Black Christmas (12 page)

She thought for a moment and then said in an excited voice, “Yes! Yes, he was here! He was at the house when the first call came tonight. That’s right. He was here tonight. He was taking a nap upstairs when the call came so it couldn’t have been him. It couldn’t have been Peter!” Happily she turned to Phyllis and said, “Phyl, it couldn’t have been Peter. He was here one of the times.”

“You see? So there’s no need to worry,” Fuller said. “All the same I’d like to talk to him. He’s obviously very upset, and it wouldn’t do . . . We don’t need your line tied up for one thing. Could you tell me where he is? Where I can get in touch with him?”

“He lives at Baker House but when he gets like this he goes over to the Music Conservatory; you know, part of the Recital Hall, and he has a key so he goes in and plays.”

“Thanks. We’ll try to trace him. If you get any more calls you’ve got to keep them on the phone longer. You’re not giving our man enough time to trace. Talk to him. Charm him if you have to.”

“I’m trying. I really am. But it’s not easy. It really upsets me and then I can’t think of anything to say.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s okay. You’re doing a good job but try to hold him a little longer. I’ll talk to you in a while.”

“Right. Sure.” She hung up and ran to Phyl saying, “Thank God!”

Phyl smiled at her. “I knew it couldn’t have been Peter.”

Sergeant Nash was standing beside Lieutenant Kirby describing to him the progress of the search as he pointed out the various areas on the map that hung on the wall of the police station.

“Yeah,” the Sergeant was saying, “they’ve covered the entire campus area and now they’re moving over towards the lake. I don’t know where we’re going to go from there. The lake’s frozen, by the way. If—”

“Don’t. I don’t even want to think about the lake tonight. Let
me
figure out where we go from there, Nash. But it’s not going to be to the bottom of the lake. You might have them check tomorrow, though, to make sure is hasn’t been broken through any place. It doesn’t look to me as if our killer cares much about hiding his victims. That Quaife girl was practically out in the open.”

“Right, Lieutenant. By the way, there are more men coming in from Willowdale.”

“Good. They can start at the south end of the town and just work their way through on a house to house search.”

“Okay,” Nash said, his voice registering his doubts about the efficacy of a house to house search for a man they could not identify.

Fuller returned to his desk and sat down, shaking his head. Then he got up and came back into the front room calling to the sergeant.

“Nash, I want you to see if you can get the Dean of Admissions on the phone. I know he’s going to love you for this, but it’s necessary. I want to see the records on a Peter Smythe, a student at the Music College. It’s spelled S—M—Y—T—H—E. If he has to go over to the office try to placate him. But he has to go. And have a car sent round right away.”

While he was giving his instructions to Nash, the two girls were standing in the kitchen of the sorority house. Water was running in the sink as Phyl prepared to fill the kettle. All thoughts of sleep had left her for the moment and Jess too, seemed more awake, elated almost. Phyl watched Jess leave the room and then called after her, “Hey, Jess! Do you want one or two?”

Just beyond, in the dining room, Jess stood looking out the window. “Two, please. You should see. There’s a big crowd coming down the street.”

Suddenly she heard a blood-curdling scream from the kitchen and she rushed out there to find Phyl standing against the wall trembling, her finger pointing toward the window of the kitchen door where a man’s face peered in at her. He was obviously speaking but they could not hear what he was saying through the door. Finally he knocked on the pane and pointed to the lock. Neither girl moved until a second man appeared with a rifle cradled on his arm. Phyl remained transfixed but Jess realized who the men were, went to the door, unlatched it and slipped on the safety chain, opening the door as far as the chain would permit.

The man, who looked quite harmless, spoke to her. “Hello. Sorry to scare you like that, miss,” he called over Jess’s shoulder to Phyl. “We’re with the search party.”

Still unsure. Phyl called back, “Wha—what do you want?”

“We just wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything peculiar around here tonight?”

“Not until you got here.”

Amused, Jess said, “Phyl!”

Phyllis laughed finally and said, “Well, they scared the shit out of me.”

The second man, the one with the gun said, “We’re sorry, miss. But you know a girl was murdered in the park tonight.”

Shaking her head, Jess said, “Yes, we know.”

And Phyl added, “Boy, do we know.”

“Well, we’re helping the police look for the killer.”

Jess reached for the safety chain. “Do you want to come in and rest for a few minutes?”

In the background the kettle whistled and Phyl automatically reached out and turned it off.

“No, thanks,” the man said. “We don’t want to trouble you. We just wanted to see if you’d seen anything suspicious around here tonight.”

“No. We haven’t
seen
anything suspicious. Sorry,” Jess replied.

“Well, just keep your doors and windows locked up tight and you’ll be nice and safe. And warm.”

“Thanks, we will. Good night.” Phyl said.

Jess added, “And good luck.”

“Thank you,” the first man said. “There might be other people coming to the door, on the search, but better be careful. Don’t let anyone in unless you’re absolutely sure. Well, goodnight.”

He backed away and Jess closed the door, throwing the lock again. Turning to Jess she said, “You know, I think this may be the only door or window in the whole house that
is
locked. I suppose he’s right. Maybe we’d better, just to be on the safe side.”

Phyl started out of the kitchen. “Right. You go down here. I’ll get upstairs. Although I can’t figure how he’d get up to the second floor.” On her way up the stairs she called back, “Jess, make sure that cop is still out there.”

“Relax, Phyl. I’m sure he’s still there.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jess twisted the locks on all of the windows downstairs and then pushed the front door tightly shut with her shoulder until she heard the lock click.

Upstairs, Phyl checked the windows, many of which were already closed and locked, unaware that her movements were being followed closely by a pair of haunted eyes that watched from the open trapdoor of the attic at the end of the hall.

She hesitated at Barbara’s door, not wanting to waken the girl, but finally decided that to be on the safe side it would be best to check Barbara’s windows, too. Besides, she told herself. I can see if she’s all right.

It was dark in the room and Phyl stopped short at the doorway, listening for Barbara’s breathing. When she heard nothing she moved a little way in and whispered toward the bed. “Barb? Hey, Barb? Are you awake?” A few more steps and she collided with a chair, reaching out and steadying it and herself as she tried to adjust her eyes to the blackness. The light from the hall that came through the open door was so slight (she mentally cursed Mrs. Mac for the twenty-five watt bulbs in all the halls) that she could barely make out the bed and the form resting on it.

“Hey, Barb. Turn on a light, will you?”

She stopped suddenly for she now heard breathing, only it was coming from behind her. She turned quickly, just in time to see a hand shove the door shut and throw the bedroom into total darkness. Before she could scream or utter a word, he was on her, both hands to her throat and she sank into unconsciousness without being aware of who or what had attacked her.

At the Music Conservatory, Ken Fuller went carefully from room to room calling Peter Smythe’s name but the building was, as far as he could tell, completely empty. Only one room got his attention. He stopped short when he saw the wreckage of a grand piano standing forlornly in the middle of one of the practice rooms; he bit his lower lip and then hurried from the room and out of the building to his waiting car.

From the bottom of the stairs Jess called up, “Hey, Phyl? All locked up down here. How are you doing? Hey, Phyl? Are you there? Don’t play games, Phyl. This is Christmas, not Halloween.” Apprehensive, she started slowly up the stairs but was stopped by the ringing of the telephone in the living room. Nervously she looked up, then back down in the direction of the sound, finally made up her mind, turned around and walked back quickly to the living room, switching on a light and picking up the receiver at the same time. “Hello?”

The voice was like an electric shock; it almost knocked the phone from her hand, not from the decibal count but from the bizarre, disgusting sound that it produced on her already jangled nerves. It was a wild, animal scream piercing her ear, then sobs and finally a child’s voice, that of a little girl crying out in terror.

“Mommy! Help!” There was gagging, whimpering and then the voice spoke again, still that of a little girl. “Billy! Don’t do that! Ow! You’re hurting!” The crying was interrupted by the voice of an older woman, furious, almost screaming.

“I saw that! He put his hands between her legs! For Christ’s sake! You filthy little animal!”

There was gasping as though two people were locked in a mortal struggle and the little boy’s voice came on the line, pleading. “Don’t tell, Agnes, please don’t tell.”

Without a pause, not missing a beat, the voice changed once more to that of a little girl screaming out, “Nasty Billy! Nasty Billy!”

Just before he got into his car, Ken Fuller was hailed by a patrol car hurrying up to him full speed. A uniformed officer called from the window, “Lieutenant Fuller! That guy’s on the phone again, back at the sorority house.”

Fuller leaped into his car and switched on his two-way radio, signalling for Sergeant Nash.

Graham, still at the switchboard, was desperately plugging the jack into each lighted socket, hoping against hope that this time the caller would stay on the line long enough for him to make a contact and trace the number.

To Jess, standing tense, rigid with fear and anxiety, it seemed as though the caller had been talking for hours, changing personalities so fast that she could hardly organize her thoughts. Now he seemed to be a cat, meowing vigorously and then giggling madly, alternately wild beast and madman.

Again everything stopped and she, as well as Bill Graham, thought he was about to hang up. Instead, once more the whispering, pleading voice came over the wire. “Oh, God! Stop me! Please! Please stop me!”

This was followed by roars, growls and then moans.

By this time Nash had plugged the call into Lieutenant Fuller’s radio so that Ken was now picking up the one-sided conversation, too. He sat there watching the radio as though somehow staring at it would give him the answer to the problem.

The caller’s voice reverted to that of the older woman, as he cried out hysterically, “Damn it! I know what you did!”

A little boy answered her. “No, mommy. I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did! You put your hand down between her legs and then you killed her! You smothered my baby!”

Animal screams of anguish so horrified Jess that she almost slammed down the receiver at just the moment when Bill Graham’s expression changed from one of alert concern to an almost relaxed smile. He studied the board carefully, wrote down a number on a piece of paper and started rapidly leafing through a cross-reference telephone book.

Standing alone in the big room Jess listened to the call with distaste, wondering from time to time what had become of Phyl, looking toward the hallway and the stairs, wishing that Phyl would come down so that she could share (if that was the right word) her revulsion with another human being.

The soothing voice of the older man did nothing to assuage her disgust as he said, “Now, dear, don’t worry. We’ll find Agnes. She’s probably with Billy. Yes, that must be it. She’s probably in Billy’s room. Just calm down dear.”

There was a scream and the little girl cried out, “Ow! It hurts! Mommy! Mommy!” Her voice became muffled as she started to scream more desperately.

The sound was interrupted on Lieutenant Fuller’s radio by the voice of Sergeant Nash. “Lieutenant Fuller?”

Pushing a button, Fuller said, “Yes, Nash. What is it?”

“Graham’s on the other line, sir. He says he has got a trace on this one.”

“Great! Let’s have it.”

“He says the calls are coming from one-oh-six Belmont Street.”

“Dammit, Nash, you got it wrong! For Christ’s sake! That’s where the calls are going into.”

“That’s where they’re coming from, too, sir. I told that to Graham, but he said it must be the other—”

“Shit!” Fuller screamed as it came to him what was happening. He pushed another button and yelled into the microphone. “Jennings! Jennings!” Frantically he jammed the button. “Goddam it, Jennings! Jennings! Where the hell are you, Jennings!

When he got no answer from the plainclothesman who was supposedly on duty in front of the sorority house he switched back over to the squad room.

“Nash!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Nash, I can’t get Jennings. God knows where he went. Now this is an emergency, Nash. I want you to call that girl, Jessica Bradley. Call her as soon as I sign off. Now, look, Nash. Calm yourself before calling her, then tell
her
to be calm. Don’t tell her that the guy is in the house. Just tell her to put the phone down and walk quietly to the front door and out into the street. Tell her to go to Jennings in the car across the way. Now, listen to me, Nash. If you blow this one, I’ll kill you! Tell her to go outside. Tell her I’ll be there in five minutes. And as soon as you hang up try to raise Jennings and tell him to get his ass out of that car and get across the street to help her. Got that?”

He already had the car in gear and he was speeding away toward the sorority house as Nash answered him, “Yes, sir.”

In the meantime the caller had hung up and Jess, after putting back the receiver walked to the bottom of the stairs, obviously frightened as she called up, “Phyl! Phyl! Answer me, Phyl! Where are you? Phyl, please answer me!”