was saying through the door. Finally he knocked on the pane and pointed to the lock. Neither girl moved until a second man appeared with a rifle cradled on his arm. Phyl remained transfixed but Jess realized who the men were, went to the door, unlatched it and slipped on the safety chain, opening the door as far as the chain would permit.

  The man, who looked quite harmless, spoke to her. “Hello. Sorry to scare you like that, miss,” he called over Jess’s shoulder to Phyl. “We’re with the search party.”

  Still unsure. Phyl called back, “Wha—what do you want?”

  “We just wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything peculiar around here tonight?”

  “Not until you got here.”

  Amused, Jess said, “Phyl!”

  Phyllis laughed finally and said, “Well, they scared the shit out of me.”

  The second man, the one with the gun said, “We’re sorry, miss. But you know a girl was murdered in the park tonight.”

  Shaking her head, Jess said, “Yes, we know.”

  And Phyl added, “Boy, do we know.”

  “Well, we’re helping the police look for the killer.”

  Jess reached for the safety chain. “Do you want to come in and rest for a few minutes?”

  In the background the kettle whistled and Phyl automatically reached out
and turned it off.

  “No, thanks,” the man said. “We don’t want to trouble you. We just wanted to see if you’d seen anything suspicious around here tonight.”

  “No. We haven’t seen anything suspicious. Sorry,” Jess replied.

  “Well, just keep your doors and windows locked up tight and you’ll be nice and safe. And warm.”

  “Thanks, we will. Good night.” Phyl said.

  Jess added, “And good luck.”

  “Thank you,” the first man said. “There might be other people coming to the door, on the search, but better be careful. Don’t let anyone in unless you’re absolutely sure. Well, goodnight.”

  He backed away and Jess closed the door, throwing the lock again. Turning to Jess she said, “You know, I think this may be the only door or window in the whole house that is locked. I suppose he’s right. Maybe we’d better, just to be on the safe side.”

  Phyl started out of the kitchen. “Right. You go down here. I’ll get upstairs. Although I can’t figure how he’d get up to the second floor.” On her way up the stairs she called back, “Jess, make sure that cop is still out there.”

  “Relax, Phyl. I’m sure he’s still there.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jess twisted the locks on all of the windows downstairs and then pushed the front door tightly shut with her shoulder until she heard the lock click.

  Upstairs, Phyl checked the windows, many of which were already closed and locked, unaware that her movements were being followed closely by a pair of haunted eyes that watched from the open trapdoor of the attic at the end of the hall.

  She hesitated at Barbara’s door, not wanting to waken the girl, but finally decided that to be on the safe side it would be best to check Barbara’s windows, too. Besides, she told herself. I can see if she’s all right.

  It was dark in the room and Phyl stopped short at the doorway, listening for Barbara’s breathing. When she heard nothing she moved a little way in and whispered toward the bed. “Barb? Hey, Barb? Are you awake?” A few more steps and she collided with a chair, reaching out and steadying it and herself as she tried to adjust her eyes to the blackness. The light from the hall that came through the open door was so slight (she mentally cursed Mrs. Mac for the twenty-five watt bulbs in all the halls) that she could barely make out the bed and the form resting on it.