Psycho - Three Complete Novels (67 page)

“Who knows?” Reno said. “Maybe there is a connection.” He stared down at the weapon in his right hand. “I’m going back in and have another talk with Sandy.”

“Think she did it?”

“I’ll ask her.”

As Dick Reno turned and moved away, Gibbs opened the car door for Amy. “Good thing that gun isn’t loaded,” he murmured.

Amy didn’t reply. It wasn’t until they were back on the dirt road that either of them spoke again. As they drove past the bordering trees to the right, Gibbs’ profile was alternately sunlit and shadowed, but his expression remained unchanged.

“What’s bothering you?” Amy said. “Is it the interview?”

Gibbs shook his head. “Interviews don’t worry me. It’s just that everything Dick Reno said is true. Salem had the witch-hunts, London had Jack the Ripper, and from now on Fairvale is stuck with Norman Bates.” His grin was grim. “Strange, isn’t it? All the time and effort Otto Remsbach spent trying to publicize that damn motel. He never realized the best way to promote it was his own death.”

Amy frowned. “Maybe his partner had that idea.”

“Possibly.” Gibbs turned onto the county trunk. “But we both know his partner also has an alibi.”

“They all have alibis,” Amy said. “Including you and me.”

Gibbs’ grin returned. “You still claim you didn’t do it?”

Amy nodded, but her reply didn’t match his mood. “Stop clowning. If we eliminate Dick Reno and Sandy, who’s left?”

“Just about everybody else in town,” Gibbs said. “They all hate what’s been happening here and I have a pretty strong hunch that if Remsbach had lived to go through with his plans there might have been some organized opposition. Of course, that wouldn’t help anymore. It’s no use trying to keep a low profile after last night. From now on the smartest thing to do is open a dozen new hotels and restaurants for the tourist trade.”

“You just mentioned something about the possibility of organized opposition.”

“I also said the possibility was past.”

“You’re being evasive. Aren’t you going to give me any names?”

“You’re being persistent. But let’s just start with a few you already know. Irene Grovesmith, Reverend Archer, Bob Peterson, Dr. Rawson. And I’ve got a pretty fair hunch that you can throw in Sheriff Engstrom himself, just for good measure. Come to think of it, so far the only one we know in that bunch with a solid alibi is Grovesmith. You can scratch Irene, if you like. Personally, I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

“Be serious.”

“I am. Very.” Gibbs took a deep breath. “We can’t change the past, we can’t anticipate the future. So why waste the present worrying about either one?”

“Hedonist.”

“Pragmatist.” Gibbs’ grin returned. “Which reminds me, what are your present plans?”

Amy glanced at her watch. “It’s one o’clock. How long will it take me to get from the hotel to the State Hospital?”

“Twenty-five minutes. Half an hour at most. What time’s your appointment with Dr. Steiner?”

“Three-thirty.” Amy glanced ahead, noting that Gibbs was entering town now by the same route they’d left, and undoubtedly for the same reason; if he dropped her off at the rear of the hotel she could return to her room via the service elevator without detection. Pragmatism had its practical advantages, no doubt about that.

And she had a good two hours of free time. The thought that occurred to her was promptly voiced. “I wonder if they locked up the Bates place again?”

“You’d have to ask Pitkin about that. He and Remsbach would be the only ones who had keys.”

“What about the people who’d been working out there? Didn’t those two girls get in with somebody’s duplicate?”

“After Terry Dowson was killed, Engstrom checked out alibis on all the workers and members of their families. While he was at it he picked up the extra keys. Far as I know they’re still somewhere in the Sheriff’s office, probably stashed away under the Kleenex box in Irene’s right-hand desk drawer.” He sobered. “Why did you ask? I hope you’re not thinking of going out there?”

“Never mind the rhetorical question. You know damned well I’ve got to see the place for myself. I want to get there before those news-hounds find out about what was in Remsbach’s bed and start sniffing around the Bates property again.” Amy reached for her bag on the seat beside her as they pulled up to the curb at the rear of the hotel. “Right now I have two hours to spare and according to the map book I’d be only a mile or so off the route to the State Hospital. Besides, it’s broad daylight—”

Gibbs nodded. “The sun is bright, yes. But standing in the sunshine out there and trying to pick locks with your nail file isn’t bright.”

“What makes you so sure? Maybe the place hasn’t been locked again.”

“And if it is, maybe Pitkin will loan you a key. But if I were you I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I’m not. All I want is a chance to look around before there’s a mob scene. One way or another, I’ve got to see it before I leave town.”

“That figures.” Gibbs nodded again. “I’d drive you over myself if it wasn’t for that interview session coming up.”

“Thanks, I know you would.” Amy opened the door and swung her feet down to rest on the pavement. “And thanks for the breakfast and limo service.” Emerging, she straightened and turned to close the door behind her.

“Amy?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me something. Don’t risk going out there by yourself. I’ll be free again tomorrow morning, but if you can’t wait, at least get somebody else to come with you. Don’t go there alone.”

For a moment she hesitated, then nodded. “You’re right, of course.”

“That’s better.” The slam of the passenger-side door punctuated Gibbs’ words. “By the way, what time do you expect to be back from seeing Steiner?”

“I don’t know but my guess would be somewhere around six. Six-thirty at the latest.”

“If you feel like it, give me a call at the office. Maybe we can have dinner together.”

“Where?”

“They say Irene Grovesmith makes a terrific pizza.”

The car moved forward and Amy turned away as it departed. As she made her way through the back entrance to the waiting service elevator she couldn’t avoid a rueful reflection. What did she do to make herself attractive to older men?

Maybe just being younger was enough. But rightly or wrongly, she was beginning to feel that Hank Gibbs’ intentions involved sharing more than a pizza. And why was it that he seemed incapable of being serious whenever he became serious? It would probably take someone like Dr. Steiner to answer that question; she ought to remember to ask him when they talked.

But there was so much to talk about, so much to think about, far more than she had anticipated. A good thing she’d promised not to go out to the Bates place this afternoon; what she really should do during the next two hours was to organize her thoughts, recopy some of her random notes in chronological order, and set down a list of things she meant to ask Steiner about. There already was such a list, of course, but in view of last night’s events and today’s revelations, it would have to be both revised and expanded.

The upcoming meeting with Dr. Steiner would be crucial, particularly so because the other meeting she had counted on—the one with Adam Claiborne—would never take place. Nor would she meet again with Otto Remsbach.

Stepping out of the service elevator she fished the key from her purse and moved to the door of her room. Once again she hesitated before metal met metal; a ghostly Adam Claiborne peered over her shoulder and on the other side of the door Otto Remsbach lay bedded and waiting, ready to receive her in bloody embrace.

Amy forced herself to turn the thought aside before she turned the key. There was nothing behind her but a shadow, nothing more substantial awaiting on the bed in her room.

Closing and locking the door behind her, she put her purse down on the bureau and opened the top drawer. Now where had she left the big notebook?

And who was tapping, ever so softly, but ever so persistently, on the door?

“Miss Haines—”

The muffled voice that spoke her name answered her question.

Eric Dunstable. How could she have forgotten about him?

“I’ll get the key.”

Finding anything in that overloaded bag of hers was always a problem and this instance proved no exception. After her first and fruitless scrabblings she bowed to the inevitable and dumped the contents of her purse on the bedspread. The rest was easy.

Amy unlocked the door. “Here we go.”

And here he came. It might have been a televised rerun of the other evening; the taller version of Toulouse-Lautrec hadn’t grown an inch. He was still wearing the same clothing and, as far as Amy could determine, had slept in it as well. If he’d slept at all. And the right lens of his glasses was cracked at the base of its outer rim. Spectacle frames could not conceal the crescents of darkness under his eyes. Nor the twitch in the left one.

All this was apparent at a glance, and Amy did her best not to stare. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” she said.

Dunstable nodded. “Would you mind if I sat down?”

“Please do.”

While he settled back in the armchair, Amy seated herself on the edge of the bed and began to restore the contents of her bag in their proper disarray. “Where have you been?” she said.

“Montrose. Rock Center. Selroy.” Another twitch. “That’s where I ended up last night; the Selroy Motor Lodge, because there was no way of getting back here again by bus until this morning. At first I’d planned to try hitching a ride, but then the storm came up and I decided against it, even though it meant spending extra money when I already had accommodations over here.” Now the inevitable twitch was accompanied by a movement of beard-bordered lips suggesting a smile. “This was probably one of the most fortunate investments I’ve ever made.”

Amy closed her bag. “How so?”

“It provided me with the necessary alibi for my whereabouts at the time of the murders.”

“Then you’ve seen Engstrom.”

“A couple of his deputies came by this morning just about ten minutes after I stepped off the bus.” The smile disappeared and the twitch returned. “They probably phoned ahead to the Sheriff’s Department here the moment I bought a ticket in Selroy. I gather my description has been rather widely circulated?”

“But Engstrom accepted your explanation?”

“Not until he checked it out with the Selroy Motor Lodge.” Sunlight from the window glittered against the cracked lens as Dunstable glanced up. “I understand you had some problems last night.”

“That’s a very polite way of phrasing it.” Amy paused. “I was on the scene after Doris Huntley was murdered. But I didn’t kill her, and at the time I wasn’t even aware Otto Remsbach was dead.”

“I believe you.” Dunstable’s left eyelid blinked in affirmation. “You don’t have the aura.”

“Aura?”

“Of evil.” He leaned forward beyond the reach of the sunbeam’s ray and his shadowed face was somber. “So many have that aura here. I could feel it at the church—”

Bedbug, Amy told herself. He’s as crazy as a bedbug.
But she didn’t tell him that; you’re supposed to humor the crazies.

She did her best. “The other night you said that if you attended the memorial services you’d be able to identify Terry Dowson’s murderer.”

“I was wrong.” Again the affirmative twitch. “Because they were wrong. The auras, too many of them, too confusing; impossible to separate vessel from contents.”

“I’m not following that.” Amy frowned.

“The body is a vessel, its contents good or evil, most generally an admixture of both. During possession the aural emanation is pure evil. A contradiction in terms, of course, but it’s difficult to explain.”

“I know.” At least she’d better pretend that she did. “But you still haven’t told me what you were doing in all those places.”

“Yesterday morning I hitched a ride to Montrose. In the afternoon I got over to Rock Center and then on to Selroy just after dinnertime. That’s where I finally found it.”

“What were you looking for?”

“Apparently something of a rarity in these parts. A Catholic church.”

Amy nodded. “You wanted to talk to a priest.”

“Not so. I wanted to steal some holy water.” Dunstable leaned back, but the sun had shifted slightly, just enough so his face was still in shadow. “And I did, from the font they have near the exit.” In the dimmer light the twitch was almost invisible. “A good thing I had a few minutes before they picked me up after I got back here. I more or less assumed that would happen so the first thing I did was empty the little cough syrup bottle of holy water into the glass in the bathroom. As I expected, they searched the place when they came and one of them named Al was still at it when his partner took me over to the Sheriff’s office.” Shadow and beard hid the smile but satisfaction sounded in his voice. “Naturally he didn’t find anything, and he never noticed the water in the glass.”

“I assume it has something to do with exorcism?”

Dunstable nodded. “You might call it the vital ingredient.”

“Exactly how will you use it?”

“That all depends upon who or what I use it on.”

“Which means you still feel that some form of possession is involved.”

“More than ever, after what I’ve learned about last night.” Once more the winking from the shadows accompanied the words. “Do you know that Dr. Claiborne died over at Baldwin Memorial Hospital just before those murders took place here in town?”

“I did hear something to that effect,” Amy said. “But of course nobody has established the exact time when Remsbach and Doris Huntley were killed. Even an autopsy report will only be an educated guess.”

“This isn’t guesswork.” Eric Dunstable’s hoarse voice rose in reply. “And it isn’t the first time this demonic entity has deserted the dead to possess the living.”

Now he leaned into the light. “There’s no way of telling just when and where the possession originated, but we do know that all those who came in contact with the entity were themselves possessed and died in turn. The phenomenon may have begun with Mrs. Bates herself rather than Norman.”

Amy frowned. “You have nothing to support such a theory.”