by Diane Hoh
“It’s the back staircase we talked about,” Molloy said, holding the door open and peering up into the shadowed tunnel. “It was right here all along.” She stared at Daisy, her eyes wide with discovery. “This is how he did it. This room is right off the kitchen. He came in the back way when we were up front in the library and carried Lynne up these stairs. He’s probably been going up and down it, going in and out, the whole time we’ve been in here.” Her eyes were huge with dismay. “Maybe even listening to us, watching us …” Tears of terror trembled on her eyelashes. “Oh, Daisy, he must have been so close! And we didn’t even know it.”
“Close it!” Daisy demanded, and lunged for the door, slamming it shut. “Lock it!”
Molloy stared down at the doorknob. “It doesn’t lock. There’s no lock. But …” she lifted her head, “we can put something against it. Something heavy. So he can’t use the staircase anymore. Can’t sneak up on us from in here.” She glanced around the small, cluttered room, her eyes landing on a huge, old dresser. “There! We’ll use that. If we can move it.”
“We can move it!” Daisy said firmly. “We have to.”
It took a while. Although the drawers were only half-full, they had to remove them, setting them aside while they made another try at hefting the huge piece up over the edge of the faded oriental carpet. It kept getting stuck, and they were both sweating profusely by the time they had moved it only a few inches.
Working together on the same side of the dresser, they lifted one side and swung it sideways, and then did the same to the other side. A slow process, but it did the trick. They continued until the dresser was flat against the stairwell door. Then they reinserted the drawers.
Exhausted, they sank down on the neatly made bed.
“You think he won’t be able to move it?” Daisy asked, staring at the dresser.
“I hope not.”
“Of course,” Daisy looked over her shoulder uneasily, “we don’t even know that he’s up there.”
Molloy’s head turned slowly. “What?”
“Well, we don’t. Just because he took Lynne up to the attic doesn’t mean he’s still upstairs. He came down here to nail the windows shut, didn’t he? We don’t know that he ever went back up. I mean, he could be down here now, somewhere. Or in the cellar. We don’t know, do we? Maybe all we’ve done is made sure he stays down here with us. We barred the door, so unless he can move that huge dresser, he can’t get back upstairs. If he used the main staircase, we’d see him or hear him.”
Molloy thought about that, the expression on her face one of hopeless despair. Then it cleared, and she sat up straighter. “Okay,” she whispered, “so maybe he is down here. Somewhere. At least we know he’s not up in the attic with Toni. If he was, we’d have heard something. Toni would have screamed or pounded on the floor or something. She probably put something in front of the door up there, just like we did here. But,” Molloy stood up, “we have to get back up there. So we have to decide which one of us is going for help. How do we decide that?”
But Daisy bent just then to pluck a clean, dry pair of socks from the bedside table, and let out a soft sound of delight. “Look! Look, Molloy, it’s a radio! If the batteries are good, we can at least find out if the highway is open. If it isn’t, whoever leaves will have to go back down through the woods and take that back road.
“Try it!” she urged, “but keep the volume low.”
The strains of music were faint, but audible. “Oh, it works!” Molloy cried softly. “Get a news station, Daisy, anything in the area.”
Daisy spun the dial, her ear close to the small brown box.
They heard the voice at the same time. The strong, deep tones of an announcer.
“Turn it up!” Molloy leaned closer to Daisy. “Is he talking about the weather?”
“This is WKSM news,” the voice said, “with an update on the tragic murder earlier this evening of noted psychology professor, Dr. Milton Leo, at his office on Faculty Row on campus.”
Daisy and Molloy, holding the radio up. high between them, locked eyes. Murder?
“Police have notified the administration and nearby communities that the killer is still at large.”
Molloy gasped. Killer? At large?
“They have, however, assured administration officials and surrounding communities that they do have a list of suspects, who are being questioned at this time. Meanwhile, they have urged citizens to remain on the alert. Doors and windows should be locked at all times and residents are advised to remain in their homes. Police say the inclement weather has been an advantage, since the roads, which are still flooded at this time, have remained clear of vehicles that the fugitive might confiscate for his flight from justice. Law enforcement officials are convinced that impassable roads have kept Dr. Leo’s attacker in the area, possibly taking refuge in an abandoned or deserted building to wait out the storm. Stay tuned to WKSM for additional details on this developing story.”
Daisy switched off the radio with shaking hands. “Killer?” she whispered. “Killer?”
“It’s not him,” Molloy said breathlessly, struggling for control of her emotions. “It can’t be, it’s not him. It’s just some homeless person, like we said, who panicked when he saw Lynne. Probably thought she’d have him arrested for being here, remember?” Barely restrained panic filled her voice. “That’s what we said, Daisy! Isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
“That guy on the radio said an abandoned or deserted house, Molloy. This house is deserted, isn’t it? At least, it was before we got here.” Daisy bent automatically to pull on the clean, dry socks, as if she didn’t even know that she was doing it. Her fingers shook. “He must have got here before us, and now he’s furious that we intruded on his hideaway. That’s what’s going on, Molloy, and you know it as well as I do. Anyway,” she straightened up and looked Molloy full in the face, “didn’t we already know he was a killer? Lynne isn’t dead, thank God, but that’s no thanks to him. He hit her and he left her for dead.”
“We didn’t know he’d already killed someone else,” Molloy said, her voice shaking. “We didn’t know he was a fugitive.”
“Well, now we do,” Daisy said angrily. But her voice wasn’t any steadier than Molloy’s.
They sat on the bed for long moments in a terrified silence, their eyes glued to the heavy, old dresser propped against the door to keep a killer away from them.
Chapter 16
ERNIE FINALLY MANAGED TO convince the two policemen that he hadn’t been anywhere near the Leo house on Faculty Row when the doctor was killed and that although he wasn’t a fan of the psychologist, he hadn’t hated him. His roommate, reached by telephone, affirmed his alibi, saying that yes, Ernie was at his word processor writing when the attack took place.
With an alibi and no apparent motive, detaining Ernie Dodd any longer would have been a waste of time.
“Okay, you can go,” Officer Sloane said.
Ernie hesitated. “What I want to know is, while we’ve been wasting all this time, has anyone bothered to check out Nightmare Hall?”
Sloane frowned. “Say again?”
“I meant Nightingale Hall. It’s an off-campus dorm down the road. Gloomy old place? Top of the hill overlooking the highway? You guys been there yet? There’s no one there right now, and the guy on the radio said the killer would probably be looking for a deserted place to hide in until the roads clear. Nightmare Hall sounds perfect to me. Has anyone been there to look for your guy?”
Neither officer knew. “I think they’re still searching the dorms,” Reardon said, “but I’ll check.” He left the room, returning a few minutes later to say, “Nope. No one’s gone off-campus yet. Chief says with the main highway flooded, the fugitive is probably still hanging around here.”
“Maybe he is,” Ernie said, “but maybe he’s not Look, I’ve got friends out there in that storm. They might be stranded out there somewhere by high water, and I don’t like the idea that he could be out there, too, okay?�
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“I think he may have a point,” Reardon told his partner. “I know the house. Been called out there once or twice. And at six-thirty tonight, when the crime took place, the roads weren’t that bad. The murderer could have made it that far. Might have holed up there, especially if it’s empty.”
“It is empty,” Ernie insisted. “And it’ll only take us a few minutes to check it out.”
Sloane’s bushy, graying eyebrows lifted. “Us? No ‘us’ here, son. We don’t take civilians along on police business. Tell you what, though. I have to stay here to finish up our interrogations, but Reardon here, if he can get through, can go take a quick look if the chief says it’s okay.”
“He already okayed it,” the young officer said, nodding. “I told him what Dodd said, and he agreed that it was a possibility. And I’ll get through. I’ll take the back road.” To Ernie, he said, “I’ll drop you at your dorm. And I’ll let you know,” he added kindly.
It was clear that Ernie wasn’t being given a choice. No way were they going to let him go along.
Okay, so he’d let Reardon drive him to the dorm.
But he had no intention of staying there.
In the attic at Nightingale Hall, Toni fought down the nausea that was threatening to overwhelm her. It had been growing steadily since Daisy and Molloy left. Toni attributed it to the shock of finding Lynne with her head caved in, and to the fear that clung icily to her bones, and to the stale air in the dark, still room at the top of the house.
She needed some air.
She had been crouched on the floor beside the trunk afraid to move, for a long while, one of her hands holding one of Lynne’s, her other hand gripping Arturo as if she expected someone to rip him from her at any second. When she tried to get up, she found that her legs had fallen asleep, and had to stomp her feet repeatedly to get the circulation flowing again. Thankful that she wasn’t wearing shoes, which would have made stomping noisy enough to be dangerous, she walked on still-tingling feet as far as she could toward the window. When the low-hanging rafters made walking impossible, she sank to her hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way.
When she reached the window, she had to kneel to tug at the sash.
The window refused to open. She couldn’t see well in the darkness, but she could feel the latch, and knew it wasn’t locked. She tried repeatedly, throwing her entire body strength into the effort to open the window, but it was useless. She gave up, sinking back on her heels.
She had to have air. If she didn’t, she was going to pass out, and what good would she be to Lynne then?
Returning to the trunk, Toni checked Lynne again. Still looking as if she were sleeping, still unmoving, but … still breathing.
It wouldn’t hurt to leave her for just a few, tiny minutes. Maybe there was a window on one of the other floors that would open. If she could just drink in a few gulps of fresh air, even if she got wet in the process, she could come back up here and keep her vigil until Molloy and Daisy brought help.
Toni didn’t consider herself a brave person. She knew that going down those stairs, leaving her safe refuge, was dangerous. Hadn’t she been the one to warn Daisy against venturing out of the attic? A sudden feeling of isolation swept over her as she realized that she had no way of knowing what was going on down there.
Were the phones working? Or had Daisy or Molloy been forced to leave the house to seek help? They had promised they wouldn’t both leave her. Where was he now? Downstairs? Upstairs? Second floor, third floor, first floor, cellar?
She couldn’t know.
What she did know was, she needed to get some air soon, or she was going to pass out, fall to the floor in a heap, and be of no use to anyone.
She had to be of use to someone. Staying up here with Lynne wasn’t much, but it was something.
Tucking the bedspread more firmly underneath a waxen-faced Lynne’s chin, and clutching Arturo tightly, Toni made her way through the obstacle course of old furniture, boxes, and trunks to the stairway. She was annoyed to find that her body was trembling. She took a deep breath, tiptoed down the stairs, and cautiously opened the door into the third floor hallway.
At the bottom of the hill behind Nightmare Hall, on the back road, Officer Reardon’s headlights illuminated a silver Toyota Camry, its nose submerged in a ditch full of running water. He stopped the police car in the middle of the road and, leaving his lights on, went to investigate.
On the first floor, Daisy and Molloy left the bedroom to go back into the kitchen, sweeping it with the flashlight to make sure it was empty. Then they hurried to the wall of windows over the sink, intent on smashing a window to create an exit.
The third floor hallway seemed quiet to Toni as she pushed the attic door open very slowly, one inch at a time.
All she needed was one window … just one, and just for a few minutes. Then she’d rush right back upstairs, maybe even barricade the door with an old trunk or piece of furniture until she heard Daisy or Molloy’s voice telling her it was okay now.
The air on the third floor was cooler than in the attic. It felt wonderful. Toni took several deep breaths. Her nausea begin to ease. As long as she was down here, it would be nice to find a bathroom. She could wet a cloth, soak it, and take it back upstairs with her. That would help. Lynne could use one, too.
There was a bathroom on the third floor, but it was completely empty. No washcloths, no towels, not so much as a piece of paper to soak with water.
The desire for a cool, wet cloth had grown so strong in Toni she couldn’t give up on the idea now. And as she made her way along the darkened hallways and stairs, and nothing jumped out at her from a doorway, she became braver and more determined.
The second floor was only a few more steps down. There would be a bathroom there. If it had even one remaining paper towel, she could use that. Tear it in half, soak it, give Lynne one half and keep one half for herself.
Convinced now that she couldn’t face the hot, airless attic again without that cool, damp cloth, Toni felt her way down the stairs slowly, carefully, quietly, to the second floor. A pang of guilt assailed her as she felt along the walls for a bathroom door. If Molloy or Daisy should come along, they’d be annoyed that she’d left Lynne. She’d have some explaining to do.
But she had been very quiet. They probably hadn’t even heard her come downstairs. And she certainly wasn’t about to call down to them. He might hear, wherever he was.
Toni peered through the darkness. Where was he? It was so quiet up here, the only sounds her shallow, rapid breathing and the rat-tat-tat of the storm outside. If he were up here, wouldn’t there be some way to tell? Some sound, some feeling that she wasn’t alone?
She felt alone. More alone than she ever had. At least when she went out on stage, she shared it with a pianist.
Still, she had Arturo. She was never really alone when the violin was in her hands.
She began hunting for a bathroom.
When he had turned off his headlights, Officer Reardon used his flashlight to search for footprints in the mud along the wildly rushing ditch. The prints he found had pooled with water now, but were still visible. The water was so high he had to move downstream and cross by walking on a fallen tree. Then he backtracked and followed the puddled footprints up the hill.
Ernie Dodd was on his way to Nightmare Hall when a security guard stopped him and wanted to know what he was doing “running around campus” at this time of night when there was a killer on the loose. It was shortly after midnight.
“Looking for someone,” Ernie answered, his voice sharp. All he wanted to do was find Molloy. Why did people keep getting in his way?
The security guard wasn’t giving up so easily. He insisted that Ernie get in his car while he tried to reach Officer Sloane to verify Ernie’s statement that he’d already been questioned and released by the police.
Officer Sloane wasn’t that easy to reach. Fuming, Ernie slouched in the back seat of the security guard’s car, wonderin
g if Officer Reardon had reached Nightmare Hall yet. And what he’d found when he got there.
In the kitchen at Nightingale Hall, Molloy heaved a chair at the widest window over the sink. The glass shattered with a satisfying sound. She and Daisy moved to the counter to pick the jagged glass remnants free of the frame.
The door that Toni opened first wasn’t a bathroom. She knew that the minute she entered. The shadowy bulks that rose out of the darkness weren’t fixtures, they were furniture: two single beds, a desk and chair, a low, squat dresser with a mirror that reflected the rivulets of water streaking the long, narrow window straight ahead of her.
A window!
Toni went for it like a homing pigeon zeroing in on its destination.
She yanked up the sash. There was no screen in place. The white lace curtains danced around her as the wind and rain accepted her invitation to enter the house. She drank in the cool, damp air like someone drinking water after a desert trek.
Officer Reardon was having difficulty tracking the footprints. He thought about returning to the car to call for assistance, but decided to forge on ahead instead. Plenty of time to call for backup when he got to the top of the hill.
Toni’s face, her faded print dress, her hair, were wet in seconds, but she didn’t care. She stood with her back to the room, her face raised to the sky. And she began to feel so refreshed, so revitalized, that she stood at the window longer than she had intended to, holding the violin case behind her back to protect it from the elements.
She was so lost in the pleasure of breathing air that when the violin was snatched from her hands, it took her several seconds to realize what had happened. She had heard no footsteps, no sound of a door opening further, no creaking boards behind her.
But suddenly her hands were empty. Arturo was gone.
Instead of fear, rage swept over Toni, and she whirled in a fury, prepared to do battle for her most precious possession.