SAVAGELY HACKED TO DEATH ON THE LAWN OF HER
NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE, WHERE SHE HAD BEEN
CONDUCTING A YARD SALE. NO SCREAMS WERE
HEARD AND MRS. DIMENT WAS NOT FOUND UNTIL
EIGHT O'CLOCK, WHEN A NEIGHBOR ACROSS THE
STREET CAME OVER TO COMPLAIN ABOUT LOUD
TELEVISION NOISE. THE NEIGHBOR, DAVID GRAVES,
SAID THAT MRS. DIMENT HAD BEEN DECAPITATED.
'HER HEAD WAS ON THE IRONING BOARD,' HE SAID. 'IT
WAS THE MOST AWFUL THING I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY
LIFE.' GRAVES SAID HE HEARD NO SIGNS OF A
STRUGGLE, ONLY THE TV AND, SHORTLY BEFORE
FINDING THE BODY, A LOUD CAR, POSSIBLY EQUIPPED
WITH A GLASSPACK MUFFLER, ACCELERATING AWAY
FROM THE VICINITY ALONG ROUTE ONE. SPECULATION
THAT THIS VEHICLE MAY HAVE BELONGED TO THE
KILLER
Except that wasn't speculation; that was a simple fact.
Breathing hard, not quite panting, Kinnell hurried back into the
entryway. The picture was still there, but it had changed once
more. Now it showed two glaring white circles - headlights - with
the dark shape of the car hulking behind them.
He's on the move again, Kinnell thought, and Aunt Trudy was on
top of his mind now - sweet Aunt Trudy, who always knew who
had been naughty and who had been nice. Aunt Trudy, who lived
in Wells, no more than forty miles from Rosewood.
'God, please God, please send him by the coast road,' Kinnell
said, reaching for the picture. Was it his imagination or were the
headlights farther apart now, as if the car were actually moving
before his eyes ... but stealthily, the way the minute hand moved on
a Pocket watch? 'Send him by the coast road, please.'
He tore the picture off the wall and ran back into the living room
with it. The screen was in place before the fireplace, of course; it
would be at least two months before a fire was wanted in here.
Kinnell batted it aside and threw the painting in, breaking the glass
fronting-which he had already broken once, at the Gray service
area - against the firedogs. Then he pelted for the kitchen,
wondering what he would do if this didn't work either.
It has to, he thought. It will because it has to, and that's A there is
to it.
He opened the kitchen cabinets and pawed through them, spilling
the oatmeal, spilling a canister of salt, spilling the vinegar. The
bottle broken open on the counter and assaulted his nose and eyes
with the high stink.
Not there. What he wanted wasn't there.
He raced into the pantry, looked behind the door - nothing but a
plastic bucket and an 0 Cedar - and then on the shelf by the dryer.
There it was, next to the briquettes.
Lighter fluid.
