The Lake - Richard Laymon

“You mean, you have no idea?” Leigh burst in. She’d been waiting for this “brilliant” criminologist to come up with some wonderful clue. And now she’s asking us where Mace could be?

Diners began to sit up and take notice.

Leigh lowered her voice.

“You’re the expert,” she said tersely, across the table. “We thought you’d point us in the right direction. You’ve done profiling Mace, now you tell us where he’s likely to be. My daughter’s out there…and Christ knows what he’s done—is doing with her.”

“That’s understood, Leigh.” Sorensson was sympathetic. She’d experienced the wrath of anguished family members in the past, so she was more than ready for Leigh’s outburst.

“I’ll do my best,” she said gently. “I haven’t encountered many such cases, but having studied this guy’s history, I found it…quite interesting.” She paused, then said, “His crimes are symbology-based.”

Mattie raised her brows.

Ava continued. “Let me explain. Psychopaths often identify with an aggressive role model—in this case, Payne Senior. It’s my guess that had he lived to tell the tale, he would undoubtedly have abused both Mace and his siblings.”

“So where’s this going, Ava?” Leigh asked, her voice beginning to rise again.

Mattie laid a restraining hand on her arm.

“As we know,” Ava continued, “Payne Senior was murdered by his wife Edith, and Jess aka Mace now appears to identify with the myth that is his father. He puts himself in his father’s place. Assumes the persona. Is Payne Senior.

“At the same time, hating his mother for killing his father, never mind for her rejection of himself—by passing him on to the family in Duluth. Because of these issues, plus the superstition surrounding his dark-haired sister, Mace sees women as evil, untrustworthy people.”

Ava paused, glancing at Leigh, assessing how all this was affecting her. Leigh was pale but seemed in control. She decided to continue. “All Mace’s pathological maternal hatred, plus the desire to avenge his father’s murder, is now directed toward his ‘evil’ sister Tania.

“In the absence of the real Tania, Mace is systematically working his way through a series of dark-haired women. With each killing, he’s avenging Payne Senior’s death and, in effect, carrying out his father’s plan to murder his sister…”

Ava’s eyes leveled with Leigh’s. “I’m sure you understand, Leigh. We’re dealing with a dangerous psychopath. A man with a mission. We desperately need to bring him in…” She bit her lip. “Like many psychopaths, Mace Harrison is an intelligent man. John Gacy, Ted Bundy, and others disguised themselves as law-enforcement officers in order to gain access to their victims. And very convincing they were, too. Mace Harrison doesn’t need to act that part. He already is, pardon me, was a well-respected cop, who did his job in exemplary fashion.”

Mattie’s face was taut. “Damn right,” she muttered. “That sick fuck was the cleverest sonofabitch I ever did meet!”

Leigh felt faint. Her head began to swim.

“Please, Ava,” she whispered. “Tell me where you think Mace is—and where he’s hidden Deana!”

Sorensson placed a warm hand over Leigh’s icy one. She smiled gently and said, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you where your daughter is, Leigh. But I think I know where Mace is headed. It’s my guess he’ll return to his roots, his old stomping ground…Go back to where it all began.”

“You mean…the lake? Lake Wahconda?”

Ava nodded.

Shaking, and on the verge of tears, Leigh looked at Mattie.

Then she was staring past Mattie’s shoulder, at two people entering the restaurant.

A red-haired girl.

And a big guy with a beard.

She blinked and swallowed, hard.

After all these years…

Cherry Dornay and her brother Ben.

SIXTY-SEVEN

Deana lifted her head.

Her face was a vague blur in the darkness.

Her stomach clenched; she stared at the door.

The crashing, splintering sounds got louder.

Oh my God! Who is it? What’s happening?

Nursing her head, she bit her lip, making her mouth bleed all over again. The blood tasted warm, salty…She felt it slide down her chin.

Then the door burst open, shattering the dark with a blast of light.

Outlined against the sun, a figure stood in the opening.

“Deana? Deana!”

A man’s voice.

She was almost sure it was Warren—coming to take her home.

What if it’s not?

She crouched back in the shadows, her eyes fixed on the man. He moved forward, peering into the darkness.

It could be Mace…

Said he’d come back. Use his knife on her. Cleanse her sins away. Rid her of her bad blood…

The man got closer.

She cringed, still not making out who it was…

Maybe a figment of my imagination—been having some really weird dreams lately.

A pause.

Yeah…That’s it. I’ve gone stark staring crazy!

Her hands shot up, covering her face, her fingers making a narrow V.

She squinted through it, breathing hard.

I might be in an insane asylum right now…

Cringing back, she saw someone else behind the man…a tall woman with long black hair. Dressed in black. Denim cutoffs. Iron Maiden T-shirt…Deana’s eyes leveled with the woman’s long, well-muscled legs.

“Deana! It’s me, Warren,” the man said gently. He was standing over her now. Then lowering himself, kneeling…reaching out.

Deana screamed.

“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me…”

Her screams trailed off into tiny whimpers. She pressed blood-streaked hands to her mouth, her eyes desperate, pleading.

“Warren? Is it really you?”

She peered at him through narrowed eyes.

“I guess they do things like this to mad people,” she said slowly. “Fuck about with their brains…Like get their hopes up, then…”

A cold, wet nose snuffled at her knees.

“Down, Sabre. Sit!”

Warren—and Sabre.

Oh thank you God thank you God!

Warren’s voice came low, urgent. “Gotta get you outta here, Deana. Fast. Can you walk?”

Dumbly, she shook her head.

“No? Then I’ll carry you…”

He bent down, lifted her in his arms.

She flinched as he held her, her body hurting all over…Still not believing Warren was here. That he’d found her. Just when she’d given up hope he ever would…

The woman’s voice hissed out.

“Gotta hurry, Warren. I can hear an engine…”

“Open the car door, Sheena. I’ll be right over.”

Sabre loped ahead with the woman.

Picking up speed, Warren ran the last couple of yards over dry, sparse grass roots and scrub snagging his boots, fresh mountain air keening at his lungs.

Frowning anxiously, willing him on, Sheena stood by the open door of the Chevy. The vehicle the other side of the ridge was getting closer. They heard its engine chugging, whining, the tires skidding over rough dirt road.

Hunching herself into the driver’s seat, Sheena revved up the Chevy, eager to be gone. Looking back anxiously as Warren laid Deana across the backseat, pulling a blanket over her.

He climbed up front beside Sheena.

Sabre, panting out hot steamy breaths, leapt in and curled around his feet.

Warren slammed the door shut.

Sheena, her white-knuckled hands clenching the wheel, stepped on the gas, swung the Chevy around, the tires squealing and racing as they hit ruts and rocks.

Then she let it ride, manhandling the wheel with strong, capable hands.

The black customized Commando mounted the hill. It headed toward them.

Through the dust-covered windshield, they saw Mace, his teeth bared, snarling. He was picking up speed.

Sheena drove at him hard and fast. Aiming to go straight through the Jeep or knock it off the mountain path. Mace hesitated slightly, then rammed the gas pedal to the floor.

Sheena yelled, “Hold tight!”

She went for Mace.

The Jeep swerved to the left, then skidded to a halt, showers of dust belching up behind. The left-hand door swung open. Mace slid out, jerking his revolver out of its holster.

Scurrying, crablike, darting behind rocks and bushes, he dropped on one knee, both hands on the gun. He got Sheena in his sight.

Aiming to take her out, he pulled back the trigger…

Warren ducked. Sheena drove. Smashing into the blacked-out Jeep. They watched it teeter, then topple over the ridge with a rattle of dirt and stones. Shots rang out. Whining by. Missing them by only a fraction.

Quickly, Sheena zigzagged the Chevy out of range. Hanging on to the wheel, speeding, slipping, sliding down the trail in a shower of dust and stones.

Warren straightened up.

He peered through the rearview mirror.

Mace was gone.

SIXTY-EIGHT

“Leigh, we got Deana.”

“Christ, Warren! You’ve GOT her?”

“That’s right, Leigh. Is Mattie there?”

“She sure is,” Mattie snatched the phone from Leigh’s hand and yelled into it. “I should tan your butt, Warren Hastings. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before you went chasing off? You coulda wrecked this case, y’know that? Coulda got Deana killed…”

“Sorry, Mattie. There just wasn’t time. We had to go. Anyway, we’re coming in now. And Deana’s alive, okay? She’s had a rough time, but s’far as I can see, her injuries look kinda…superficial. Can’t say for sure, though…She’s a little bewildered. Got an injured jaw. Black eyes. Otherwise okay.”

Wrapped in blankets, Deana lay on the sofa, Leigh by her side, holding and stroking her hand.

“How did you find me?” Deana asked Warren. Her words came out thick and slurred. She was weak as a kitten, couldn’t stop shaking, not yet believing the nightmare was over.

Warren’s brows went up. He looked across at Sheena, standing silent by the glass wall, staring out at the view. “Over to you, sis,” he called out with a grin.

She turned nonchalantly, lifted a shoulder, and tilted her head. “Yeah. Right…,” she said, looking at Deana. “I’ll tell y’about it sometime. Just say I wander around those parts myself now and again. When I need to think, get my head straight, know what I mean? I just take out the old Chevy and have me a little campin’ trip up there in the mountains.”

“Yeah, but…that…that place I was in, it was so well hidden…It couldn’t have been easy.”

“Persistent li’l gal, ain’t ya? Let’s just say my woman’s intuition played a part—it led me to where you were.”

Leigh broke in. “And I’m sure glad it did. I can’t begin to thank you both…” She paused, still stroking Deana’s forehead, throwing Sheena a grateful smile.

Looking over at Mattie, she said, “So, what do we do now, Mats? Take Ava’s advice, fly out to Wisconsin? How about backup?”

“Don’t you worry about that, Leigh. FBI, local troopers, you name it, every fucker with a badge is about to descend on Lake Country as we speak. I’m shippin’ out later today.”

“And I’m coming with you,” Leigh said.

Mattie looked doubtful.

Warren met her eyes.

Quietly, he said, “I think Sheena should also go along.”

There was a pause while Mattie did a double take.

“You do? Why?”

“Apart from being pretty useful when it comes to one-to-one combat,” he winked across at Sheena, “she has a…vested interest.”

Mattie’s eyes narrowed.

“Whadyamean? A vested interest?”

“I’m Tania,” Sheena said. “Mace’s sister.”

SIXTY-NINE

The lake looked pretty much the way she remembered it.

The same clear, bright air. Inlets, sandy coves, sunbathers stretched out like fish to dry. Dark stands of pine to the south. Water lapping gently around the pilings. The sputter of motorboats. Canoes, one or two rowboats…

Charlie’s was green, she remembered.

Could I forget…?

And loaded with baskets.

The sound of vacationers laughing, shouting to each other from the smartly painted piers, floated across the water. Bringing up an arm, shielding her eyes from the sun, Leigh saw them, the size of ants, from her side of the lake.

A motorboat with a water skier tagging behind, zipped by on a crest of white foam…

Leigh smiled softly, remembering how it had been, eighteen years ago. After the accident, Uncle Mike and Aunt Jenny moved camp. Away from Wahconda. They’d sold the cabin and summered in Colorado from then on.

Back in the eighties, they’d retired to Florida.

Carson’s Camp was under new management. All modernized and spruced up with a change of name—Lakeside Holiday Homes. In place of the old log cabins were smart new ones, in varnished pinewood, with porches, loungers, and barbecues out front.

Over to her right, Leigh could see the new cabins, shiny yellow in the sunlight. She saw a twist of smoke, caught a drift of grilled burgers hanging on the air. Nothing really changes, she thought with a smile.

Squinting into the sun, her eyes scanned the lake.

They picked out a green rowboat.

Her heart lurched. For a moment, she felt the same tense excitement of eighteen years ago. When she’d spotted Charlie out there. Charlie, bare-chested. Wearing his funny hat, with its high rounded crown, wide brim, red feathers tucked in the headband…

Charlie.

Waiting offshore.

Silent.

Unmoving.

Paddles resting in the oarlocks as he watched her showing off, posing in her white bikini…

She fingered her sea-thing, nestling in the cleft between her breasts. It felt so right to wear it again, here, at Wahconda. The place where once she’d truly believed it was her good-luck charm. Despite the way things had turned out. This trip, she’d slipped it around her neck, figuring it deserved another chance…

“Penny for them?”

Mattie was smiling at her.

“Mulling over a coupla things,” Leigh said, a rueful smile playing on her lips. “As you do. But that was then. Right now we got business to attend to.”

Mattie didn’t miss a beat.

“Nothin’ like old times for bringin’ on a case of the jitters, eh?”

“Tell me about it,” Leigh said with a wry smile.

Mattie studied the far end of the lake. “So those people back there at the Bayview—the gal, that your friend Cherry Dornay?”

Leigh nodded.

“Mmmm…Nice hair. And the guy?”

“Ben. Cherry’s brother. A good friend from way back when I was in San Diego having Deana. Yeah, he was a very good friend…”