Once at home, Randy snatched a frozen pizza from the freezer and slid it unceremoniously into his microwave, careful to follow the convoluted but well-remembered instructions on the box. He fed his fish, petted his cat and stretched out on his sofa, the disks having been safely tucked away. Maybe later he would bring up the stored information on his machine, have a closer look. Maybe he'd struck a sensitive nerve with someone, but he was damned if he'd noticed anything of worth in all the material flowing through earlier in the day.
Still, he might've missed something.
He turned on the TV, listened to a little MTV. He was nearly dozing when something awakened him. It sounded like a gunshot, but it was just the cat, who'd somehow gotten into the metal trays and pots and pans below the sink. He must have left the pantry door open for Muriel to discover.
Muriel had frightened herself and came racing out of the kitchen. At first he thought she'd been frightened by something other than inanimate objects, but no, Muriel was true to form.
As he began to wash and dry pans and trays that Muriel had left marked with her fur, he heard the noisy elevator moving up the shaft, which was adjacent to his apartment.
The damned thing went up and down all night. There was nothing unusual in hearing it now, but for some reason, tonight it sounded more ominous. He listened to hear what floor it would stop at. hoping it would stop on the floor below or above, but no, it stopped on his floor.
This was followed by silence, pure and deep and foreboding, filling Randy with an ancient gloom he must surely have shared with ancestors who stalked saber-toothed tigers and woolly mammoths. He could only imagine who was out there, who had gotten off the elevator. There was not a sound, no footsteps, no laughter or talking, just the damnable silence.
They were coming for him. He just knew it. And him without so much as a cap pistol for protection. Damn, he'd electronically painted himself into a corner, a corner where he could get seriously hurt, maybe busted ribs, maybe worse, maybe killed, maybe… maybe…
There came a knock on the door.
He pretended to not be home as Muriel welcomed the guest with a startlingly high-pitched cry.
Another knock and Randy was sweating in the kitchen, his pizza beginning to smell from the heat.
“Randy? You in there?”
God, it was Dr. Sanger's voice. “Open up! We've got to talk.”
She'd never seen his place, never been here before. It was a shambles. Damn, why hadn't she called to give him some warning? “Dr. Sanger,” he called out. “Just… just a minute.” He futilely went about picking up, giving up after a few tosses.
He pulled the door wide to find Meredyth with Lucas Stonecoat beside her.
“Hi, Randy,” she said, smiling. “I'm sorry I didn't get back to you today, but when I called you were gone.”
“That's all right, Dr. Sanger. Hi, Detective… Officer Stonecoat.”
“Why don't you call me Lucas.”
“All right, Lucas.”
“We came into the office and found your monitor on, Randy.”
“What? No way, I shut it down. I never leave it up, Doctor, never.”
“And a window was left open in Dr. Sanger's office.”
“No, no way, I swear.”
“We got a little worried about… things,” she said.
“You don't know the half,” Randy replied.
“Meaning?”
Randy gave them a complete rundown on what had occurred late this afternoon. He located the disks and showed the others.
“Better get your dinner,” she warned. “It'll be burnt.”
“Looks like we've got work ahead of us,” said Lucas. “Why don't we order out for three? I'm buying.”
With that, they settled in around the computer and brought up the material Randy had copied to disk. After a time, they began taking turns, watching the screen as the material scrolled by.
“There,” said Meredyth, pointing.
The others joined her. 'They all belonged to the Houston Hunt Club. They all contributed heavily to a number of charities, church organizations.”
“All rather harmless enough in and of itself,” suggested Lucas.
'They both contributed to the Church of the Sepulcher, located in a poor section of Houston, Texas, where a monastic order of brothers did all in their power to help out troubled youth. And they both likely knew the pastor there.”
“Maybe he gave them both last rites?” Lucas wondered aloud.
“And look, they both went to the same college, Texas Christian University…”
“But they attended different years.”
“I wonder where Timothy Little attended college,” Meredyth pondered aloud. “Geezus, man… wow, what do you think?” Randy was asking.
“There's another cross here,” said Meredyth, pointing to the screen.
Lucas leaned in to read it for himself. 'They shared the same doctor?
“Coincidence?
“ Or plan? Remember, whoever filleted the bodies knew anatomy, and whoever got close enough to tuck Mootry in was likely a trusted friend.” Lucas began to pace the room, trying to consider all sides.
“Meantime, someone's getting damned nervous about what we know. Someone broke into my office and was rifling through Randy's computer.”
“Why weren't these simple connections made on the earlier investigations?” Randy wondered aloud. “Why weren't they in the Cold Room files?”
“Removed?” suggested Meredyth.
“Maybe this was the connection that got Felipe and Covey put away so permanently.”
Meredyth looked from Lucas to Randy and back again. “You think it's now our turn?”
“We could call a halt to it. Tell Lawrence we've got zip. Go our own ways, maybe live longer,” he suggested.
“Hell, Lucas, we can't do that.”
'To buy time, we can, until we know more.”
“Besides,” she suggested, “who's to say that Phil Lawrence isn't behind the cover-up?”
“We've got to be smarter than Covey. He gave them the wherewithal to silence him. We can't be so careless.”
The elevator disturbed the silence now creeping over them, and for a long and sullen moment, they all stared across at one another, each sizing up the weighty aroma of paranoia they all inhaled. It was a potent and sensuous thing they shared, spooning up great gobs like an acrid and pasty oatmeal. Lucas located his gun and stepped to the door, where the pizza deliveryman pounded on the other side and shouted in his best business voice, “Delivery for Lucas Stonecoat!”
After gulping down Pepsi and pizza, Lucas agreed to submit to a hypnotism session with Meredyth Sanger. Randy agreed to remain as a witness to the session. Meredyth's voice was soothing, like a prairie wind, he thought, and he easily allowed himself to fall under her direction. He was soon relaxed; in fact, he could hardly recall a time when he'd felt more relaxed. Under hypnotism, he felt none of the usual bodily constraints or relentless pain that stalked him under normal circumstances.
But all freedom from pain was lost when he found himself reliving the events of the mugging he had suffered. He saw it all through a teasing fog and heard through a filter that created a slow motion of all speech. He didn't hear himself as he mimicked the voice of the man he had judged to be Fred Amelford: “You get yourself free of this case you're pursuing, son, or you and your girlfriend are dead. You understand that, kimosabe?”
“l-I-I…” He couldn't nod for fear the razor-sharp knife would cut a major artery, and now his body was frozen stiff on the couch where he lay. He couldn't find the words in his suddenly parched throat. He imagined what the world would be like tomorrow without him in it.
“That's what we think, son, exactly. Now, you just come to your fucking senses, boy,” the supposed Amelford voice continued.
Lucas felt a huge, doubled-up fist chop away at the base of his skull, just as it had happened, and he sensed that the knife was lifted away from his throat in the same fluid motion. He guessed that one of his assailants had had combat training. His last thoughts were twofold: The attack on him was the work of two assailants, and Meredyth was in danger as well. But Stonecoat was in a black world now, the concrete walk his pillow. The words of his second attacker filtered through Lucas's fogbound mind now, the words of Jim Pardee, he assumed, tumbling out in broken slow motion. “We should just kill the bastard here and now.”
“No, not-now-and-not-here.”
A sudden, teeth-jarring kick struck Lucas in the side. On the couch where he lay, he flinched in pain. “Why're- we-screwing-with-him?”
The other man answered, “That's-'nough. We-do- it-the-way-we're-told.”
“Damn… damn… It's-a'ways-hell-Sanger's- way, isn't-it?”
“Orders-is-orders.”
“Our-lives-on-the-line.”
“Damn it. Partner, we're-all-in-this-together.”
“Bas-tard!”
Stonecoat felt another sharp pain in his ribs when one of the apes viciously kicked out at him again. He flinched where he lay on the couch. He fought the pain every step of the way, then fell into complete unconsciousness. But now, under hypnosis, he could contemplate his own unconscious state. It was strange, like being on locoweed.
Then he was brought out of it, thinking it hadn't worked, that he was incapable of being hypnotized, and that only a moment's time had elapsed. He hadn't heard a word or felt a thing during the session, according to his conscious mind.
Meredyth looked grimly down on him, much disturbed, and Randy's mouth hung open until he finally said, “Must be his thoughts are all jumbled up, Dr. Sanger.”
“What's wrong? What'd I say?”
“You accused Dr. Sanger of siccing those goons on you!”
“What? That's nonsense,” he instantly replied. “Why would I think that, even in an unconscious state?”
“Well, in a sense, I got you into this,” she countered. And in her most professional manner, she continued, saying, “You have every right to subconsciously explore your animosity toward-
“Whoa-up there. Hold on…”
'To point a finger of blame at me,” she groped for simple terms, “for having gotten you nearly killed. After all, I did-”
“I wasn't nearly killed, and why are you saying that I blame you? I'm a grown man, capable of making my own decisions, and I decided I wanted in, as I recall.”
“No, I manipulated you.”
“You did no such thing. I don't get manipulated.”
“I put your back to the wall in your own captain's office before Commander Bryce if you recall, so don't tell me about who's at fault and who's not.” Her voice rose wavelike, cresting and washing anger over him.
“Damn it, woman, I decide when I go forward and when I go backward. My mother's name was Going back.”
“Really? I don't see where that has any bearing.”
Randy attempted a timid truce, his hands waving as he dared step between the cop and the shrink, saying, “Let's run the tape, okay?” He had tape-recorded the session, using a small recorder from Dr. Sanger's purse.
“Good idea,” agreed Lucas, his eyes never leaving Meredyth. “I'd like to know exactly what I said to so upset you.”
She dropped her gaze, shook her head, as if to say everything he did upset her. Randy clicked on the tape. Meredyth's voice crisply explained what the session en-tailed, who she was, who the subject and witness were, and the date; the tape then continued into the hypnosis itself. Lucas thought she sounded like any other psychiatrist at this point. Then, after a few questions posed by Meredyth to set the scene, he heard himself, speaking in the voices of the two thugs who'd jumped him. He soon realized why she had become so defensive and self-conscious about her role in dragging him into the case. It did sound as if he had subconsciously blamed her for the beating as he as much as said in his hypnotic state that the men had been sent by her. The one goon wanted it done Sanger's way.
The phone rang, shaking Lucas from his despair at the evidence brought to bear against him. He shrugged in an apologetic manner toward Meredyth, a gesture he knew to be too little, too late. Maybe subconsciously he did conceal some dark caves of hatred for the doctor. Maybe he was upset with her for having gotten him so deeply involved in a case that could easily boomerang on them all.
Randy picked up the phone on the third ring, his eyes never leaving the other two. “Yeah, yes, sir… matter of fact, he's… he's right here, Captain Lawrence,” sputtered Randy.
He carried the phone over to Lucas and added, “It's for you.” He gestured to Meredyth after relinquishing the phone to Lucas, as if to say, Don't ask me how he knew you were here.
“Yeah, Stonecoat here. Can I help you, Captain?”
“We got another brutal killing up north, Lucas.” Captain Lawrence's voice seemed a fix of fatigue and angst. “Same M.O.?”
“Sounds to be, yes.”
“Where exactly?”
“Rapid City, South Dakota-outskirts, actually.”
“Outskirts? North, south, east, or west outskirts?”
“West, I'm told. We got you booked in a place called the Wagon Wheel.”
“Same M.O., using a crossbow?” he repeated, hardly believing it.
“Near as authorities up there can tell. Some poor bastard and his woman, both with arrows through their hearts. That close enough?”
“Execution-style murders? Mutilated corpses?”
“You got it. Hands, heads, feet, sexual organs.”
Lucas saw that Meredyth was listening intently. “Bloody business. Nothing but the torsos remaining?”
“I've been trying to locate Dr. Sanger. You two are booked on a red-eye flight leaving tonight, but I haven't been able to locate her.”
“I'll let her know.”
“You know where she is, then?”
“She's having dinner with her boyfriend at the Marriott, so I'll have her paged there.”
“Her boyfriend? She's got a boyfriend?”
“A nice guy named Conrad. Why not, Captain?”
“Way she drives a man… just surprises me.” He laughed at his own feeble joke. “Anyhow, a plane will be waiting for you two at the same military hangar you left from last time.”
“Roger that, Captain.” He hung up and informed the others of the horrid yet half-expected news.
“Why have the killers stepped up their pace?” Meredyth wondered aloud.
“I don't know, but at this rate, their dirty little activities are going to be front-page national headlines soon.”
“Let's get out to the airport. Run me by my place, Lucas.
“ She then turned to the younger man. “Randy, it's important that you go on as if nothing's happened. Just maintain.”
“Got it. Dr. Sanger.”
Lucas threw together a set of clothes and items for the trip nearly identical to what he'd taken on the last one to Oregon. He made a quick telephone call, getting reservations at a place he called the Prairie Wind Lodge in Black Hawk. After he dropped the phone back onto its cradle, she instantly asked, “Black Hawk?”
“Near Custer State Park, in the Badlands area. Kinda rustic.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning friends of mine operate the place,” he told her. “I've hunted elk and deer in the area myself. Have even used a crossbow. May as well throw them some business.”
She nodded. “So long as it's not so rustic we can't get separate rooms, fine.”
“They're Indians, Sioux, a little Shoshoni mixed in. They had parts in Dances with Wolves.”
“Really?” From her tone, he could not tell if she was amused or curious.
'Their accommodations weren't good enough for Kevin Costner. He stayed at the Alex Johnson, downtown Rapid City, the presidential suite. But for you and me, we'll be fine at the Wind.”
“Sioux, really… sounds interesting.”
“Don't worry. Pawnees were the bad guys. Sioux were the good guys in the movie.” He left unspoken the suspicion he couldn't completely trust Phil Lawrence, nor did he feel comfortable bedding down in a place that was procured by Lawrence for Stonecoat's comfort. He wasn't altogether sure why he distrusted Lawrence, but sometimes an itch had best be scratched, he told himself now.