Black Christmas (11 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jess stood there, unaware of the chill, applauding the children as a station wagon pulled up and a woman got out of the driver’s seat and ran across the lawn to the children and the middle-aged woman who was shepherding them.

“Jean,” she said in an agitated manner while keeping her voice low, “get the children into the cars.”

“Why? What’s up?”

“Please, there’s no time for questions. I don’t want to talk about it here. They might hear. Just get them into the cars.”

Jess had slipped back into the hall and had gotten a dollar from her coat pocket which she carried out to the lawn as the two women were conversing.

“Let’s go, children!” the one called Jean was saying. “Pile into the wagons. Either one. We’re going to go now.”

There was a chorus of disappointment so she added, “We’ll get some hot cocoa and cookies at my place.”

Jess handed the woman a dollar and she said half-heartedly, “Thank you.”

The other one, the one who had driven up noticed the quizzical expression on Jess’s face, so she said, “There was a little girl found murdered over in the park tonight.”

“Yes, I heard.”

“Your phone is ringing.”

“Oh, yes, excuse me.”

“Certainly. Good night.”

Jean called from the door of her station wagon. “And thanks again for the contribution. Sorry we couldn’t stay longer.”

But Jess was already in the house and had closed the door. She went directly into the living room and then, taking a deep breath, lifted the receiver.

At headquarters the phone was ringing, too and Lieutenant Ken Fuller rushed into his office ready to grab it while down at the switching station Bill Graham stood alertly in front of the flashing light on the panel that told him that the number at the sorority house was being called.

Jess put her hand on the receiver but felt that it was frozen there. The room seemed suddenly dark and eerie despite the fact that all of the living room lights, including those on the Christmas tree, were on. Telling herself that she was being foolish and a coward she finally lifted the receiver gently from the cradle and put it to her ear.

As soon as it was up, Fuller lifted his phone and Graham started to scan the large panel, holding a long cable and a jack as he listened through the set of headphones balanced over his ears.

Hesitantly Jess said, “Hello.” All she could hear was heavy breathing on the line. “Hello? Who’s there?”

Graham plugged into a socket, listened for a second, then pulled the cable out and tried another opening.

Upstairs in the sorority house the caller sat on the edge of Mrs. MacHenry’s bed, her telephone receiver held tightly in his hand. There were tears rolling down his face as he tried to speak to Jess but only a soft, whimpering sound, like that of a child, emitted from his lips.

“Who is it?” Jess pleaded.

Suddenly a woman’s voice broke harshly into the crying. “Stop this! Nasty Billy! Nasty Billy! Nasty Billy! What an evil child.” The voice seemed to be losing control as it ranted on. “You filthy little beast!” Then there was a scream of pain followed by wheezing.

The caller covered the receiver and leaned over, vomiting on the floor beside Mrs. MacHenry’s bed.

Jess stood stock still, expecting the receiver to click while Graham furiously tried another, then another socket.

There was another scream, as though a child were being beaten, then a man’s voice, rational, mature, almost pompous.

“Billy,” the man said, “now you must tell us the truth, Billy. Your mother and I have to know. Is this true? Did you?” There was gagging and then more silence followed by a raspy whispering voice that spoke tauntingly, hatefully to her. “You never have had any consideration for me! Never. Always self, self, self.” The woman’s voice hissed out, “It was just like having a wart removed.”

Shocked, Jess reacted. “Oh, my God!”

Then there was a click and she heard a dial tone. At the phone company Graham banged his fist against the wall and shook his head in frustration. He slipped off the earphones and dialed a number. Standing by the window with her hand over her mouth, an incredulous and frightened look on her face, Jess Bradley heard the ringing of the telephone. She looked around in a daze, saw the instrument and walked in a stupor toward it. At the fifth ring she picked it up and said in a weak voice, “Hello?”

It was Ken Fuller, “I’m sorry, Jess, We didn’t get it. Graham just called me. There’s wasn’t enough time. He has to try every connection. Unless he gets lucky. Anyway, next time you’ll just have to try to keep him on the line longer. Do you think you can?”

When she didn’t answer he asked, “Are you there, Jess. Did you hear me? You’ll have to keep him on longer.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Are you all right? You don’t sound too good.”

Making an effort she said, “No. I’m fine.”

“What happened, Jess? You cried out there at one point, right at the end, before he hung up. Something like, ‘Oh, God.’ Did you recognize something?”

“No. I guess it was just kind of getting to me. I feel pretty sick, to tell you the truth.”

“We all do. Did the call make any sense to you? Did it sound like something or somebody,
any
body you know?”

“Uh, no. No, it didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Before, when he called, did he use more than one voice like this?”

“Yes. He used several different voices.”

“The same ones?”

“I’m not sure. I think . . . No, I think the man’s voice was different.”

“Damn it, I don’t know what to think. Jess, now tell me, is it possible, do you think maybe it’s possible that it’s somebody putting you on? Some kid you know. Something like that?”

“No,” she answered dully, “I don’t think so.”

“I see. Jess, I meant to ask you before. Who was that guy who was leaving the house tonight when we arrived?”

“My boyfriend, Peter.”

“Were you having a fight?”

“Sort of. But—”

She was interrupted by the sound of a lot of noise coming from Fuller’s office. Over the phone she could tell that someone had come in and that there was a great deal of hollering going on.

An old farmer named Jack Weller was in the arms of two policemen, struggling to get into Fuller’s office. Behind him another officer was bending over and trying to look back to examine his nether regions which were covered with red spots.

Weller was yelling at the top of his lungs in a high-pitched voice, “I’m not lettin’ no son of a bitch trespass on my land in the middle of the night, no matter what kind of uniform he’s wearin’. You hear that, sonny?” he hollered out to the man in the other room.

“Oh, shit,” Fuller said. “Excuse me, Jess. I’ll have to call you back, okay?”

“Yes,” she answered, telling herself that she was not sure that she would ever answer the phone again.

“I’ll call you back in a while. We’ll get him on the next one.”

Hanging up he turned his full attention to the man whom the officers had managed to pull back out of his office, getting up from his desk and going to the outer area and yelling, “What the hell is going on!”

One of the officers who held Weller said, “He fired on a police officer when we were trying to search his barn.”

“Goddamn right I did! Do it again, too. Bastard was trespassin’.”

“Cogan got an ass full of buckshot.”

Cogan, who was still bent over said, “Yeah, and I’m gonna make the son of a bitch pick everyone of them out with his scrag teeth. You stupid old bastard, you could of killed someone.”

“Next time,” Weller hollered, “you’ll get the gun up your ass, too, sideways.”

Fuller turned and went back into his office, his hand to his head, slamming the door behind him.

Back in the house Phyl came out of her room followed by Jess. She was tying a bathrobe around her and her eyes were heavy with sleep.

Jess was saying, “I’m sorry I woke you. But I had to tell someone. God, Phyl, what am I going to do?”

“I don’t know.” As they started down the stairs she added, “Look, if you really think it was Peter, why didn’t you just tell the police?”

“Because I’m not really sure! What a mess. It didn’t sound like him, but I don’t know. Suppose it wasn’t. How could I do that to him?”

“He should be stopped. Whoever it is should be stopped. I’ve hardly had a minute’s sleep. Clare’s missing. You’re a wreck, there’s a dead high school girl out there. He should be stopped. This house is a nightmare. There’s been so much noise. What was all that yelling about? I heard a scream.”

“Barb had an asthma attack. She was having a nightmare. Who wouldn’t after all we’ve been through? And she’d had so much to drink.”

“Is she all right, now?”

“Yeah, she’s okay. She’s sleeping it off.”

They went into the living room and Jess lit a cigarette. “Christ, I
gave up
smoking. I wish I knew where Mrs. Mac had her sherry hidden. I’d kill the whole damn bottle.”

“Try to calm down, Jess.”

“He repeated almost word for word what Peter said to me tonight. Almost word for word.”

“Couldn’t it be a coincidence?”

“God, Phyl, I don’t know. I’m so confused. I wish I were a kid again. I was watching those little kids singing Christmas carols and I remembered. I wish I were ten years old.”

“Look, I don’t really think it could be Peter. You know I don’t like him much, but I don’t think he’s sick, not
that
sick. He gets my goat the way he acts so superior sometimes because he’s talented, but that doesn’t make him some kind of nut.”

“I can’t believe he would do this. He’s so gentle most of the time. He has a temper but usually only when he’s under a lot of pressure, when he’s tired. But to deliberately, and I can’t even believe it’s compulsive, that he can’t help himself . . . It’s so unlike him. I’m really so sick and scared I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you sure that policeman is still out there?”

Phyl got up and to answer her own question she went to the window where she stared at the car parked across the street. “Yeah, he’s still there. Probably sound asleep, if he isn’t frozen to death.”

The man in the car, Jennings, was not asleep. Nor was he frozen. But he
was
dead, very dead, with his throat cut.

Back in the house, the telephone began to ring.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The telephone continued to ring as Jess and Phyl stared at one another across the living room. Instantly it continued its harsh summons. Finally, with a sigh, Jess went to it and looking at Phyl prayerfully picked up the receiver, saying the inevitable, “Hello?”

At the switching station Graham, when the red light appeared, put down his container of lukewarm coffee and slipped on the earphones. At the same time he dialed Fuller’s private line and when Ken answered told him to be alerted.

“Yeah. See if you can get it. We’ll hold our breaths.”

Peter Smythe said, “Jess?”

Over the phone she reacted when she heard his voice, tried to keep the quavering out of her own voice as she answered. “Peter?”

Starting to cry, Peter said, “Oh, God, Jess. Help me.”

Ken Fuller had picked up the other phone and he heard Peter’s voice, listening curiously to the conversation.

As Phyl watched her Jess said to Peter, “Look, Peter, don’t cry. We can straighten things out. There’s nothing to get so upset about.”

“Jess, we can’t kill the baby. Please Jess. We can’t kill the baby! Do you hear me? It isn’t right.”

Scrambling through the panels, plugging into every light, Bill Graham was trying desperately to find the source of the call.

Jess remained still for a moment and when Peter stopped speaking she waited but he said no more. At last she asked, “Peter, where are you?”

“Please, Jess, please! You know how I feel about the baby. Please, it’s not right. You can’t kill a baby.”

“Please, Peter. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Still crying, Peter said, “Don’t hurt the baby.”

“Stop this, Peter!”

“That’s what they always do. We can’t be like them.”

“Peter, tell me where you are?”

There was a click and Jess heard the dial tone, as did Ken Fuller. He put the other phone to his ear just in time to hear Graham say, “I’m sorry, Ken, the calls just aren’t long enough.”

Through a partly opened door at the top of the stairs the man looked down through the dark wooden railing. The angle was such that he could just see into the living room and the telephone that sat on a table by the doorway. Breathing heavily he waited for a minute, then scurried back down the hall.

Jess sood watching Phyl whose head was averted, staring out the window, wishing she had left the room when Peter called.

Both girls jumped when the phone rang again and Jess, as she was the closer of the two, answered it.

“Jess, it’s Ken Fuller. Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”

“You listened to that?”

“Yes. We’re monitoring all of the calls to try to find out who it is and where he’s calling from. Jess, what did he mean about killing the baby? Is it related to the other call? Jess?” There was a long pause and when she didn’t answer him he said, “I think it’s important that you tell me what that call was all about.”

Jess sagged and leaned against the table. Looking helplessly across the room at Phyllis who was still at the window she said, “I’m pregnant. I told him I didn’t want to have the baby.”

“When did you tell him this?”

“Today,” she answered flatly.

“ ‘We can’t kill the baby.’ That’s a strange way to put it, don’t you think?”

Jess shrugged, wishing she could just hang up and run from the house never to use a telephone again. “Peter’s an artist. He’s a composer, a musician, very high strung. He tends to dramatize things sometimes, but that doesn’t mean—”

“He’s neurotic is what you’re saying?”

Defensively Jess answered, “No more than a lot of people.”

There was another long pause and Fuller finally said, “Jess, are you sure you’re telling me the whole truth? I’ve got a strong feeling you’re holding something back from me. Look, I don’t want it to be your boyfriend; I don’t want it to be Peter. But I’ve got to check out every possibility. It’s my job, and maybe, well, it does fit together. Look, think back. Was Peter with you any time when you got any of those calls?”