Lilah

by Marjorie DeLuca

  He crawled along the road that followed the lakeshore, keeping up the pace that a runner might. Sure enough a figure materialized every now and then when there was break in the trees. He followed for a good few minutes until the figure stopped and began stretching exercises. First arms and then legs. The person was wearing a hooded top and was too far away for Nick to see who it was.

  He exhaled in relief. He was becoming paranoid. Of course it was a popular trail for joggers. Somehow he’d forgotten that life could be pleasant and ordinary. He shook his head and pulled the car in a broad U-turn then headed back to town.

  The hospital was a large two-story building situated on the outskirts of town near the mall. It served Silver Narrows and the other small communities in the area. Nick had dated a nurse when he’d first arrived, but after an all-night party at her nearby apartment, he woke up the next morning in a linen storage closet at the hospital, clad in his underwear and socks. As well, the fingernails of both hands were painted bright pink and his tee-shirt was covered in matching lipstick. The orderly who discovered him was a sport and smuggled him out in a hospital gown. From there he’d hightailed it back to his house, praying nobody would see him with the green cotton robe flapping open behind him.

  The girl had since married and he hoped to god he wouldn’t run into her that morning. Keeping his head down, he moved quickly through the polished hallways. As he expected, a uniformed cop was stationed at the door of Claire’s room. Nick didn’t recognize the guy and reckoned he’d been brought in for the investigation. He stood up when Nick approached.

  “I’m with the local paper,” said Nick, showing his press card which was still shiny and new since he’d barely used it in years. “I wanted to ask Claire’s mom some questions.”

  “I’ll have to ask her if she’s willing,” said the cop. “She’s pretty fragile.”

  Nick nodded and the cop disappeared into the room where the hum of machines and the blinking of lights reminded Nick how sick this girl was.

  The cop emerged almost immediately, followed by a tiny woman with faded brown hair and eyes that were sunk into dark hollows in her face. She was wearing a bulky sweatshirt with some football team logo on it, that looked like it belonged to a much larger man.

  “Mrs. Jensen has agreed to talk to you,” said the cop, smiling. Nick noticed the glint of fine downy hairs on his upper lip. The kid couldn’t be more than twenty one. “But if there’s any sign of distress, the interview will be over.”

  Nick took Mrs. Jensen’s arm and led her to the bench nearby. He sat opposite her.

  “Coffee?” he asked as gently as he could.

  She shook her head. “I’m drowning in it,” she said. “Nothing helps.”

  “I’m so sorry about Claire, Mrs. Jensen,” said Nick, “and I know that won’t make her better, but I’m writing an article about the drug problem in Silver Narrows because it might help the police find the person who’s supplying these drugs to innocent kids like Claire.”

  The tiny woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Claire’s not innocent, Mr. … Mr.”

  “Call me Nick.”

  “Ever since Al, my husband passed when Claire was only three – she was wild. Tantrums, screaming, smacking other kids. Like she was always angry. She was smoking dope at nine. I found leftover joints in her lunchbox. She told me it was the only thing that calmed her down enough to make friends. We lived in Fargo at the time. I took her for counseling. The school got her into treatment. She was okay for a while. Played soccer and seemed to settle down. Then she went to junior high and it all started again only this time she got into pills. She almost overdosed at fourteen. That’s when we moved to Silver Narrows. I got work as a chambermaid at the motel. We scratched by. I thought it’d be quiet here in this small town, but Claire sniffed out the druggies by the second day of class and started to hang out with them. I’d go to work in the morning and she’d be just coming in. Wasted. Only this time it was way worse. She wasn’t eating or sleeping. She looked sick all the time. And her teeth. She had lovely teeth when she was a kid. Her teeth started to rot. She told me she was only doing dope and I believed her.” The small body began to shake underneath the big sweatshirt, and she looked up at him with eyes hollow with hopelessness. “What can you do when you’re barely making enough to keep food on the table, and your kid goes off the rails? You try to pretend it’s gonna get better, don’t you?”

  She looked at him for assurance. Nick nodded. “Did you tell the people at the school? Surely they’d get her into treatment?”

  She wiped her runny nose with her sleeve, then realized what she’d done. “Sorry, I’m such a slob - I’m just out of it.”

  Nick handed her the box of paper tissues and she dabbed at her eyes and nose. “I called that nice Mr. Schuler. Claire said he’d been helpful with the other kids in the past. He said he’d find out about a treatment center.”

  “And did he?”

  She shook her head. “I called him a couple of times and he said he was waiting for word from them, then one week slipped into another and now this,” she said, nodding towards the room. A fresh flood of tears streamed down her face and she grasped Nick’s arm. “But maybe it’s a good thing. At least they can clean out my little girl’s body and she can be free of all that junk. Then we can start fresh. I’m moving to Albany – to my sister’s place. Then we’ll see.”

  Nick took her hands. “I hope it all works out for you, but just one more question – did Claire ever mention anything about the man who supplied the meth?”

  Mrs. Jensen shook her head. “I begged her to tell me. I even followed her once, but she saw me when we got to some old barn in the woods and screamed at me. She went crazy. Yelling and crying. Telling me never to do that again. And Tim’s parents tried just the same as me. Of course they’re gone now. Packed up everything they owned and took Tim west. Said they wanted nothing more to do with this goddamn evil place.”

  “So there’s nothing – no clue about this guy?”

  “No – she even claimed she didn’t know who he was – but,” she held up a finger and smiled, “I do remember one strange thing she said. She asked me once –mom, why are adults so fake? You think you know them and they make you like them, then they turn out to be someone totally different. Someone so scary you wanna run clear away from this shithole to get away from them.” She turned blank eyes towards Nick. “I think it was someone from round here. Someone we all know and trust.”

  Mrs. Jensen’s words rang in Nick’s ears as he drove away from the hospital. Someone we all know and trust. He’d already reached that conclusion. It had to be one of those guys from the lakeside party. Castle was already gone and so was Ed Schuler. That only left, Jake Hardy, Danny Johnson and Ike Dewar. He wondered about the bad feelings between Danny and Dewar. Did it have anything to do with this whole situation? He realized he didn’t have any proof that the disappearances and the meth dealing were linked, just a strong gut feeling that this person had to find some outlet for his evil now the disappearances had stopped.

  Nick’s next stop was the office to read over the details about the lakeside party again, to see if he’d missed anything, but halfway along the highway the blare of police sirens and the flashing of lights caused him to pull over to let them by. Once they’d all passed, he floored the gas and followed them. This was breaking news and he wanted to be first on the scene, but cold fingers spread across his body when he saw the direction they were headed. Towards the lake houses where Lilah, Dewar, Gorman and a few others lived.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the cop cars stop at the top of Ray Gorman’s driveway. Finally they’d decided to pick up the asshole for dealing dope to school kids. It was about time he was wiped off the scene, but knowing Gorman he’d hire some high-priced Chicago lawyer and weasel his way out of a jail sentence. Nick was just considering how unjust that would be when a large white vehicle pulled up behind him. Three figures scrambled out. A woman and two men; a forensics
team. They pulled on white overalls and unloaded equipment. Then Gorman must be dead thought Nick, jumping out of the car when he saw Brad Brenner heading towards the forensics people, his face pale and drawn.

  Nick waited until Brad was done with them and then headed him off before he went back down the driveway.

  “What’s going on?” he said.

  Brad shook his head. “I can’t say anything yet, Nick, but I’ll release some info once the forensics have been done. You’ll be first to know.”

  “Is it Gorman?”

  Brad looked around furtively, then drew his finger across his throat in a swift cutting motion. “Looks like it might have been once,” he said, heading back towards the crime scene, then turning back to Nick. “Until someone cut him up so bad we can hardly recognize him.”

  .

  20

  Nick waited around for a while until the body, wrapped in white plastic, was carried to the ambulance. It was a sad end to a sad life, and as he climbed back into his car he wondered if there was anyone who would care that Gorman was gone. All the time he’d known the guy there’d been no sign of relatives or ex-wives or kids. Just ex-girlfriends who didn’t care to keep up any type of friendship after they’d discovered what an asshole the guy was. Cari Evans had been one of those. Disappearing from the scene after the winter hayride. Maybe the local stoners from the high school might show up at his funeral. Who would sell them dope now? The kind and helpful Mr. Schuler? Or maybe the mystery meth guy who was possibly doing some kind of damage control by wiping out Ray who’d talked too much.

  He drove in a kind of fog towards town, pulling in at the gas station to fill up. Jake Hardy was spreading sand across the parking lot, his grizzled grey ponytail covered by a ragged, checkered hat with ear flaps. His rusty parka flapped open to reveal an ancient Black Sabbath concert shirt. Nick realized he’d never really noticed the guy. Even at Rusty’s, Jake sat at the edge of various groups and simply sucked back one beer after another. Maybe now was a good time to talk to him. Jog his memory a bit.

  Nick crossed into the small shop to pay. To say it was messy was an understatement. A few racks of beef jerky, some cough lozenges and a sad row of barbecue chips and corn nuts were just visible against a backdrop of oily cloths, old gears, battered boxes of nuts and bolts and some ancient butane lighters. From this palace, Hardy stared through grimy windows at the traffic pulling up outside. It was rumored he had a fortune stashed away in a hidden safe somewhere in his house out back, which was a distinct possibility since he only seemed to spend money on beer and Rusty’s best triple burgers.

  Usually he grunted a greeting and Nick made a quick exit, but today Nick lingered, making a show of rearranging money in his wallet.

  “You always lived here, Jake?”

  He looked upwards, grizzled brows knit as if he couldn’t understand why Nick would be remotely interested in his life. He shrugged. “Guess so,” he mumbled then pushed the till shut, his face closing over. Waiting for Nick to leave.

  “I mean you must’ve seen some things here.”

  Hardy tilted his head, squinting his eyes as if blinded by sunlight. “Maybe. Don’t remember much.”

  Nick persisted, directly meeting the older guy’s glare, “I mean in the old days. Hear this was quite the party place in the sixties.”

  Hardy got up quickly, scraping the metal chair across the linoleum. “Can’t say I recall that.”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Summer nights down by the lake. Plenty of beer, a bit of dope, a few girls. Bet you remember.”

  “What’s your fucking game, Hendricks?” he said, brushing past Nick on the way to the door.

  “I’m doing a piece on the drug problem in Silver Narrows,” he said. “See I happen to think it all started here with all you old guys. I was looking back in some old newspaper archives and I found a pretty detailed account of a skinny dipping party down by the lake in 1969. How old were you then Jake? Twenty? Twenty one? Trouble is – one of those girls went missing after the party. Kind of like those kids went missing here twenty years ago. You know anything about that?”

  Hardy turned to face Nick with a face that seemed to have crumbled in on itself. His cheeks sucked in and his teeth working in a kind of chewing motion. “Them old days are gone. Better left alone.”

  “See I heard it different,” said Nick, following him out the door. “A mutual friend of ours told me you can’t stop talking about all the parties and the drugs and the orgies and there’s a particular nightmare that messes up your sleep. Maybe it has something to do with that missing girl. The naked one by the lake.”

  Nick was unprepared for the look of sheer terror that transformed Hardy’s face into a hollow-eyed skull with yellowish skin stretched over it.

  “Go ask Ike Dewar about that,” he hissed. “Not me. Now beat it,” he said, dipping his arm down and grabbing the shovel which he held up high in the air.

  Nick backed away holding both hands up. “Okay – I guess you can never escape a guilty conscience,” he said, slamming the car door just as Hardy made a rush for him. He floored the gas, thankful that the guy had just spread a thick layer of sand across the concrete.

  Back at the office Nick helped himself to a shot of brandy, then slumped into his chair to replay the events of the morning in detail from the moment he left the house. He checked through his notebook and added the details about Gorman and Hardy to the interview notes from the hospital. There’d be a whole lot more to fill in on Gorman and he added a reminder to talk to Cole Schuler again. Then he remembered the jogger. The figure he’d seen on the lakeside path. It was a pretty big coincidence that he’d seen the person just an hour or so before Gorman was found. Was there any connection? He made another note to mention it to Brad Brenner in case they’d found tracks leading to the murder scene.

  By the time the brandy had spread a warm glow through his system, he remembered he’d proposed to the love of his life in the early hours of the morning and she’d accepted. Now they had a wedding to plan with a tentative date of just over a month away. His imagination stretched onwards to their future together. After all this crap was over, he’d publish his book which would be a bestseller, then they could choose to live wherever they wanted. Preferably somewhere you didn’t have to shovel your car out of a snowdrift. LA perhaps – even somewhere exotic like Costa Rica. He saw it all bathed in the rosy light of his greatest hopes and dreams. Then maybe kids sometime later. Beautiful kids with a mother like Lilah.

  He was so into the fantasy of it all, he didn’t notice the cop car pull up outside the office until Brad Brenner was pushing the front door open. Nick was propped up against the back wall and almost fell off his chair when he saw Brenner’s ashen face.

  “Think I need a shot of that,” said Brad, nodding his head towards the half bottle still sitting on Nick’s desk.

  “For sure,” said Nick, stumbling to his feet and finding another plastic cup. “This OK?”

  “I’d drink it from my grandma’s denture glass today,” said Brad settling into the chair opposite.

  “That bad?” said Nick handing him the cup. Brad tipped it up, swallowed it in one gulp and fell back in the chair gasping.

  “Another one?”

  “Better not. I gotta meet with the guys from Minneapolis in an hour.”

  Nick sat down and watched as Brad ran fingers through his hair and sighed.

  “So – got anything to tell me?”

  “Well the pathologist hasn’t done his report, but I sure as hell don’t need a medical degree to recognize when someone’s tongue has been cut out, then turned around and stuffed into his mouth.”

  Nick’s stomach lurched. “Jesus. I need another one after that.” He reached over and poured a half glass of brandy.

  “Not to mention stabbed more times than you can count before forgetting where you’re at.”

  “Someone wanted to teach him a hard lesson,” said Nick, relaxing a little with the brandy buzz.
/>   “We’ve been watching Gorman for some time now,” said Brenner.

  “So you knew he was our friendly local drug peddler?”

  “Small stuff. Grass – ecstasy once in a while.”

  “Why didn’t you pull him in? Put a stop to it?”

  “We thought he’d lead us to the big fish.”

  “You mean the meth monster?”

  Brad gave Nick a quizzical look. “How d’you know about that?”

  “You ask around. Sooner or later he shows up. Is he local or someone operating from the outside? Is he real or is he a just a figment of a junkie’s imagination?”

  “I’m afraid the evidence points to one conclusion. The guy is local and he’s real alright. We just have to smoke him out.”

  “I’m trying,” said Nick, feeling a little dizzy.

  “I know,” said Brad. “And so does he. Watch out. Look what happened to Gorman. He came to talk to us yesterday. All freaked out and everything. Said he wanted to come clean. Then he chickened out and left before we could take a statement.”

  “Can I put this in the paper?”

  “You can suggest there’s a connection. Remember – we make the meth man feel uncomfortable. Get under his skin.” Brad got up to go, then stopped and rested his hands on the desk. “And by the way. You can go talk to my dad on Friday afternoon. He has poker with the guys tomorrow and veterans’ meeting Thursday. Busy guy.”

  “I’ll be gentle with him,” said Nick.

  “It’s not him I’m worried about,” said Brad, smiling wryly as he left.

  The phone rang as soon as Brad pulled away. It was Lilah. Her voice was breathy and scared. “I heard about Ray,” she said. “D’you think it has anything to do with seeing us.”