Psycho (13 page)

"That's not true. You know how I feel about her."

"Then how can you stand it? Why don't you
do
something? What kind of a man are you, sitting here and handing out cracker-barrel philosophy at a time like this?"

She grasped her purse and pushed past him.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"To see that sheriff of yours, right now."

"It would be just as easy to call him. After all, we want to be here when Arbogast shows up."

"
If
he shows up. Maybe he's left town for good, if he's found something. He wouldn't have to come back." Lila's voice teetered along a thin, hysterical edge.

Sam took her arm. "Sit down," he said. "I'll phone the sheriff."

She made no attempt to follow him as he walked out into the store. He went over to the rear counter, stood next to the cash register, and picked up the receiver.

"One-six-two, please. Hello, sheriff's office? This is Sam Loomis, over at the hardware store. I'd like to speak to Sheriff Chambers...

"He's
what?
No, I hadn't heard anything about it. Where did you say—Fulton? When do you suppose he'll be back? I see. No, nothing wrong. I just wanted to talk to him. Look, if he gets in any time before midnight, would you ask him to call me here at the store? I'll be here all night. Yes. Thanks, I'd appreciate that."

Sam hung up and walked back into the rear room.

"What did he say?"

"He wasn't there." Sam reported the conversation, watching her face as he spoke. "Seems somebody robbed the bank over at Fulton around suppertime this evening. Chambers and the whole State Highway Patrol gang are out setting up roadblocks. That's what all the excitement's about. I talked to old Peterson; he's the only one left in the sheriff's office. There's two cops walking the beat here in town, but they wouldn't be any use to us."

"So now what are you going to do?"

"Why, wait, of course. Chances are, we won't be able to talk to the sheriff until tomorrow morning."

"But don't you even care what happens to—"

"Of course I care." He cut in on her sharply, deliberately. "Would it ease your mind any if I called the motel and found out what's holding Arbogast up?"

She nodded.

Again he went back into the store. This time she accompanied him and stood waiting while he asked the operator for information. She finally located the name—Norman Bates—and found the number. Sam waited while she put the call through.

"Funny," he said, hanging up. "Nobody answers.

"Then I'm going out there."

"No, you're not." He put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm going out. You wait right here, in case Arbogast comes in."

"Sam, what do you think happened?"

"I'll tell you when I get back. Now you just relax. It shouldn't take me more than three quarters of an hour."

And it didn't because Sam drove fast. In exactly forty-two minutes he unlocked the front door, came into the store again. Lila was waiting for him.

"Well?" she asked.

"Funny. The place was closed up. No lights in the office. No lights in the house behind the motel. I went up there and banged on the door for five minutes straight, and nothing happened. The garage next to the house was open and empty. Looks like this Bates went away for the evening."

"What about Mr. Arbogast?"

"His car wasn't there. Just two parked down at the motel—I looked at the licenses. Alabama and Illinois."

"But where could—"

"The way I figure it," Sam said, "is that Arbogast
did
find out something. Maybe something important. It could be that he and Bates both went off together. And that's why we haven't gotten any word."

"Sam, I can't take much more of this. I've got to know!"

"You've got to eat, too." He displayed a bulging paper bag. "Stopped in at the drive-in on my way back, brought us some hamburgers and coffee. Let's take the stuff into the back room."

By the time they finished eating it was after eleven.

"Look," Sam said. "Why don't you go back to the hotel and get some rest? If anyone calls or comes in, I'll phone you. No sense in us both sitting around like this."

"But—"

"Come on. Worrying isn't going to help. Chances are, I've figured it right. Arbogast
has
located Mary and we'll get news by morning. Good news."

But there was no good news on Sunday morning.

By nine o'clock, Lila was rattling the front door of the hardware store.

"Hear anything?" she asked. And when Sam shook his head, she frowned. "Well, I found out something, Arbogast checked out over at the hotel yesterday morning—
before
he even started to look around."

Sam didn't say anything. He picked up his hat and walked out of the store with her.

The streets of Fairvale were empty on Sunday morning. The courthouse was set back in a square on Main Street, surrounded by a lawn on all four sides. One side contained a statue of a Civil War veteran—the kind cast up by thousands back in the eighties to occupy courthouse lawns all over the country. The other three sides displayed, respectively, a Spanish-American War trench mortar, a World War I cannon, and a granite shaft bearing the names of fourteen Fairvale citizens who had died in World War II. Benches lined the sidewalks all around the square, but they were vacant at this hour.

The courthouse itself was closed, but the sheriff's office was over in the annex—Fairvale citizens still spoke of it as the "new" annex, though it had been added back in 1946. The side door was open. They entered, climbed the stairs, walked down the hall to the office.

Old Peterson was doing duty at the outer desk, all alone.

"Morning, Sam."

"Good morning, Mr. Peterson. Sheriff around?"

"Nope. Hear about them bank robbers? Busted right through the roadblock down at Parnassus. FBI's after 'em now. Sent an alert—"

"Where is he?"

"Well, he got in pretty late last night—early this morning, I should say."

"Did you give him my message?"

The old man hesitated. "I—I guess I forgot. All this excitement around here." He wiped his mouth. "'Course I intended to, today, when he comes in."

"What time will that be?"

"Right after lunch, I guess. Sunday mornings he's over to the church."

"What church?"

"First Baptist."

"Thanks."

"You wouldn't go pulling him out of—"

Sam turned away without answering. Lila's high heels clattered hollowly beside him in the hall.

"What kind of a hick town is this, anyway?" she murmured. "A bank is held up and the sheriff is in church. What's he doing, praying that somebody will catch the robbers for him?" Sam didn't answer. When they reached the street she turned to him again. "Where are we going now?"

"First Baptist Church, of course."

But it turned out that they didn't have to interrupt Sheriff Chambers at his devotions. As they turned down the side street it was apparent that the services had just ended; people were beginning to emerge from the steepled structure.

"There he is," Sam muttered. "Come on."

He led her over to a couple who stood near the curbing. The woman was a short, gray-haired nonentity in a mail-order print dress; the man was tall, broad across the shoulders and paunchily protruding at the waistline. He wore a blue serge suit and his red, seamed neck twisted in rebellion against the restraint of a white, starched collar. He had curly graying hair and curly black eyebrows.

"Hold on a minute, Sheriff," said Sam. "I'd like to talk to you."

"Sam Loomis. How are you?" Sheriff Clambers held out a large red hand. "Ma, you know Sam, here."

"I'd like you to meet Lila Crane. Miss Crane is visiting here from Fort Worth."

"Pleased to meet you. Say, you aren't the one old Sam keeps talking about, are you? Never let on you were so pretty—"

"It's my sister you're thinking of," Lila told him. "That's why we're here to see you."

"I wonder if we could go over to your office for a minute," Sam broke in. "Then we can explain the situation."

"Sure, why not?" Jud Chambers turned to his wife. "Ma, why don't you take the car and go along home? I'll be over in a little while, soon's I'm finished with these folks."

But it wasn't a little while. Once settled in Sheriff Chamber's office, Sam told his story. Even without interruptions, that took a good twenty minutes. And the Sheriff interrupted frequently.

"Now let me get this straight here," he said, at the conclusion. "This fella who came to you, this Arbogast. Why didn't he check with me?"

"I already explained that. He was hoping to avoid going to the authorities. His idea was to try and find Miss Crane and recover the money without any embarrassment to the Lowery Agency."

"You say he showed you his credentials?"

"Yes." Lila nodded. "He was a licensed investigator for the insurance firm. And he managed to trace my sister all the way up here, to that motel. That's why we're so worried now, because he never came back, the way he said he would."

"But he wasn't at the motel when you drove out there?" The question was addressed to Sam and he answered it.

"There was nobody there at all, Sheriff."

"That's funny. Damned funny. I know this fella Bates who runs it. He's always there. Scarcely even leaves for an hour to come into town. You tried calling him this morning? Why don't you let me do that now? Probably turn out he was sound asleep when you got there last night."

The big red hand picked up the phone.

"Don't tell him anything about the money," Sam said. "Just ask for Arbogast and see what he has to say."

Sheriff Chambers nodded. "Leave it to me," he murmured. "I know how to handle this."

He put through the call, and they waited.

"Hello... Bates? That you? This is Sheriff Chambers. That's right. I'm looking for a little information. Party here in town is trying to locate a fella name of Arbogast. Milton Arbogast, from Fort Worth. He's a special Investigator or something for a firm called Parity Mutual.

"He's what? Oh, he did? When was that? I see. What'd he have to say? It's all right, you can tell me. I already know all about it. Yeah...

"What's that again? Yeah. Yeah. And then he left, eh? Did he say where he was going? Oh, you think so? Sure. No, that's all...

"No, there's no trouble. Just that I thought he might check in here. Say, while I've got you, you don't think he might have stopped back later on in the evening, do you? What time you generally go to bed out there? Oh, I see. Well, I guess that just about covers it, then. Thanks for the information, Bates."

He hung up and swiveled around to face them.

"Looks like your man headed for Chicago," he said.

"Chicago?"

Sheriff Chambers nodded. "Sure. That's where the girl said she was going. Your friend Arbogast sounds like a pretty smooth operator to me."

"What do you mean? What did that man Bates tell you just now?" Lila leaned forward.

"The same thing Arbogast told you yesterday evening when he called in from there. Your sister stayed at the motel last Saturday, but she didn't register under her own name. Called herself Jane Wilson, said she was from San Antonio. Let it slip that she was on her way to Chicago."

"It couldn't have been Mary, then. Why, she doesn't know anyone in Chicago; she's never been there in her life!"

"According to Bates, Arbogast was certain this was the girl. Even checked her handwriting. Her description, the car, everything fitted. Not only that, once he heard about Chicago, Bates says he took off from there like a bat out of hell."

"But that's ridiculous! She has a week's start—
if
she was going there at all, that is. And he'd never find her in Chicago."

"Maybe he knew where to look. Maybe he didn't tell you two
all
he'd found out about your sister and her plans."

"What else could he know that we don't?"

"Never can tell about these smart operators. Could be he had some idea of just what your sister was up to. If he could get to her and lay his hands on that money, he might not be so interested in reporting back to his company again."

"Are you trying to say that Mr. Arbogast was a crook?"

"All I'm saying is that forty thousand in cash is a lot of money. And if Arbogast didn't show up here again, it means he had something figured out." The Sheriff nodded. "Must have been working the angles all along, the way it looks to me. Else why wouldn't he at least stop in here beforehand and see if I could help? You say he already checked out of the hotel yesterday."

"Now wait a minute, Sheriff," Sam said. "You're jumping to conclusions. You've got nothing to go by except what this man Bates said over the phone just now. Couldn't he be lying?"

"Why should he? He told a straight story. Said the girl had been there, said Arbogast was there."

"Where was he last night when I came, then?"

"Fast asleep in bed, just like I thought," the Sheriff answered. "Look here, I know this fella Bates. He's kind of an odd one in his way, not too bright, or at least that's how he always struck me. But he certainly isn't the type who'd ever pull any fast ones. Why shouldn't I believe him? Particularly when I
know
your friend Arbogast was lying."

"Lying? About what?"

"You told me what he said when he called you from the motel, last night. Well, that was just a stall. He must have already found out about Chicago, and he wanted to keep you quiet long enough for him to get a good head start. That's why he lied."

"I don't understand Sheriff. Just what did he lie about?"

"Why, when he said he was going up to see Norman Bates's mother. Norman Bates has no mother."

"He hasn't?"

"Not for the last twenty years he hasn't. She's dead." Sheriff Chambers nodded. "Quite a scandal around these parts—surprised you don't remember it, but you were only a kid, then. She built this motel with a fella name of Considine, Joe Considine. She was a widow, understand, and the talk was that she and Considine were—" The Sheriff stared at Lila, then broke off with an aimless wave of the hand. "Anyways, they never did get married. Something must of went wrong, maybe she was in a family way, maybe Considine had a wife back where he came from. But one night they both took strychnine together. Regular poison pact, you might say. Her son, this Norman Bates, he found them both. Guess it was pretty much of a shock. Way I remember it, he was laid up in the hospital for a couple of months, after. Didn't even go to the funeral. But I went. That's how I'm sure his mother is dead. Hell, I was one of the pallbearers!"