by John Lutz
“No. You and her are going in the river.” With his free hand Rolf pointed to Joleen. “Drag her outside.”
Nudger bent and grasped Joleen’s wrists. Her skin was still as warm as if she were alive. He dragged her out onto the porch. Rolf stood in the doorway watching. He pointed again, and Nudger went down the step, pulling Joleen to the snowy ground.
“Now come back here.”
There was a can of gasoline standing on the porch just outside the door. Rolf had come prepared. “Splash it around good,” he said.
Rolf stood leaning wearily against the doorjamb with the gun in one hand and the bourbon bottle in the other, watching as Nudger walked around the room, pouring gas on the carpets, furniture, and drapes. The fumes filled the little house, overpowering the cordite smell.
When the can was empty he stood in the middle of the floor, near the pool of Joleen’s blood, and looked at Rolf.
Rolf was fumbling the bottle back into his raincoat pocket. He took a book of matches from his pants pocket. He was moving slowly and clumsily and his face was seamed with concentration. He was uncertain about where to put Nudger where he could keep an eye on him while he set fire to the house. Possibly the bourbon was getting to him a little, too.
Nudger was instantly alert. Maybe Rolf was vulnerable. Maybe Nudger was going to get out of this alive. With an effort he kept the hope from showing in his face.
Rolf stepped out onto the porch and said, “Come out here.”
Nudger walked slowly toward the gun that was pointed at his midsection. Rolf ordered him to halt when he was one step outside the door. Then he moved cautiously around him into the doorway.
For the first time he had allowed Nudger to get within arm’s reach of him. But the gun was still pointed at Nudger’s stomach, and the eyes didn’t leave him for an instant.
How could he light a match one-handed? Nudger wondered. Perhaps he’d hand the matches to Nudger, order him to set the fire.
But he’d forgotten about Rolf’s dexterity. The big man thumbed the matchbook cover up, curled out one match, slid the cover closed behind it with his forefinger. He was keeping his eyes on Nudger. With his thumb he scratched the match across the striking surface. No result. He hadn’t done it fast enough.
Annoyance flitted over Rolf’s face but he didn’t look down. He curled out another match and scraped it. This match caught fire.
And ignited the first match.
Instantly the flame leapt to Rolf’s shirtfront, where he’d spilled bourbon a few minutes before.
The blue flame licked upward toward his face. Rolf stared horror-stricken at it. He dropped the matches and began beating at the flame with his hand.
Nudger crouched and drove his shoulder into him. Rolf staggered into the room. The matches he’d dropped ignited the gas-soaked rug. It went up with a whoosh as Nudger grabbed the knob and pulled the door closed.
Over the rush and crackle of the spreading fire Rolf roared at him from the other side of the door. There were no words, only his rage and terror. Nudger was still holding onto the doorknob with both hands. It turned under his fingers. Nudger braced himself. Rolf pulled. Nudger hung on. The pressure steadily increased.
Nudger dug in his heels and leaned backward. What was he doing? Did he really think he could win this macabre tug-of-war? The big man was much stronger than he was. But if he let go and ran for it, Rolf would shoot him in the back before he’d taken five steps.
There was nothing to do but hang on. Nudger felt the heels of his shoes sliding. A gap opened between the edge of the door and the doorjamb. Smoke curled through the gap and Nudger smelled burning cloth and wood. It must be hell in there, but Rolf was winning. Nudger put his left foot up against the side of the house and heaved with all his might. The strain was almost unbearable. He thought his arms were going to pull out of their sockets. But the gap slowly closed. Rolf was breathing in smoke, weakening.
The moment after the door met the jamb, the pressure ceased. Rolf had stopped pulling. Nudger didn’t let himself relax. He expected a sudden yank at the doorknob.
When he heard the pop, he thought it came from the fire. Then he saw the small hole in the wood of the door. A few inches to the right and the bullet would have hit him in the face. At that instant another hole appeared as Rolf shot again.
Nudger sidestepped to his left. While still holding on to the doorknob, he leaned against the side of the house, hoping it would protect him. He didn’t think Rolf’s little .22 could shoot through walls.
It didn’t matter. Rolf went on shooting through the door. Wisps of smoke curled from each small hole. Nudger was sweating and the doorknob felt hot against his skin. Tongues of flame were licking through the shutters on the window on the other side of the door.
Suddenly the doorknob seemed to come alive. It twisted in his sweaty grip and nearly sprang from his hand. Rolf had given a tremendous heave from his side. Nudger braced his shoulder against the wall and hung on. He heard Rolf scream. It sounded shrill and small in the tumult of the fire. But the pressure increased steadily. The door opened a little, and Nudger could hear Rolf coughing. More smoke poured out. The gap increased, slowly, steadily. Nudger was coughing. He could feel the heat from inside the cabin; it was like opening the door of an oven. He didn’t know how Rolf could still be alive.
He couldn’t pull as strongly from his protected position at the side. He’d have to take the chance on Rolf shooting again.
He swung away from the wall and put his foot up against it, and leaned all his weight back. He looked at the gap between door and jamb, hoping to see it narrow.
Out of the smoke and darkness Rolf’s face loomed up. The moustache and eyebrows were gone, the skin was red and puckered. Rolf’s eyes were shut and his mouth open. A terrible sound came from his throat as he tried to suck in air.
Nudger’s stomach turned over in horror. He couldn’t do this anymore!
Letting go of the doorknob, he turned and started to run, praying Rolf’s gun was empty.
Before he could get off the porch he felt a sudden rush of heat from above. He looked up. The porch roof above his head was on fire. Before he could move, a flaming beam let go and swung down toward him.
He ducked and ran but he was too late. The beam hit him in the back as he jumped from the porch. He fell heavily on his hands and knees. There was a searing pain at his back—his clothes had caught fire!
He dropped and rolled in the snow. There was a hiss as the flames went out. The chill and wetness felt wonderful to Nudger. It was hard to believe that an hour ago, in what seemed another life, he had felt cold.
He got to his feet to look for Rolf. But the big man hadn’t gotten out. He wasn’t going to, for at that moment the porch roof collapsed. A shower of red sparks shot into the snow. The fire was roaring now, devouring the little house. And the body of Rolf Kling.
Bending low, holding his arm over his face against the intense heat, Nudger moved close enough to the house to take hold of Joleen’s body. He dragged it away to a safe distance.
Then there was nothing to do but stand and watch the fire. It was now so hot it melted the snow on the nearby evergreen trees. Water poured from their boughs. The snow on the ground was lit by a soft glow and flickering shadows played over it. The yellow flames were crawling over the roof, feeding more black roiling smoke into the column that ascended far up into the sky, which was just beginning to lighten with the approach of dawn.
Nudger leaned against a tree trunk and waited for someone to notice and come out to investigate.
Chapter Forty-One
Nudger lay on a cot in a corner of the Emergency Room at Central Illinois Regional Hospital. He was lying on his side because of the minor but quite painful burn on his back. He didn’t think it had hurt this much before the doctors bandaged it.
He was supposed to be under observation, but no one had observed him in quite a while. They’d surrounded his cot with those rolling screens and forgotten about him, or so it seemed to Nudger.
A television monitor on a nearby wall was playing a tape of medical advice. He’d heard it all the way through twice. There were tips on diet, rest, and exercise, but not a word about how Nudger, who had no medical insurance, was supposed to pay for all this. He reflected irritably that Dr. Fell of the Cash-in-Advance Clinic on Manchester would have had him patched and on his way by now.
One of the screens rolled back and Hammersmith came over to him. “How you doing, Nudge?”
Hammersmith was resplendent in his camel’s hair overcoat, dark suit, and tie. Nudger felt sillier than ever in the backless, thigh-length smock they’d given him. He sat upright. “I’m okay, Jack. Still breathing. It was in doubt for a while.”
“You get any sleep?”
He shook his head. “I’m not looking forward to sleep. I think I’m going to see Rolf Kling’s face. God, what a death!”
Hammersmith’s face hardened. “You want, Nudge, I’ll show you Kling’s yellow sheet. It’s a yard long, full of ugly, vicious stuff. You had to do what you did. He’d have killed you, then gone on hurting people for years.”
Nudger nodded. You could always count on Hammersmith for the hard-nosed point of view. Still, Nudger was sure that Rolf’s scorched, hairless face was going to haunt his dreams.
“Listen, Nudge, let me fill you in. I gotta go soon.”
Hammersmith was always in a hurry when he was in a building where he couldn’t smoke. He was probably aching to go down to the loading dock and light up one of his noxious cigars. Nudger said, “I can guess what you’re going to tell me. You guys plan to hang all three murders on Rolf Kling.”
“It’s more the Illinois State Police than us, but yeah. You remember how it goes, Nudge. A cop wants to clear cases and close files. Anyway, Kling did kill Joleen and Blaumveldt.”
“He didn’t kill Karen. Roger Dupont made the plan and struck the blows. And I’m sure Vella Kling knew all about it.”
“We got no case against either one of ’em. Go after Dupont and we’ll really look stupid. He’s safe as he can be. Even though we recovered Karen’s body, there’s no way by now to determine anywhere near an exact enough time of death. The state would have to prove Karen was alive during Roger’s trial, and that’s impossible. So technically we’d be trying him twice for the same crime.”
“Technically,” Nudger said.
“Technically walks, Nudge.” Hammersmith paused, shaking his head. “It’s really something, isn’t it? He gets himself acquitted of the crime so he’s safe, then he commits it. The guy is fucking James Bond, double-oh-seven. He tricked the court into giving him a license to kill. It was some plan.”
“Dupont’s some guy.”
Hammersmith cocked his head to the side and studied Nudger. “I don’t like that look on your face. You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?”
“No. I’m just going to talk to Dupont one last time.”
“He won’t talk to you.”
“Sure he will. He’s expecting me. I’ve known all along that Roger had something in mind for me. I thought he meant to harm me, but that wasn’t it.”
“You better be sure about that before you go see him.”
“I’m no threat to him. Never was.”
“So why’s he going to see you? What is it you say he’s got in mind for you?”
“He wants to explain his whole plan to me. He wants me to sit there and admit to him that he outsmarted me and I can’t touch him. You have to understand what kind of guy Dupont is, Jack. He really likes to rub it in.”
Hammersmith slid his hands into his pants pockets and frowned. “I’d skip the whole scene, if I were you.”
Nudger shook his head. “I have something to say, too.”
“To Dupont?”
“More to Vella. I want to give her something to think about. I don’t want them to live happily ever after.”
It was Saturday morning. A few days until Christmas. Mere hours until Claudia returned from Colorado. A thaw was underway.
Nudger had the window down and his elbow out as he drove up Skinker Boulevard along the park. The sky was cloudless. Sunlight glittered in the drops of meltwater that showered from the trees at every breeze. On the park’s golf course, large patches of grass were showing through the snow. By afternoon there would be manic golfers out there attempting to play a round.
The path was already busy. A narrow band of pavement that snaked all the way around the park, it was immensely popular with the fitness crowd. Walkers strode and joggers puffed, while Rollerbladers and bicyclists wove among them. Some recreation, Nudger thought. It would be like being in rush-hour traffic without a car.
He turned into the semicircular drive of Dupont’s high-rise apartment building. The doorman was standing outside, under the awning. Nudger gave his name.
As he expected, Dupont was willing to see him.
Indeed, Dupont was smiling as he opened his front door. Apparently he was just getting ready to join the exercisers in the park. He was wearing black tights and a form-fitting red jersey, with pads strapped to his knees and elbows and sweatbands around his head and wrists. Give him a cape and he could be a superhero out of the comics, Nudger thought. Captain Malicious.
“Come in, Nudger,” he said.
The living room was decorated for the holiday. A green, bushy tree festooned with ornaments and tinsel filled one corner of the room. Gaily wrapped presents were heaped on the floor around it; Santa must have come early to the Dupont household. More greenery lined the mantelpiece, and two stockings were suspended from it. A fire was burning in the hearth. Nudger looked away. It would be a while before he’d feel comfortable near a fire.
The day was so mild that the sliding glass door stood open. Vella was on the balcony, leaning on the railing and looking at the view. It stretched all the way to the Arch, a glittering band of silver against the blue sky. She too was outfitted for exercise, in black tights and a thong leotard splashed with colors. She looked as bright and enticing as the presents under the tree, though her wrappings didn’t do as good a job of disguising what was underneath.
“Vella, we have company,” Dupont announced in a smarmy voice that might have been reserved for visiting in-laws.
She responded like a good child, turning and putting on her company smile. It fell apart when she saw Nudger.
“Roger, what . . . what’s he doing here?”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” Nudger said. “I had no choice.”
He barely got the last word out before she launched herself at him. Nudger saw long red talons flying at his face. He backed up, putting up an arm to protect himself.
Vella fell upon him, spitting curses, pounding on his chest with her fists. He kept backing away, and finally the fusillade ceased.
He lowered the arm that had been protecting his eyes. Roger had Vella in a bear hug. She was still struggling and kicking, trying to get at Nudger. He suddenly remembered the scene Vella herself had described to him, when Karen had found her and Roger together in the house. Roger had had to restrain Karen, as he was now restraining Vella. He did seem to enjoy setting up scenes and creating effects. In fact, he was smiling now.
“You bastard!” Vella was screaming. She’d stopped struggling but her face was flushed and she was crying. “You killed my brother, you vicious bastard.”
“Vella darling, that won’t help,” said Dupont in soothing tones. “Rolf’s gone. Nothing will bring him back. I know you miss him, but you still have me to look out for you.”
He kissed her wet cheek. Vella’s rage seemed to pass as quickly as it had come on. When he let her go she didn’t even look at Nudger, but ran across the room and disappeared down a corridor.
Dupont looked after her thoughtfully. Then he caught Nudger’s eye and said, “I had no idea that would happen. But perhaps I should have suspected. Vella has a horrendous temper. Well, sit down, Nudger.”
Nudger did so, on the sleek, uncomfortable sofa he remembered from his last visit. He was c
areful not to lean back. The burn was still bothering him. Dupont remained standing. He probed for pockets to put his hands in, remembered he had none, and rested his hands on his hips.
“I expect you have questions. I’m willing to answer them, because I’m impressed with you, Nudger. I don’t know how you managed to defeat Rolf, for one thing, but I was impressed with you before that. When you found out about Vella during the trial. You gave me my one moment of uneasiness.” What a good sport he was—provided he was winning.
Nudger was relieved that he wasn’t expected to shake hands. He said, “How could you be sure the body would eventually be discovered.”
“Right after I killed Karen, Rolf and I put her body in the car and drove to the woods outside Springfield. We buried it. Then we waited for it to decay to the point where a medical examiner couldn’t establish the time of death. When I was ready, I sent Rolf out to partially uncover the remains then make an anonymous phone call to the police. It was easy enough for them to identify the moldering corpse as Karen. I placed her purse with her plastic-coated identification beneath her. And of course I was careful not to damage her teeth.”
Nudger nodded. “If the remains weren’t found, you’d have had to wait seven years to cash in her insurance policy.”
“Oh, everyone who’s ever seen Perry Mason knows that,” Dupont said.
There was the sound of a door opening and shutting and Vella returned. She had a pair of Rollerblades draped over her shoulder by the laces. “I’m going to the park to work out,” she said, without looking at them. She headed for the front door.
“Don’t go yet, lover,” Roger called after her. “I want to go with you. ”
Pretending not to hear, she opened the door.
“Vella,” Dupont said, softly but firmly.
She swung around. “I can’t stand to be in the same room with him, Roger. I want to go.”
“This won’t take a moment. And I want to go with you.”
“But you don’t even have ’blades.”
“I’m going to, though, aren’t I?” He smiled and nodded toward the tree. “I’ve guessed what that biggest box is, you see. I know my darling Vella would give me just what I wanted. In fact, I don’t think I can wait.”