Black Christmas (8 page)

“Damn it, Claude, look what you’ve made me do!” Looking back up she called, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

The attic was dark except for the moonlight and she, because she was hardly above ground level and because it was not likely for Claude to be above her, did not look up or she might have seen in the half-light something swaying just above her head.

Squinting as she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness she muttered, “I’ve got to clean this mess up one of these days. Come on, Claude. I can’t see a damned thing up here. Here, kitty.”

Outside the horn honked again making her jump. “Dammit! Here, Claude. Here, kitty! Goddamn it, Claude, I’m gonna have you fixed.”

She looked up and stopped speaking, a puzzled look coming over her face as she saw what was sitting in the rocker just beyond the trap door. Her expression changed to one of horror as she realized that it was Clare Harrison and then as she stumbled back in shock she heard a loud crash and she turned her head up just in time to see the noose of the rope that had dangled above her tumbling down toward her.

Terrified and helpless she couldn’t move, couldn’t open her mouth to scream as the rope pulled taut and her struggling body was jerked upward toward the rafters.

The taxi driver had finally come to the front door and he was standing there ringing the doorbell insistently as she was slowly strangled to death.

Several times he called out, “Hey! Is anybody there?” But there was only an answering silence and finally he shrugged and walked back to his cab as the trapdoor was creakily lowered on its rusty hinges.

Had the cab driver looked to the attic he might have seen silhouetted in the window a form watching him as he got back into his taxi after curiously looking at the lower part of the big, silent house. Once in the cab he turned on the ignition and the lights, backed up and after looking back once more, pulled away.

The figure in the window was breathing heavily, a sound that was almost deafening. The breathing was interspersed with shrieks of rage as though the person to whom the voice belonged was going to attack and destroy the entire attic.

Mrs. Mac’s body hung lifelessly until it was suddenly smashed aside, arcing broadly across the room.

It was as though there were a ferocious, trapped animal in the cage of the attic, clawing and screaming to get out.

The animal slammed up against a wall and, careening through the cramped attic space with an agonized wail, knocked over a chair and broke the rocking horse with almost super-human strength. It crashed viciously into a corner and there was the sound of breaking glass followed by gagging, retching, hissing and then growls. Its body shook on the floor and the growls turned to whimpers and finally to the simple sound of a man crying.

The beams of the powerful snowmobile headlights flared off of the crisp, white snow. Between them, a long line of people trudged wearily forward across the park. The air was bitter and many of the people looked up from time to time, envious of the warmth and comfort seemingly offered from the lights of the houses that dotted the periphery of the search area.

Jess crossed past several of the searchers and found Chris Hayden. She said to him, “Hey, I’m going to have to split.” Phyl, who was on the far side of Chris, asked her why and she answered, “Peter’s coming over to the house and I can’t miss him. I’m late already. Besides, there’s more people here than are needed. We were tripping over each other over in my section.”

Mr. Harrison saw the three young people whom he knew and joined them. “My God,” he said, “it’s cold.”

“Yeah, I’ll be going home very soon, too. Jess was just saying she had an appointment, Mr. Harrison.”

“I’m sorry,” Jess said to him but he held up his hand.

“No need to apologize. I appreciate your concern.”

“I’m freezing,” Phyllis said. “But I’ll stay with Chris and Mr. Harrison.”

“We’ll let you know if anything happens,” Chris said to Jess.

She said goodbye to all of them and then broke away from the group and ran off toward the snowmobile and the street nearby, her ears echoing to the sound of unknown voices calling out “Janice! Clare.”

Not long after Jess had left, a jarring scream pierced the frosty air of the park. As two boys ran up a horrified girl stood staring at the ground. One of the boys started running hysterically through the woods calling for Lieutenant Fuller while the other, more collected, stayed beside the trembling girl and called out, “Hey! Get someone over here!”

He looked down again and that was his undoing. Quickly he turned away from the girl and retched behind a tree as others began to arrive. One by one they looked down and then in sickening disgust looked away.

Standing in front of his car drinking coffee, Mr. Harrison heard the boy’s voice and the excited responses from the crowd. He gave those near him a hopeful look and ran off into the park following the clamor.

Phyl and Chris were not too far from the noise so that they arrived at the scene among the first. “Don’t look, Phyl,” Chris said to her but it was too late.

Still sitting in the back seat of the squad car, Mrs. Quaife saw people running past toward the park area. Hearing the shouting she looked around in alarm and then hastily climbed out of the car. Outside, one of the policemen took her by the arm and tried to get her to go back into the car.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Quaife. Why don’t you just wait here? We’ll let you know if there’s something—”

Hysterically she pulled away from him. “No! Let me alone. Don’t try to stop me!” Free of him she started to move in the direction of the crowd calling out, “They found Janice! Didn’t they? They found my baby! I know it!”

He got hold of her arm again but her strength was too much for him.

“Let me go, do you hear! Where is she?”

Reaching out she grabbed a man who was rushing past her. “Where is she? Tell me!” When he didn’t answer she let him go and ran off into the park, screaming, “Tell me where she is!”

She almost collided with Mr. Harrison who, too, was running in the direction of all the noise and light calling out, “Where are you?”

Several voices at once spoke to him and he made the right turn so that he came up just behind Chris, looking ill, and Phyl with her head averted, both of their faces registering shock and revulsion.

Mrs. Quaife pushed through them and into the center of the group, still calling out her daughter’s name. When she reached the spot she stopped and looked down, the sound dying on her lips as the full impact of what lay on the ground hit her. Her face contorted in agony and she screamed once before she fainted.

Back at the house Clare Harrison’s body sat still in the rocker only a few feet from where that of Mrs. MacHenry hung tautly from the rope tied to the rafters. Claude was not about and there was no sound in the attic.

Finally, from below, cutting harshly into the silence, could be heard the jangling of the telephone.

CHAPTER TEN

The phone rang over and over again in the empty house. Then it stopped and the hall was quiet. Seconds later it began to ring again and there was the noise of a key being turned in a lock, the loud slam of a door being shut and a mittened hand reached out and picked up the receiver.

Her cheeks red and her breathing labored from the cold, Jess put the receiver to her mouth and ear.

“Hello.”

Struggling with her coat, trying to get it off, she at once realized who it was on the other end of the line.

This time the caller’s voice was loud in contrast to the obscene whisper of the previous messages. Some of the sounds she recognized as almost human but most of them were growls and wheezes that could only have come from some wounded animal. The caller’s psychotic state was such, she realized, that he was in the throes of a horrible schizophrenia which he could not help, and for a brief moment she almost pitied him as he spoke alternately to her and played out several roles with himself from the traumatic past of his life.

“Hello,” she said again, trying to control her anger and fear. “Look, who is this?”

Her question was answered by moaning which switched abruptly to a little girl crying and building quickly to a scream of agony, a gasping for breath and then once more the man’s voice, soft this time, pleading.

“Help me! Stop me! Please! Oh, God, please! Please stop me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t stop.”

“Stop what? What are you doing?” Maybe, she told herself, I can help him. Talk to him, try to get him to go to the hospital.

When he didn’t answer her question but began to sob she said as gently as possible, trying to keep the note of fear from her own voice, “What do you want? Why are you doing this?”

For an answer there was a choking, rasping sound, then a woman’s voice, high-pitched, nearly hysterical with crying said, “Now, look here! I know he just isn’t capable of such a thing. It must have been, maybe she’s lying. He wouldn’t do that. Why he doesn’t even know the difference.”

Trying to break through, Jess asked, “Who are you? For God’s sake, what are you doing?”

The woman’s voice began to cry afresh, sobbing an incoherent answer and then it was replaced by a man, a harsh, ugly, strong voice which said, “You bitch! I’ll fix you!”

Frightened, for she was not sure to whom he spoke, Jess said, “Stop it! Please stop it! Please stop calling here.”

Gasping, wheezing, the little girl crying, all of the sounds mixed disgustingly together almost nauseated her. Finally confused, angry and fearful, she hung up the telephone, shaking her head, “Jesus Christ!”

She hurried down the hall to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up, “Mrs. Mac? Hey, Mrs. Mac! Are you home? We got another one of those calls. Hello, up there? Are you home?”

In the attic on the third floor, Mrs. Mac did not hear her so only empty silence greeted Jess’s call.

When she got no response from above, Jess finished taking off her coat while she walked back through the kitchen. She hung it up in the dark hall and looked at the telephone, half expecting it to ring again. Very agitated, she went to it and quickly picked it up, dialed a number. Her back was to the stairway as she dialed or she might have fled from the house in terror for a dark form was moving slowly down the stairs in her direction. She finished fingering the number and heard it ringing on the other end. A voice answered and she said in a quavering voice, “Hello? Yes, I’d like to report that I’ve been getting obscene phone calls and I want to know what can be done about it? Yes, all right I’ll hold. I’m sure you’re busy but this is important. Yes, I’ll hold, but only for a minute.”

Tapping her foot impatiently she looked about the hall, finally turned just as the form reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the half-light.

Reacting she leaped back and then took a deep breath and relaxed.

“Peter! My God! You nearly scared the life out of me! Why didn’t you say something? I thought Barbara was the only one in the house.”

Tossing his coat casually over an idle chair in the hallway, Peter walked into the living room, saying, “Yeah, well you scared the hell out of me, too. What was all the yelling about?” He picked up a nutcracker and a few pecans from a bowl and began to shell them as he talked. “I was taking a nap. I hope you don’t mind but it was cold outside waiting for you. I came in through the kitchen. The front door was locked. I was going to sit here under the tree like a present but it was uncomfortable as hell. Finally I got sleepy so I went up to your room and flaked out on the bed.”

“I’m sorry I was late, but—”

“Yeah.”

He cracked another nut in studied indifference. Firmly she said, “Clare is missing. She hasn’t been seen since last night. There was a search party. I was with them, out looking for her.”

She had to call from the hall as he had disappeared in the living room. He came back just as a voice on the telephone spoke to her. “Yes,” she said into the receiver. “Hello?”

“How noble,” Peter said smugly, from the doorway.

Ignoring his caustic behavior she said into the phone, “Hello? What’s going on down there? I want to report something! No, I don’t want to hold! I’ve been holding.” She shook her head in exasperation and seeing Peter standing there she said, “How did the recital go?”

“How do you think it went!” he snapped.

Once more he disappeared into the living room and she could hear the cracking of another nut.

“What kind of a game are you playing?” she called out. “I thought you wanted to talk? So why don’t you sit down and quit attacking me and we’ll try to have a rational conversation—as soon as I can get these idiots at the police station to take my complaint. Yes? Hello. Stay on the line, goddamn it!”

The man at whom Jess was yelling had a throng of people milling about his desk as he spoke to her. Sergeant Nash was trying as best he could to cope with an extremely unfamiliar situation and to handle all of the phone calls that were pouring in since news of the discovery of Janice Quaife’s body had leaked out.

“Okay, lady,” he shouted, anything but calm himself, “calm down now. Let’s have the story. Oh, yes? All right. What’s the address? One-o-six Belmont Street. Uh-huh. How many calls?”

Across the room from him, Chris, Phyl and Mr. Harrison, bunched together, heard the sergeant mention the familiar address and they moved as a group closer to his desk as he continued to talk to Jess.

“Yes? How many calls did you say? Well, did you call the phone company? Oh, yeah? Well, miss, we’re very busy here. There’s been a child murdered in the park. Yes. yes, we found . . . Anyway, you should notify the phone company. We can’t . . . Look, lady, I don’t know when we can get a man on it. Were the calls threatening? Oh, yes? Well, I see. Maybe it’s not so serious. Maybe it’s one of your boyfriends playing a little joke. Yeah, well, I’ll report it and we’ll get a man on it as soon as possible. I’m sorry, miss, but that’s the best that we can do at the moment. We’re swamped down here.” He looked up at the crowd of people as he listened to Jess continue to express her concern. Finally, when she stopped, he said again, “We’ll do the best we can okay. Goodbye.”