A Knife in the Back

by Bill Crider

“Just in case, you’d probably better go make out those tons of lesson plans for Naylor.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” Jack told her.

  12

  It took Jack nearly an hour, but he built up quite an impressive stack of material for Naylor’s use in the classroom. Jack was going to insist that Naylor had to cover every single syllable of it. While he worked he looked at the place on his desk where the knife had sat, thinking about what a dunce he’d been to leave it there. It had been a really nice knife, though. He’d been proud of the workmanship and not a little surprised that he’d been able to turn out something so well made.

  The more he thought about the knife, however, the more something bothered him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out just what was causing the bother, other than that it was something about the knife. Maybe he was just confused. It had, after all, been a confusing day. He’d never been accused of murder and grilled by the cops before.

  He gathered up all his materials, stuffing papers into separate folders for each class, but Naylor still wasn’t back in his office when Jack arrived with his mound of paperwork. Wynona said that she expected the dean back at any minute, but Jack didn’t want to wait around. He wrote Naylor a short note and left everything with Wynona.

  “I’ll see that he gets it,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Jack said, and headed back to Sally’s office.

  She was still there, grading tests. When Jack came to the door, she looked up and said, “Everything taken care of?”

  “I think so. Naylor should have a very busy weekend, if he even bothers to look at the stuff I gave him.”

  “I’m sure he will. He’s very conscientious.”

  “Great,” Jack said. “Maybe my students won’t even care if I’m indicted for murder. They can keep Naylor for the rest of the semester.”

  “Don’t talk like that. I called Mae Wilkins but she’s not in her office.”

  “It’s Friday afternoon,” Jack pointed out. He looked at his watch. “In fact, it’s after four o’clock on Friday afternoon. There’s no one here except us, the secretaries, and the deans. And I’m not so sure about one of the deans.”

  “Then we should leave,” Sally said.

  “Good idea. Then what?”

  “We’ll have to think about that. What would be a good place to do some thinking?”

  “The Seahorse Club?” Jack said.

  There were no bars in Hughes, but there were “private clubs” that anyone with a couple of bucks could join. Under the law, members of the private clubs could be served alcohol. The Seahorse had the advantage of being near the college campus. That was also its disadvantage. It was the preferred place for college faculty to have a drink, and Jack wasn’t sure Sally would want to be seen with him. For that matter, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be seen by anyone. He’d have to answer too many questions, and there wouldn’t be any time to consider what he and Sally should do, if anything, about his problems. He was surprised that Troy Beauchamp hadn’t already sought him out to pump him for information.

  “The Seahorse is a little too public,” Sally said, echoing Jack’s thoughts. “Why don’t we go to my house?”

  That sounded fine to Jack. He was pretty sure that any chance of romantic involvement was dead now that he was a murder suspect, but he’d take whatever he could get.

  “I’ll get my car and follow you,” he said. “I’m not parked far from you.”

  As they were walking out to the parking lot, they passed under the big oak tree near the shop building where both auto mechanics and welding classes were taught. The auto mechanics and welding shop was on the opposite side of the campus from the administration building, and the parking lot beside it was a bit more convenient for Jack and Sally. When the welders were working, taking a peek into one of the building’s small windows was a little like glancing into the infernal regions, where masked demons moved around among the sparks and blue flames.

  “That’s where I did a lot of work on the knife,” Jack said, flipping a hand in the direction of the building. “I heated the blade to temper it with an acetylene torch.”

  “Who taught that knife-making class?” Sally asked.

  “Stanley Owens. You probably don’t know him. He teaches just that one class in continuing ed. I don’t think he has a degree. Nice looking, with really gray hair. His real job is office management. He manages the repair department for your friend Roy Don Talon.”

  “He’s not exactly my friend.”

  “Irony,” Jack said. “That’s what we English teachers call it.”

  “Oh,” Sally said.

  “Talon is on campus occasionally. Sometimes he stops by to say hello. I think he came to a faculty workshop one fall. Sat in the back row of the meeting room and never said a word, which is pretty odd when you consider his occupation.”

  “I get it,” Sally said. “Irony. Because he’s a car salesman, and they tend to be talkative.”

  “Right the first time. Maybe you should consider becoming an English teacher. Anyway, I’m sure Fieldstone wishes that all the members of the faculty kept their mouths shut.”

  “Unlike those of you who are accused killers and speak up at board meetings.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Jack said.

  Sally looked at the automotive building. She’d been on the Hughes campus for six years now, but she’d never even looked inside the shop. She wondered what went on in there.

  “I’ve never been inside that building,” she said. “Let’s have a look.”

  “It’s Friday afternoon,” Jack reminded her. “There won’t be anyone around.”

  “I’m not interested in interviewing the faculty. I just thought it might be interesting to see what it looks like.”

  Jack shrugged and said, “I don’t see any reason why we can’t have a look.”

  They went over to the heavy steel door, and Jack pulled it open, holding it for Sally to walk through. He was never sure whether a man should do things like that for a woman these days, and he hoped she wouldn’t think less of him.

  The inside of the building smelled of oil and gas and something that might have been antifreeze or possibly power-steering fluid. Sally wasn’t an expert in automotive smells.

  No lights were on, and because the building’s designers had hoped to cut down on cooling costs by reducing the number and size of the windows, it was hard to see anything. Sally didn’t know where the light switch was, though she thought it should be somewhere near the door. Jack was fumbling around for it when she heard something scrape softly on the concrete floor.

  Jack stopped groping for the light switch.

  “Did you hear that?” he whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” Sally asked.

  Jack spoke up a bit. “I don’t know. It just seemed like the thing to do.”

  “Is anyone there?” Sally called.

  There was no answer. She looked around the large, gloomy area. She could see a little better now that her eyes were getting adjusted. There was some illumination from the small windows, and the edges of the large doors on the opposite side of the shop were lined with daylight.

  There was only one car in the shop, a fairly new model that Sally couldn’t identify. It sat off to one side where it appeared to have been freshly painted. There was a sharp smell of paint in the stuffy room.

  Nearby there was some kind of portable hoist, with an engine hanging dangling from it by chains. There was a hydraulic lift that was raised for no reason that Sally could see. It was as if someone were changing the oil on an invisible car. There was also a square hole in the floor with steel tracks across it. Sally thought it might be a grease pit, though why it was necessary when there was a lift, she didn’t know. On the wall beside the car there were some large metal toolboxes on wheels and a couple of immobile steel lockers.

  On the opposite side of the shop stood the acetylene bottles and some of the welding equipment, with which Sally was completely unfa
miliar, not that she could have identified it anyway in the dim light. There were a couple of workbenches with tools on them and vises affixed to each end. A few wrenches and a couple of hubcaps lay on the floor beneath them.

  “Maybe we were just imagining things,” she said.

  “Both of us at the same time?” Jack said.

  “Well, I don’t see anyone. Do you?”

  Jack said that he didn’t, and Sally called out again. There was still no response.

  “What about the lights?” she said.

  Jack again felt around on the wall for the switch.

  “Here it is,” he said, and Sally heard a muted click.

  The lights didn’t come on. There were another couple of clicks, but the result was the same: no lights.

  “I think it’s time to go,” Jack said. “There’s nothing to see in here, anyway.”

  There was another low sound, as if something had brushed softly against a wall.

  “Someone’s in here,” Sally said. “Hey! Who’s there?”

  No one replied.

  “Probably a cat,” Jack said. “Maybe even a rat. You never know. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Just a minute,” Sally said. “I’m sure there’s someone in here.”

  There weren’t too many places to hide other than the car and the area around the workbenches and the acetylene bottles. Sally started toward the benches. Jack trailed along behind her.

  When they passed the square pit in the floor, Sally looked down. The bottom of the hole was five or six feet below floor level. There were a few rags lying down there, along with what looked like a small metal toolbox.

  And there was one other thing.

  “Is there someone down there?” she said.

  Jack stopped beside her and looked.

  “Damn,” he said.

  Both of them moved a little closer to the edge of the hole.

  “Hey,” Jack said, but the figure lying below them didn’t move.

  “We’d better go for help,” Jack said.

  “But there’s someone in here,” Sally said.

  “Yeah. He’s lying down there in the grease pit, and he’s not moving.”

  “Somebody’s moving,” Sally said.

  “All the more reason that we should go for help, if you ask me.”

  Sally knew he was right, and she knew all those sayings about curiosity and cats. None of that seemed to matter right at the moment, however. She really wanted to know who was in there with them.

  “Come on,” she said.

  They had gotten to within about ten feet of the acetylene bottles when one of the bottles fell over with a terrible ringing sound, and they were suddenly confronted by the creature from the black lagoon.

  13

  The creature roared and shambled toward them, waving a ballpeen hammer menacingly.

  Sally realized at that moment that she wasn’t seeing some movie monster at all but a human being. Monsters didn’t carry hammers—not ballpeen hammers, anyway. Maybe claw hammers, but definitely not the ballpeen variety.

  But people did, even when they were wearing a welder’s helmet, jacket, and gloves.

  That was all Sally had time to think before the helmeted figure shoved her to the floor, causing her to scrape her hands and knees on the oil-stained concrete. Jack tried to stop the charging figure, but he was flattened by a solid side-body block. He got up quickly, however, and made a running jump, landing squarely on the figure’s back, wrapping his arm around the helmet.

  The temporarily blinded figure stumbled forward, trying to fling Jack away and at the same time swinging an arm behind its back in an attempt to hit Jack with the hammer. To Sally’s amazement, Jack managed to hang on until both he and the figure yelled and disappeared from Sally’s view as they fell forward into the grease pit.

  Jack was momentarily stunned. He knew he was lying on someone, and then he remembered the man in the welder’s mask. He tried to regain his grip but stopped when he discovered that he was staring down into the wide-open eyes of Ray Thomas, the college’s automotive instructor.

  Thomas, in spite of the open eyes, merely appeared to be staring back. He wasn’t seeing a thing, and he wouldn’t be, ever again.

  Almost at the same time Jack realized that Thomas was dead, Jack felt something wet and slick under his hand. He didn’t even have to look to know it was blood, or something worse.

  Jack recoiled from the clammy body beneath him, jerking himself into a clumsy crouch. He was wiping his hand on his pants when he saw the phantom welder climbing out of the pit on a set of concrete steps. Jack went after him just as Sally appeared and slammed something into the side of the welding helmet.

  The man fell backward onto Jack, and they both hit the floor again. This time the back of Jack’s head bounced lightly off the concrete, and bright white lights flashed in front of his eyes. His situation wasn’t improved any when the welder got up and kicked him in the ribs. Jack groaned and tried to roll away, but the welder got in two more solid kicks before Jack could escape.

  Jack got to his knees and tried to hold up his head. The welder moved fast and well for a man his size. He was big, as large as Jorge Rodriguez. But it couldn’t be Jorge, Jack told himself. Jorge had already been in prison once. He wouldn’t want to go back.

  Jack’s assailant, whoever it was, was no longer interested in Jack. He was climbing out of the pit again, and this time he was ready for Sally. As his head passed the level of the floor, he put up his arm to block the blow she aimed at him and made a swing at her with the hammer. He missed, as she easily ducked aside and darted backward. The welder emerged from the pit and started toward her.

  Jack stood up. It hurt to breathe, and he figured he had a couple of broken ribs. Maybe more than a couple, but that didn’t matter. He had to help Sally. He staggered toward the steps and climbed them slowly. A sharp pain stabbed him with every step and every breath.

  Jack decided that the sharp edges of his broken ribs were poking into his lungs, which would probably pop like a balloon, causing him to sail around the room like a rapidly deflating cartoon character. A ridiculous image. Maybe his brain was damaged, too.

  When he got to the top of the steps he saw that Sally was standing in front of the door, blocking the welder’s exit. She was holding something in her hand and waving it in front of her. Every time the welder advanced on her, she swung at him and backed him away from the door.

  Jack tried to sneak up on the man from behind, but it was hard for him to move quietly. His breath rasped out throatily, and his feet were scraping on the concrete. He tried to lift his feet higher, but he couldn’t.

  When he was a couple of feet behind the welder, Sally got lucky and hit the hand with the hammer in it. The hammer spun away, and the welder turned to see where it was going.

  He also saw Jack, who had to duck out of the hammer’s path. Sally tried to hit the welder in the back of the head, but he tucked his shoulder and plowed into Jack as if he were a Dallas Cowboy lineman clearing a path for Emmitt Smith.

  Jack felt all the rest of his ribs crack in half and sat down hard on the floor. A shock traveled all the way up his spine and came out at his eyes. The welder retrieved his hammer as Sally knelt by Jack.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Jack couldn’t help laughing at the question, but the laughter hurt so much that he stopped immediately.

  “No,” he managed to say.

  He tried to stand up, and with Sally’s help he made it, though he was so bent at the waist that he looked a little like a crone searching for a broom to ride.

  There was a ringing noise, followed by a loud and continuous scuffing. Jack forced his head up for a look.

  The maniac welder had dropped his hammer and was pushing the portable chain hoist across the floor. It moved slowly at first, but it picked up speed quickly. The dangling engine was swinging a bit, back and forth, gaining momentum from the movement of the hoist, and it was headed straight for Ja
ck and Sally. Jack could almost feel it crashing into his ribs, what there was left of them.

  “Run for it,” Jack said, giving Sally a gentle shove only because he couldn’t push her aside with any more force.

  Sally moved away, trying to pull Jack along with her. Jack went, but it was an excruciating experience. The chain hoist followed right along.

  Jack saw that Sally had a lug wrench in her right hand. Jack stopped moving and put a hand on the wrench.

  “Let me have that,” he said.

  Sally let it go, and Jack heaved it at the deranged welder. It flipped over in the air and struck the man right in the faceplate. If Jack had been able to throw it harder, it might actually have done some good. As it was, the wrench bounced harmlessly off the faceplate and clattered on the floor. The chain hoist paused, then started moving again.

  “I really don’t think that guy likes us,” Jack said. “Do you have your cell phone?”

  Sally nodded.

  “Get down in that grease pit and use it, then.”

  “Won’t work in here,” Sally said. “Too much metal in the building.”

  “Try it,” Jack said.

  Sally ran for the pit, and Jack tried to lead the hoist away from her. He was as slow as a three-legged turtle, and he was afraid the engine was going to smash into him and finish him off. He’d probably wind up looking like one of those cartoon characters that had been run over by a bulldozer.

  As he hobbled, he kicked a hubcap. He stopped to pick it up, then sailed it toward the welder. It flew through the air, looking a bit like a flying saucer in a grade-Z movie. Jack envisioned it chopping the welder’s head off at the neck, causing the mask to go bouncing along on the floor.

  Things didn’t work out quite the way Jack had imagined them, however, because the hubcap never got near the welder. It chinged off one pole of the chain hoist and rattled across the floor, finally righting itself somehow and rolling smoothly for several feet before dropping over the edge of the grease pit. It must have landed on Thomas’s body, or maybe on Sally, because it didn’t make another sound.

  The chain hoist kept right on moving, and Jack braced himself for the impact.