Prince of Darkness, page 23
And the living had to be tended. She looked anxiously at Peter. He was seemingly quite composed as he stood talking to the lieutenant in charge. Someone’s borrowed overcoat, several inches too long, was thrown over his shoulders, and his left arm was in a sling. Now that his face was comparatively clean, its pallor was more evident, and the assorted bruises stood out like the stains of corruption.
Kate wondered when he was going to break down. His collapse earlier that night had been temporary; she had gotten him on his feet without too much trouble, and he had walked unaided down the path to the bridle trail. But he walked like a somnambulist, and she knew that he was only partially aware of what he was doing. He was only responding because it was easier than being nagged.
Mentally she was in much the same condition, too numbed by successive shocks to think of anything except the immediate need. And that need was simple. Escape. Get away. Abandon the whole hideous mess, and find a quiet corner to hide in.
The night was dark, with only starlight to guide them. Kate turned automatically into the wider expanse of the bridle path and had taken several dragging steps before she saw the faint light glinting off the chrome trim of a dark bulk in the middle of the path. It was Volz’s car. How the others had come, and gone, she did not stop to wonder. This vehicle’s owner would never claim it.
She got Peter into the car, where he sat slumped and staring, and found, as she ought to have expected, that the keys were not in the ignition. They would be in Volz’s pocket. A shudder ran through her at the thought of retracing her steps and searching for them. She would rather walk, impossible as that prospect now seemed. Then it occurred to her that Hilary might have an extra key—some people kept one in one of those little cases under the hood. Wearily she dragged herself out from under the wheel and—found it.
She was back in the car, inserting the key into the ignition, when the long-delayed reaction struck. She fell forward against the wheel, hands clenched around the slippery plastic, and felt the heavy circle shiver with the spasms of her body.
At her side Peter stirred and reached out for her. She transferred her frantic grip from the steering wheel to his shoulders, and went on shivering. It was a much more satisfactory position, and the slow, rhythmic thud of Peter’s heart under her right ear was the most satisfactory sound she had ever heard, all the more so because there had been moments when she never expected to hear it again.
As the shivering subsided, she realized that she was clinging like a vine and clutching like a limpet, and making disgusting, feeble noises. It wasn’t fair; he had undergone just as great an emotional shock as she, and had taken considerably more physical punishment. No, it wasn’t fair…but it felt absolutely heavenly…. Her mind wandered off into thoughts she would have been ashamed to say aloud; and because Milton had been on her mind (“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven,”) she was reminded of the maddening words he had put into the mouth of Eve.
“‘God is thy law; thou mine; to know no more is woman’s happiest knowledge and her praise,’” she muttered.
“‘He for God only, she for God in him,’” Peter agreed, in his normal voice. “What brought that on? It’s the last sentiment I ever expected to hear from you.”
“You might know a man wrote it. Oh, God, I’m so tired.”
“Not surprising.”
“How are you?”
“Tired.”
“Am I hurting you?”
“Your head,” said Peter literally, “seems to be right on top of that hole in my back. No, don’t move. I guess it’s worth it.”
“We’ve got to move. We can’t stay here all night.”
“Let go of me, then.”
“I can’t. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid I’m dreaming, and that if I wake up you’ll be gone.”
“Don’t start,” Peter said harshly. “If either one of us begins with that sort of thing, we’ll be babbling for hours. Do you want me to drive?”
Kate pushed herself upright, and his arms fell away; but they lingered, in passing, long enough to take any possible sting from his last speech.
“No, I’d better drive.”
After a few minutes she wished she had let him take the wheel. He might be in poorer physical condition, but he couldn’t possibly have done worse, even in his sleep. She felt sure she was hitting every rut and hole in the path; they were both jolted around like ice cubes in a cocktail shaker. The path across the field wasn’t much better, but at last she bumped the car onto the highway and pressed down on the gas pedal. Peter roused himself and asked, “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know,” Kate said blankly, lifting her foot.
“Your friendly local constable won’t believe a word of this. Where’s the nearest state-police barracks?”
“Will they believe it?”
“They will when they see what’s back there,” Peter said grimly, and relapsed into silence.
It was a drive of fifteen or twenty miles, and it took Kate a full forty minutes. She drove like someone who has been drinking, not enough to make him drunk, just enough to be unreliable and yet to be aware of his unreliability. She parked the car, illegally, by the steps of the barracks, and turned to look at Peter. The brief interlude of darkness and silence was over. Now she would have to relive those moments in retelling them. He returned her look of panic with a faint smile and a shrug.
“Take a deep breath,” he said, and opened the car door.
As soon as they went through the door, Kate knew that the way had been paved for them. The sound of a baby yelling burst out at them like a siren. At any other time she would have laughed at the look on the face of the young trooper who was holding the squawling bundle over his shoulder.
“A bachelor, obviously,” said Kate, holding out her arms.
The young man’s professional cool had abandoned him; he didn’t ask who she was, or blink at her fantastic appearance. He dropped the bundle into her arms as if it had been red hot, and wiped his brow on his sleeve.
“It won’t stop yelling,” he explained nervously. “What’s the matter with it?”
“Wet, hungry, and sleepy,” Kate said. She bounced the bundle experimentally and the yells subsided, though they did not die away completely. “It isn’t hurt. It couldn’t make that much noise if it were. It isn’t hurt….” She sat down abruptly in the chair the trooper had vacated, clutching the baby tightly. It responded with an ungrateful squawl, and Kate started to rock back and forth.
“I can’t do anything about any of those things,” the trooper said unhappily.
“You must have something I could tear up for a diaper. Don’t you men sleep here? An old sheet, pillowcase, something.”
“Oh. I guess so.” The boy’s face brightened at the prospect of handing over his job to a suitable female expert. He turned and caught sight of Peter, who was watching him with amusement; and his face hardened into older lines.
“What happened to you? And the lady—she’s been in an accident, or something, too.”
“Or something. It’s a long story,” Peter said. “Take us to your leader, or whatever you call him.”
“There’s somebody with him now. If you’ll tell me—”
“I think we’d better join them,” Peter said, gently but inexorably. “It’s all part of the same—accident.”
“What shall I do with this baby?” Kate turned the unfortunate infant around. “It’s a cute baby,” she said pensively.
“How can you tell? All I can see is its mouth—wide open. Hell,” the trooper said wildly, “bring it along. The lieutenant’s going out of his mind now. What’s one more baby?”
They found Hilary sitting beside the lieutenant’s desk. There were no bright lights; but the air of disbelief was thick. Hilary looked up, startled, at their entrance, and his face broke into a broad white smile of sheer relief that made him look even younger than his eighteen years.
“Man,” he said emphatically, “am I ever glad to see you!”
Kate didn’t blame the lieutenant for being unhappy. He was a wiry little man, older by some twenty years than many of the men under him, and the remnants of what had been a fine head of sandy hair were standing straight up by the end of the story. He didn’t believe it, and he said as much, with amplification.
Peter, who had narrated the tale in a concise, unemphatic manner—with only two small evasions of the truth—made no verbal rebuttal. He simply held out his hands. Some of the swelling had gone down, but the effect was still convincing. Kate couldn’t imagine how he had managed to hold onto the rifle, much less get his finger around the trigger.
The lieutenant breathed twice through his nose. “Better put something on those wrists,” he said, after a moment. “You, too, miss—er—Doctor. You look as if you could stand a little first aid yourself.”
“What I need is a bath,” Kate said vigorously, “and I don’t think there’s time for that now. And Peter doesn’t need any first-aid nonsense either, what he needs is a doctor; that wound in his back ought to be looked at, I don’t know what was on the point of that arrow, maybe poison, even, and—”
“Poison? Arrow?” The lieutenant’s face turned red. “Lady. Please don’t say anything else. We’ll go out to the woods, where you said, and have a look. I can’t be any fairer than that, can I?”
“I’m going to take Dr. More home first,” Peter said. “She needs warmer clothing. We’ll meet you there.”
“And for pity’s sake,” Kate added, transferring the bundle from one aching shoulder to the other, “Let me do something with this baby!”
The lieutenant knew a woman in town who would take care of the baby temporarily. Kate watched it depart, still howling, over the arm of the trooper who had been designated for this task. She was already forming vague plans for the child; such a dramatic beginning to its life merited consideration, if not atonement. Besides, it had provided the only light touch, and a badly needed one, in the whole horrible affair.
Hilary Jackson, who had listened to Peter’s version of the happening with magnificent composure, was not so easy to dispose of. Peter insisted that he be sent home, and the lieutenant was equally determined to keep him. Hilary broke the deadlock himself. He not only had no objection to being detained; he would, he remarked, feel a hell of a lot better with some good thick bars between him and the outside world. Bars, he pointed out, kept people out in addition to keeping them in.
Peter nodded thoughtfully.
“You’ve got a definite point. For the next few hours, at least. I wish I could emulate you.”
“Yeah,” Hilary said unemphatically.
The two men contemplated one another in silence for a moment, Hilary looking down from his magnificent height. They shook hands in frowning silence, and Peter turned on his heel and marched out.
Men, Kate thought disgustedly. She held out her hand.
“He might at least have said ‘Thanks,’” she said. “Hilary …later, when this is finished—”
“Forget it.” He grinned, suddenly and charmingly, and the big hand tightened around hers so vigorously that she barely repressed a squeal of pain. “You didn’t do so badly yourself,” he said.
Now, as she stood shivering in the cold light of the glade, she tried to concentrate on memories like that, and not on the things that lay, broken and abandoned, on the ground. The lieutenant was converted; one look at Mark’s grotesque mask, and the tattered remnants of the other costumes, was enough. Watching his face, which had lost much of its normal ruddy color, Kate wished passionately that she could remain where she was, detached, an observer. But she had to know what was going to happen. And she had to be near Peter when he spoke of his brother.
“I just can’t believe it,” the lieutenant was saying, as she approached. “The most influential people in the whole damn town…Damn it, Stewart, I can’t arrest people like the Senator, not on this charge. Witchcraft! I think they repealed the law a few years back.”
“I don’t give a damn what you do,” Peter said wearily. “You’ll need legal advice, I suppose…. But Dr. More is not without influence herself, you know. At the very least these people must be made to resign from any positions of responsibility they now hold.”
“Particularly Miss Device and the Foundling Home,” Kate said.
“But people got killed,” the lieutenant said helplessly. “I still haven’t got that straight. Who the hell killed who?”
“I’m the only available arrestee,” Peter said calmly. “I shot Martin. Delightful thought,” he added.
“He did it to save the baby,” Kate said. “And Hilary.”
“Yeah, the Jackson kid.” The lieutenant scratched his head. “How does he come into this?”
“He’s the hero,” Peter said. Only Kate, who had, in some odd way, memorized his every gesture and expression, observed the slight narrowing of his eyes. “He saved us, and the child.”
“Yeah,” the lieutenant muttered, “and brought the rifle?”
Kate, who had never played poker, barely repressed an exclamation. She still had an intellectual’s contempt for nonprofessionals; she had to fight that, it led her into dangerous errors—such as assuming that the lieutenant’s bovine face concealed a brain of the same caliber.
“He brought the rifle,” Peter agreed. “And gave it to me.”
“Then your prints will be on it?”
“They already are on it,” Peter said impatiently. “I’ve admitted killing Martin. What the hell are you trying to prove?”
“The facts. Only the facts. So you killed Martin. That would be after he shot the other guy—your—brother, you say?”
“Can’t you leave him alone?” Kate exploded. “He’s hurt and sick and he’s had a terrible shock. We told you what happened. And if you think he lied about something, you’re right.” Peter turned on her, his face forbidding, but Kate rushed on. “He didn’t kill the general, I did; I bashed his head in with the butt of that gun. You’ll find my prints on it too. I did it to keep him from strangling Peter, but I would have done it anyhow, he needed killing as much as Martin did, and if you think I’m ashamed of it you’re crazy, I’ll stand right up and tell any judge and jury all about it, and furthermore—”
Peter relaxed, his lips twitching, and the lieutenant literally threw up his hands.
“Okay, okay, okay! Take it easy, will you, Doc?”
“And don’t call me Doc!”
“Sorry. Look, Doc—I mean, Miss More. I’m not trying to railroad anybody. I just want to find out what happened. I knew there was something fishy; after all these years I’ve got so I can smell a lie. So now I know. So he was trying to protect you. That’s nice. But stupid.”
“And superfluous,” Peter murmured. “She doesn’t need protecting.”
“You’re so right,” the lieutenant agreed.
They exchanged a superior, masculine look, and Kate watched them tolerantly. Under her calm facade her brain was racing.
Peter’s comment had been literally true; he wouldn’t insult her by such an idiotic lie. He was trying to protect someone, but not out of quixotic gallantry. Even if he was acquitted, Hilary Jackson would be irreparably damaged by being tried on a murder charge. And he wasn’t in the clear yet. Neither she nor Peter had been in any condition the night before to remember the one, indisputable piece of evidence which could bring Hilary before a jury.
She forced her eyes from the one tolerable object in the clearing—Peter’s face—and glanced around.
One of the troopers had found the rifle immediately; it lay by Volz’s body, where Peter had dropped it, and after the lieutenant had examined it, it had been stowed away as part of the evidence. The other gun had not yet been found. They hadn’t really gotten around to looking for it yet, being preoccupied with the human remains, and it was probably buried deep in drifted leaves. She knew approximately where it must be—about six feet from the huddled shape of Mark’s body. Somehow she must force herself to go over there. And she would have to hurry. One of the troopers was kneeling by Mark, his hands questing through the leaves.
While she was still thinking, Peter acted.
“Lieutenant. Before you take him away…may I…?”
“Huh?” The lieutenant looked from Mark’s body to Peter’s averted face and blinked. “Sure,” he said awkwardly. “Al, come over here.”
Peter had also mentally marked the spot; probably neither of them would ever forget the details of that night. When his dragging steps had brought him to the site, he stumbled and dropped to one knee. Still kneeling, he covered his eyes with one hand; the other trailed limply at his side, the fingers moving nervously.
Kate saw the young man, Al, turn his head away. He must be new at the job. But Peter’s pose and bowed head were genuine enough to bring a quick sting of tears to her own eyes.
When Peter got to his feet, amid a respectful silence, there was something in his right hand. He looked at it dazedly, and held it out toward the lieutenant.
“Here’s the gun,” he said.
The lieutenant yelped and leaped forward.
“Damn it to hell! Don’t you know better than to pick up evidence?”
“Sorry; wasn’t I supposed to?” Peter meekly surrendered the weapon.
The lieutenant’s reply was heated. When his wrath died down, he gave Peter a look in which annoyance, respect, and a faint amusement were mingled.
“Okay, Stewart, that’s all. Get the hell out of here before you mess anything else up. I don’t need you any longer. Nor Miss More.”
“Thank you,” Peter said gravely.
“I’ll want to see you, probably later today.” The lieutenant sighed; he looked not like a policeman but like a tired, middle-aged man with too many worries. “God, this is going to be a mess…. Where will you be?”
Peter hesitated.
