The Devil's Menagerie (4 page)

The blood drained from Richie’s face. It happened so suddenly and clearly it was like watching red liquid seep out of a test tube.

“Stop it!” Richie cried. “Why are you calling? Why don’t you leave us alone?”

Glenda reached the phone ahead of Dave and snatched it from Richie’s hand. “Who is this? Damn you, don’t you dare hang up!”

She stood trembling for a long moment before she put down the phone. “He hung up,” she said.

She and Dave both stared at Richie. He was shaking visibly, his face pale, shock and hurt in his eyes.

“Who was it, Richie?” Glenda asked gently. “What did he say?”

Richie shook his head, a gesture almost violent.

“He must have said something,” Dave said. “Was it a man?”

Richie nodded jerkily, still unable to speak.

“Did he say who he was?”

“He said I … I should tell you he was back. That you’d know.”

“What …?” Glenda looked as if she had been slapped.

“Maybe you’d better sit down, Richie,” Dave said. “Take it easy. Just tell us—”

“No!” The boy pulled away. There were real tears in his eyes and he made no effort to hold them back. “He … he said you weren’t my dad.”

David heard the quick intake of Glenda’s breath. He felt the skin tighten over his cheekbones. The cake of ice slammed into his stomach. “You knew that, Richie. You’ve always known.”

“Yes, but … he said
he
was!”

R
ALPH
B
ERINGER DROVE
slowly along the tree-lined street. It looked more Midwest than Southern California, the street wide and shaded by tall oaks rather than palm trees. The mature oaks with their wide overhangs screened much of the light from the occasional streetlamps, leaving the sidewalks deep in shadows. This was the Old Town section of San Carlos—big, two-story frame California bungalows with wide, friendly front porches and broad green lawns littered with autumn leaves, shadowy tricycles and wagons and, on the steps of one white-shingled bungalow, a one-armed doll staring out toward the street. To Beringer, after more than eight years in Europe, it was like a movie set, an idyllic vision of yesterday.

He hated it.

The Lindstrom house was one of the older ones on the street, dating back to the 1930s. Its wood siding and facia shingles were painted blue with white trim. It had a bed of roses along one side of the driveway, all in full bloom. Like the purple bougainvillea rioting over one half of the long porch, the late September roses placed the house in Southern California, not America’s Heartland.

Beringer coasted along the dark street past the house. There were lights on downstairs, and more lights turned the drawn shades yellow over the upstairs bedroom windows set into a wide front dormer. Their room? he wondered. What were they doing now? In bed, sitting up, questioning each other about the unexpected phone call? Beringer didn’t know much about David Lindstrom yet, but he knew sweet little Lennie. And he knew she wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.

That knowledge gave an edge to his anger as he stared at the comfortable old house, the shutters and the glowing lights making it appear warm and snug, sheltered from any evil that might stalk the cold darkness outside.

He clamped his foot down on the accelerator and the gray Taurus shot forward. He slammed it around the next corner, tires squealing as the car leaned hard. He resisted the temptation to circle the block and cruise past the house again. He had already driven by twice. Quiet neighborhoods like this one, Neighborhood Watch signs posted all over the place, it was easy for an outsider to draw attention to himself. Beringer’s rented car was anonymous, both the model and the color, and he had taken the precaution of muddying the license plates so they could not be read easily. Even so, it was much too early in the game to take chances. There would be time enough to reconnoiter the house and the neighborhood.

Besides, the night wasn’t over. The phone call tonight had been a hearty dose of what was to come for the Lindstroms, only an appetizer for him.

“A
RE YOU GONNA
be all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t like to leave you like this.”

“I told you, I’ll be fine. You can’t be thinking about me when you’re looking into the throat of that fire. Promise me you won’t.”

“Okay. How was Richie when you went in there just now?”

“He’s confused. He doesn’t know how to take it. I’ll talk to him while you’re gone.” Her anger, barely under control, burst out. “The bastard! How could he do that to Richie? His own son, for God’s sake!”

“Take it easy, honey.”

“Don’t tell me to take it easy. I
won’t
take it easy.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. Go. Go on. We’ll be okay. We can talk when you get back. Be careful.”

“Don’t worry, I always am.”

I have so much to come back to, Dave thought. It had always seemed so secure, so untouchable. He knew that any human happiness hung on a very thin thread, but he had considered theirs blessed, the thread unbreakable.

It was close to midnight when he went out into the night, heading back to the fire lines. For the first time that he could remember, as he backed the Sentra out of the driveway, he found himself scanning the street, searching the shadows, seeing how menace could hide in the long dark nave created by the street’s overhanging oaks.

B
ERINGER DROVE PAST
the San Carlos College campus in the southwestern quadrant of the town, snugged up against the hills. Modern brick and glass buildings, winding walks, tree-shaded grounds. Even at this hour some students strolled along the lighted paths and clustered around the steps of the Student Union building as well as a lighted gymnasium where there was late evening activity. There were even lights in some of the classrooms, but Beringer figured classes ought to be about over, past eleven o’clock on a Friday evening.

He continued past the campus. More wide streets with more old houses, their lawns coated with white ash as if it had snowed. At this end of town, closer to the fire in the hills, drifting ashes were more visible. They washed over the hood of the gray Taurus like an attack of tiny feathers.

Lindstrom was a volunteer firefighter, Beringer had learned. Something to think about. A do-gooder. Lennie was a sucker for that kind of crap. Didn’t she ever ask herself what kind of man would go off to play firefighter, leaving his wife and kids alone?

He reached San Carlos’s main street, Washington Boulevard. The long center islands were planted in old palm trees. Large, gracious, two- and three-story brick homes flanked either side of the boulevard. Closer to the center of town these dated mansions gave way to small shops and stores. Here, for four blocks, vehicular traffic was shunted to one-way streets on either side of the boulevard, which became a pedestrian brick walkway where shoppers and strollers walked beneath picturesque gas lanterns past small boutiques, elegant shops, bookstores, coffeehouses and a variety of restaurants.

Beringer parked in a city lot north of the pedestrian mall and followed a winding brick path to the main street. The promenade was crowded. Several shops, two bookstores, a Mexican restaurant and no less than three coffeehouses were open, doing a brisk business. Try this in downtown Los Angeles late in the evening, Beringer thought. Leave your wallet home and make sure the insurance is paid up. San Carlos was different. Trendy, mostly white, quiet and safe.

That was about to change.

A well-built six-footer in his thirties, wearing khaki slacks and a green-striped knit golf shirt, obviously fit, probably worked out on the machines at one of the local health clubs, Beringer blended readily among the strollers enjoying the mild autumn evening. Any glances he drew were mostly from women, and always favorable. His was a tanned, strong-boned outdoor face, sandy hair no longer in a military crop but allowed to grow long over his ears and neck. He might have been an actor, one thought. His eyes were somewhat distanced behind tinted lenses set into gold-framed aviator-style glasses. The tinting affected his night vision slightly but he was used to that, and bright light hurt his eyes, which were a pale gray behind the light blue lenses. The intricate tracks fanning out from the shoreline of his eyes suggested that here was a man who laughed a great deal; the protective lenses hinted that he might simply be one who squinted often against sun glare.

For a half hour he strolled along the promenade, stepping inside a few of the open shops or peering through storefront windows. He bought an ice-cream cone—pralines and cream—from a Baskin Robbins and ate it sitting on a bench, watching the passersby. Close to midnight he sat at a tiny table in one of the coffeehouses and ordered a cup of cappuccino. The room was crowded with young people, students from the college. A mousy girl with long straight hair hanging over her eyes read a poem at the back of the room. Only occasional words were audible over the babble of conversation at the tables, but she didn’t seem to notice. The poet didn’t interest Beringer but he could feel the excitement building inside, the edge he had waited so long for. The right one would show. He could feel it. Tonight.

He was aware of covert glances his way. He smiled at a green-eyed redhead young enough to be a college student, but let his gaze drift away. Not her.

He spotted one who could be right when she left a table near the back. Blond, willowy, a pretty face wearing the confidence of a woman who knows what she looks like, a kind of arrogance in her posture and the carriage of her head, as if she were sniffing the air suspiciously. She wore a white T-shirt with a cat’s face and the slogan “Cat’s Meow” on the front, firm high breasts pushing at the shirt, long legs set off by a stone-washed denim miniskirt.

She walked out alone, but a moment later an older man who had also been sitting in the same part of the room hurried after her. Twice her age, Beringer thought. Silk shirt, expensive slacks, full head of silver-gray hair. One of her professors?

Beringer followed him out.

The man caught up with the girl when she turned off the brick promenade along one of the side paths leading toward the parking lots. Then they walked together, the teacher doing the talking, the girl staring straight ahead while he glanced nervously over his shoulder. He was her senior, Beringer thought, but she was in command, calling the shots. Why had they pretended not to be together when they left the coffeehouse?

Beringer trailed well behind them, offering no threat. He stopped in the shadow of a pepper tree at the edge of the parking area. The couple walked straight to a red Japanese sports car. The girl had the keys out, she was the driver. Teach got into the passenger seat.

Backing out, the car’s backup lights illuminated its license plate clearly, and Beringer felt a jolt as powerful as a cattle prod. The car was a Nissan 280Z. The personalized license plate said EDIES Z.

Beringer ran across the parking lot to his car. Anxiety drummed in his chest.
You can’t lose her, not her, she’s the one!
He careened out of the lot with a squeal of rubber. One-way street, they could only turn one way, left.

Then he saw the red car up ahead, stopped at a traffic signal, and he released a pent-up breath.
Gotcha
.

The couple in the sports car drove to a supermarket parking lot in a shopping center on the southwest side of town, not far from the college campus. They sat for a few moments in the car. From his vantage point on the far side of the lot Beringer watched the heads glue together. Then the man climbed out, gave the girl a wiggle of his fingers and turned to the car parked next to the 280Z, a silver Lexus. Matched his hair, Beringer thought. Edie and Beringer both watched him drive away.

She sat there and lit a cigarette. Smoke filled the interior of the car while more smoke from the fire in the hills drifted overhead. Beringer lit up himself, so excited now that his hand shook holding the lighter.
Come on, Edie, you know you’re mine but it can’t be here. Where is it gonna be?

She made the decision for him, and he was wrong. It wasn’t going to happen out on the highway or in the shadows beside a college dormitory but right here in the parking lot of the Alpha Beta market. The door of the Z popped open and Edie’s long slim legs carried her across the macadam and into the market.

Appraising the situation quickly, Beringer realized that the location wasn’t as impossible as he had first thought. Risky, but Edie and her teacher had taken the precaution of parking around to the side of the market, away from the lights and activity out front. Didn’t want to be seen together, he concluded, confirming his hunch about the way they had acted in the coffeehouse and afterward. Teacher, if that’s what he was, was on his way home to the wife and kiddies, leaving Edie all worked up and no place to go.

Beringer drove across the parking lot, easing into the open space next to Edie’s Z that her lover had vacated moments ago. Forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply, Beringer slid over to the passenger side of his car and eased the door open. Earlier he had taken the routine precaution of disconnecting the interior light that normally went on when a door opened. Now he removed a pair of smooth black leather gloves from the glove compartment. They were extra large but his knuckles were tight against the leather. From a pocket of the London Fog jacket on the seat beside him he removed a leather sleeve holding a row of steel balls the size of large marbles. The sleeve fit comfortably into the pocket of his balled right fist.

He adjusted the side-view mirror so that he could watch the front of the market. He didn’t have long to wait before he saw the girl coming around the corner and walking toward him, the sweet scissoring of those legs under the miniskirt. The parking lot was clearly illuminated at the front, but someone ought to complain about the side area, Beringer thought. Widely spaced lights didn’t do a damned thing, and the night was dark, overcast not only from cloud cover but also from the pervasive pall of smoke. Not far away another woman alone loaded her groceries from a cart into a station wagon, but she had her back to Beringer and there was no one else close, no one close enough to see what was happening when Edie came near her car and Beringer pushed his passenger door open and stepped out.