“I’ll stick around.”
“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
Professor Teal didn’t come to the door, so Jake hurried around the side of the house and climbed the stairs. He broke the Crime Scene ribbon, used his lock picks, and let himself inside.
Any of the three girls, he thought, might have school yearbooks. But he remembered, from his quick inspection of the house last night, that an entire wall of the attic room was lined with bookshelves. It must be Alison’s room, he thought; she had mentioned running downstairs to warn Helen.
At the top of the attic stairs, Jake stared at the mussed bed. This is where it happened, where she woke up and struggled with Roland, where her mauled body would’ve been found if…oh, she nailed the bastard good. Hard to imagine that the same girl he found curled at the foot of his bed this morning could be savage enough to inflict such damage on someone.
Her purse was on the floor beside Jake’s feet. I should get it for her, he thought. And maybe some clothes.
There were clothes scattered on the carpet near the purse: white running shoes half covered by knee socks, a rumpled blue blouse, a bra with wispy transparent cups, white shorts with panties still inside them as if she had pulled both down at the same time.
Jake picked up the purse and stood there, staring at the clothes. Less than ten minutes ago, he’d been with Sam. Astonishing Sam in her bandannas and patch. But she hadn’t affected Jake a fraction as much as the sight of Alison’s discarded clothing on the floor.
For godsake, he told himself, this is no time to get turned on.
Reluctantly, he looked away. He went to the bed, set the purse down, and searched the shelves. In seconds, he found three yearbooks—slim volumes that stood inches taller than most of the other books. He pulled them down. The cover of each was embossed with the title,
The guy better have been enrolled last year, he thought.
He tossed the books onto the bed.
On his knees, he reached under the bed. He found a suitcase and pulled it out.
You shouldn’t do this, he told himself. You should get the books over to Sam.
It’ll just take a minute. If I don’t, I’ll have to make a special trip.
You just want to go through her things, whispered a small voice he didn’t like very much.
He carried the suitcase to Alison’s dresser, set it on the floor, and opened it.
In the top drawer of the dresser were nightgowns, panties and bras. He grabbed a handful of panties, trying not to think about them, and put them quickly into the suitcase. He was tempted not to get any bras for her, felt guilty about that, and took out two. In the next drawer, he found socks, pantyhose, slips. He took only socks. There were sweatshirts, T-shirts, gym shorts, and a jumpsuit in the next drawer. He took a T-shirt, a pair of red shorts, and the jumpsuit. The bottom drawer held sweaters. He didn’t bother with them.
From her closet, he selected a sleeveless sundress, two blouses, and a pair of faded blue jeans. Then he went to the pile of clothing on the floor. He wanted to see her in the white shorts. He picked them up and shook them until the panties dropped through a leg hole. He watched the panties flutter to the floor. He was proud of himself for not touching them. With the shorts in one hand, he gathered up her shoes and returned to the suitcase.
Anything else she might need? he wondered, and scanned the room.
He saw the bulletin board on the wall beyond her desk Snapshots were tacked to it.
She won’t need those, Jake told himself. Get going.
But he wanted to look at them, wanted to look at Alison.
He walked over to the desk. Most of the photos showed Alison, but she was with a guy. The same guy. In one, he was pushing her on a swing. In another, they were sitting on a blanket in the shade of a tree. Another showed them kissing.
Jake’s stomach hurt.
The guy was handsome, in spite of his glasses, and he looked in good shape.
This is what I get for snooping, Jake thought.
He felt better, however, when he remembered Alison saying she had broken up with her boyfriend last night.
This guy had been dumped.
Good riddance.
Jake hefted the suitcase, picked up Alison’s purse and yearbooks, and rushed downstairs.
After soaking in the bath for nearly an hour, Alison felt a little better. The hot water had soothed her tight muscles. It had done nothing, however, to take away the deeper tightness, the cold sick feeling that seemed to grip her insides.
If there was only a way to turn off her mind.
Or change channels. Get rid of the bad shows starring Roland and Helen and Celia and the dead policeman and Evan. Turn to the Jake channel. The Jake show was comforting, sometimes exciting. All the others hurt.
Alison stepped out of the tub, dripping, and began to dry herself with a soft towel.
Everything would be much better if she could just avoid seeing Evan.
You have to go. You have to finish it.
I don’t have any clothes.
Alison wanted that for an excuse, but she’d had plenty of time to consider the problem and find a solution.
She hung the moist towel over a bar, and left the bathroom. The air in the hallway felt cool. In Jake’s room, the windows were open. A nice breeze came in.
She went to the closet, took out a plaid shirt and put it on. Buttoned, it resembled a dress. A short, loose dress to be sure, but it would have to suffice. She rolled the sleeves up her forearms. Then, she found a belt and fastened it around her waist.
On the inside of Jake’s closet door was a full-length mirror.
The shirt didn’t look that much like a dress. It looked like a man’s shirt. She pulled at it, rearranging the tucks to make it hang more smoothly.
Returning to the bathroom, she brushed her teeth using a finger smeared with Jake’s toothpaste.
Finally, she went into the kitchen. On the wall beside the telephone was a notepad and pen. She tore off a sheet and took it to the table.
“That’s him,” Sam said.
Jake’s heart slammed in his chest. “Are you positive?”
“I got a good look at them both. There’s no doubt about it. He’s the one who was helping Roland into the car.” She slid a finger across the page of photographs and stopped it beneath the name. “Evan Forbes.”
Alison’s dumped boyfriend. The man in those snapshots on her bulletin board.
No need to worry, Jake told himself. They’d split up.
But she’d said she should call him, let him know she’s okay.
What if she tells him where she’s staying?
“I need to use your phone.”
“Help yourself.”
Jake dialed his home. He listened to the ringing.
Come on, pick it up. Come on, Alison. Answer the damn phone!
It rang fifteen times before he hung up.
“Do you have a directory?”
Sam rushed from the room. She ran back, clutching a telephone book, and thrust it at Jake.
He flipped through the pages. Forbes was listed. Jake recognized the address: the apartment building in front
