"How do you feel, hon?" Crystal asked in a drawl that sounded like a candied pear tasted. Caitlin, who talked and giggled through her nose and regretted it, had long wished she could sound like her cousin. Languid and laid-back and ripely flirtatious. You allllllll. But you had to be born there, hock-deep in hominy grits. A way down south in de land o'cotton.

  "I feel like shid."

  "Me, too, kind of." But Crystal's eyes had too much sparkle for Caitlin to take her seriously.

  "I just wand to ged oud of this place."

  "They said we could leave, right after we signed the depositions." Crystal laid a thoughtful finger against one temple. "Whatever they are." There was dreamy, bashful Crystal, whom the boys went after in yapping packs, and then there was Crystal the premed student at Rutgers, fours across the board in all the hard subjects Caitlin found unendurable at her own college. Chem. Biology. Physics. Ughhhh.

  Crystal sat down on the bed beside Caitlin, hands on her knees.

  "Want to get somethin' to eat?"

  "No. Why is id so fucking hod in here?"

  "I woke up with the shivers and shakes, so I turned the thermostat way up. Well, I'm hungry. Kind of." She looked appealingly at Caitlin. "What say we get dressed and go down-stair? Some company, sure, touch of sun, little lovin' cup of hot chocolate on the terrace, maybe."

  "If we can avoid the boys. Because then all we'll be able to talk aboud is— " Caitlin drew a forefinger across her throat, choking realistically.

  Crystal looked mildly at her.

  "What you got to do now is, just put it out of your mind. I did."

  "Id could have been any one of us," Caitlin said, with a look of doom, clenching her lower lip between her teeth.

  "Noooo, Lord! He wasn't that kind of crazy. I mean, I think all he had in mind was to do in his girl friend. Who knows what she did to deserve it."

  "Deserve id! Her head was splid open and her brains were oozing all down her face. Her bones were so crushed— "

  "Shhh! It was a crime of passion, it's over and done, he'll get what's comin' to him. No way we can bring that girl back by agonizin' over her. Now the way you get it out of your mind is, you meditate."

  "Shid. I cand meditate."

  "Anyone can."

  "You can do all sords of things I cand do. I'm so jealous."

  "Why jealous? Lookit how you can ski those slopes. Lord, I am so spaz on skis it's ridiculous. Come on, let me teach you how to meditate. Won't take but a few minutes. You'll feel so much better. That's got the Crystal Kinsman guarantee behind it."

  Caitlin grinned crookedly. "Love to listen to you talk."

  "Just unclasp your hands and uncross your knees there and sit back. Relax."

  "You honestly liked Warren? Did I do good for you this time, Crys?"

  "You did fine. Now listen here to what I'm gonna tell you. First of all do you know what a chakra is?"

  "They ged between my teeth when I ead them."

  "I swear, you just won't be serious for one— "

  The telephone rang. Caitlin tensed and frowned at it.

  "Led's don't answer thad."

  "Why not? Probably your folks or mine. Heard about the murder, wantin' to know are we all right." She reached past Caitlin and answered on the second ring. Listened.

  "Yes, I am. Yes. Yes, we are. Who did you say?" Her eyes shadowed briefly. "I see. Yes, sir. I am real sorry about that. How can we help? Well, we were just now doin' our best to try to forget— "

  Caitlin pulled the covers over her head and sank down in the bed with a muted cry of despair. Crystal listened, talked, listened.

  "Who was thad?" Caitlin demanded in a muffled voice after Crystal hung up.

  "Said his name was Conor Devon. He's the brother of that boy. Wanted to know if we could see him for a few minutes."

  "Don't tell me. Don't tell me you promised— !"

  "Poor man. He was all but in tears on the telephone. This is such a tragedy, Caitlin. Her family. His. Nobody understands a thing about how or why it happened. I think since God saw fit to put us there in that tavern last night, we have a duty to help as much as we possibly can."

  "I'm nod gedding oud of this bed until id's time to go back to Mount Holyoke!"

  "Don't be that way."

  "There was nod one square inch of her body thad wasn't— "

  "Stop that. Get dressed, now."

  "You mean he's coming over here? To the chalet?"

  "He's down-stair a-waitin' on us right now, hon."

  Caitlin was dead still for several seconds; then she threw off the covers and went bounding starkers toward the bathroom.

  "I'm going to be sick!"

  She slammed the door. Crystal looked back and raised her voice slightly.

  "Caitlin, do you want to wear that cute pumpkin-colored jump suit, or just a wool skirt and a blouse?"

  31

  Conor learned immediately that it was Crystal Kinsman of Biloxi, Mississippi, whom he could relate to. The other girl, Caitlin, who sat slumped in her chair on the hotel's second-story sun deck, was ill and sulky and unfriendly. She drank two bloody marys through a straw, shaded her eyes with one hand, and stared at Conor as if he were somehow responsible for what Rich had done. Crystal cut a Monte Cristo sandwich into small golden bites and ate steadily while she answered Conor's questions.

  "We were havin' a nightcap with our dates when she came into the bar."

  Conor looked at his notes. "The boys are Warren Hasper and Jeff Pepperdine?"

  "Yes, sir. Warren was my date, and Caitlin here has been goin' with Jeff for about a year."

  "He's a senior at Williams," Caitlin volunteered, moodily stirring her drink.

  "Anyhow, she came into the tavern and I couldn't help noticin' her even though it's not the brightest in there, because she was just so attractive and didn't have anybody with her, you know? And the bartender, I don't know his name— ''

  "Donald Ray Stemmons," Conor said.

  "— Asked her did she want a quick one, because they were fixin' to close. And she said, 'No, I'm just lookin' for someone.' Then she must have described her boyfriend to Mr. Stemmons, but her back was turned, I couldn't hear what she was sayin'. Okay. Mr. Stemmons shook his head. About that time, this drunk ol' boy who was at the bar sort of slipped off his stool and sat there, real comical, on the floor. Then— " Crystal took a deep breath, licked her lips tidily and glanced off at the skiers on the mountain. "Then your brother, he knocked on the glass of the terrace doors, to get his girl's attention."

  Caitlin grimaced and shuddered, slumped down a little more in her chair and touched a sore pimple at the root of her retrousse nose.

  Conor said, "Rich knocked on the doors, from outside on the terrace. Could you see his face?"

  "No, sir, couldn't make him out. He was just a dark shape there against the glass. And he called to her."

  "How close was Karyn to him?"

  "Oh— she must have been a good fifteen feet away. She didn't seem to know him at first, or recognize his voice. She kind of hesitated, then when he called again— his voice was muffled, like he had a scarf over his mouth— she went straight to the doors and gave a couple good yanks to try and open them. But they were frozen shut."

  "And Rich was standing right outside all this time?"

  "Yes, maybe two or three feet away from the doors. But she still couldn't get them open, so— she told him to come on in, round by way of the lobby. He wouldn't budge. Then she asked the bartender was there another way outside, and he told her, and she left. Mr. Stemmons came out from behind the bar, said he had to lock up; next thing I know the girl screamed."

  "I don't know why we have to tell this again," Caitlin complained. "I don't even wand to think aboud whad happened next."

  "It's very important," Conor said, "that I know exactly what happened."

  Crystal took time to break a Hershey bar in half and stir the pieces into a cup of steaming hot chocolate. Caitlin watched this in exasperation and envy.

  "After that, it was kind of confused for all of us," Crystal explained. "Because, that first scream, we all just knew it was somethin' awful. We looked around, but there wasn't much to be seen. It was just shadows."

  "All I saw was him," Caitlin put in. "You couldn't see her because he'd already knocked her down; I guess he was standing ride on top of her. Then he bent over her, or maybe he kneeled in the snow and raised his hand, and the bartender, he goes, 'Shid!' Like that. He was closer to the terrace and we were across the room. He could tell your brother had something in his hand and was aboud to hid her again."

  Conor rubbed his aching head and had a long swallow of the beer he'd been working on.

  "But," Crystal said, "she screamed again before he could hit her a second time. And all of us, we'd been kind of frozen for a few seconds after that first one, we just jumped up and all ran to the doors. Pushin', shovin', it was a madhouse. And one scream after another. She got up a couple of times, Lord knows how she managed, she was tottering, goin' around in circles in the snow tryin' to hold her head up while he took a rest, or whatever. Then whack, he'd knock her down again with what he had in his hand. Finally she didn't move. We were screamin', too, I tell you, bangin' against the doors. He didn't pay attention, didn't even look our way. Kept flailin' away with his club or tire tool or whatever it was— "

  "Id was a big iron bar," Caitlin said. Tension haunted her, like an indistinct blue shape lying just beneath the skin. "I saw id ride after. He'd dropped id. And id was all stuck up with her blood and skin and brains." She coughed harshly and turned her pretty, bony face away from them. Conor gazed at Crystal with sad reddened eyes.

  "I know," Crystal said sympathetically, "that this is a terrible thing for you to have to listen to."

  "How did Rich act afterwards?"

  "I couldn't tell you. I never went near him. You see, Mr. Stemmons shoved us all out of the way and broke down the doors with a barstool and went boundin' out there in the snow, the boys right behind him. They were real brave to do that because for all anybody knew your brother could've had a knife or a gun too. I went the other way, to the telephone, and called the police. By the time I got back to the tavern, it was all over. A few other people had come to find out what was goin' on. It turned into bedlam. But I admit, I couldn't make myself go any closer. She was down in the snow, just a dark shape, face up, I think, but like she'd fallen off a twenty-story building. Your brother, well, they had him surrounded, three husky guys, Warren and Jeff and the bartender. And Caitlin was right there too."

  "I— " Her voice betrayed a tendency to croak; she cleared her throat with an effort. "I tried to help the girl, but ride away I could tell id wasn't any use. She was pulp. Just pulp. When I was fifteen we were coming home from a football game, convoys of cars, paper streamers and all thad, the lead car god into a head-on with a big truck and, you know, there were six kids in thad car and probably three of them were killed instantly. Just as soon as you see them, scaddered around on the road, you can tell there's no hope."

  "How was Rich acting?" Conor asked Caitlin. But she had retreated from thinking of the dead, unlucky at highway roulette; she was sullen in contemplation of her own vulnerability, and wouldn't speak.

  "Crazy, Warren says," Crystal volunteered.

  "Crazy?"

  "Oh, talkin' to himself. Sayin' she was a hoor and deserved to die, she'd suck anybody's see-oh-see-kay, if you'll pardon me, and other filthy stuff like that. Well, those were the words you could understand. Other times it was like he was talkin' in a foreign language, or just plain gibberish. They had a pretty good hold on him but every once in a while he'd try to make a move in her direction. Say, 'Come on, Karyn. Get up.' Like he was real annoyed she was lyin' there like that. 'Let's go to bed.' I mean, that's crazy, after what he'd done to her. I wish I could spare your feelings, Conor."

  Conor sat with his face in his hands. "Go on."

  "Then the cops came, they made good time although I couldn't tell you just how long it was. Mr. Stemmons opened the bar for us, thank the Lord. They questioned us there, then took us all down to the station till about— what time did you get back this mornin', Caitlin?"

  "I don't remember." She sniffed and looked hard at Conor. "Your brother knows whad he did. He was just pudding on an act. Now he'll probably ged away with id. Thad's why I'm so— disgusted. No punishment is good enough for him, bud"— she began to gulp and cry— "bud everybody's going to say, 'Oh, well, he didn't know whad he was doing. Poor guy.' Shid. Fuck. Piss."

  "I don't suppose," Crystal said, ignoring her cousin, "you have any notion how he could do such a terrible thing?"

  "I only know he loved Karyn very much."

  "Have you seen him yet?"

  "No." Conor looked at his watch. "I'm driving over to Chadbury now."

  Caitlin said, "I'm going to call and see if they have those depositions ready to sign." She got up nervily, throwing a cape around her shoulders, and left the table without a word or a glance at Conor.

  "She's not usually so rude," Crystal explained. "It's just what she went through. Nothin' compared to what you must be goin' through. For what it's worth, I'm sorry as can be. I can tell you were close to your brother."

  "I'd better go. Thanks for talking to me, Crystal. Take care of yourself."

  Crystal polished off the last neat square of her Monte Cristo and looked up at him. In the delicate, faintly rosed complexion that fried foods and love of chocolate couldn't corrupt, in the shape of a wishful smile like that of a child completing prayers, there was tenderness and a purity of feeling that so touched him he was just able to bear it. With a wisp of a handshake they parted.

  32

  Before he left the lodge, Conor tried to get a close look at the terrace, but the Crime Scene Search Unit had barricaded it. Not much could be observed from inside the tavern; the broken doors were boarded up. Donald Ray Stemmons, he learned, wouldn't be back at work until the following night. Conor wanted a whiskey but denied himself. He got into his Lincoln and drove down to Chadbury to visit Rich.

  The jail was in a wing of the county courthouse. Conor was relieved of almost everything he had on him, including loose change and a roll of breath mints. They let him wear the crucifix on a thin gold chain around his neck and allowed him to keep his pocket breviary.

  Then he was shown into the small visiting room, which was starkly empty except for a pair of five-foot-long benches bolted to the floor and facing each other. There was no partition between the benches. The door was steel, with a small observation window in it. The ceiling light was recessed, with a heavy wire grill covering, and the two dirty windows had similar grills over them. The floor was scuffed asphalt tile in a mind-drubbing shade of grayish tan. There was nothing to look at while he waited for his brother to be brought to him except for a sign on one wall that forbade smoking. He soon found that the room was a place of subtle torture, the architectural equivalent of a hair shirt. Conor had been perspiring all day despite the January weather, and he smelled himself. The skin beneath his beard flamed and itched. His back was too painful after all the driving he'd done to allow him to sit. He paced slowly and tried to read Scripture while waiting, but the evangelical reverberations, instead of pacifying, resulted in an excess of thought, like a blood blister that jammed the brain, bringing on a headache hot as a geyser. Finally the doors opened, and with a loud rattling of keys and bolts a guard escorted Rich in and locked the door behind him.

  The brothers stood six feet apart, not speaking for a few moments. Conor was too shocked to say anything. Rich wore a wrinkled khaki prison jumpsuit and a cotton sweat jacket with a monkish hood tightly enclosing his face, which was as pale as a marble cameo, dense with ordeal. His feet were bare except for a pair of cheap corduroy slippers. His teeth chattered audibly. His nose had been running; there were dried scales of snot on his upper lip. He needed a shave. He looked shrunken without his shoes. His lips were blue, his eyes starkly mystified; the sight of his brother, vivid in the flesh, sweltering in his anxiety, might temporarily have blinded him.

  "C-Conor."

  "Oh, kid, God love you!"

  They embraced. Rich sobbed, the sob rattling up as if through an abandoned well of the spirit. Exhalations of sorrow were so withering they panicked Conor, reminding him of why he was no longer a priest.

  "Karyn's dead."

  It could have been a question; Conor simply nodded, not trusting his own voice.

  "But I, I don't know how it happened! I was there, only it really— wasn't— like— being there."

  "What do you mean?" Conor frowned and held his brother at arm's length, taking in the wrecked demeanor, the eyes with a kind of sickly fervor, yet so innocent of intellect, of redemptive thought.

  "That's the truth!" Rich blurted. "I told the doctor. I didn't tell him anything else. He wouldn't have believed me." Emotion sparked briefly in his face as if from a live wire. They studied each other. Conor bit his tongue to still the painful gripe in his guts. "You don't believe me either." He clutched Conor's hands with his own.

  The touch was peculiarly unpleasant, as if Rich's hands had no skin, were lumps of dead flesh. And the nails were dark red, still packed— God, how could it be?— with Karyn's blood and tissue. Conor fought his own gorge; his blood was cold; at that moment he loathed Rich with a savagery that snapped the boy to attention, caused his eyes to flare in frightened recognition.

  Shame flooded through Conor, sweeping away the destructive emotion, the betrayal of their brotherhood. "I'm going to get you out of here, Rich. I'll get you a damned good lawyer, and a priest."

  Rich turned his face aside. "That won't do any good," he said coldly. From moment to moment it was like talking to totally different people. "I killed Karyn. Don't you think I deserve to die?" He glanced at Conor, away again, a sudden chilling evasiveness, eyes leaping wide in demented enchantment, his mouth twisted, meanly amused.

  Conor fought that smile, shaking Rich, reordering his expression as if his face were that of a craftily lifelike doll.

 

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