His eyes widened.
I was lying, but what the hell. It was his turn to be deceived.
I must have been very convincing, because Sally reached for her gun, and started to look behind her.
The three of us hustled across the drive, and up the porch steps. Toby was looking behind us all the way. Good. Sally had her service weapon out, and I pulled mine, as well.
“What did the office say?”
“Borman's on his way up now,” she said. There wasn't a hint of a quaver in her voice. Dispatch training.
“And?”
“They're rounding up everybody they can get,” she said.
Just as we reached the door, I heard an engine roaring up the drive. Borman. We paused on the porch, as he came steaming up the drive, through the gate, and slid to a halt just a few feet from the bottom of the steps. He jumped out, and came running up the steps.
“Whaddya got?” he asked, breathing heavily.
We told him, in about five seconds.
“Now,” I ended, “you shove Toby here in your car, lock the doors and make sure the cage is tight. Then follow us in.”
He didn't even ask a question. That was the way it was supposed to work.
Sally and I entered the house.
As we passed through the main doors, the patter of the rain was filtered out, and the sudden quiet was remarkable. I hadn't realized how much the sound of the rain had pervaded our world outside.
We stood still, the sound of the water dripping from our rain gear making the only noise in the whole, huge house. It was completely dark, and very warm in contrast with the outside temperature.
“Use your Mini-Mag,” I said, “and see if you can find the lights.”
A moment later, the overhead light in the entryway came on.
We looked around. Nothing appeared disturbed. I holstered my gun for a second, slipped out of my raincoat and let it drop to the floor. I pulled my gun again. “Take off your coat,” I said softly. “It'll be quieter.”
I heard her removing it. Silence again. Then, a little bump of a sound, from the direction of the inglenook under the stairs. I glanced at Sally. She nodded that she'd heard it, too. The two of us moved very slowly toward the foot of the stairs, and into the darkness again.
Sally shined her light into the inglenook. Curled up under the wooden bench seat was a body clad in a flannel nightgown. Hanna.
“Hanna,” I said. “You all right?”
She simply stared.
“Hanna?” said Sally.
“Go away,” Hanna hissed.
“Where's everybody else? Come on, Hanna, tell me,” I said evenly.
At that point, there was a noticeable suction in the air as the main doors opened and Borman came in. Hanna curled up tightly, and covered her eyes with her forearm.
“Leave me alone. Go away.”
“Hanna, look at me. Tell me where everybody is.”
She did look at me, but she didn't speak. Then her gaze shifted up, toward the staircase. I didn't know whether she was looking for an escape path, or hoping to see someone start down the stairs.
“Just tell me where everybody is,” I said quietly. “That's all you have to do.”
“I don't know,” she said, in a faint, shaky voice. “Maybe you better go upstairs.”
“Why upstairs?” I hoped.
“I'm not going up there,” she said. “But I think you better go upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” I asked. “Who all's upstairs?”
“I think Melissa and Huck are up there,” said Hanna. “Please don't talk to me. You'll make him mad at me.”
“What's going on up there?” I asked.
“He's angry with them,” she said, very calmly and simply. “I heard it.”
“Where's Kevin?” asked Sally.
“He left,” said Hanna. “Please, please don't talk to me anymore.”
“There will be some more police coming,” I said. “Don't be afraid of them. Officer Borman here will take you to his car. You'll be safe there.”
Before he could protest, Sally and I were already on the bottom steps. I was leaving him with his car, because I thought he could more ably hold his own against Dan Peale, if he showed up to get at the two in the car. Sally was good, but I thought she'd be better off with either Borman or me. And I wasn't too keen about going upstairs alone, to tell the truth.
I reached out and flipped the switch at the bottom of the stair, and the chandelier above the landing came on. We headed up the stairs.
At the top, I looked down the hall. Everything seemed perfectly fine, except for one jarring note. There were wood splinters on the hall carpet, near the door across from Edie's room.
“Whose room is that?” Sally whispered.
“Edie's on the right, Melissa on the left, I think,” I said. I saw the switch plate, and turned on the hall light.
“Oh boy.”
“Let me go first,” I said.
“No problem.”
“Keep alert.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Except for the sounds of our muffled steps on the carpet, it was absolutely quiet. A very bad sign.
I glanced in Edie's opened door as we got to it. It seemed empty. I stuck my head in. All looked to be as we had left it the last time we were here. Except for some purplish flowers on the bed.
“It's clear,” I said, as I pulled back into the hall.
We crossed diagonally to Melissa's shattered door. It had obviously been hit very hard.
“You stay here in the hall. He could be anywhere. Don't come in unless I tell you to.”
“Okay,” said Sally.
I looked more closely at Melissa's door as I entered her room. It had been struck repeatedly with considerable force, probably kicked. There were two places where something had penetrated completely, and the removal of whatever it was had pulled fragments out into the hall. Probably the kicker's foot.
I reached around the door frame, found the light switch, and turned it on.
The door was off its hinges at the bottom, and I pushed it back with my shoulder as I crossed the threshold. The first thing I saw was the overturned chair. The low bookshelf under the window was also overturned, the books spilled out onto the rug. The curtains had been pulled down, the dangling rod bent but still in the bracket. The window was opened about three inches. I moved my eyes to the right, and saw that the mattress was half off the bed frame, and the sheet and blankets were on the floor. There was a broken bed lamp near the head of the bed, and a framed picture all askew on the wall beside it. In the plaster wall was a large dent, at about my eye level. Another, a little lower, with what looked to be blood in the center. I followed the logical line downward, and there was a pool of blood on the floor, at the corner of the bed. And a foot with a bloody, white cotton sock on it just visible as it protruded from the space between the bed and the wall.
I was over there in two steps. I peered down into the narrow space, and saw a crumpled body in a pair of pink polka-dotted cotton pajama bottoms and a blue T-shirt. The body was on its left side, facing the wall, and the knees were drawn up toward the chest, and the right arm was bent over the head, the elbow covering the face, in a familiar protective posture. The left arm wasn't visible. There was quite a bit of blood, mostly dried.
The purplish red hair told me it was Melissa.
I put my gun in my holster, and leaned gingerly on the bed, reached down, and felt for a carotid pulse. She flinched, startling me, and filling me with relief at the same time.
“Melissa,” I said, “it's me, Houseman. We're here. It's going to be all right.” There was a slight movement,
