"They'll pick him up."
"They'll never pick him up. You know that. I know that. And if they pick him up, they'll let him go again the way they did last time."
"Please, Carol."
She turned her face away from him. Her voice was far away.
"I think I was about seven years old. My mother was still alive. We went to a carnival. There was a merry-go-round and my father lifted me up onto a big white horse. It was wonderful for a while. I held the brass pole and the horse went up and down. I didn't know until later that my father paid the man to make it a long, long ride. After a while the faces of the people began to blur. The music seemed to get louder.
When I looked out all I could see was streaks. I wanted it to stop. When I shut my eyes I felt I was going to fall off. Nobody could hear me yell. I had the feeling it was going faster and faster and the music was getting louder and louder, and I was going to be hurled off."
"Honey, please."
"I want it to stop, Sam. I want it to stop going around and around. I want to stop being scared."
She looked at him with naked plea. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Or loved her so much.
CHAPTER TEN.
WHEN THEY arived at The West Wind in the later afternoon, the crickety little man clucked at the damage to the car, at Carol's swollen lip, at Ducky's forehead lump. Jamie had been given firm and explicit orders about talking about his dramatic wound. He looked as though he would pop open from the effort of restraining himself, but he managed it.
Once they had cleaned up, Sam phoned the office again and told Bill Stetch about the accident and then, on sudden impulse, heard himself say, "I know it will raise a certain amount of hell with the routine, but this is a sort of personal situation, Bill, and I'd like to take all of next week off."
There was a silence on the tine and then Bill said, "You haven't been a ball of fire around here lately.
Does Clara know what you've got lined up?"
"She's got the complete schedule. And she'll know what ones can be canceled and set up for later, and what ones should be handled. She can give you the background you'll need. Johnny Karick can take on some of it himself."
"Okay, partner. Hope you get everything straightened away."
"I'm going to try, Bill. And thanks."
After completing the call, he went back to Carol's room and sat at the small desk. Using a pencil and paper to help his concentration, he tried to determine through a process of logic if Cady could have found out about the Suffern hideout. He made a short list of people who knew about it. He questioned Jamie and Nancy and they vowed most solemnly that they had told no one. Except Tommy. And Nancy was certain Tommy had told no one. He checked with the owner and by judicious use of a pair of white lies learned that there had been no inquiries about Mrs. Bowden. The phone calls had been made from the office, but he had placed them himself. Mail had been delivered directly to the office. He had posted his letters to Carol himself. The possibility of Cady tailing them to Suffern was remote. He thought back over the possible times and decided it was so remote as to be checked off entirely.
In the end he decided that Suffern was safe. With proper care it would remain safe. He knew he could not function efficiently if he based his moves on hunch and superstitious alarm. There had to be some starting place. Suffern was safe. So Suffern was an adequate base, a place to operate from.
On Friday and Saturday and Sunday they vegetated. Rest and the sedative improved Carol's nerves.
They swam in sunlight, and in a heavy rain, and once by moonlight. They ate hugely and slept long hours.
And slowly, hour by hour, the resolution grew in Sam's mind. He found it almost impossible to face it at first.
But it became easier and easier. The concept was so alien to his nature as to revolt him. It meant a reversal of all his values, of all the things he lived by. He knew that this inner combat made visible changes in his manner. Several times he saw Carol looking at him speculatively. He knew he seemed moody and absentminded.
In midmorning on Monday, on an oppressively hot day, he took Carol away from her tennis game and took her out in one of the yellow rowboats. The sky in the east had a coppery and ominous look. A moist infrequent wind would ripple the water and then die into a waiting stillness. Carol sat in the stern in white shorts and red halter and trailed her finger tips in the water as he rowed out into the middle of the mile-long lake.
He boated the dripping oars and the boat moved smoothly along until the momentum died. He lighted two cigarettes and handed one to her.
"Thank you. You're acting weird, you know."
"I know."
"And this is the time to reveal all?"
"Yes. But questions first. How are you now?"
"Better, I think. I could go to pieces again if I made a good try at it. Since you convinced me we're safe here, and because we're all here together, I feel better.
But not joyous. You say it's safe, but my litter of three are over there, a half mile across the water, and I don't feel really good unless I can see them and touch them."
"I know."
"Why do you want to know how I am? Outside of polite curiosity."
"There's something I want to do. I can't do it alone."
"What do you mean?"
"I've been up one side of this and down the other. I want to kill Cady."
"Of course. So do I, but..."
"That was not a figure of speech. I mean that I want to plan it all out and lay a trap and kill him and dispose of the body. I want to commit murder, and I think I know how it can be done."
She stared at him for what seemed a long time. And then she looked away, as though in shyness.
"Not murder. Execution."
"Don't help me rationalize. Murder. And it may go wrong, but not if we're careful. Have you got guts enough to help me?"
"I have. It would be doing something. It would be something besides waiting around and looking at the children and wondering which one you're going to lose. Yes, Sam. I can help and you can depend on me and there won't be any going to pieces, either. Waiting is what ruined me. Action won't."
"That's what I hoped. Your part is harder than mine."
"Tell me," she said. She was leaning forward, dark eyes frowningly intent, tanned arms crossed and resting on her knees. He looked at her and thought how good her legs were, and how all of her was truly compact and vibrant. The gusts of wind had turned the boat, and the far-off copper was higher in the sky, and the water at the end of the lake behind her looked dark. The dark water and the sky made the white houses stand out clearly at that end of the lake.
It was, to him, a moment of curious significance, of a dramatic unreality. This, he thought, cannot be Sam and Carol, man and wife. He had thought he knew this woman and knew himself. But this was a time of change. There was a new quality of tension and excitement between them, but there was an unhealthiness about it, a tinge of rot.
"Tell me, Sam."
"You can help me plan it. I just have... a general idea. It started with something the sheriff said. I haven't worked out the details. We leave the kids here. Nancy can accept the responsibility."
"What do we tell them?"
"We certainly don't tell them what we want to do.
We can think of something. Some plausible lie. You and I go back home. We have to gamble that he'll come there. Particularly if he thinks you are alone. We'll have to make it look that way, somehow. We can't take a chance of giving him the same kind of chance at you that he had at Jamie. I've been thinking of the layout. If you were in the side yard or in the back of the house, he'd have that chance. Or clearly visible in any window in the back of the house at night."
"Of course. Where will you be?"
"I should be hidden in the house somewhere.
Waiting."
"Won't he know that it's a trap? Won't he sense it?"
"Perhaps. But we ought to make it look good. It's the details I haven't figured ou
t yet."
She bit at the corner of a thumbnail.
"If you could be in the top of the barn?"
"I'd be too far away. I ought to be in the house with you."
"If there was some sort of signal system, it wouldn't be too far. Didn't Nancy and Sandra fix up a buzzer thing a couple of years ago?"
"And got me to string the wire. I know the wire is still up."
"I could sleep in Nancy's room. You could get it working again."
"But why the kids' place in the barn?"
"I thought how we could make it look right. You could take the MG. Then I could go out in the wagon as though I was going shopping. I could pick you up someplace and you could lie down in the wagon and I could drive right into the barn when I come back, and then go to the house with a bundle of groceries. And we could buy food you could keep in the top of the barn. I mean that would be a way to come back without him knowing it."
"But what if he doesn't see me leave?"
"The one car would be gone anyway, and if we did it any other way, he might see you come back."
"I could wait until night and sneak into the house."
"If it's supposed to look as if I'm alone in the house, the best way is to be alone in the house. And if he's watching he'll satisfy himself I'm alone, and then he'll come in after me."
"We've got to be sure we can handle him."
"I'll have the Woodsman and you'll have that new gun. There's a lots of things I can do to make sure I'll be safe from him long enough. Like stringing pots and pans on the stairs so he'd have to make a noise."
"Can you handle it, Carol? Can you?"
"I know I can."
"Then there's another part to the problem. Suppose we... are successful? What then?"
"Well, wouldn't he be a prowler? I mean, cant you shoot a prowler? And the police know about him, don't they? And he is a criminal. Couldnt we just call?"
"I... I guess so. I guess that would be all right. I thought of that road job. They're doing a lot of fill."
"But so many things could go wrong, and then it would look bad for us, wouldn't it?"
"You're right, of course. I'm not thinking very clearly."
"We can do it, darling. We have to do it."
"And we can't be careless. Not for a minute. We've got to stay as cold as ice."
"What if nothing happens?"
"Something will. He can't afford to wait much longer. He wants to move in and finish it. Shall we go back in the morning?"
"Today, darling. Please. Let's go today and get it started and then it will be over. Row back now, please."
They left after lunch. On the way down to Ellendon to pick up the MG they discussed whether Nancy had completely accepted the lie they had told her. They made slow time in a constant heavy rain, in wind that had brought branches down onto the road. Nancy had been very grave and conscientious about her responsibility to the younger ones. And she had tried to tell them that she didn't think it was very smart to go back and get the police to make a greater effort to pick Cady up. She thought it unwise to try to stay at home.
She said they should stay at a hotel in New Essex.
And she wished both of them wouldn't leave, but if that was the way they wanted to do it, she could certainly take care of Jamie and Bucky and keep them out of trouble.
They arrived home a little after five, put the two cars in the barn, and hurried to the house with their luggage. The rain had stopped and the trees were dripping. When they went across the lawn Sam realized he was hurrying with his shoulders hunched, and trying to stay between Carol and the hill that rose behind the barn. He felt relief when they reached the comparative safety of the front porch. He sensed that it was absurd to imagine that Cady would be sprawled up there on the wet hill, cheek against the stock, finger on the trigger, tracking them with the telescopic sight. He could not be that ready. But, on the other hand, it was equally absurd to assume that he would not be ready, and act as if he were not ready.
Before dark Sam went up to the attic window in the rear of the house and carefully searched the hillside with his binoculars. He wished it were not so heavily wooded, that there were not so many huge gray boulders, so many dead falls
They went through the house together, before dark, deciding what areas were safe. They decided it would be unwise to use the kitchen at night. She could use the study and Nancy's room. After dark he risked going out to make certain that he could not see into either of these two lighted rooms from outside. He circled the house with the revolver in his hand, moving with caution, stopping where the night shadows were most black to wait and listen.
When he went back into the house he found he had spent too long outside. Carol held him tightly and he felt her body tremble. He locked the house with great care, checking every door and window. They slept in their own room. Carol went to sleep in his bed, his arms around her, and the gun under the pillow, the bedroom door locked, a Rube Goldberg trap of pans and string blocking both stairways.
Tuesday, the sixth of August, was a golden day.
After breakfast he checked the buzzer system, and Carol went with him when he drove down to get batteries. Before they left he checked the station wagon over carefully.
Each time they had to cross between house and barn, they moved very quickly. And each time he glanced up at the hill. He became more and more convinced that Cady was up there. And Cady would not be at all surprised that they ran.
When the buzzer system was working and had been completely checked, they decided on signals. During waking hours she would press her toy telegraph key three times, quickly, on the hour, and he would return the same signal. She would leave Nancy's room only when it was absolutely necessary, and then for as brief a time as possible. It was evident that Cady could not break in without her hearing him. At the first suspicious noise she was to hold the key down for a single long signal.
There was no good feeling of excitement. It had no flavor of a game. No nervous jokes. The tension was grim and strong. They said no more to each other than was necessary, and they both avoided looking into each other's eyes. It was as though they had embarked on some project that shamed them.
He said, "I think we're as ready as we'll ever be."
"How soon will I follow you?"
"This is the part I don't like. It shouldn't be too soon. But I don't want to leave you alone any longer than I have to."
"I'll be all right. It's a chance we have to take. It's eleven o'clock now. Twelve clock sharp?"
"All right." He looked at her, wondering about her.
She touched his arm.
"It's not so bad in the daytime, really. I'll be careful, and I'll be all right."
He kissed her quickly and found her lips cool and dry and unresponsive. He waited on the porch until he heard her lock the door. He backed the MG out, swung it around quickly and headed down to the village. He put the car in Barlow's garage for a complete engine overhaul. He walked from there to the new supermarket on the far side of the village. He bought a good flashlight and the food he thought he would need. As it grew closer and closer to noon his tension increased.
The village horn blew at noon. A chill drop of sweat ran down his ribs. At five after twelve, just as he was beginning to feel frantic, she came through the front door and paused, looked around until she saw him, and came directly toward him.
"Betty Hennis," she said in a low voice.
"I had to be rude to get rid of her. Have you got everything you'll need? Let me see." She made a few more selections.
"I think we should kill some time, dear," she said.
"If I've gone shopping, I shouldn't return too soon. And you should get something to read."
He did not know at which precise moment he turned against their careful plan. He had thought they could do it. He had thought Cady could be handled. But there was so much at stake, so much that could go wrong. And the whole device seemed so totally out of character for both of them. He had the feeling that if
it succeeded, it would turn their world into a jungle from which they could never escape.
"Let me drive," he said as they walked toward the station wagon.
"What? What are you going to do?"
"I'm going into the city. We're going into the city.
I'm going to try Captain Button again."
Her voice trembled.
"He hasn't done anything. He won't do anything. It won't do any good. Let's do it our way."
"I've got to try this one last time." He smiled, bitterly and sadly.
John D MacDonald - The Executioners (aka Cape Fear) Page 16