R.D. let out a smoky sigh.
“And finally, you are.”
“I still have my doubts.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the psychologist said smugly. “You walk out that door this time round and I’ll bet you check every bush and tree between here and your car. If anyone can handle an Inductor it’s an experienced law officer.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Fucking right I am. She’s had the upper hand all along. It’s time I had some big guns on my side. You do still have that big gun, don’t you?”
The psychologist rubbed his cigarette butt round the table, a hardly noticeable blemish on its already plagued surface.
“Will you get the Mini-AID for me? It’s the only thing I ask. Then I’m out of your hair forever and so is Clancy.” He looked downcast at the thought. “I’m not looking to get out of here and I’m not asking you to back up my story. That would stop your career dead. I just want a fighting chance.”
“You really got a plan?” Ettrick looked resignedly at his briefcase.
“I do.” R.D. gave the detective his best doe eyed look. “Please Ettrick.”
“Oh… well… If you put it like that…”
“Thank you!” R.D. cried. He motioned for his crutches and the detective brought them over. The psychologist clutched the apparatus to his chest but didn’t attempt to stand.
“I’ll make it back to my room myself. You go. Go now and get that damned device. Bring it straight back. And don’t talk to anyone. Anyone at all.”
“Woah, time out!” Ettrick raised his hand. “Mind if I eat lunch first?!”
“Yeah, but go to a drive-through. It’s safer.”
“All right, already. I’m on my way.” The detective patted his pocket to make sure R.D.’s directions were safe. “I stay here any longer and they’ll be givin me my own room.”
“So long as it’s not next to mine. You snore like an Aberdeen fishwife.”
“You should know. You most likely slept with a few.”
“Clancy isn’t really evil you know.” R.D.’s face was expressionless, but a tightness in his voice betrayed deep hurt. “She’s what me and Justin created. See?”
He snapped his fingers, a cold hard sound.
“The Wizards of Id, Justin used to call us. We made Clancy a brain and it took over her heart.”
The psychologist tipped his head back and blinked away tears. The harsh light illuminated every groove and line on his tired face and sculpted hollows from his stretched and scrawny neck. Ettrick turned away before his eyes could drop to R.D.’s cruelly angled legs.
He headed for the door.
R.D. slipped his arms into the crutch supports and struggled to his feet.
“I thought Clancy and I were friends,” he said plaintively. “It’s the saddest thing in the world to be betrayed by someone you trusted.”
Preoccupied with trying to stand, R.D. didn’t see the detective’s shoulders stiffen. When he finally looked up, Ettrick was staring at him intently.
“What?”
The detective shook his head.
“Nothin… possum walked over my grave is all.”
-67-
R.D. was right. Walking to his car Ettrick’s head swivelled round on his neck like he was a shooting gallery duck and he pulled into a Taco Bell drive-thru rather than risk eating in a restaurant full of strangers.
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled to himself through a mouthful of stale hard flour. “I’ve stood up to seven foot knife wielding gang bangers without displacing a nostril hair but this fairy tale’s got me jumpin around like a June Bug on a griddle. I don’t snap out of it, I’m gonna buy myself a Goddamned dress.”
The drive out to the Panhandle soothed the detective and let him put things into perspective. It was possible the psychologist really was insane and had concocted this crazy story to avoid dealing with his guilt. Only problem was, everything about R.D.’s tale now checked out. And that left only one other explanation.
He was on the level.
Ettrick was a practical man. He had done all he could to get to the bottom of this and he was still trying. He’d take that forest apart looking for the mini-AID. If it was there he’d track it down. If not, he’d have to admit that R.D. had lost his marbles.
And if he did find it?
Nah… there was no chance.
He checked the rear view mirror again. No sign of anyone following. Not a car on the road nor a cloud in the sky. Relaxing, he turned up the volume on his stereo and floored the accelerator.
Months of natural decay had taken their toll on the remains of Justin Moore’s house and only a few weed wrapped timbers remained, grinning at the detective like rotten teeth. The boathouse was in the same state, the remaining foundations jagged and covered in dark slime. A few broken wire strands snaked through the reeds. They must have been the fence R.D. described. Only the gate still stood – a corroded skeletal goalpost struggling to remain upright.
Apart from that, there was little evidence of there ever having been a conflagration. Around the boathouse remains scrub brush had quickly grown back.
“Great.” Ettrick kicked at a mass of unyielding tentacles curling over the path. “Couldn’t find an individual rock in here if it jumped up and did the Tennessee Waltz.”
But he was wrong. According to the written instructions, R.D. had stuffed Brighton Rock down a hole in a sandstone bank bordering one section of the dirt track. The bank itself stretched for a couple of hundred yards but this particular burrow was directly under a huge jagged oak stump. Ettrick ambled down the track looking for any clue as to where the stump might have been. Almost instantly he saw a low black mass poking through a matted wall of sage.
It couldn’t be.
It was. The oak was shrivelled and black and more than half had been eaten away by flames, but it was certainly similar to the tree R.D.’s map had described. The detective knelt on the path beside it and parted the scrub. Underneath were three holes in the slope big enough to hide a large rock.
All fucking right! Taking a deep breath, Ettrick thrust his hand into the first cavity. He pushed until his bare arm vanished up to the elbow.
“Good God, there’s probably a Cottonmouth sizing up my fingers for chow right this minute!” The thought was too much and he jerked his arm back out with a cry.
The second hole was bigger. Most likely a damned polecat in this one. He made a fist and inserted it warily, ready to tug it back from the slightest movement.
But there was nothing in the second cavity except Brighton Rock. The detective’s fingers found and curled round the rough stone almost immediately. He worked the object loose from the surrounding earth and wriggled it out of the hole. He looked at the unassuming mottled lump in astonishment, stunned by the proof of its existence. Turned it upside down.
A tattered cellophane lump fell into his palm.
“Oh my God.”
He unpeeled crinkled layers. Inside, sprinkled with mouldy breadcrumbs and smeared with pungent cheese, was the mini-AID and Clancy’s note, singed at the edges. The rock had protected them from the fire and the cellophane stopped any damage from subsequent rainfalls.
“R.D. you are one smart cookie.”
The detective sat back quickly. Now he actually had the Mini-AID in his hands, Ettrick was struck be a realisation that made his flesh crawl. He was alone, in the middle of nowhere. And R.D.’s story really was true.
Clancy was an Inductor. She was alive. And the detective was holding the device that would draw her the way a staked-out lamb attracts a tiger.
He swallowed and looked up and down the path. His car was out of sight and the scorched trees could hide an army of assailants. He shoved the Mini-AID in his pocket and stood up, acutely aware he was alone in a wilderness. This was not familiar terrain. This was not where he wanted to be. He walked in the direction of his car, careful to stay in the middle of the track. He noticed for the first time that there were no birds si
nging. Was that because the fire had destroyed their nests and they hadn’t moved back?
Or was it because there was a dangerous predator around?
Less than ten yards from the stump, Ettrick drew his gun. Forty yards father on, he rounded the corner of the dirt track. His Cimero was the length of a football field away, parked in front of the rusting gate.
This was stupid. He was a cop and he knew he hadn’t been tailed. The only way Clancy could be around was if she was already here. Waiting.
“Stop it,” he told himself. “Stop thinking like that. There’s your car. Walk up to it, get inside and drive away. You’ve only got to cover a hundred yards. One hundred yards.”
Pointing his pistol at empty air Ettrick inched forward until he reached his vehicle. He dived inside and tried to start the engine, but it coughed and died. He had to try three times before it started.
It brought to mind the Cherry Bomb. Too late, he remembered how a warped mass killer really operated.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “Why the hell would you wait here? Or hang around on a park bench outside the asylum?”
He gunned the engine.
“You could get a lot closer to me than that.”
He pressed his foot on the accelerator and headed home.
-68-
Madison Sinclair and Meike were having coffee in the living room. Madison sat on a high backed raffia chair, reversed so she could rest her forearms along the cool wood of the headrest. Behind her, on a pine table, a shallow dish of pomegranates, apples and nectarines ripened in a shaft of sunlight.
Meike was curled up in a sofa by the window, magazine unopened on her lap. She was dressed in a loose white kimono in contrast to Madison’s dark blue suit. Her hair was cropped short and dyed platinum, whereas her employer’s glossy ebony locks had grown to shoulder length.
Both females were tall, slim and elegant, a perfect garnish for the stucco walls and sturdy rustic furniture. Filling the rear wall was one of Madison’s unsold paintings, a glowing wooded sunset that provided all the colour the room could wish.
“I promised Frankie I would take him for a walk,” Meike said. “Not too far… the heat, you know.” She fanned at herself for emphasis. “Perhaps just to the corner store.”
“Sure. Go for it.”
Meike eased herself off the chair and dropped the magazine into a rack. She stretched then turned back.
“Ettrick was up at three in the morning a couple of days ago,” she remarked. “I noticed him from my window. He was just sitting on his own in the study.”
She seemed unsure of how to proceed.
“How is he? I’ve hardly seen him all week.”
“Neither have I, Meike.” Madison gave a wry smile.
“You are going through a… eh… rough patch?”
Meike had noticed Ettrick was sleeping in the spare bedroom.
“This thing with R.D. has put a strain on us,” Madison acknowledged. “Plus he’s overloaded with work and doesn’t come home most nights till the early hours. He’s spent the last couple of nights away entirely.”
“You both O.K.?” the nanny dropped her eyes, afraid that she had intruded too much. Madison didn’t seem to mind.
“Dunno,” she said absently. “We’ve been better. There was a time when I thought nothing could come between us…”
The dark woman shrugged.
“But I can’t seem to remember that far back.”
Pulling herself together, she swiftly changed topics.
“What about you? I’m pretty sure you’ve got a man. Am I right?”
The blond girl blushed. Madison was right.
“How did you know?”
“My husband may be the cop but I’m not dumb.” She squinted at the nanny through long lashes. “A bit more makeup than usual. Spring in your step. That kind of thing.”
Meike looked at the ground.
“I’m a bit pissed that you haven’t said anything,” Madison scolded gently. “Not that it’s my business who you go out with. It’s just that you’re in charge of Frankie.”
The rebuke was subtle but the nanny’s sculpted cheeks went several shades redder.
“I… ehm…” She pressed her hands together then opened them, her embarrassment growing with every useless gesture. “Oh, hell!”
She looked Madison straight in the eye.
“It’s not a man. I don’t go out with men anymore.”
She let the statement sink in. It took a few seconds.
“You mean?”
“Yes. I’m seeing a woman.” Her voice didn’t waver. “I’m sorry if you have a problem with that.”
“I don’t have the slightest problem.” Madison grinned in surprise. “Tell you the truth I’m kinda relieved. I don’t have to worry about my husband runnin off with the babysitter anymore.”
“Madison!” Meike had gone almost purple. “I would never…”
“I’m kiddin… sort of. But, hey… weren’t you and R.D. Slaither an item before you started working here?”
“We were. But I think R.D. cured me of men,” the nanny laughed, her relief evident. “He’s a better therapist than he knows.”
Then another thought occurred to her.
“What about Ettrick?”
“Nope, I don’t think he’s ever gone out with R.D. Though it looks like everyone else in the world has.”
The second sentence was muttered, too low for the Scandinavian to hear.
“You know what I mean. Some people can be a bit funny about that kind of thing…”
“He won’t mind one little bit.” Madison waved her companion away. “You go on and don’t fret about it.”
Meike smiled again, showing her perfect white teeth. She backed away. “Thank you Madison! You’ll like her, I promise.”
And she skipped up the stairs to get Frankie ready.
Rising, Madison stretched, legs apart and fingers pointed to the ceiling.
When she lowered her arms Ettrick was standing in the living room doorway.
-69-
“Shoot!” Madison jumped back a step, startled by her husband’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t see you come in.”
The detective looked wired – body taught and arms held away from his sides. Black stubble shaded his lower jaw.
“Honey!” He raised a Jack Nicholson eyebrow. “I’m home.”
“Where you been the last couple of nights?” Madison frowned. “I was concerned!”
“Had to go out of town.” The detective strolled into the room and draped his grimy jacket over the back of a linen covered chair. “Stayed at a real wild motel. The Southern Star. Believe you know it?”
“Not that I can recall.” Madison appeared surprised but recovered quickly. “You could’ve phoned.”
“Sorry, babe. I had a lot on my mind.”
His wife took the jacket and gingerly hung it on a coat hook. Ettrick sat down on the chair she had vacated.
“You go see R.D.?” she asked.
“I did.” The detective picked up an apple and began to peel it. “Had a long chat with him, in fact. He… eh… had a few things to get off his chest.” He smiled secretively. “Funny, huh? You think you know someone.”
“You look like you’ve had a hard couple of days.”
“Pretty bad ones.” Ettrick took a bite and lowered his voice. “Where’s Meike?”
“Upstairs, getting ready to take Frankie out. Why?”
Ettrick didn’t answer. He walked quickly to the door and looked up the stairs. There was no sound from above.
“You and I haven’t been spending any time together last few days,” he said. “What’s more, I haven’t really wanted to. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Meike asked the same thing.” Madison pouted angrily. “Maybe because you been working like a dog.”
“Never stopped me before.” The detective cracked his knuckles. “If I recall right, you aint been paying much attention to Frankie either. He seems to be spending
all his time with the nanny.”
“I’ve been busy too.” Madison gave him a quizzical look. “I’m working on a new painting.”
“Yeah.” You changed styles,” the detective nodded affably. “An abstract.”
“I didn’t think you’d noticed,” his wife said hesitantly, not sure if Ettrick was congratulating her or just being attentive.
“True. Strikes me that I’ve not been noticing much.”
“That’s hardly my fault.”
Ettrick glanced up the stairs again. Bent round the door frame his face was hidden from Madison’s view, but she suddenly caught sight of the service revolver stuck in the back of her husband’s waistband.
She drew a sharp breath.
Ettrick straightened up and turned back round the door.
“Oh no, Clancy,” he sighed. “It’s most definitely your fault.”
The Mini-AID was on his head.
The woman recognised the device instantly and her hands shot to her face.
Ettrick watched, mesmerized. His wife was disappearing in front of him. Her long slim figure was shrinking and thinning, hair turning curly and lightening to blonde.
Within seconds Madison was gone and an exhausted, emaciated Clancy Moore stood in her place. She kept a weary hand at her forehead in a pathetic attempt at concealment. The detective reached behind and pulled out his .38.
“Clancy Elizabeth Moore, I’m placing you under arrest for murder.” His jaw quivered and his red eyes twitched. “You have the right to remain silent…”
The woman was moving backwards. Her thin back collided with the table and she groped behind, fingers sliding across the knotted pine and curling round a peeling knife.
“Clancy… don’t.”
“I never…” The words began as a plea but were already hardening as they left her throat. She raised the knife, her face distorting into an animal snarl. The detective raised his revolver.
“Put down the knife, for Christ’s sake.”
The blonde woman pointed the weapon at him, her hands trembling. She shook her head defiantly.
“I’ll get you help,” Ettrick said soothingly. “We don’t have to do this.”
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