Part 15 (1/2)

Mr. Keller had begun early tonight. He was already in bed with Tiffany. The bedroom was shadowed and dimly lit, so that Jerry couldn't make out exactly what was going on. But the shadows writhing on the wall beside Tiffany's bed made it obvious what was happening. As Jerry watched, breathless, he moved his hand down to caress himself.

The shadow show became more frantic and violent, and Jerry was sure he could actually hear the squeaking of bedsprings.

Mrs. Keller has to know what's going on. She has to....

All the time Mr. Keller was doing things to Tiffany, Chrissie lay curled on her side, facing away from her sister's bed but not seeing Jerry. Her eyes were open and blank, and she was sucking her thumb. As old as she was, she was sucking her thumb.

When Mr. Keller was finished with Tiffany he got up from his bed and adjusted his white boxer shorts. He moved toward the window, and Jerry's heart leaped and he drew back, ready to bolt into the shadows between the houses. He held his breath and made himself be still.

But Mr. Keller wasn't looking at the window; he was looking at Chrissie. Jerry saw something looped in his hand. His belt. He hadn't worn his pants to the twins' bedroom, but he'd brought his belt.

He yanked Chrissie roughly so she lay flat on her stomach, then raised her nightgown and pulled her panties down. She didn't resist or change expression.

Mr. Keller bent low and said something to her, probably warning her to be quiet. Then he began beating her bare b.u.t.tocks and the backs of her thighs with the belt. With each blow her body tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, and then it stayed tense as the beating continued. Jerry understood how she must feel. He realized he was weeping silently, and his fingernails were digging into his palms so deeply that it hurt.

When Mr. Keller was finished, he worked Chrissie's nightgown back down so that it covered her b.u.t.tocks. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, leaned down so his face was near hers, and kissed her cheek. He stood up, caressed her hair, and then turned and walked from the room. He closed the door slowly and carefully behind him.

Jerry wondered where Mr. Keller was going now? To Mrs. Keller? They slept together, Jerry was sure, but their bedroom was upstairs, impossible to see into from outside. He could only guess what they might be doing.

Chrissie lay motionless for a while, and then she turned onto her side, facing away from Jerry. Across the room, Tiffany was lying on her side, facing Chrissie and the window where Jerry watched. The twins lay that way and stared at each other, their expressions blank. Jerry didn't think either of them spoke.

He'd reached a climax. He could feel the wetness at the crotch of his jeans.

Controlling his shakiness and shortness of breath, he backed away from the window, into the scratchy holly bushes. Sweat beaded on his face. Perspiration or tears stung like acid at the corners of his eyes.

Everywhere in the night the katydids screamed their relentless mating call.

Jerry turned and ran into the darkness, toward his own window, his own home.

The screams of insects followed him. As did the darkness.

27.

New York, the present ”I suppose you're mad at me,” Chrissie said, standing before Quinn's desk.

Her att.i.tude seemed that of a teenage girl caught breaking curfew, rather than that of an avenging huntress talking to hired help.

They were in the office alone. Quinn had looked up, surprised, when she'd entered. She was slightly bedraggled from the heat, and at first he hadn't recognized her. Her sleeveless white blouse clung to her narrow upper body, and a strand of her dishwater-blond hair dangled over one eye. She was wearing jeans that looked genuinely well worn, and brown leather sandals that looked brand new.

In the vacuum of his surprise, she managed a half smile and said, ”I could never do that.”

He didn't know what she'd meant at first, and then realized she was referring to what he'd been doing at his desk-trying to balance a checkbook. ”Seems I never could, either.”

She went from smiling to looking guilty. ”I know you've been trying to get in touch with me.”

”You have blue eyes now,” Quinn said. ”And short blond hair.”

”Before, I was wearing brown contact lenses and a brown wig. There was a certain facial resemblance to begin with, don't you think?”

”Not really,” Quinn said.

He sat calmly, trying to figure out her game. He couldn't.

”Usually it's the other way around,” he said. ”The client is too too available and badgers the detective agency for reports on any kind of progress.” available and badgers the detective agency for reports on any kind of progress.”

She nervously s.h.i.+fted her weight from one foot to the other, like a tennis player antic.i.p.ating a serve. Seeking a point of balance.

”I'm sorry for making myself scarce,” she said. ”Really.”

”Maybe you had a good reason for disappearing.”

”I'm not sure it was good enough. I knew after a while that you'd probably looked up photos of all the Carver victims and figured out that I'd sort of misled you into thinking Tiffany and I are-were-identical twins. What scared me was that it might not have occurred to you that we were fraternal twins. That you might simply think I was an imposter. That I'd lied to you.”

”That's what you did,” Quinn said. ”You lied.”

”More like misled you.” She gnawed on her lower lip for a moment with her overbite. ”Misled?” ”Misled?” She tried the word again. She tried the word again.

”We won't quibble over it,” Quinn said.

”But then I ran. I'm not very brave lately.”

”But you came back.”

”When I saw in the news that the Carver had killed that woman down in Chelsea, Maureen Sanders, and then attacked that other woman, I couldn't stay away. I had to find out what you'd learned.”

”It's pretty much all in the news.”

She stared at him. ”You're playing it closed-mouthed. Now you don't trust me.” Her contriteness had disappeared to be replaced by anger.

He had to grin. ”Should I trust you?”

”Maybe not. But I am am your client. Don't you have some kind of legal obligation to tell me everything you know?” your client. Don't you have some kind of legal obligation to tell me everything you know?”

”Legal and ethical. Unless there are special circ.u.mstances.”

”Such as?”

”The client disappearing.”

She tucked her fingertips into her jeans pockets and looked glum as well as bedraggled. The blond hairdo he couldn't get used to looked damp and stuck to her head.

”You know the police are actively involved now,” he said.