“But then how did he get away? He left the car, with her in it.”
“Maybe he lives in Schellsburg.”
“But that just gives you the same problem in reverse,” said Mary Beth. “Instead of how he got away, you have to explain how he got here in the first place.”
“Hitch?” suggested Peter.
“Possible,” agreed Maggie dubiously. “But it’s an odd way of working. The women lived all over the Syracuse area. So he’d have to figure out a way home from somewhere, some exit ramp. He’d hitch to where he could kidnap the woman in her own car, then he’d drive her to his escape point. Kill her and escape.”
Mary Beth considered this plan. She was surprised at her own detachment. “Well,” she said, “maybe. But it seems like a lot of unnecessary work for the guy. He wouldn’t want to get caught. Simpler would be safer. What if the person he hitched with remembered him?”
“I know. I don’t like it much either. It looks as though he’s just picked them off the highway at random,” said Maggie. “But then we’re back to the other problem. Why was Jackie going to Syracuse, in such a hurry that she didn’t tell us?”
“Were any of the other women in unexpected places?” asked Monica.
No one knew.
“Maybe we should talk to the police again. Find out if he ever worked that way,” suggested Terry.
“Good idea,” said Maggie. “Let’s do that. But if he didn’t work that way, it’s up to us. Why was she driving to Syracuse? And what was she doing at two-thirty? Because this guy has got to be stopped.”
Everyone nodded in vehement agreement. There were no further suggestions, so Sue and Terry volunteered to go talk to Professor Freeman and ask her to call the police to find out if the murderer left his victims in unexpected places. They left, and the rest of the group broke up too. Mary Beth and Maggie straightened up disconsolately, and went up to their rooms to try to work. But it was almost impossible. Mary Beth decided to work on vocabulary cards, because they did not require continuous thought. After an hour or so she went downstairs, fixed some more iced tea, and carried two glasses upstairs.
“Maggie?” she called through the closed door.
“Yeah?”
“Here’s iced tea, if you want it.”
The door opened and Maggie took the glass gratefully. “Thanks,” she said.
“Getting much done?” asked Mary Beth.
“Of course not.”
“I’m not either.”
“I just can’t believe that guy caught her. Not after the discussions we’ve had. How the hell does he trap women like that? What trick does he use?”
“I don’t know. It seems impossible, if they’re in their own cars.” She’d never get out of the car alone again.
“Yeah. And then I keep thinking about Frank and Peter,” Maggie admitted. “I feel for them. And for her parents.”
“We all loved her, Maggie.”
“I know. Of course I know. But some kinds of love are especially potent.”
“Yeah, guess so.” Mary Beth tried to remember how she had felt about Tip, but she still couldn’t. It seemed so irrelevant.
“And it reminds me of things,” Maggie added in a low tone. She turned away quickly and sat on her bed, holding the cold glass in both hands. Little drops formed on it and slid down onto her jeans.
“You’re thinking of what Nick went through?”
“Yes, partly.”
Mary Beth considered a moment. “It probably won’t be quite as bad for Frank and Peter,” she said. “We’re doing half.”
“Mary Beth, you’re as clear as mud.”
“I mean, they loved her the way Nick loved his wife, maybe. But they didn’t live with her. We’re the ones who’ll be noticing the empty chairs and missing her voice and so on.”
Maggie gave her an odd look. “That will make it easier for them, you think? Never really being used to having her around?”
“Well, I don’t know if it will. It just seems that way to me.”
“Could be. I’ve never really been around either of the people I miss most. But maybe I’d miss them even more if I had been.”
“Maybe.”
Maggie stood up laboriously, as though it required all her strength. “Well, back to work, if work is the right word for it.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks for the tea and sympathy.”
Mary Beth went back to her room, and actually managed to get all the way through the K’s.
Jane looked up at the knock on her open office door. “Oh, hi, Sue, Terry.”
“Hi. We were just talking about Jackie.”
“Yes.” Jane turned toward them sympathetically. It must be hard for these young people, losing a close friend. “You must be upset. We all are. It’s unbelievable.”
“I know,” said Terry. “And we wondered if you would do us a favor. Because we couldn’t figure out why she was going to Syracuse. And we thought maybe she might have been kidnapped here.”
“Here?” A frightening thought. “You mean the Triangle Murderer is here? Surely not!”
“No, no. Just that he goes to where he can kidnap someone and drives them to an escape point.”
“That’s possible, I suppose.”
“Well, we wondered if you would call Sergeant Rayburn for us, see if he can tell us if the guy might have operated that way.”
“Right now?”
“Instantly!” said Sue. “Well, you know.”
Jane smiled. “Okay. You want to know if there is evidence that he might have met her here, forced her to drive to that exit, and then ... what? Was his own car here, or there?”
“Oh, it’s a screwy idea. We thought maybe he hitched here, or something.”
“Well,” said Jane dubiously, “I could ask. But it seems a strange theory.”
“Yeah. The only good thing about it is that it would mean Jackie didn’t go there of her own free will. Because everything else we know seems to show that she was planning to stay in town.”
“I see. It was a nice day, though. Couldn’t she just have decided on a drive?”
Sue shook her head determinedly. “That just wouldn’t be like her. She would have said something. And anyway, I heard her turn down an invitation to go to the park that very day.”
“Maybe she changed her mind. People aren’t a hundred percent predictable, you know. If they were, we psychologists would be out of a job.”
“Oh, I know. But, you see, she had these two appointments. That was odd too. In the library, one at two-thirty and one at four. And she left for the two-thirty and never showed for the four o’clock.”
“I see.” That was puzzling.
“So maybe she heard some news at the two-thirty meeting that made her want to go to Syracuse.” Jane was silent, pondering, and Sue added, “I wish we knew who she met, what they talked about. We’re just guessing.”
“What news could she get to make her want to go there?”
“Hell, I don’t know!” exploded Sue. “I wouldn’t entertain that other half-assed idea if there was a reasonable reason for her to go to Syracuse! But there just isn’t!”
“I see,” said Jane. “I see your point. Both theories have problems. But it still seems more likely to me that she decided to go, for some reason.”
“Well, you didn’t live with her. It’s just not like her. She was a very thoughtful person.”
“Yes, I see. Well, let me call Rayburn.” She picked up the phone and was put through, amazingly, right away. When she finished talking to him, she hung up and turned back to Sue and Terry.
“He says the Triangle Murderer doesn’t work that way,” she said bluntly. “No sign of kidnapping in any of the other cases.”
“All those women were where they were supposed to be?”
“Well, they were all driving alone. A few hadn’t left specific word about where they were going, but the locations weren’t unusual for them. And most were on the ramp you’d expect, given the
work or the errands they were doing.”
“So,” said Sue unhappily, “that’s that. We’re stuck with believing that she suddenly decided to go to Syracuse.”
“It seems most likely,” said Jane.
They left. But Jane sat frowning for a few minutes. Sue and Terry were right; it didn’t quite fit.
Suppose you followed through with the line of thought they’d suggested. Suppose the Triangle Murderer really was from here. Were there any reasonable suspects? University people could come and go with more freedom than those in most other occupations. Did anyone here seem troubled enough to do such things? Linc, who considered his wife unsympathetic? Dick Davies, with those knives under his bed? Students unhappy with grades, or unbalanced, or drunk? Josh, in his constant benevolent chemical haze? Jane shook her head. They all seemed possible, but unlikely. There was no way to figure it out. And if her own department had that many possibilities, and there were dozens of departments, it would be a needle in a haystack. No, they’d have to wait until the Triangle Murderer made a mistake, and he seemed to be a very careful man.
It was depressing, an extra problem she wished she didn’t have to worry about. The thought of suicide flickered before her eyes, but she took a Valium instead.
Toward the end of that busy, grieving week, Mary Beth took stock.
Breaking her silence hadn’t been a magic cure, of course. She still grieved deeply about Jackie, and her own problems lingered on. There were still nightmares. She was still numb about sex. The flashes still came at the unexpected glimpse of a stucco wall or a steel doorknob. But the spasms of despair were lessening, and her appetite came back occasionally. And Friday, drying off after her shower, she discovered that she no longer seemed to reek of beer and urine. When she came down to dinner, smelling only of Ivory soap, Maggie smiled and gave Mary Beth’s hand a squeeze.
She resolved to start going to WAR meetings. There was talk of starting a crisis counseling service. Maybe, she thought, if I’d had someone to call, I wouldn’t have felt so worthless for quite so long.
She had done the right things. Tip was wrong. In an uncontrollable situation, she had been intelligent. She had endured. Like Ros. Like the Heroic Twins.
In the back of her mind, hope, fragile as a snowdrop, began to bloom through her sorrow for her friend. Hope that someday she would again feel in control of her life.
Hope that was nearly destroyed on Saturday.
XVI
1 Chee (June 22, 1968)
Mary Beth yawned. She was sitting in Maggie’s car, watching the fields roll by. “Exit 14 Ahead,” said the sign. Another twenty minutes. Nick was going to buy them an early supper before his final show. He’d be leaving for New York tomorrow and had finally convinced Maggie to see him. She had insisted that Mary Beth come along too. A long drive on a warm afternoon, but a welcome change from the tense flurry that had surrounded Jackie’s memorial service. Mary Beth yawned again.
“Oh Christ,” said Maggie suddenly. “The hummingbird trick!”
“What?” murmured Mary Beth.
“Get down quick, Mary Beth. Backseat on the floor.” Her voice was firm and cool.
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t I’ll pass a magnet all over your Ixil tapes,” said Maggie levelly.
Mary Beth started to smile but suddenly realized she was serious. “You mean it!” A nibble of terror brought her full awake.
“Humor me, kid. Get down back there and don’t move.”
“But ... ”
“Shut up!”
Mary Beth scrambled back into the dusty hollow between the front and back seats, shoving back books and shoes and tools out of her way. A second later Maggie’s raincoat dropped over her. She felt the car swerve and slow, then reverse briefly and stop. There was the scent of clover through the open windows. The driver’s door opened, slammed again.
“Hi,” said Maggie’s bright voice from the outside. “Got a problem?”
“Yeah, this little kitten ran out in front of my car. I swerved and hit the rail, but I’m afraid I bumped him a little.” A man talking, pleasant and apologetic. “I picked him up to take him to a vet, but now the car’s wobbling and I’m afraid to go any farther.”
“Tough luck.” Maggie’s sympathetic voice was farther away now. “Poor little fellow.”
“Could you give us a lift?” He was just outside. Mary Beth lay very still in the musty darkness under the raincoat.
“Why don’t I just take a look at your car? Where’s your key?”
Oh God, Maggie, you fool, you goddamn fool.
“No, don’t bother, you could just give me a lift to a vet. I’ll call the service station from there.”
“I’m pretty good with motors,” Maggie declared. “Maybe it’s safe to drive. That would save you a lot of trouble.” She was still faraway, still cheerful. Mary Beth, despairing, could think only of the Lords of Death.
“I know a vet on South Salina,” he said. “You could just drop me there. Hey, what are you doing?” There was a faint creak of metal.
“Just opening your hood. Can’t see much with it closed, can we?”
“Listen, get your hands off my car!” His voice, not so pleasant now, retreated toward hers.
“Golly, I’m just trying to help. No need to get upset.”
“Listen, I don’t want anyone monkeying with my car!”
“I’m not touching your car. I’m just looking.” They were both distant now. Mary Beth had to strain to hear the conversation.
“All I wanted was a ride! Won’t you help the kitten?”
“The kitten isn’t in pain. And you won’t need a ride if it’s safe to drive. Right?”
“Keep your hands off it!”
Mary Beth edged her head up cautiously, looking around carefully. She stopped when she could just see them, several yards farther up the ramp. They were standing by the open hood of a gray Chevrolet parked under a tree at the side of the ramp. At the upper end of the ramp the highway traffic roared by. Maggie’s hands were raised, open, in a gesture of innocence.
“I’m not touching your car. See?”
The man looked at her uncertainly, the kitten limp in his hands.
The hummingbird trick, she’d said.
“If you would let me touch it, I could check a couple of things,” she continued. “Why don’t you get in and start it? Not much exterior damage. It may be okay.”
He was not a particularly tall man, only an inch or so taller than Maggie, but he was heavy and muscular. He wore jeans and a brown striped shirt. Now he suddenly glanced back in Mary Beth’s direction. For an instant she feared he’d seen her, frozen there in the back, but he seemed to be looking at the side of the road next to the cars. He suddenly took his decision, set the kitten in the grass, and moved away from Maggie to the passenger side of the hood. He pointed to the motor.
“Look, could that be it?”
“The alternator? I doubt it. Wouldn’t make it wobble.”
“No. I mean under there.” He was still pointing.
Maggie glanced up at the highway and back toward her own car as she walked around the front of his. Mary Beth risked a glance through the side window. An abrupt drop of several feet beyond the shoulder of the road next to their car. Trees and bushes. Anyone down there could not be seen from the highway.
Maggie arrived next to him, watching him now. He said, “Down there.” And very deliberately, she leaned over to look into the engine.
The knife was out instantly against her ribs, and his other hand seized her hand, pressing it up behind her to her shoulder blades. Mary Beth felt faint. She sank back under the raincoat.
“Ouch! What are you doing?” Maggie sounded annoyed.
“Come on, bitch. Just walk quiet.”
“Look, I was only trying to help! No sense getting mad.”
“Shut up. I’m in charge, not you. Just walk along.”
“Are you taking me back to my car? Listen, I’ll go, you’ve con
vinced me. You don’t have to do the tough act.”
“Just walk along.”
“Okay, okay, I’m walking. What the hell do you want?”
Their footsteps were very close now.
“Just walk. Now down.”
“Down? Uh!” There was a sudden scrambling sound outside. Mary Beth tensed under the raincoat.
“I don’t ... mmmph!” Her voice was suddenly cut off.
So Maggie too, her bold bright friend, her hope and prop, had been broken. The Lords of Death had won again.
What would I do if I were free, in control, if I could choose? Mary Beth wondered numbly. Maybe pick up this wrench. Open the door quietly so he wouldn’t notice. Check the approaches for cover. If I were free.
She picked up the wrench, opened the door, and checked for cover. He’d be hiding from the highway, so there would be bushes screening them from that side. Keeping low, she crept behind the car, down into the bushes, slowly. There was the sound of a scuffle, twigs breaking. She stayed low. They were just ahead now.
A branch jabbed her cheek. She thought, Jesus, I’m as big a fool as she is.
Then there was no time for thought. She saw them through the lattice of branches and blowing leaves. They were in profile, Maggie on her back, legs braced against the ground. He was bent over her, one knee on her stomach. His left hand was clamped across her mouth and nose, hard. But the problem was clearly the knife. Both of Maggie’s hands were on his right forearm. He was pushing the blade toward her neck; she was pushing his arm away. Their muscles strained, his thick arm bulging, Maggie’s leaner, smoother arms taut with effort too. She moved a knee clumsily against his side and he shifted suddenly and rammed his weight against it, pinning her leg to the ground. She had not faltered in the pressure on his knife hand, but he had loosened his grip on her mouth an instant as his weight shifted, and Mary Beth heard her suck in a great breath before his hand pressed down again.
Mary Beth thought coolly. Nick had said wham him quick.
Shifting sideways and checking for quiet footing, she found a place where she could emerge right behind him. She chose the spot, right on the back of the head, stood up, and lunged. She struck just in time, it seemed, because Maggie’s pained blue eyes were flickering and her strong gymnast’s arms suddenly slackening. The knife was already slicing through the side of Maggie’s plaid shirt when Mary Beth slammed the wrench into the man’s skull.
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