Psycho - Three Complete Novels (64 page)

“Help is on the way.”

“Wait—”

He hung up. And by the time Amy finished wriggling and started zipping he was rapping at the door.

Shoeless, she admitted him. “My hair’s a mess,” she murmured. “I can’t go down there looking like this.”

“You aren’t going down there at all.” Gibbs nodded. “Far as I’m concerned your hair looks great the way it is, but if you want to fiddle around with it, bring a comb and a mirror. My car’s over on Second Street.”

“Think we could get there alive?”

“Positive. Unless somebody’s captured the service elevator.”

But that hadn’t happened, and they landed safely in the hall just off the kitchen, then left by way of the delivery door at the rear of the hotel. The alley that bordered it was empty and so was the side street beyond. Turning right at the corner, Hank Gibbs led her to his car.

Her compact mirror confirmed he’d told her the truth; a good thing she remembered to bring a shower cap, because her hair hadn’t gotten wet and all it needed was a quick come-through. By the time she finished, the car was picking up speed.

“Where are we going?”

Gibbs grinned. “You ever hear a definition of the word ‘impossible’?”

“Tell me.”

“ ‘Impossible’ means finding a Chinese restaurant that’s open for breakfast.”

“If you’re saying what I think you are, we had dinner there last night.”

Gibbs glanced at her quickly. “We?”

“Dick Reno and I.”

“Then you’re in for a surprise. They serve the best country-style ham and eggs breakfast this side of Springfield.”

Now they were leaving the town behind them. Gibbs glanced at her as she settled back in the seat.

“Feeling better?”

“Much. Thanks for rescuing me. I wasn’t really awake when I agreed to all those interviews. I could have spent half the day giving free handouts.”

“Don’t feel guilty. The same thing happens to me, and that’s why I wanted to get away. Minute a big story breaks in a small town, every stringer in the state shows up, then it’s radio and the television crews. They’ve got to deal with the local lawmen but that means waiting for a handout or a personally delivered ‘no comment.’ So the first thing they do is track down the editor of the local paper and try to get a story out of him.”

Amy nodded. “Was it as bad as this when Norman Bates escaped and the Loomises were killed?”

“Bad enough. Thing is, after it blew over, nobody expected something like that would ever happen again. But now—”

He broke off in midsentence as they approached their destination and there was no further conversation during parking or entering the restaurant.

At the moment there were only a few other customers. On the way to their table Amy noted Gibbs hadn’t exaggerated; the ham and eggs looked good and she enjoyed an enticing preview of hot rolls, freshly squeezed orange juice, real marmalade in glass jars rather than synthetic glop in tiny plastic containers.

By the time they were seated and placed their orders from a menu entirely devoid of oriental cuisine, Amy was well pleased with Gibbs’ surprise.

“Was dinner good here last night?” he said.

“Very.”

“I’m not just talking about the food. Did you get anything worthwhile out of Reno, anything you could use?”

“I didn’t accept his invitation in order to use him?”

“So the lady says.” Gibbs grinned. “But the lady also happens to be a writer, and writers use everyone and everything. It takes one to know one.”

Amy found herself smiling. “All right, you win.”

“Did you?”

She shook her head. “Not really. That is, I didn’t learn anything new. But he made it very clear how people around here feel about being saddled with guilt by association. The don’t like what Norman Bates did, they don’t like the idea of living in his shadow.”

“Can you blame him?” Gibbs paused as their juice and coffee arrived. Amy discovered the cream was genuine too; this was a day for surprises.

She put some real sugar into her real coffee and glanced up. “I stopped by your office last night,” she said. “Where were you?”

“Didn’t Engstrom say?”

“No. He was looking for you too.”

“I forgot. When I got back and heard the news I went over there, but by the time you’d already left.” Gibbs smiled. “Guess I owe the Sheriff an apology. He couldn’t have told you before I told him.” The smile disappeared. “Matter of fact, I’m not so sure I ought to tell you now. Don’t want to spoil your breakfast.”

“Whatever it is, I’m going to find out anyway sooner or later,” Amy said.

“True. But it’s not the kind of surprise I had in mind when I brought you here.”

“Are you going to tell me or aren’t you?”

“All right. Last night I was over at Baldwin Memorial Hospital.”

“I remember the name.” Amy nodded. “That’s where Dr. Claiborne is.”

“Was.” Gibbs’ voice was flat. “He died last night.”

“What happened?”

“Another heart attack—a big one.”

“Does Steiner know?”

“I assume so, by now. The first call came to me at the office; that’s why I went out there. They wouldn’t give me much by way of details, but I know there’ll be an autopsy within a day or two. Not that anyone is going to pay any attention, considering what’s been going on over here.”

Amy took a sip of coffee but she couldn’t taste it. Her senses were playing her false, senses and emotions. In this instance surprise should register as shock, but it didn’t. And compassion was oddly interlaced with irritation; why couldn’t she have had a chance to interview Claiborne before he died?

She stared at Gibbs across the table. “So that’s where you were.”

“If you don’t believe me, ask your friend Engstrom.”

Amy shook her head. “He’s not my friend.”

“Nor mine.” Gibbs was frowning. “Told me to get off his back and not mess up his investigation. When he got hold of me at his office he couldn’t wait to call Baldwin Memorial and check out my alibi.”

“He suspected you?”

“Why not? He suspected you too. That’s the name of the game.”

“Who do you suspect?”

Gibbs frowned. “Have to think about that. Might help if you told me what happened to you after you left Dick Reno last night.”

Amy obliged, but not until after the rest of their breakfast order arrived and they started to eat. Her taste buds were beginning to function again and for this she was grateful.

As for Gibbs, he seemed grateful with her information. When she concluded, he began. “What do you think really happened?”

“I’d know more if I could come up with some possible motives.”

“Try insanity.”

“That’s one of the things I intend to go into with Dr. Steiner,” Amy said. “I’d like to get a professional opinion about the personality profile of someone capable of breaking into the Bates property, stealing that dummy, and killing a harmless little girl.”

“Have you come up with any candidates on your own?”

Amy hesitated. “Norman would do it. Or someone who thinks like Norman.”

“Claiborne fits that description. But he’s dead now, and at the time Terry Dowson was murdered he was confined.” Gibbs speared a slice of ham with his fork and didn’t continue speaking until he’d stopped chewing. “Wild guess,” he said.

“Who?”

“Eric Dunstable. I get the distinct impression that his elevator doesn’t stop at every floor.”

Amy shook her head. “Not unless he has an identical twin. You’re forgetting he was with me in Chicago on the night Terry was killed.”

“If you told the truth.” He grinned quickly to counter her frown. “Only kidding. I know Engstrom checked up on your alibi, same as he did mine.” Gibbs nodded. “Okay, Dunstable’s off the hook as far as Terry Dowson is concerned. But where was he last night?”

“I don’t know,” Amy said. “I couldn’t reach him in his room then or this morning. It’s possible he might have runoff without checking out.”

“That’s really Engstrom’s problem. You can bet he’ll be looking for him or some other fanatic.”

“Fanatic?”

“I suggest you try to feel out Steiner on the subject when you see him. There’ve been some rumors floating around that a local resident is getting outpatient treatment from him.”

“At State Hospital?”

Gibbs shrugged. “Not that many shrinks available in this neck of the woods. Though God knows we could use a few.”

“Any idea who this local resident might be?”

“I talked to Steiner a while back and he refused to give names. But he didn’t deny he’d been seeing someone. If I was the Sheriff I’d start looking for a weirdo.”

“Or someone who wants people to
think
it was a weirdo.”

“Why?”

“To cover-up their real motive, of course.” Amy took a final sip of her coffee. “That might go along with your hunch about a fanatic being responsible. Someone with far-out ideas but rational enough to make those murders look like the work of a psychotic.” Amy put her cup down. “But that doesn’t mean fanaticism is the only possible motive. We can’t rule out things like envy, revenge, jealousy—” She hesitated, frowning. “Did Doris Huntley have a boyfriend?”

Now it was Gibbs who frowned. “Not for publication.”

“But you know who it is?”

Gibbs rose. “Let’s go. Maybe we could get a chance to talk to him before Engstrom does.”

— 17 —

T
he office door was locked, but Gibbs reached down and rattled the doorknob.

“I know he’s in there. His car’s parked out back.”

Amy hesitated. “Under the circumstances, maybe we shouldn’t disturb him—”

But they already had. The door opened abruptly and a disturbed Charlie Pitkin peered up at them, standing in shadow and blinking at the light from the hallway. As recognition came he relaxed.

“Hank?”

Gibbs nodded toward Amy. “You remember Miss Haines, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Pitkin stepped back. “Come in.” Once they entered he closed the door behind them and the shadows deepened. “My apologies,” he said. “I’m keeping the blinds drawn. Officially we’re closed for the day; I told my girl not to come in and I’m not taking any calls.”

As if to prove his assertion the phone on the desk in the outer office began to flash and ring. Ignoring it, he led them through the reception area and into the even darker depths of his private quarters beyond. Here a lamp cast a fan-shaped wedge of light over the desk. Atop it another phone flashed, then ceased to signal.

Pitkin took his place behind the desk and gestured them forward. “Please sit down.” He glanced at Amy. “Sorry about lights. I’d rather not let the media people know where I am right now.” The phone flickered again but he ignored it.

Amy and Gibbs settled into chairs facing the attorney. He stared at them expectantly for a moment and it was Gibbs who broke the silence.

“Seen Engstrom yet?”

“He just left.”

“Have there been any new developments?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Pitkin shook his head in sharp-nosed profile, then turned toward Amy as the phone’s light signal faded. “Please excuse me, Miss Haines. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that this has all been quite a shock—”

“I understand.”

“But Hank doesn’t.” Again the attorney directed his attention to Gibbs. “You know better than to think Engstrom would clue me in on what’s going on. As far as he’s concerned, I’m still a possible suspect.”

Gibbs nodded. “But not enough of a one to be placed under arrest.”

“I did give him an alibi, in case you’re interested.” Once more the desk phone came alive with light and once more Pitkin ignored it. “I assume that’s what you really came to find out.”

Amy stirred uncomfortably. “It was thoughtless of us to bother you at a time like this. We’d better go—”

“Please.” Pitkin gestured quickly. “I gave you an invitation the other night at the Club.”

“But that was before all this happened. If you’d rather not talk about it—”

“What I told Engstrom is now a matter of public record. No reason why you shouldn’t know. My daughter and I were out at the lake last night. We have a cottage there. First we heard about what went on was around seven this morning when we caught a news bulletin. Needless to say, it hit me pretty hard at first. Otto’s been my friend as well as my client for so many years. He had so much ambition, so many plans. All gone now, and Doris too—”

The attorney’s voice broke off simultaneously with the flicker of the phone, then resumed. “Emily knew how upset I was. She didn’t want me to come in, but the Sheriff meant to see me and I thought it would be easier on her if I spoke to him alone.”

Gibbs leaned forward. “But won’t Engstrom be seeing her too, just to confirm your alibi?”

“I suppose so. But he won’t lean on Emily the way he leaned on me. At least that’s what I’m hoping, but with the kind of pressure he’s under right now, anything is possible.”

“There’s just one other thing I’d like to know,” Amy said. “Do you have any idea who might be responsible for what happened last night?”

“None. And as I told you, the Sheriff didn’t volunteer to fill me in.”

“I can do that much,” Gibbs said. “During the time before Miss Haines met me at the hotel I heard at least six versions of various rumors already floating around. What most of them boil down to is the usual mysterious stranger who was seen by somebody—no one quite knows who—coming into town or leaving town during the storm. There’s no explanation why he was wandering around on foot with an umbrella, but everyone is absolutely convinced that he is definitely an escaped lunatic, a gay with terminal AIDS—or a child molester who killed Terry Dowson and has now graduated to bigger things.”

Pitkin spoke slowly. “That’s nothing to joke about.”

“I’m serious. And so are they, which is what really bothers me. If this case isn’t solved quickly, we’re due for a witch-hunt.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, but there doesn’t seem much that we can do about it.” Pitkin glanced at Amy. “I only hope that when you write your book it won’t be necessary to compare Fairvale with Salem, Massachusetts in 1692.”

“That’s not my intention,” Amy said. She turned, nodding at Gibbs. “I think we should go now.” As she rose, the phone’s flashings flared across her face. “It was kind of you to see us, Mr. Pitkin. You’ve been very patient.”