Chase Read online

  ‘Where are your spare light bulbs kept?’ Chase asked Linski.

  ‘I'm not telling you.’

  ‘You will, eventually.’

  Judge remained silent, glowering at Chase. Chase noticed that just as intended, there were no bruises on the man's throat where Chase's thumbs had dug into him. The pressure had been too pinpointed and too quick to seriously hurt tissue.

  Chase back-handed Linski across the face, three times.

  Linski said, ‘In the kitchen, under the sink, behind the box of laundry detergent. What are you trying to prove with all this?’

  Chase did not answer. He found the bulbs and screwed two new ones into the lamp. They worked when he switched them on.

  In the kitchen again, he got a bucket of water, soap, ammoniated cleanser and a carton of milk - his mother's favourite spot remover - from the refrigerator. In the living room, he used a rag and a succession of the substances to get the worst of the blood spots out of the carpet. The faint brown stains that remained were easily hidden by the long nap of the shag rug.

  He put everything away again and threw the rag into the garbage bag with the other things.

  After that, he stood in the centre of the room and slowly examined all of it for traces of the fight. The blood had been mopped up, the furniture righted, the broken glass thrown out. The only thing that might draw anyone's suspicion was the soot-ringed, pale square where the ornate mirror had hung.

  Chase pulled the two picture hangers out of the wall; they left two small nail holes behind. He used a handful of paper towels to wipe away most of the dirty ring, successfully blending the lighter and darker portions of the wall. It was still obvious that something had hung there, though one might now think it had been removed several months ago.

  Judge watched all of this without asking any more questions.

  Chase came back to him and sat down on the arm of the easy chair. He said, ‘I have some questions to ask you.’

  ‘Go to hell,’ Judge said.

  Chase hit him hard. He said, ‘First of all, did you really intend to kill Louise Allenby, or just Mike?’

  ‘Both of them,’ Judge said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I've explained all of that.’

  ‘Explain it again.’ Chase's arm felt as if it were falling off, but the severe pain kept him alert.

  They were fornicators,’ Linski said. ‘I followed them and watched them until I knew for sure.’

  ‘And why should that bother you? Because Mike should have been your lover?’

  Perhaps Judge realized that there was no way out, no hope of continuing to hide anything. He no longer bothered to deny his sexual proclivities. He said, ‘He was a beautiful boy, and he seemed to like me. But I made a major mistake in approaching him. It became almost an obsession with me, his youthfulness, the grace in him that older men soon lose, his smile, his enthusiasm, his vital energy. I should not have started any of it.’

  ‘And that's why you killed him.’

  ‘No,’ Judge said. ‘It started out because of that, but it grew into something much more important.’ There was a peculiar spark of interest in his eyes, a morbid excitement. ‘When I followed him, I saw what loose morals he had - and what loose morals most of his generation has. I was negatively impressed by the rutting that went on in the park on Kanackaway, for instance. It soon became obvious to me that unless something was done to set an example for this generation, the country would one day decline as Rome declined.’

  Chase felt tired. He had been hoping for something more than this, something original and fresh. Madmen, he supposed, always clung to the same stale ideas, though. He said, ‘And you would single-handedly bring about a change in the morals of all young people - just by showing them what was liable to happen to - fornicators.’

  ‘Yes,’ Judge said. ‘I know that I'm tainted myself. Don't think I'm blind to my own weaknesses. But by embarking on a crusade of this sort. I could surely pay penance for my own sins and contribute positively to the Christian standards of the community.’

  Chase laughed.

  ‘I see nothing funny,’ Judge said.

  ‘I do,’ Chase said. ‘You ought to meet Mike Karnes's parents. Have you ever met them?’

  ‘No,’ Judge said, perplexed.

  Chase was still laughing, but he realized it was not healthy laughter, too forced and tight for that. He stopped and sat there for a moment, regaining his composure. He said, ‘What about Blentz?’

  ‘I knew him once - in the Biblical sense.’

  ‘He was your lover?’ Chase asked.

  ‘Yes. But he was petty and nasty, and he threatened to expose me for what I was. He didn't care about his own involvement. He said he wouldn't care if the whole city knew.’

  ‘He had the right attitude,’ Chase said.

  ‘Exposing your own sin, revelling in it? That is a healthy attitude?’

  ‘Something like homosexuality is only a sin if you want to think of it that way,’ Chase said. ‘To other people, it's just another way of facing the world.’

  ‘You're corrupted, like everyone else,’ Judge said. ‘At least I recognize it for the weakness it is.’

  ‘How long ago were you and Blentz lovers?’

  Judge said, ‘Two years ago, maybe longer. We saw each other occasionally since then, but not in anything but a social context.’

  ‘When did he call to tell you I'd been around asking questions?’

  ‘Sunday afternoon. He wanted to see me Monday morning, and he made the mistake of hinting that he knew what I'd done.’

  ‘Why wouldn't he have gone straight to the police?’

  Judge strained at his ropes, then sank back, gasping for breath. When he could speak easily again, he said. ‘He wanted money. The same way he threatened to expose me two years ago, same payoff.’

  ‘I'd think he would have more money than you,’ Chase said.

  ‘He gambled. When he saw this chance, he took it.’

  ‘You shot him with that gun?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Chase said, ‘Where'd you get the grenade?’

  Judge seemed to brighten for a moment. ‘I'm a major in the reserves. When we had manoeuvres this summer, it was a simple matter to lift one of them from the metal storage chests they keep them in. I thought it might come in handy, and it almost did.’

  Chase found paper and pen in the dining-room desk, picked up a large coffee-table picture book on Africa and brought everything back to Linski. He placed the book on Linski's lap, the paper on the book, the pen on the paper. He said, ‘I've tied your hands separately. I'm going to loosen your right hand and hold onto it with this rope. I'll dictate a confession; you'll write it. If you try anything, I'll beat the shit out of you. Do you believe that?’

  ‘I believe it,’ Judge said.

  Chase dictated the confession, saw that it was done properly, retied Judge's arm. He put the book on the coffee table again, put the pen in the desk.

  ‘You must be thrilled,’ Judge said. ‘I don't know how you found me, but it must be a clever story that'll make nice front-page reading.’

  ‘I won't let it get into the paper,’ Chase said. ‘At least not my part in it.’

  ‘Bullshit, Chase. Pure bullshit. You know there's no way you can keep it off page one. Even if you won't admit it, you must know you're a publicity monger, a cheap little tin war hero who has had his taste of glory and can't break the habit.’

  ‘No,’ Chase said. ‘You don't understand at all.’

  ‘Get a kick out of being a celebrity, do you? You killed all those women and children-’

  ‘Not me alone.’

  ‘- and now every time you get your picture in the paper, you're trading on that kind of ‘heroism.’ Medal of Honor winner. What a laugh that is, Chase. You're disgusting.’

  ‘I didn't want the medal,’ Chase said. He did not know why he had to defend himself to Judge of all people.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘That's the truth.
’

  ‘But you took it and the car and the awards dinner.’

  ‘Because that was the quickest way to get it over with and settle down again. If I'd refused any of those things, the curiosity of the press would have been ten times worse.’

  ‘Rationalization, that's all.’

  ‘It isn't!’ Chase shouted. ‘Dammit, I don't want to be a hero. I just want to live, the best that I can, as happy as I can. I'm not a hero at all.’

  ‘Why don't you tell that to the press?’

  Chase stood up, agitated. He did not want to go on in this vein any longer. He said, ‘Did you really intend to kill Glenda?’

  The blonde slut you're with?’

  ‘Glenda,’ Chase repeated.

  ‘Of course,’ Judge said. ‘She's a fornicator, just like you, just like the Allenby girl. And I still may kill you, all of you, bring you the proper judgment.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You don't think they'll send me to prison, do you? They'll sock me away in an institution and give me psychiatric care. Though if they try to give me Dr Cauvel, I'll scream bloody murder.’ He laughed until he choked, blinked tears from his eyes. ‘I'll get out again, maybe not for ten years or fifteen. But they won't keep me until I die.’ He looked at the paper lying by his feet. ‘Besides, you've forced a confession from me. That might be just enough to cause a mistrial, if it's introduced as evidence.’

  Chase picked up the pistol which he had placed on the television set. ‘You made the silencer yourself?’

  ‘Yes,’ Judge said. ‘It wasn't that difficult. A piece of pipe the proper diameter, the shop tools at the school where I teach - presto!’ He smiled at Chase. ‘That would make a good picture for the front page, you standing over me with the murder weapon in your hand, triumphant and glorious.’

  Chase slapped him hard with the back of his hand. When Judge's mouth fell, he jammed the silenced barrel between the man's teeth and pulled the trigger. Once.

  He dropped the gun and turned away from the dead man, walked into the hall and opened the bathroom door. He put up the lid of the toilet bowl, and after a few moments, vomited into the water. He remained on his knees for a long time, coughing up bile before he could control spasms that racked him. He flushed the toilet three times, put the lid down and sat on it, wiping at the cold sweat on his face.

  It was done.

  No more lies.

  Having won the Congressional Medal of Honor, the most sacred and jealously guarded award the country had, he had only wanted to return to the attic room in Mrs Fiedling's house and take up his penitence again. They had not allowed him that much.

  Then he met Glenda, and things changed. There was no question about returning to the hermetic way of life, sealed off from experience. All that he wanted now was a quietude, a chance for their love to develop, a normal life. Cauvel, the police and Richard Linski had not allowed him that. The press, if it were found that he had solved the case himself, would not allow him that either.

  He had known, without admitting it to himself, from the moment he had decided to come out here on his own, that he intended to kill Linski in just such a fashion. While he cleaned up all signs of the fight in the living room, he knew it. But he had not faced up to it until he pulled the trigger.

  Examining his conscience, he felt no guilt. This was different from the women in the tunnel. They had done nothing to him, had offered no genuine threat to his peace. Judge, however, brought an end to hopes of peace.

  Chase rose and went to the sink. He rinsed his mouth out until the bad taste was gone, then returned to the commode, sat down and tried to think the rest of it through.

  He felt no guilt, because other people had driven him into a corner - and permitted him to escape by using the deadly skills the army had taught him. He had won by their rules. He was sorry for what he'd done, but the guilt was reserved for those Vietnamese women who would live as a part of him until he died. He had subconsciously ignored the gun on the television set, he now saw, taking the wound in his shoulder as further punishment and reason to act. Besides, Richard Linski had been as much a victim of national hypocrisy as he had himself. Play it rough in war and in business at home. That was the way of the nation, and he had become an acolyte to the religion.

  He no longer had to be a hero.

  He got up and left the bathroom.

  In the front room, he untied Richard Linski's body and let it sprawl on the floor. He wiped the chair with wet paper towels until there was no blood on it, replaced it at the dining-room table, then put the towels in the plastic garbage bag.

  When he considered the pistol, he realized there would be three slugs missing from the clip, but he could do nothing about that. It was no proof that Judge had shot at anyone or that he had not killed himself. He wiped the gun with a towel he had got from the linen closet and pressed Judge's hand around it to leave unmistakable prints.

  With the pistol out of the way, he searched for the two slugs which Judge had expended earlier. He found one embedded in the baseboard, and he dug it out without leaving a very noticeable mark. The other was behind the portable bar under the spot where the mirror had rested. He dug it out along with a large piece of glass that he had overlooked the first time.

  Using the same towel, he decided to begin wiping everything he had touched, but brought himself up short at that. There might be a good many fingerprints on things as it was, enough to mask his own a bit. If the police found the doorknob wiped clean, however, they'd not believe the suicide angle for a minute. He put the towel in the plastic sack.

  It was a quarter to twelve when he reached the Mustang and put the garbage bag in the trunk. He got in, started the engine and drove down the street past Linski's bungalow. The lights were burning. They would burn all night.

  On the way back to the motel, he began to think about Glenda and about taking her to bed again, soon, within the hour. This time, he felt almost certain, there would be no inability on his part. That thought, combined with the knowledge that Judge was out of their lives for good, served to liberate his spirit, loosen one bond after another until he felt as if he were soaring. Giddy, he considered how soon he should ask her to marry him; he wanted her as a wife, more than he had wanted anything.

  He had not forgotten Operation Jules Verne. It was just that he had come to see that he was as much a victim of his society as the Vietnamese women had been victims of theirs. Guilt should be tempered with hope and happiness, even for him.

  He thought about Glenda again, pictured her as his wife, liked the picture. In a few years they might even have a baby. Just one child. He didn't want her to become a baby machine. And if it were a boy, none of Them would touch him, none of Them would take him away when he turned eighteen and teach him to kill. Society had taught Chase how to play tough, and he would use every trick he had learned to protect his own.

  She was waiting in the room, sitting on the bed with the television whispering at her. When he knocked, she unlatched and unchained the door, looked out warily, then grinned.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked as she welcomed him inside.

  He began to unbutton her blouse, and the sense of capability did not leave him. He was shaking a little, but he did not think she would notice. He said, ‘He killed himself.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I got there, I took my time sneaking into the place, wormed my way to the living room - and found him dead. He'd left a suicide note.’

  ‘But what took you so long?’

  ‘I didn't build up the nerve to go into the house until after ten. When I found him, I had to sit down and think it out. I wiped my prints off the doorknob and everything I touched, then took my time getting out of there in case someone might be watching from another house.’

  ‘You're sure he's dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She came against him, her hand on his arm, directly over the lump of his makeshift bandage. ‘What's this?’

  ‘I fell and cut myself.’
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  She helped him take his shirt off, and she undid the bandage. ‘Cut yourself on what?’

  ‘A broken mirror,’ he said, feeling sick. ‘I broke a mirror in Linski's place and cut my arm.’

  ‘Come into the bathroom,’ she said.

  It had stopped bleeding and was crusted black and ugly. She bathed it tenderly and used one of the pillowcases to make clean strip bandages. ‘We should see a doctor about this.’

  ‘It'll be all right,’ he said. He took her head in his hands when she had finished tending him, and said, ‘Glenda, will you marry me?’

  ‘You're in shock,’ she said. ‘Don't propose marriage when you're not clear-headed.’

  ‘If you don't answer me now,’ he said, ‘I'm afraid I'm going to start screaming and be unable to stop.’

  She smiled, but quickly saw that he was serious. She said, ‘You haven't said you love me.’

  ‘Haven't I? My own stupidity. I do, and you know that I do. And I also should tell you that from now on I think I can also love you in the physical sense as well.’ He smiled at her. ‘Marry me?’

  She stood and unhooked her bra, stepped out of her skirt and panties.

  ‘Please answer me,’ he said.

  ‘I am answering you,’ she said. ‘I'm answering you in the most positive way I can think of. Let's go to bed, darling.’

  Later, very much later, as they lay side by side on the motel bed, she said, ‘I want to pick up your things tomorrow and move you in with me.’

  ‘What will your mother think?’

  ‘She'll have to accept the fact that I'm a grown girl. Besides, you've said you'll marry me rather than live in sin.’

  ‘It's a deal,’ Chase said. ‘First thing in the morning; I don't have much to be moved.’ He thought that now he even had enough determination to tell Mrs Fiedling to button the neck of her damn housedress.