Chapter Twenty-three
ONE
THE DOCK WAS CROWDED WITH teenagers looking down at the wooden pilings and the beach below. The tow truck had driven down from the road, across the dry sand to the wet, harder packed surface under the dock where the water sloshed back and forth. Three men in coveralls were doing the Three Stooges while a cop in a blue windbreaker was talking to the truck driver. A cable had been thrown into the water and a man in hip waders had attached it to the back end of a large squarish object which was in the process of being reeled in like Moby Dick, Water spewed off it, there was a muddy sucking sound, the rear wheels of the tow truck dug into the wet sand, the front end bouncing dangerously.
Slowly, like my memory of the end of Psycho, the trunk and rear bumper and back window of a nondescript sand-colored car struggled into view with the lake lapping around it. As the winch ground slowly, noisily, drawing the cable in upon itself, water cascaded from the undercarriage. The Three Stooges were trying to guide it to a safe berth as the roof emerged, then the hood, until the front wheels were making contact on the firm sand. The winch squealed and the truck strained forward until the cop signaled to the driver to stop.
Conversation, punctuated by the kids’ loud laughter, buzzed through the crowd on the dock. I couldn’t see much, so I went back to the parking area, climbed down a flight of rickety wooden stairs through the beach grass, and stood on the sand watching the operation. Water was still dripping from the door closures.
Two of the stooges were preparing to open the door on the driver’s side. “Stand back!” one of them yelled as he struggled with the handle. With a violent pull he opened it and more water sluiced out around and across his feet. “Jesus Christ, Harry,” he shouted to the cop who had been coaching the driver to set the car down gently. “There’s somebody in there!”
The cop hurried over and peered into the murky interior. He shook his head, spoke quietly to one of the men who poked his head into the car, then came back out. In a little while two more men came down from the street carrying a rolled-up stretcher. There were now half a dozen guys milling about the derelict car. The gathering on the dock had turned into a party. Someone turned on a radio. Billy Joel was singing.
A man had come to stand beside me. “Kids probably drove some poor bastard’s car into the lake last night.” He was wearing a Los Angeles Dodgers cap. “I saw it there, thought it was mine for one horrible moment. Kids.” He looked up at the dock. “Happens about twice a summer.”
They were pulling and tugging at the body inside. My mind was working so slowly it wasn’t until precisely that moment that the thought came swirling out of my private cache of fears. I remembered Caro, and my stomach began to burn and twist. They had gotten the waterlogged body out of the car and onto the stretcher but my view was blocked.
From up on the dock, a girl looked down, said: “Oh, gross!” She turned away.
“Looks like they went too far this time,” the man beside me said. “I knew this would happen sooner or later.” He sniffed. “Now they killed some poor bastard.”
They had thrown a canvas sheet across the body.
I couldn’t wait any longer.
I pushed down toward them, slipping in the sand. The cop saw me coming and stepped forward toward me. “Just a minute, sir. You’ll have to get back. We’ve got police business here.”
“No, I just wanted to see her—”
“Not right now, sir. If you’re missing someone—you recognize the car?”
“No, no. I just wanted to see the—”
They had lifted the stretcher and were beginning to move across the sand. I felt his hand on my arm, holding me tightly. “You don’t want to see this, sir—”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know yet. Either a drowning or a broken neck, goddamn belt around the neck, hooked through the steering wheel—it’s a mess—”
“But is it a woman?”
He’d turned away pushing me with his back as the stretcher passed. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing.”
As the stretcher passed I saw that an arm dangled over the side dragging in the sand.
The hand caught my eye, bouncing along on the sand.
The hand was gray and rubbery from being in the water.
A huge class ring, a bright red stone.
“What?” the cop said, turning back to me. “No, it’s not a woman, pal. Don’t worry. Just some guy.”
Maguire had found Varada.
TWO
It was dark by the time I got back to the car and checked the forty-five to make sure I hadn’t shot my leg off without noticing it. I had to get the situation clear in what remained of my mind. I started by realizing that I didn’t know if Caro was alive: it wasn’t registering properly, the idea of her corpse, but seeing Maguire—well, seeing Maguire had in a peculiar way been more awful than seeing any of the others … Hell, I’d known him a little and I’d liked him, he’d hung in there until the end …
So, okay, I didn’t know about Caro: but as far as I knew, she was still alive.
Varada had found Maguire, probably spotted him watching the house, and killed him. I didn’t want to think about the belt around his neck, then looped through the steering wheel. He’d driven the car down to the municipal parking lot, waited until the dead of night and, with the lights out, eased it down onto the beach and under the dock, rolled it into the water with the windows open so it would sink quickly, not giving a damn who found it. I’d have bet the farm that there wasn’t a single piece of ID on him except for the class ring, gold with the red stone …I saw the black hairs on the backs of his knuckles …and he thought he’d been overpaid …broken neck, drowning, what difference did it make, except to Maguire at the end … broken neck, that would be preferable, I supposed … now he had Caro and maybe the bastard felt safe, after all, maybe his guard was down … unless he’d seen me during the afternoon I might be able to take him by surprise. If I could find him. I had to find him. He couldn’t find me. I’d find him and now I had a big goddamn gun of my own—if I had a chance, any chance, I’d kill him and ask questions later … If he’d done anything to Caro—but no, he wouldn’t have, not yet, he’d just hit town the night before, according to Maguire. He wouldn’t have had the chance to use her, really use her the way he wanted to … so I had to believe she was still alive … and if Varada felt safe why wouldn’t he go ahead and use the lodge on Bella Vista? He would, he’d use the lodge …
The shadows on the mountain road were a deep velvety blue, the pine forests black. The moon was silver behind the passing filigree of cloud. I found a secluded place to pull in with the heavy pine branches resting on the roof. I picked my way carefully down the hillside, tripping over stones and scraping my hands on bark. Deep in the trees it was too dark to see. I was feeling my way.
The lodge sat quiet and serene in the moonlight. No lights showing. By the time I reached the treeline at one side of the lawn it was so quiet I could hear the splashing from the lake where the fish were jumping. A bird made a mournful noise somewhere behind me.
The gun was heavy in my right hand. I bent low, scuttling along in the moonshade cast by the pines. Out of breath I crouched and waited. Nothing happened. No one had seen me. I could just make out the sounds from a little carnival at the other end of the town. Across the bay the red lights of the Ferris wheel flickered, reflected in the water.
I crossed the lawn and stood panting under the eaves, then worked my way to the side doors. I turned the knob and the door swung open. I went inside.
Right away I picked up the scent of her perfume, something she’d once told me was called Krizia. It was all around me. It was almost as if she were there on the landing with me … but if she were there, then Varada would be there, too.
The kitchen was empty. I went into the long rough-hewn living room, navigating by moonlight. The smell of stale cigar smoke mingled with the perfume. I had the sense that the house was e
mpty: it was so quiet you could almost hear the dust settling. A clock ticked. The distant calliope sounds of the carnival drifted across the lake, through the open windows. The cigar smoke was strong, as if it were his spoor. He’d been here. Recently. He’d killed Maguire last night and he’d come back here to take Caro by surprise. But that was old news. Where was he now? Where had he taken her?
I climbed the stairs to the second floor. I wanted some evidence of her. Some sign that she’d been here and would be coming back. The perfume’s scent was stronger as I went slowly down the corridor. I looked into room after room until I found her bedroom.
Moonlight flooded through the windows facing the lake. I saw where she had been.
The bedclothes were scattered across the bottom of the bed; hung off onto the floor. I went closer, smelling her. The pillows were smeared with what I thought at first . was blood but what turned out to be lipstick, as if her face had been held down on the pillows while she struggled. The picture was clear in my mind.
The sheets were still damp with sweat.
From the frame of the headboard a pair of handcuffs dangled like Varada’s amulet, his trademark.
Tears of sheer simple rage burned behind my eyes.
Kill him, I had to kill him, and I kept looking at the handcuffs and smelling the sweat …
My hands were shaking. Cold sweat was running down my face. Kill him … I had to get out of there or I was going to start shooting hell out of an empty house …
I went back to the car, climbing carefully to avoid the loose stones and roots and tangled underbrush. Wherever they were, they were bound to come back. Her clothes were still in the closets, her suitcases stacked by the dresser.
I was out of breath and dripping wet by the time I got back to the car. I climbed in behind the wheel and settled in to watch the house below.
I must have dozed for a while. When I awoke I saw a light on in one of the windows. Upstairs. I looked at my watch. Three-fifteen. I checked the gun yet again, got out of the car.
I stood at the top of the slope, gathering nerve. You need all the nerve you can get when you are going to kill a man.
“Don’t move a muscle, Charlie, or I’ll blow your head all the way into the lake.”
I knew the voice coming from behind me.
I felt the gun pushing firmly at the back of my head.
Chapter Twenty-four
ONE
“WELL, CHARLIE, OLD FELLA,” HE said in that soft drawl I’d come to dread. “You’re just about the luckiest man in the world.” His hand on my shoulder felt like a load of bricks dropped from a very great height. “Sit down here and let us reason together.” He was pushing me down. There was something in his remark that reminded me of Maguire. Let us reason together. “Now level with me, Charlie—you got a gun?” He was running his hands lightly under my arms. I grunted and opened my jacket. He slid the forty-five from my waistband. “Damn. That’s kind of a dangerous way to carry. Do yourself a powerful lot of harm should it go off … yep, you are one lucky fellow.” He sat down beside me, pointing the gun at me. “I’d hate to kill you. I’d never hear the end of it.” He laughed softly. “Gotta keep you alive.”
“Why? Why should I be any different?” I was gasping from fear. My breathing wasn’t right and I didn’t want to be humiliated.
“You’ve got connections, Charlie. She don’t want me to kill you.”
“Where is she? What have you done to her?” I was whispering. I couldn’t seem to speak aloud.
“I’m not going to kill you, Charlie. You hear me? All you have to do is go away. That’s it. Go away. Leave Caro and me alone. She tells me you’ll behave yourself if we let you go. I believe her. Just get back into your car there and never look back … she says she told you that once before but you didn’t get the idea. I told her I had my doubts about you gettin’ it the second time around but she says you’ll understand this time. Is she right, Charlie? Does Caro know you as well as she says she does?”
“She’s not saying these things. You are. I don’t believe she wants me gone—except maybe to save myself—”
“Hey now, wait a minute, old son. Think, Charlie. Why would I tell you to hit the road? Wouldn’t I just blow you away? Are you forgettin’ that I’m Carl Varada, the homicidal maniac? Why else would I give you this chance to save your life … except that it’s what she wants me to do?” He sighed, looked down his long nose at me. “You’re not nuts, are you, Charlie? You know a good thing when you see it?”
“For all I know you’ve already killed her.”
“Oh, now, come on, Charlie! That just don’t make any sense. You just beatin’ your gums now, my man. You just wastin’ my time ’cause you just don’t get it, do you?” He slowly shook his head and scraped a lock of pompadour from his forehead.
“I get enough of it. You’ve got Caro and you killed Maguire. You’ve been killing people all summer. You’re not going to let me walk away—”
“But that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s what I’m gonna do. I trust you … because if you make any trouble for me you just know I’ll kill Caro before I do another thing. You surely wouldn’t want that to happen. So just leave us, Charlie. Think about it … she and I, we’re alike, we’re exactly the same, take my word for it. Now, just get in the car, old fella.”
“And just forget Maguire? And Braverman? And Victor, for Christ’s sake? Let you do whatever you want to Caro? Live with that shit the rest of my life?” I saw the handcuffs, the pillows …
“Better than dyin’ right now.”
“You’d probably think so. I’m not so sure.”
“Look, let me tell you the story. We got plenty of time; it’s a nice night here in the piney woods.” He punched my arm softly, like an old friend. “Cheer up, Charlie. It could be a whole lot worse—”
“It was a lot worse for Maguire.”
“Oh, man! That is an understatement!” He fished a cheroot from his jacket pocket, lit it with a Zippo that caught a stray shaft of moonlight. “Now, this Maguire character. Lots of guts, a little short in the brains department. He came poking around last night, he actually came into the house, private property … breaking and entering or something damn illegal. He had a cannon on him, he was up to no good. So, I jumped him in the dark, snapped him, and you know the rest. I seen you there where they fished the car out of the water … I was hopin’ you’d take the hint and get the hell out. Caro saw you and cried, she wishes you hadn’t come—”
“I’ll bet she cried.” I started to stand up.
“Charlie.” He drew the single word to abnormal length, pointing the gun at me. “Down, boy.”
I sank back down. “Where’s Caro? What have you done—”
“Oh hell! This was supposed to be so easy.” He quelled his impatience, as if he were dealing with a recalcitrant child. “Boy, you gotta get with it. Look, Charlie, listen very closely. I haven’t done a damn thing to Caro … that she didn’t want me to do.” A leer made its way into his voice. A challenge to my weakness. “You got to get that straight. Caro likes me, the way I treat her … she knows she deserves me, boy.”
“How about the handcuffs? She like that?”
“Why, Charlie!” He flicked his gun hand and I felt the barrel rake across my face, splitting the skin stretched over my cheekbone. “You should stay out of other people’s houses ’less you got an invite! Shame on you … and you must know she likes it a little rough. Handcuffs were her idea! You should know as well as anyone what she likes, the way you been enjoyin’ the lady’s favors.” He smiled at me. My nose was bleeding. The cheekbone was a white-hot flame.
“Come on, pal,” he said. “I’m givin’ you back your life. And I admit it isn’t just because she wants it that way. I got kind of a soft spot for you myself. You got yourself some guts somewhere along the line … hell, I was bein’ a pretty scary guy this summer …” He dropped the cheroot ash on the dry pine needles and carefully ground it out. “You really care about her, I give
you credit for that. You’ve taken some risks, I respect that … but, Charlie, now’s the time to take a hard look at it and bail out … Do something smart for a change, Charlie. You been a hero long enough.”
“Let’s make a deal,” I said. He’d mashed my cheek against my teeth and there was bloody pulp in my mouth, getting in the way of the words.
“Oh, Charlie.” He shook his head.
“Let me give you back your life,” I said. “You must have gotten enough satisfaction by now. Saberdene is dead. You’ve made Caro’s life a nightmare. You’ve had quite a summer. So let me take Caro. We’ve kept you out of this so far. Your name has never been mentioned. As far as I’m concerned, you stay away from us and we’ll do what we can for you—”
“Old son,” he interrupted me gently, “you keep insistin’ on missin’ the point. Caro wants to be with me. She don’t want to see you, Charlie. Not ever again. Whatever happens is goin’ to happen to Caro and me together—”
“That won’t fly,” I said, chewing the bloody pulp. “You don’t seriously expect me to believe that.” I wanted to keep him talking, the old hostage principle. Once they knew you it was harder for them to kill you. I didn’t think it was going to make it harder for me to kill him. Oh yeah, I was going to kill him. I’d get the chance somehow and I’d do it. I’d suffered a lot because of Carl Varada and I was beginning to forget I was doing this for Caro. I was thinking pretty hard about doing it for myself.
“Caro and me, we’re a pair. You’re gonna have to get used to that, Charlie.”
“Bullshit, Carl old sock.”
“Well, I suppose if it fooled everyone else there was no reason why it shouldn’t of fooled a sport like you, not with Caro playin’ the lead role—”
“What fooled me? Not Caro—”
“Killing Victor. We pretty well fooled everybody. I told her it was all too clever, I told her they’d suspect her right away … but oh no, not Caro, she had it all figured out. And she never doubted she could act the part. She told me that things like shooting Victor happened all the time.” He shrugged. “She knew what she was talking about, the way it turned out. Damn it, she always seems to know—”
The Saberdene Variations Page 22
