Wicked things, p.15
Wicked Things, page 15
“Yes, yes. You’re welcome.”
“But there is something very wrong with this town, and I can’t just carry on skating around it, trying to rationalize it away.”
“What is it?” he said again.
“That’s what I want you to tell me, because you know what it is. Your family has been here for generations. You grew up here and you’ve spent most of your life in this town. If anyone knows this place and these people, it’s you.”
He waited so long to speak that he had to work up a rinse of saliva before his mouth would function.
“What are you talking about?”
I’d had too much of that posture. “Doctor, please. I’m talking about the light in the earth, which really does move, because I’ve seen it and felt its sting. I’m talking about those munchkins all done up in white who run around singing and yelping and chanting at night. I’ve heard them several times, I’ve seen them a couple of times, and they beat the shit out of me. You’ve got a picture-perfect town here, all neat and tidy, everything in its place. But you’ve also got a sin strip that would make large cities like Boston and Philly downright jealous. And you’ve also got this group, the Order of St. Michael, who have some very strange beliefs—no matter what you and Father Jimmy say about it. The OSM, which also happens to own significant parcels of land and commercial real estate in and around Winship.”
“It doesn’t add up to much, if you ask me,” Gow said. “Take those curious ideas you attribute to the OSM—do you really think that a whole segment of the population here believes or even knows about such matters? Ordinary townspeople, teachers, lawyers, businessmen, hairdressers, farmers?” Before I could answer, he went on. “No one bothers with that, but even if they did, what possible difference would it make? Look at the denominations like the Mormons and the Seventh Day Adventists, you’ll find beliefs that are equally if not more exotic. Religion is not a matter of legal or scientific truth, it’s about faith.”
“Doctor, I don’t care about anybody’s religion, except insofar as it influences their behavior in this world. In this town.”
“If the light is a natural occurrence,” Gow countered. “If the boys who you say assaulted you were just teenage bullies. If the Order of St. Michael is the benevolent Christian association everyone else knows them to be. You see my point? What do you have? Really, Mr. Carlson, what do you have?”
“Doctor, people disappear in this valley.”
“Disappear?”
“Yes, disappear.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said. “It seems to me that people pick up and leave—all over the country. Every town and city has its certain number of missing persons.”
“No,” I said. “I’m talking about people who really disappear, not just move somewhere else. As if they were swallowed up by the earth. Literally.”
“Literally?” Some of the self-assurance was gone.
“Yes.”
“This is getting silly.” The hollow look in his eyes was impossible to decipher, but his heart didn’t seem to be in his words. “It sounds like those stories you hear about people claiming they were abducted by aliens.” He gave a slight laugh. “Perhaps the aliens live underground.”
“How many more are going to disappear the same way?”
“Is this is all you have left to discuss…?”
“I’ll go in a minute,” I said. “If I’m out of line with a personal question, just say so. No wife, no children? I don’t get any vibe that you’re gay. It’s none of my business, but I’m curious why it worked out that way for you.” I expected him to show anger and indignation, to lead me to the door, but he merely sat there, and his eyes were no longer focused on me. “I mean, a young doctor from a prominent local family, you would have had your choice of the local beauties.”
“It is none of your business,” Gow said. “But since you ask, I don’t mind telling you. I was married, for more than two years. There were no children, and my wife died tragically before our third anniversary.”
“I’m sorry.”
A dismissive hand flutter. “Later, people told me I should remarry and have a family, but I never did. And at some point I even became comfortable with the knowledge that I would be the end of the family line.”
“How did your wife die so young?”
“It was an accident,” he replied, gazing evenly at me. “You and I are both in impossible positions, Mr. Carlson.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You, because you don’t believe anything. Me, because I do.”
Somebody was at the window. We both heard it—the sound of scratching, tapping, hands slapping at the glass. We couldn’t see anything because it was dark outside, but the noises continued—stomping feet racing around the house, hands slapping the walls, and those voices. The chanting and yelling had started, and now it rapidly increased in strength and intensity. “There,” I said. “What the hell is that?” “What you’re looking for,” Gow replied. He appeared to be extremely upset, but he stood there helplessly, his eyes following the sounds outside. “This is what you wanted.”
I went to his desk and picked up the telephone, but couldn’t get a dial tone. I had no intention of letting them come at me again without giving them a good fight. I started to cross the room, intending to find the kitchen and grab a couple of knives, but Gow raised his hand to stop me.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “You’ll be all right.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” I demanded. “Or I swear I’ll get a knife and go out there and draw some blood. It’s the same ones who worked me over the other night, and I’m not going to let them do it again.”
“I told you, you will be all right.”
They pounded the outside of the house, and inside the study the walls were practically shaking. “Why are they doing this?”
“I understand what they’re saying,” Gow told me. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small pill box. I wondered if he had a bad heart or some other condition that was being made worse by the insanity around us. Gow held a capsule in his hand. He looked at me. “I’m sixty-eight years old.”
“What are they saying, singing? Tell me!”
He put the capsule in his mouth, bit down hard on it and swallowed, and that was when I knew it wasn’t medicine. Gow’s face went into a paralytic convulsion. I rushed to him and tried to force his mouth open, brushing bits of powder off his teeth. His eyes screwed up and seemed to vanish into his face. His cheeks were blossoming purple. I got a whiff of bitter almonds. I backed away. He thrashed some, his body bouncing rigidly like a carved log.
Outside, silence again.
CHAPTER XVIII
“Are you on drugs?” Det. Miller angrily asked. I didn’t bother to reply. I just stared at him. “That’s your story? A bunch of schoolkids were running around outside, whooping and thumping and creating a ruckus, and because of that Dr. Gow decided to pull out a cyanide capsule and kill himself?”
“That’s what happened.”
“You’re crazy.”
“He said, ‘I know what they’re saying.’”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“That they, or whoever sent them, wanted Gow to end his life.”
“Oh, I see. Now why didn’t I think of that? I suppose they were singing instructions to him in some foreign language.”
“I didn’t understand any of it.”
“And these were the same kids that beat you up.”
“Yes,” I said. “Of course.”
“But you didn’t actually see them.”
“No. I was asking the doctor to tell me what was going on.”
“You didn’t look out the window?”
“By the time I did, they were gone.”
We were in the kitchen at Gow’s place, me at the table with a cigarette (my third since Gow’s death), Miller circling around, agitated.
“Do you honestly expect me to believe any of this?”
“I don’t care what you believe,” I told him. “Why don’t you just write it up any way you want? Isn’t that the way things are done around here?”
“Fuck you, Carlson.” He was glaring down into my face, but I didn’t blink. I’ve met better performers. “You come to town and people start dying. The people you talk to.”
“You’re still here.”
“I ought to lock you up as a material witness. Let you cool your heels in jail for a few nights and see how you like that.”
“Maybe you ought to book me for murder. Maybe I pulled out the cyanide capsule and forced him to chew it.”
“Don’t think I wouldn’t like to.”
“You know you’re going to write it up as an ordinary suicide case, so what’s the fuss? Don’t even mention the other stuff. I had a couple of George A. Dickels, I probably imagined the kids and all that. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” Miller looked as if he couldn’t tell whether I was still being sarcastic or if I meant it seriously. I wasn’t sure myself.
“Did you call anybody besides the police?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“You’re a goddamn menace,” he muttered.
“Yeah, but to who?”
“Everybody you come into contact with—Bellman, his secretary, and now Dr. Gow. He was a decent man. People liked him, me included.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t kill him. Can I go now?” I asked. “I have to get back to my snooping and nosing around, before somebody else disappears.”
“What do you mean, disappears?”
“Like the others.”
“What others? What’re you talking about now?”
“People disappear in this area,” I said. “They’re swallowed up by the earth. Or maybe it’s just that they get snatched and murdered for some reason. Like a club dancer working in Winship for a couple of weeks, and she disappears for no reason at all. There was another case this week, a dancer, I think. Gow told me about it tonight,” I added.
“He told you what?” Miller demanded.
“About the people who disappear here. About the light. And about the Order of St. Michael—the OSM, the Conservancy, all that land and money.”
What are a few more lies among friends? Gow had discussed those things with me, but he hadn’t really told me anything. But I wanted to see how Miller reacted. He stood there, glaring down at me, but I could see that behind the glare he was perplexed. It was churning inside of him. “You’re a walking, talking crock,” he said.
“If Gow wasn’t old and weak and tired, and a risk to break down and start talking, why would they want him dead?”
“I don’t have time for this bullshit.”
“Just curious, Detective. Are you OSM too?”
“It wouldn’t make any difference if I was,” he insisted with another show of heat. “If a person commits a crime, I put him in jail. Doesn’t matter if he’s OSM or a Jaycee or my own brother. I’m a cop.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He didn’t miss the way I said it. He was right on the edge, and so was I. But he was also afraid of making a mistake. I was ashamed of myself for ever believing that Det. Miller was honest. “Get out of my sight,” he said, turning away.
I drove immediately to Penny Lane. Funny, I had mentioned a specific case, a dancer, but Miller never responded to it. He didn’t ask me any questions, he didn’t claim that I had to be mistaken, he didn’t address it at all, and that is not the way he should have reacted.
I felt uncomfortable prowling around in the fevered darkness of the club looking for Kelly. She was one of four girls dancing on a long runway. I slid onto a stool at the edge of her territory. A waitress brought me an overpriced beer. I watched. Kelly was busy, working a couple of customers nearby. She shoved her breasts and butt in the face of anyone who slipped some green beneath the waistband of her thong. Guys sat there, holding money up like buyers at a market. I wasn’t Kelly’s boyfriend, but I didn’t like seeing her there. It was no help that she didn’t notice me until I held up a five dollar bill.
At least she wasn’t embarrassed. In fact, she was delighted to see me. I got the in-your-face tit-cuddle, and a tongue in my ear. We exchanged a few whispers and she lingered in front of me for more than one song. She could see I wasn’t comfortable. Ten minutes later, she had a break, and she led me to a dark booth away from the crowd.
“I didn’t think you’d come here,” she told me, “but I’m glad you did. How are you feeling? Getting better?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I tried calling you, but the line was busy. I was worried about you.”
“You were?” She liked that. “The line’s busy most of the time, unfortunately. Two girls and one phone per room, somebody is always looking for a phone that isn’t being used. What have you been doing?”
“This and that,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“Did you or any of the other girls tell the police about Amber?”
“No, of course not.”
“I didn’t think so. But they know.”
“They do? How do you know that?”
“I just do,” I said, “and I can tell you that they’re not going to do anything about it. This whole town is dangerous, Kelly. Something’s happening here. You’re not safe. I think you should leave Winship as soon as possible.”
She frowned. “What is happening?”
“My case is going to blow things up here soon,” I said. “The people who are involved are getting desperate.”
“I don’t know, Jack. The money I make here is my future.”
“Kelly, I’m talking about you having a future Just tell them that there’s an illness in your family back home. Tell them you’ll be back at the next city on the circuit. They’ll let you go, and they’ll hold your job for you.”
“I don’t know.”
“If they don’t, fuck it. Go anyway.”
“Why would they worry about me?”
“People seem to die or disappear in this place for any number of reasons,” I told her. “Isn’t what happened to Amber enough for you?”
“I could have been wrong,” Kelly said forlornly. “It could be that she walked away and we didn’t notice. Maybe she just snuck off and left town.”
“Did she take her things?” Kelly didn’t speak. “She didn’t leave, not of her own free will. The people who run this town are a part of it.”
Then I told her about what happened earlier that night, the crazy scene at Gow’s house, his suicide, and why I believed that the police really knew what it was all about.
“God,” she said.
“Somebody’s God, yeah.”
“What’re you going to do, Jack?”
“I’m getting out too, in a few days,” I said. “I still have a few things to do, then I’ll be ready to deliver everything I know to the companies—and to the district attorney and the FBI.”
“Wow.”
“If I go, can I go with you?”
“You shouldn’t wait for me.”
“But how can I leave?”
“Rent a car.”
“If it’s just for a couple more days, I might as well wait until you’re ready to leave too,” Kelly said firmly, her mind made up. “And who knows? Maybe I can help you out, one way or another—right, daddy?”
CHAPTER XIX
It was nearly three in the morning when I found Jenny doing her rounds of the ward at the hospital. She was surprised to see me, and she took me to a deserted lounge area where we drank some machine coffee and talked briefly.
“Gow’s dead.”
“I know,” she said. “News went around the hospital about an hour ago. They said that someone was with him. Was that you?”
“Yes, I was there.”
“And was it really suicide?”
“You could say that.”
She gave me a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
“Jenny, everything’s bad, very bad. Tell me exactly what you heard about Dr. Gow’s death?”
“Just that he had company and he suddenly killed himself,” she said. “For no apparent reason.”
“That would be the official word. But I suppose I should be grateful they’re not blaming me for it.”
“Not yet anyway.”
“Thanks a lot.”
I told her everything—what Gow and the priest had told me about the Order, my words with Gow as the house was surrounded by the same howling band that had beaten me up, the doctor’s death, and my session with Miller. I told her the same things I told the detective.
She shook her head slowly, absorbing the information. “What I don’t understand is why they haven’t just killed you”
“Thanks again.”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “You’re their problem.”
“I know, but I’m not just another outsider they can make disappear. I was sent here by some big companies. They probably figure that if anything happens to me, it will only focus more attention on Winship and them. Easier to get rid of the people here who look like weak links or threats, even Gow. The other track, try to scare me off and also to convince me that I don’t have a case against anyone here.”
“But you do have a case?” she asked intently.
“Yes.”
“Tell me again what Gow said to you, at the end.”
“‘I know what they’re saying.’”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely,” I replied.
“But how could they know what he was telling you? He could have been discussing the weather or anything.”
“Right,” I agreed. “That’s why I’d say it was the priest, Father Jimmy Royce. He was there, he knew I’d spoken with Gow a number of times, he may have heard something Gow said, or that I said, and decided the doctor’s time was up. But there is one other possibility.”
“What?”
“The kids could have been sent to stiffen Gow’s spine,” I said. “To me, he looked tired of it all, tired and sad. If the message he got was to stay strong, maybe he just decided he couldn’t do that anymore. He told me he was comfortable knowing he would be the end of his family’s line, which is quite a comment, since he came from one of the oldest of the Five Towns families, OSM all the way.”
