The Sun Down Motel (26 page)

He yanked at the neck of Viv’s sweater, pulling it roughly down. He shoved the envelope down her shirt, the paper cool against her bare skin, the edges and corners scraping her. The only sound was their heavy breathing and the crinkle of the envelope as he pushed it on her.

Then he used his grip on her neck to pull Viv forward. She overbalanced, and he used the momentum to shove her to the ground. She landed
hard on her back, her wrist and the back of her head hitting the pavement.
This is what it was like for Victoria Lee
, she thought as her vision flashed white.
Falling on the ground of the jogging path in the rain.
She thought of Betty Graham.
Betty had a lot of bruises. Like she fought hard.
She wondered if cops would see the bruises on her body someday.

Upstairs, one of the motel doors flew open with a bang. Then another.

Robert White bent down, his hands out, and grabbed the front of her jacket. Viv tried to fight him off, but he was strong. She opened her mouth to scream.

“Excuse me.”

White flinched in surprise at the voice. It was male, calm, coming from a few feet away. When White turned his head, Viv pushed her heels into the pavement and scrambled away, scraping her back and her elbows. She turned to see the person who had interrupted them and went very still.

Simon Hess, the traveling salesman, was standing at the edge of the parking lot. His car was parked a few feet behind him, close to the dripping trees. He wore a dark gray overcoat and carried a small suitcase in one hand. His expression was utterly calm, only a small line of consternation between his eyebrows giving anything away.

“Are you assaulting that young lady?” he asked White, as if he were commenting on the weather.

White straightened up. His face was splotched red, his hair messed. Still, he managed to look the other man in the eye and say, “It’s a private matter.”

Hess looked at Viv on the ground, then back at White. His expression was blank. “I think she works here,” he said to Hess as if Viv weren’t there. “I need a room.”

“This is none of your business,” White said.

“Obviously not. It doesn’t change the fact that I need a room. I’d appreciate getting one and getting out of this rain. It’s been a long day, and I’m really quite tired.”

Viv couldn’t take her eyes off him. His smoothly combed hair, his
large and capable hand holding the handle of his suitcase. Tracy Waters was dead in an ice-cold ditch, her family in ruins.
It’s been a long day, and I’m really quite tired.

White smoothed the front of his jacket, and Viv felt a bolt of panic.
Don’t leave me here alone with him
, she silently begged the man who had just assaulted her.
Please don’t go.

“I’m leaving,” White said. He looked at Viv, wet and cold on the ground. “If I were you, I wouldn’t say a fucking word.” He stepped over her like she was garbage and walked across the parking lot to his car. Viv heard a motor start, saw the stripes of headlights against the motel wall.

A hand came into her line of vision. Simon Hess was offering to help her up.

By instinct she scrambled away from him again, getting her feet under her. She was scraped and bruised, getting wet in the spitting rain. The envelope was still inside her shirt, against her skin. She brushed her hands together, wiping the dirt and gravel off her palms. Hess waited.

“My room?” he said after a minute.

She could scream. She could run to Jamie’s door and pound on it.

“Do you remember me?” Hess asked. He gave her a smile. “I’m a traveling salesman. The one who’s so memorable.”

Don’t show fear. Don’t let on.

“I, um.” Her voice was a rasp. She was almost glad White had attacked her, because she had a reason to look terrified, which she was sure she did. “I remember,” she managed.

“That’s good. I need to stay tonight, possibly tomorrow night as well. I’m waiting for a phone call.” He smiled again. “It’s my usual routine.”

“Okay.” She thought of the knife in her office. If she screamed, he could attack her out here in the dark. She made her feet move toward the office, giving Hess a wide berth. Her calf stung and her ankle ached when she put weight on it, so she limped a little.

Hess followed her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I suppose I didn’t need to intervene,” Hess said. “I know you keep the keys in the drawer. But that didn’t seem right. I should check in properly.” He paused. “You seem to have made him very angry.”

“Yes. I did.” Viv stepped into the office and grabbed her purse. She clutched it to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. The gesture made the envelope crinkle under her shirt. One of her shoelaces was wet and untied and made a slapping sound on the cheap carpet.

She rounded the desk and sat in the chair. Hess put his suitcase down.

She pulled open the drawer with a numb hand and picked out a key. Number 212, upstairs. She kept her other hand on her purse, which she held in her lap. Ready to pull the knife out if she needed it.

She slid the key over the desk. Hess looked at her scraped hand as he picked it up. “Perhaps you could use some antiseptic,” he commented. “The skin is broken.”

“Yes,” she said. Her eyes were trained on the desk, but she made herself raise them to his face. She looked him in the eye.

Hess was looking at her closely in the unflattering light of the office. “I know you from somewhere,” he said.

Cold panic tried to crawl up her spine. “You know me from here,” she said. “Like you said, you’ve been here before.”

“Yes, yes.” He nodded. “I have. That’s not it, though. I know you from somewhere else.” He gave her his smile again, which made her skin crawl. “When I think of it, I’ll let you know. I never forget a face. Especially a pretty female one.”

Viv wanted to scream, but she knew what was expected of her. She tried to give him a smile, which was probably ghastly. He didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you. It’s probably from here, though. I’ve never seen you anywhere else before.”

Hess paused, as if he didn’t believe her and wasn’t sure what to say. The lie hung in the air between them.
Buy it
, Viv thought.
At least for now.

Finally he looked down at his key, reading the number. “Two-twelve,” he said. “Home sweet home. Good night.”

“Good night,” she managed to say as he walked away and closed the door behind him.

When he was gone, she sat for a long moment in the silence, trying not to panic. A door slammed upstairs, then another.

“Betty,” Viv said out loud. “He’s here.”

Silence.

She glanced at the guest book and realized Simon Hess hadn’t signed it.

Viv reached into her shirt and pulled out the envelope there. She pried it open. It was stuffed with bills, a thick stack of them. Hundreds of dollars. Maybe thousands.

It didn’t seem real. It seemed like fake money, Monopoly money. No one had money like this. It was bewildering; Helen had gone to great lengths to get this, yet she’d driven off without it. Was she coming back for it? She’d seen Viv with Robert, and she’d seen Viv’s face; she must know Viv knew about the blackmail scheme, at least, if she didn’t have the money.

Viv put the envelope in the key drawer. Maybe Helen would show up, looking for it. Or maybe her husband, whoever he was, would come. She didn’t want the money, and her hands were shaking from the attack. She couldn’t think about it right now. She closed the drawer and pushed the money out of sight.

Cigarette smoke wafted to her nose, pungent and thick. The lights flickered out, then went back on again.

Viv got up from her chair and looked out the office door. In the dark above Number Six Road, the Sun Down sign went dark with a zapping noise, then buzzed on again, shouting its endless message:
VACANCY
.
CABLE T
V!

Tracy Waters was dead. Her killer was here. And Betty Graham was very, very unhappy.

Vivian closed the door behind her and hurried for the stairs.

She started at Mrs. Bailey’s room on the second floor. It was dark, with no sign of life. Viv had to glance at the parking lot to see that the woman’s car was in fact there before she knocked on the door.

“Mrs. Bailey?”

No answer. How many times, now, had she seen Mrs. Bailey come to the Sun Down to drink herself into oblivion? Four times? Five? The routine was always the same: She arrived sober, then made a run to the liquor store. Next came the calls to the front desk with drunken requests—a taxi, some ice, a phone book. Sometimes the calls were abusive; other times Mrs. Bailey was laughing to herself, the TV on in the background. Eventually came the silence as she drank herself out of consciousness.

Viv peered through the window. She couldn’t see any sign of the TV flickering past the sheer drapes. She knocked on the door, again, and then a final time, banging on it loudly. There was still no answer.

At the end of the row, the door to 201 clicked and drifted open, showing a sliver of the empty darkness inside. Then the door of room 202.

Viv ran down the corridor and banged on the door of room 210. Jamie Blaknik’s room. After a minute, he opened it. He had taken his jean jacket off but was still wearing his sweatshirt.

He looked at her face and said, “You okay, Good Girl?”

“Is there anyone in there with you?” she asked him.

“No.”

Viv glanced down the corridor. The door to room 203 clicked open. The lights flickered again.

“What’s going on?” Jamie asked.

The air was heavy with electricity, like the moments before a lightning storm. And suddenly, Viv knew it: This would end tonight. Here, now. After months of waiting and wondering, it would all be over. One way or another.

Now or never
, she thought.

She turned back to Jamie. She put a hand on the back of his neck, rose
to her toes, and kissed him on the mouth. His lips were warm and as soft as she’d thought they would be. He tasted like Doublemint.

She let him go and pulled back. His eyebrows went up and a smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “Well?” he asked her.

“Will you do something for me?”

“After that? Fuck yes.”

“You need to leave,” she said. “Go and don’t come back tonight.”

“Should I ask why?”

“No.”

The smile left his lips. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Viv bit her lip. She could still taste him. As scared as she was, the pleasure of it would keep her going for a while. “Something bad is going to happen, but I can handle it. It’s best if you’re not here.”

Jamie seemed to think it over. He walked back into the room and picked up his jean jacket. The lights flickered out again.

When they came back on, the door to room 205 was open and Jamie was back in his doorway, shrugging on his jacket. “You know I’d help you if you wanted me to, right? I have some experience kicking ass.”

Viv stepped back as he came out of the room. He locked the door and dropped the key into her hand. He looked down the corridor at the open doors. “Damn,” he said. “I’m not leaving you in this.”

“You have to go. But you can do one favor for me.”

He turned back to her. “Anything. Tell me what it is.”

So she told him.

It was one o’clock a.m.

Fell, New York

November 1982

Jamie’s car was gone, and the motel had gone ominously quiet. The wind kicked up outside, howling over the parking lot and shushing the empty trees. In the office, Viv sat behind the desk as the lights flickered yet again.

She was waiting. If Jamie did what he had promised, it would happen any minute.

The phone rang. Viv started in her chair and stared at it, sweat prickling her neck. This was the plan, but still she felt the jolt of terror. She was jumpy.

“Hello?” It wasn’t the greeting she’d been trained to give.

It wasn’t who she expected. There was silence on the other end of the line. Soft breathing. Someone listening and waiting.

These calls were routine at the Sun Down.
Kids
, the other clerks grumbled.
Teenagers. Don’t they have anything better to do?

But now, listening to the breathing in the waiting silence, Viv wondered how they could all have been so stupid, herself included. The sound on the other end of the line wasn’t the comical kind of heavy breathing particular to pranking teenage boys. It was simply breath, the sound of another person living, existing.

Someone who wanted to talk. Who maybe couldn’t.

“Betty?” Viv said.

Still, the breath. No pause, no hitch.

“He’s here,” Viv said, letting her voice fill the silence. “I know it upsets you. I know it makes you angry and sad. But I’m going to take care of it tonight. I promise.”

Still nothing. Just breath.

“I’ve been living with this for so long,” Viv said. “I don’t think I have a life anymore. I don’t know that I want one. I don’t really see the point anymore. Do you?”

Did the breathing change its rhythm? Even for a second? She couldn’t be sure. She didn’t know if what she was saying could even be heard by whatever was on the line. But she said it anyway.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t think anyone has been as sorry for you as I am. I looked at your picture, and you could be me. You could be any of us. You didn’t deserve it—none of us do. It’s wrong. I don’t know what else to do except try to make it right. I think it might cost me everything, and I don’t care. I don’t matter, really.”

Still quiet. Why did she feel like the other person was listening? There was no indication. Still, the feeling was there.

“That’s the best way to fix this,” Viv said. “The only way. I’ll take someone who doesn’t matter and trade her for the rest of you. I’ll trade myself for the rest of you. To stop him. I think it’s the only thing strong enough to end this. I know who he is now. He won’t be stopped by anything halfway.”

The next breath on the other end of the line was a sigh, and then a single word, spoken on the breath: “Run.” Then the line went dead with a click.

Viv put the phone down. While her hand was still on the receiver, the phone rang. She picked it up again. “Hello?”

“Room two-twelve,” a familiar voice said.

Viv pressed the button and put him through. She watched as the
button on the phone lit up with its soft
click
. Then she listened with the receiver.

“Hello?” came Simon Hess’s voice.

“I know you,” the other voice said. “I know what you’ve done.”

There was a pause. Then Hess again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” Viv closed her eyes. He was doing such a good job. It was Jamie Blaknik saying the lines she’d given him. “Meet me at the corner of Derry Road and Smith Street. I’m calling from the pay phone there. I saw you with Tracy. If you aren’t there in twenty minutes, I’ll tell everyone what I saw, what I know. Not just about Tracy. About the others, too.”

Silence on the line. Viv held her breath. This was the moment of truth.

Then Simon Hess spoke. “You’re the one who’s been following me, aren’t you?”

“I saw you in Plainsview, watching her,” Jamie said, following the lines Viv had written for him. “I saw you at the high school choir night. I know everything. And I’m going to tell.”

“Is this blackmail?” Hess said. “Do you think you’ll get money out of me?”

Viv bit her lip hard, trying not to sob.
I was right
, she thought.
I thought I was crazy, but I was right. I was right.

“You won’t know what I want until you meet me,” Jamie said. “Twenty minutes or I go to the police.” He hung up.

Hess breathed into the phone for a second, then hung up as well. Viv put the receiver down. Her throat was tight, her eyes burning.

A minute later, a car motor started in the parking lot. She walked to the door and watched Hess drive away. Now, except for the passed-out Mrs. Bailey, Viv was alone at the Sun Down.

She waited fifteen seconds in case Hess changed his mind. Then she opened the bottom desk drawer and rifled through it until she found what she was looking for: a key labeled
MASTER
. Janice had shown her
the key briefly on her first night.
If someone’s passed out or dead in one of the rooms, you might need this.

Viv took the key and stood, hesitating. Then she dug in her purse and put her knife in its leather holster under her sweatshirt. She had left the office unarmed once, and it had nearly cost her. She wasn’t doing it again.

She left the office, walking quickly to the stairs. She had needed Jamie to make that phone call; Hess would never have believed a woman. He’d expect his blackmailer, the mastermind who had put all the pieces together, to be a man. He would have hung up on a woman—and then he would have remembered Viv, that he’d seen her somewhere.

So she’d enlisted Jamie, and he had done his part. It wasn’t bad for the price of a kiss.

Viv climbed the stairs and walked to the door of room 212. Put the key in the lock. The doors up here were closed again, as if Betty had tidied up after herself. But as Viv opened the door to 212, the lights flickered.

The room was like all the rooms at the Sun Down: bed, nightstand, small dresser. A TV sat dark in the corner, the famously advertised cable TV on the sign. On the bed was the small suitcase Simon Hess had been carrying. It was closed. Nothing in the room was touched. It seemed as if Hess had checked in and simply sat, doing nothing until he got Jamie’s phone call.

What goes on in his mind?
Viv wondered.
Everything? Nothing?
Hess had killed Tracy Waters either this morning or last night. Her death would be fresh to him. Was he reliving it in his mind, the memories vivid? Or had he forgotten about it already?

She walked to the suitcase and flipped the latches, opening it. She turned on the bedside lamp. Inside the case were neatly folded clothes: shirts, ties. A toothbrush, a shaving kit. Everything was tidy and clean. If Viv had hoped for bloody clothes and a murder weapon, she was out of luck. The problem was, she didn’t know
what
she was looking for.

At the bottom of the case was a folder, neatly tied shut, full of papers. She pulled it out and untied it, leafing through the pages. These were the neatly dittoed lists of Hess’s schedule, his maps, his sales receipts.

There was the map of the neighborhood in Plainsview where Viv had seen him. It diagrammed the street and each house with its number. In the square of each house Hess had handwritten a symbol, the language not hard to figure out. An
X
meant he had been turned down at that house. An
O
meant no one was home. And a
Y
meant he had made a sale.

Tracy’s house was blank. What did that mean? Viv flipped through the pages, hoping for something else. Something concrete. Pictures of Tracy, maybe, or notes to her. She wanted to call Alma Trent and get her to arrest Simon Hess right now, tonight. But Alma would have to call in other cops to do that, and she wouldn’t do it without a reason.
Get me something, anything
, Alma’s voice said in Viv’s head.
Get me something, Viv.

“I know,” Viv muttered to Alma in the dark silence. “I know you would help if you could. You just don’t understand. And now Tracy is dead.”

At the bottom of the file was a second map. This one was hand-drawn in pencil on a piece of lined paper. Viv held it under the lamp and saw a row of houses, a laneway between two of them, a square at the end of the lane labeled
Park
. In front of the houses, on the other side of the park, was a street that curved in a C shape. Viv turned the page one way and then another, trying to see if the map was familiar. Her brain paged through its mental images of Cathy’s street, Tracy’s, Victoria’s. The map didn’t match any of them.

What was it a map of? A victim Viv didn’t know about? Was this a map of something in Fell, or in another town? There were no street names written anywhere. She flipped the page over and studied the back, but there was nothing there, either.

This meant something, she was sure of it. She just had no idea what.

“Close,” she said to herself, to Alma, to Betty. “I’m so damned close.”

She went through the papers again. Then the suitcase, the clothes. She circled the room, looked in the trash can, the dresser drawer, the nightstand drawer. All were empty. She walked into the bathroom. It was dark and silent, untouched. She looked at the shower curtain, the single thin towel hanging on a rail.

The lights flickered again, a few quick blinks this time, on and off, like someone flipping a switch. Except there was no switch that would turn the entire motel on and off in an instant.

Betty.

A warning.

Viv turned from the bathroom and stepped out into the main room again. She patted her pockets for her key. The suitcase was sitting open on the bed, the contents obviously rifled through. Viv straightened the clothes quickly and flipped the lid of the case closed. She was fastening the latches when a voice in the doorway said, “What are you doing?”

Simon Hess was damp now, the shoulders of his overcoat wet with rain. Water had splashed the hems of his trousers. The bedside lamp lit his features, his even and regular face. He had brown eyes, Viv realized for the first time. He looked very calm.

Still, her gut turned and her blood pumped, every nerve ending screaming
danger
. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered.

The words hung there, inadequate. Hess looked at the suitcase she was closing, then back up to her face. He blinked. “You,” he said, his voice soft with surprise. “It was you.”

Viv took her hands off the suitcase and turned to face him. He blocked the doorway and there was nowhere to run. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.” He took a step into the room and closed the motel door behind him. As he did, Viv could hear the click and bang of one of the doors slamming open. Then there was no sound as Simon Hess closed the door, trapping them in his room.

“I don’t,” Viv insisted. Cold sweat was beading under her clothes.

“Then why are you here?” The question was asked calmly, as if he were a doctor or a teacher, but Viv could see the splotches of red on his cheeks that meant anger. “In my room, going through my things? You were at that bus stop. Your footprints were in my garden.”

Viv couldn’t look away from him. This close, she could see the
beginnings of stubble on his jaw and his neck. Five o’clock shadow, his mother had always called it when her father hadn’t shaved. Her parents were very far away now.

She was afraid, and yet she wasn’t. She’d been following him for weeks now. Part of her was ready.

“I’m going to call the police,” Viv said. “You killed Tracy.”

He didn’t flinch. “Who did you tell?”

She shook her head. “No one.”

“You told someone,” Simon Hess said. “The boy who called me on the phone just now, for example. You told him, did you not, when you asked him to lie to get me out of my room?”

He put emphasis on the word
lie
, as if that mattered. As if he were offended by dishonesty after what he’d done. He looked at her with a tinge of disgust, and Viv felt the anger flush hot in her own cheeks.

“You’re just angry because you got caught,” she said. “You thought no one would ever do it, but I did.”

“Wrong,” Hess spit back. “You haven’t caught me yet. I’m still standing here. Call the police if you want. What can you prove?”

“I saw you with her.” She was angry, so angry. “I saw you with Tracy. Watching her. Following her. Why did you do it?” The words were wild, unwise, but they came out of her anyway. They had been dammed up for too long. “She never did anything to you. None of them did. Why did you have to kill her? And why do you keep coming back here?”

Outside in the corridor, a door blew open with a loud bang. It was the door to the next room. Then something soft hit their closed door, one thud and then another. A palm.

“Help me,” came a woman’s voice from outside, raspy and hoarse. “Help me!”

Viv’s hands went cold. The voice was the most terrifying and the saddest thing she’d ever heard. It was the voice of someone who knew she was dying, that after a long fight it was going to be over. That she would never win.

“Help me!” the voice screamed hoarsely, the palm hitting the door again, weaker this time.

Viv looked at Simon Hess and saw that he had a dreamy smile on his face. “Betty,” he said. “That’s why I come here. Because she’s here. I can’t . . . I go as long as I can without seeing her, but I always have to come back.”

Outside, the voice sobbed. “Help me. Please.
Please.
”

She sounded like that
, Viv thought,
when he did whatever he did to her.

What does
violated
mean?

“She was in my trunk,” Hess said, his voice a calm counterpoint to Betty’s screaming. “I thought she’d be quiet, but that was a mistake. She wasn’t quiet at all.” He shook his head. “I never made that mistake again. I learned my lesson. They aren’t quiet when you want them to be.”

Viv thought of the Betty she’d seen in the photo, calm and confident. A teacher.
Spinster
was the word the papers had used, even though she was only twenty-four when she died. “Why Betty?” she asked Hess.

“I loved her,” Hess replied. “I’ve never loved anything in my life, but I loved Betty. I just had to make her see.”