by Robert Bloch
“He’s what? Oh, he did? When was that? I see. What’d he have to say? It’s all right, you can tell me. I already know all about it. Yeah . . .
“What’s that again? Yeah. Yeah. And then he left, eh? Did he say where he was going? Oh, you think so? Sure. No, that’s all . . .
“No, there’s no trouble. Just that I thought he might check in here. Say, while I’ve got you, you don’t think he might have stopped back later on in the evening, do you? What time you generally go to bed out there? Oh, I see. Well, I guess this just about covers it, then. Thanks for the information, Bates.”
He hung up and swiveled around to face them.
“Looks like your man headed for Chicago,” he said.
“Chicago?”
Sheriff Chambers nodded. “Sure. That’s where the girl said she was going. Your friend Arbogast sounds like a pretty smooth operator to me.”
“What do you mean? What did that man Bates tell you just now?” Lila leaned forward.
“The same thing Arbogast told you yesterday evening when he called in from there. Your sister stayed at the motel last Saturday, but she didn’t register under her own name. Called herself Jane Wilson, said she was from San Antonio. Let it slip that she was on her way to Chicago.”
“It couldn’t have been Mary, then. Why, she doesn’t know anyone in Chicago; she’s never been there in her life!”
“According to Bates, Arbogast was certain this was the girl. Even checked her handwriting. Her description, the car, everything fitted. Not only that, once he heard about Chicago, Bates says he took off from there like a bat out of hell.”
“But that’s ridiculous! She has a week’s start—if she was going there at all, that is. And he’d never find her in Chicago.”
“Maybe he knew where to look. Maybe he didn’t tell you two all he’d found out about your sister and her plans.”
“What else could he know that we don’t?”
“Never can tell about these smart operators. Could be he had some idea of just what your sister was up to. If he could get to her and lay his hands on that money, he might not be so interested in reporting back to his company again.”
“Are you trying to say that Mr. Arbogast was a crook?”
“All I’m saying is that forty thousand in cash is a lot of money. And if Arbogast didn’t show up here again, it means he had something figured out.” The Sheriff nodded. “Must have been working the angles all along, the way it looks to me. Else why wouldn’t he at least stop in here beforehand and see if I could help? You say he already checked out of the hotel yesterday.”
“Now wait a minute, Sheriff,” Sam said. “You’re jumping to conclusions. You’ve got nothing to go by except what this man Bates said over the phone just now. Couldn’t he be lying?”
“Why should he? He told a straight story. Said the girl had been there, said Arbogast was there.”
“Where was he last night when I came, then?”
“Fast asleep in bed, just like I thought,” the Sheriff answered. “Look here, I know this fella Bates. He’s kind of an odd one in his way, not too bright, or at least that’s how he always struck me. But he certainly isn’t the type who’d ever pull any fast ones. Why shouldn’t I believe him? Particularly when I know your friend Arbogast was lying.”
“Lying? About what?”
“You told me what he said when he called you from the motel, last night. Well, that was just a stall. He must have already found out about Chicago, and he wanted to keep you quiet long enough for him to get a good head start. That’s why he lied.”
“I don’t understand Sheriff. Just what did he lie about?”
“Why, when he said he was going up to see Norman Bates’s mother. Norman Bates has no mother.”
“He hasn’t?”
“Not for the last twenty years he hasn’t. She’s dead.” Sheriff Chambers nodded. “Quite a scandal around these parts—surprised you don’t remember it, but you were only a kid, then. She built this motel with a fella name of Considine, Joe Considine. She was a widow, understand, and the talk was that she and Considine were—” The Sheriff stared at Lila, then broke off with an aimless wave of the hand. “Anyways, they never did get married. Something must of went wrong, maybe she was in a family way, maybe Considine had a wife back where he came from. But one night they both took strychnine together. Regular poison pact, you might say. Her son, this Norman Bates, he found them both. Guess it was pretty much of a shock. Way I remember it, he was laid up in the hospital for a couple of months, after. Didn’t even go to the funeral. But I went. That’s how I’m sure his mother is dead. Hell, I was one of the pallbearers!”
— 12 —
Sam and Lila had dinner over at the hotel.
It was not an enjoyable meal for either of them.
“I still can’t believe Mr. Arbogast would go off without a word to us,” Lila said, putting down her coffee cup. “And I can’t believe Mary would to to Chicago, either.”
“Well, Sheriff Chambers believes it.” Sam sighed. “And you’ve got to admit Arbogast lied to me about seeing Bates’s mother.”
“Yes, I know. It doesn’t make sense. On the other hand, neither does this story about Chicago. Mr. Arbogast didn’t know any more about Mary than what we could tell him.”
Sam set his dessert spoon down next to the sherbet cup. “I’m beginning to wonder how much any of us really knows about Mary,” he said. “I’m engaged to her. You lived with her. Neither of us could believe she’d take that money. And yet there’s no other answer. She did take it.”
“Yes.” Lila’s voice was low. “I believe that, now. She took the money. But she wouldn’t do it for herself. Maybe she thought she could help you, maybe she wanted to bring it to help pay off your debts.”
“Then why didn’t she come to me? I wouldn’t have accepted anything from her, even if I didn’t know the money was stolen. But if she believed I might, then why didn’t she come?”
“She did. At least, she got as far as that motel.” Lila crumpled her napkin, held it wadded tightly in her hand. “That’s what I was trying to tell the sheriff. We know she got as far as the motel. And just because Arbogast lied, that’s no reason why this man Bates can’t be lying, too. Why doesn’t the sheriff at least go out there and take a look around for himself, instead of just talking to him on the phone?”
“I don’t blame Sheriff Chambers for refusing,” Sam told her. “How could he go any further? On what grounds, what evidence? What is he supposed to be looking for? You can’t just go breaking in on people for no reason. Besides, they don’t operate that way in a small town. Everybody knows everybody else, nobody wants to stir up trouble or cause unnecessary hard feeling. You heard what he said. There’s nothing to make anyone suspect Bates. He’s known him all his life.”
“Yes, and I’ve known Mary all my life. But there were some things about her I didn’t suspect, either. He admitted this man was a little peculiar.”
“He didn’t go that far. He said he was sort of a recluse. That’s understandable, when you think of what a shock it must have been to him when his mother died.”
“His mother.” Lila frowned. “That’s the one thing I can’t get through my head. If Arbogast wanted to lie, why should he lie about a thing like that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was just the first thing he—”
“In fact, if he was planning to run off, then why did he bother to call up at all? Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just leave, without our even knowing he’d actually been to that motel?” She let go the napkin and stared at Sam. “I—I’m beginning to get an idea.”
“What’s up?”
“Sam, just what did Arbogast say there at the last, when he called you? About seeing Bates’s mother?”
“He said that he’d noticed her sitting at the bedroom window when he drove in.”
“’Maybe he wasn’t lying.”
“But he had to be. Mrs. Bates is dead, you heard what the sheriff said.”
>
“Maybe it was Bates who lied. Perhaps Arbogast merely assumed that the woman was Bates’s mother, and when he spoke of it, Bates said yes. He said she was sick, and nobody could see her, but Arbogast insisted. Isn’t that what he told you?”
“That’s right. But I still don’t see—”
“No, you don’t. But Arbogast did. The point is, he saw somebody sitting in the window when he drove in. And maybe that somebody was—Mary.”
“Lila, you don’t think that—”
“I don’t know what to think. But why not? The trail ends there at the motel. Two people are missing. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that enough for me, as Mary’s sister, to go to the sheriff and insist that he make a thorough investigation?”
“Come on,” said Sam. “Let’s get going.”
They found Sheriff Chambers at his house, finishing dinner. He chewed on a toothpick while he listened to Lila’s story.
“I dunno,” he said. “You’d have to be the one to sign the complaint—”
“I’ll sign anything you want. Just so you go out there and look around.”
“Couldn’t we wait until tomorrow morning? I mean, I’m expecting word about those bank robbers and all, and—”
“Now, just a minute,” Sam said. “This is a serious business, Sheriff. This girl’s sister has been missing for over a week now. It isn’t just a matter of money any more. For all we know, her life could be in danger. She could even be—”
“All right! You don’t have to tell me my business, Sam. Come on, let’s go over to the office and I’ll let her sign. But if you ask me, it’s a waste of time. Norman Bates is no murderer.”
The word emerged, just like any other word, and died away. But its echo lingered. Sam heard it and Lila heard it. It stayed with them as they drove over to the courthouse annex with Sheriff Chambers. It stayed with them after the Sheriff drove away, out to the motel. He’d refused to take either of them along; told them to wait. So they waited in the office, just the two of them. The two of them—and the word.
It was late afternoon when he returned. He came in alone, giving them a look in which disgust and relief were equally compounded.
“Just what I told you,” he said. “False alarm.”
“What did you—”
“Hold your horses, young lady. Give me a chance to sit down, I’ll tell you about it. Went straight out there and didn’t run into any trouble at all. Bates, he was down in the woods behind the house, getting himself some kindling. I never even had to show the warrant—he was nice as pie. Told me to go look around for myself, even gave me the keys to the motel.”
“And did you look?”
“Of course I did. I went into every unit of the motel, and I covered that house of his from top to bottom. Didn’t find a soul. Didn’t find anything. Because there’s nobody there. Nobody’s been there, except Bates. He’s lived alone all these years.”
“What about the bedroom?”
“There’s a bedroom up front on the second floor, all right, and it used to be his mother’s, when she was alive. That part’s straight enough. In fact, he even kept it the way it was. Says he has no other use for it, seeing as how he’s got the whole house to himself. Guess he’s kind of an odd one, that Bates, but who wouldn’t be, living alone like that all these years?”
“Did you ask him about what Arbogast told me?” Sam murmured. “About seeing his mother when he drove in, and all that?”
“Sure, right away. He says it’s a lie—Arbogast never even mentioned seeing anyone. I talked kind of rough to him at first, on purpose, just to see if there was something he was holding back on, but his story makes sense. I asked him about this Chicago business again, too. And I still think that’s the real answer.”
“I can’t believe it,” Lila said. “Why would Mr. Arbogast make up that unnecessary excuse about seeing Bates’s mother?”
“You’ll have to ask him, next time you see him,” Sheriff Chambers told her. “Maybe he saw her ghost sitting in the window.”
“You’re sure his mother is dead?”
“I already told you I was there, at the funeral. I saw the note she left for Bates when she and this Considine fella killed themselves. What more do you want? Do I have to dig her up and show her to you?” Chambers sighed. “I’m sorry, miss. Didn’t mean to fly off that way. But I’ve done all I can. I searched the house. Your sister isn’t there, this man Arbogast isn’t there. Didn’t find a trace of their cars, either. Seems to me the answer’s pretty plain. Anyway, I’ve done all I can.”
“What would you advise me to do, now?”
“Why, check with this fella Arbogast’s home office, see if they know anything. Maybe they’ve got some lead on this Chicago angle. Don’t suppose you can contact anyone until tomorrow morning, though.”
“I guess you’re right.” Lila stood up. “Well, thank you for all your trouble. I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
“That’s what I am here for. Right, Sam?”
“Right,” Sam answered.
Sheriff Chambers stood up. “I know how you feel about all this, miss,” he said. “I wish I could have been more of a help to you. But there’s just nothing solid for me to go on. If you only had some kind of real evidence, now, then maybe—”
“We understand,” Sam said. “And we both appreciate your cooperation.” He turned to Lila. “Shall we go now?”
“You look into this Chicago business,” the big man called after them. “So long, now.”
Then they were on the sidewalk. The late afternoon sun cast slanting shadows. As they stood there the black tip of the Civil War veteran’s bayonet grazed Lila’s throat.
“Want to come back to my place?” Sam suggested. The girl shook her head.
“The hotel?”
“No.”
“Where would you like to go, then?”
“I don’t know about you,” Lila said. “But I’m going to that motel.”
She raised her face defiantly, and the sharp shadow line slashed across her neck. For a moment, it look as though somebody had just cut off Lila’s head . . .
— 13 —
Norman knew they were coming, even before he saw them driving in.
He didn’t know who they’d be, or what they’d look like, or even how many of them would come. But he knew they were coming.
He’d known it ever since last night when he lay in bed and listened to the stranger pound on the door. He had stayed very quiet, not even getting up to peek through the upstairs window. In fact, he’d even put his head under the covers while he waited for the stranger to go away. Finally, he did leave. It was lucky that Mother was locked in the fruit cellar. Lucky for him, lucky for her, lucky for the stranger.
But he’d known, then, that this wouldn’t be the end of it. And it wasn’t. This afternoon, when he was down at the swamp again, cleaning up, Sheriff Chambers had driven in.
It gave Norman quite a start, seeing the Sheriff again, after all these years. He remembered him very well, from the time of the nightmare. That’s the way Norman always thought about Uncle Joe Considine and the poison and everything—it had been a long, long nightmare from the moment he phoned the Sheriff until months afterward, when they let him out of the hospital to come back here to the house once more.
Seeing Sheriff Chambers now was like having the same nightmare all over, but people do have the same nightmare again and again. And the important thing to remember was that Norman had fooled the Sheriff the first time, when everything had been much harder. This time it should be even easier, if he remembered to be calm. It should be, and it was.
He answered all the questions, he gave the Sheriff the keys, he let him search the house alone. That was even funny, in a way—letting the Sheriff go up to the house and search while Norman stayed down at the edge of the swamp and finished smoothing out all the footprints. It was funny, that is, as long as Mother kept quiet. If she thought Norman was down there in the cellar, if she cried out or made a sound, then t
here’d be real trouble. But she wouldn’t do that, she had been warned, and besides the Sheriff wasn’t even looking for Mother. He thought she was dead and buried.
How he’d fooled him the first time! Yes, and he fooled him just as easily again, because the Sheriff came back and he hadn’t noticed a thing. He asked Norman some more questions about the girl and Arbogast and going to Chicago. Norman was tempted to invent a little more—maybe even say that the girl had mentioned staying at a certain hotel up there—but on second thought he realized it wouldn’t be wise. It was better to just stick to what he’d already made up. The Sheriff believed that. He almost apologized before he went away.
So that part was settled, but Norman knew there’d be more. Sheriff Chambers hadn’t come out here just on his own initiative. He wasn’t following up any hunch—he couldn’t be, because he hadn’t known anything. His phone call yesterday was the tipoff. It meant somebody else knew about Arbogast and the girl. They got Sheriff Chambers to call. They sent the stranger out here last night, to snoop. They sent the Sheriff out today. And the next step would be to come out themselves. It was inevitable. Inevitable.
When Norman thought about that, his heart started up again. He wanted to do all sorts of crazy things—run away, go down into the cellar and put his head in Mother’s lap, go upstairs and pull the covers back over his head. But none of this would help. He couldn’t run away and leave Mother, and he couldn’t risk taking her with him, now; not in her condition. He couldn’t even go to her for comfort or advice. Up until last week, that’s just what he would have done, but he didn’t trust her any more, couldn’t trust her after what had happened. And pulling the covers over his head wouldn’t help.
If they came here again, he’d have to face them. That was the only sensible solution. Just face them, stick to his story, and nothing would happen.
But meanwhile he had to do something about the way his heart pounded.
He sat there in the office, all alone. Alabama had pulled out early this morning, and Illinois had left right after lunch. There were no new customers. It was beginning to cloud up again, and if the storm came he needn’t expect any business this evening. So one drink wouldn’t hurt. Not if it made his heart calm down again.