'You're joking.'
'I don't know what sort of thing strikes you as funny, Dr. Rudge. But I don't make jokes about mass murder.'
Rudge was silent.
Joshua said, 'Furthermore, I have reason to believe that Frye didn't act alone. He may have had a partner in homicide. And that partner may still be walking around, alive and free.'
'This is extraordinary.'
'That's what I said.'
'Have you given this information of yours to the police?'
'No,' Joshua said. 'For one thing, it's probably not enough to get their attention. What I've discovered convinces me--and two other people who are involved in this. But the police will probably say it's only circumstantial evidence. And for another thing--I'm not sure which police agency has primary jurisdiction in the case. The murders might have been committed in several counties, in a number of cities. Now it seems to me that Frye might have told you something that doesn't appear all that important by itself, but which fits in with the facts that I've uncovered. If, during those eighteen months of therapy, you acquired a bit of knowledge that complements my information, then perhaps I'll have enough to decide which police agency to approach--and enough to convince them of the seriousness of the situation.'
'Well....'
'Dr. Rudge, if you persist in protecting this particular patient, yet more murders may occur. Other women. Do you want their deaths on your conscience?'
'All right,' Rudge said. 'But this can't be done on the telephone.'
'I'll come to San Francisco tomorrow, at your earliest convenience.'
'My morning is free,' Rudge said.
'Shall my associates and I meet you at your offices at ten o'clock?'
'That'll be fine,' Rudge said. 'But I warn you--before I discuss Mr. Frye's therapy, I'll want to hear this evidence of yours in more detail.'
'Naturally.'
'And if I'm not convinced that there's a clear and present danger, I'll keep his file sealed.'
'Oh, I have no doubt that we can convince you,' Joshua said. 'I'm quite sure we can make the hair stand up on the back of your neck. We'll see you in the morning, doctor.'
Joshua hung up. He looked at Tony and Hilary. 'Tomorrow's going to be a busy day, First San Francisco and Dr. Rudge, then Hollister and the mysterious Rita Yancy.'
Hilary got up from the couch where she had sat through the call. 'I don't care if we have to fly halfway around the world. At least things seem to be breaking. For the first time, I feel that we're actually going to find out what's behind all of this.'
'I feel the same way,' Tony said. He smiled at Joshua. 'You know ... the way you handled Rudge ... you've got a real talent for interrogation. You'd make a good detective.'
'I'll add that to my tombstone,' Joshua said, ''Here lies Joshua Rhinehart, a nice grump who would have made a good detective.'' He stood up. 'I'm starved. At home I've got steaks in the freezer and a lot of bottles of Robert Mondavi's Cabernet Sauvignon. What are we waiting for?'
***
Frye turned away from the blood-drenched bed and from the blood-splashed wall behind the bed.
He put the bloody knife on the dresser and walked out of the room.
The house was filled with an unearthly quiet.
His demonic energy was gone. He was heavy-lidded, heavy-limbed, lethargic, sated.
In the bathroom, he adjusted the water in the shower until it was as hot as he could stand it. He stepped into the stall and soaped himself, washed the blood out of his hair, washed it off his face and body. He rinsed, then lathered up again, rinsed a second time.
His mind was a blank. He thought of nothing except the details of cleaning up. The sight of the blood swirling down the drain did not make him think of the dead woman in the next room; it was only dirt being sluiced away.
All he wanted to do was make himself presentable and then go sleep in the van for several hours. He was exhausted. His arms felt as if they were made of lead; his legs were rubber.
He got out of the shower and dried himself on a big towel. The cloth smelled like the woman, but it had neither pleasant nor unpleasant associations for him.
He spent a lot of time at the sink, working on his hands with a brush that he found beside the soap dish, getting every trace of blood out of his knuckle creases, taking special care with his caked fingernails.
On his way out of the bathroom, intending to fetch his clothes from the bedroom, he noticed a full-length mirror on the door, which he hadn't seen on his way to the shower. He stopped to examine himself, looking for smears of blood that he might have missed. He was as spotless and fresh and pink as a well-scrubbed baby.
He stared at the reflection of his flaccid penis and the drooping testicles beneath it, and he tried very hard to see the mark of the demon. He knew that he was not like other men; he had no doubt whatsoever about that. His mother had been terrified that someone would find out about him and that the world would learn that he was half-demon, the child of an ordinary woman and a scaly, fanged, sulphurous beast. Her fear of exposure was transmitted to Bruno at an early age, and he still dreaded being found out and subsequently burned alive. He had never been naked in front of another person. In school, he had not gone out for sports, and he had been excused from gymnasium for supposed religious objections to taking showers in the nude with other boys. He had never even completely stripped for a physician. His mother had been positive that anyone who saw his sex organs would
