Chapter 5
He had left the house and driven to the closest grocery store, buying his usual amount of weekly supplies. He had returned and Ellen had prepared another meal for the girls and herself. After the meal she washed and dried the dishes. She swept the kitchen and cleaned the cabinets and rearranged the contents of the cabinets and the refrigerator.
He had watched her as she worked, watching her deftness and calmness. When she finished, he brought the bottle of whisky and a bottle of coca cola to the kitchen table. She took two glasses from one of the cabinets and a tray of ice from the refrigerator. She prepared a drink for herself with only one ice cube and a small amount of coca cola.
"Do you want ice in your drink?" she asked. "Two."
She dropped two ice cubes in his glass and carried the tray back to the refrigerator. He watched the flash of her strong shapely legs beneath her skirt, the movement of her buttocks beneath her skirt. After she had replaced the ice-tray, she bent to rearrange something in a lower section of the refrigerator, and he noticed the way her breasts hung and strained against her blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra. The thought excited him and he remembered how she had been when he made love to her earlier in the day. He could do it again. Maybe this second time would be better.
She sat on the other side of the table and studied him as she sipped her drink.
"Is this my reward?" she asked.
"Thanks for cooking the meal. I'm sure the others appreciate it. And thanks for washing the dishes." It was an odd situation, he realized. She didn't have to cook the meals, she didn't have to wash the dishes, she didn't have to do anything. She had volunteered and it was hard to understand why she had volunteered.
"Thanks for saying thanks. Can I have a cigarette?"
He gave her a cigarette. After he lit it for her, she inhaled deeply, sipped her drink and frowned at him.
"You're doing it again," she said. "Doing what?"
"Looking at me in that peculiar way. And smiling."
"I'm sorry. You're so calm ... I didn't expect you to be so calm. I didn't expect any of the girls to be as calm as you are."
She finished her drink and refilled her glass, this time with more whisky and less coca cola.
"I told you this morning-the others won't be so calm. Janie is so young-a virgin, I'm sure the idea of being raped frightens her. Irene would be indignant if you raped her."
"Indignant!" he laughed.
"You don't know Irene. She's from what you might call high society. She's a snob, a real snob, she's had money all her life. Money and servants ... I don't think anyone in her whole life has ever done anything to her ... anything she didn't want done."
For a moment he considered the idea of raping Irene. He would-eventually-just to see what she was like.
"Is she married?" he asked.
"She's married-to another snob. Her husband owns a real-estate company. Irene had a job with the Advance Electronics Corporation, but I think she works there just to keep from being bored. She has a good job and it gives her a special kind of prestige."
"What kind of job?"
"She's private secretary to the president of the company."
He finished his drink. "What kind of job do you have, Ellen?"
"I'm a typist for the Ideal Plastics Company."
He mixed another drink and watched as Ellen mixed another for herself. She finished it before he drank half of his. Her third. She drank easily, but her face had become flushed and now there was a vague look about her eyes.
They sat in silence for almost half an hour until the bottle was finished. He kept the Luger on his lap, out of sight, but within easy reach. He had locked both the doors and he knew there was no chance that Ellen could escape. Before she could get out of the kitchen, he'd be able to stop her with a bullet. He didn't like the idea of killing her-he wanted to make love to her-but he knew he would kill her if he had to.
He rose from his chair and held the Luger aimed at her chest. They went to his bedroom and this time she undressed without being ordered to. He placed the Luger on one of the bookshelves, where he could reach it easily, and watched her as she undressed. The first time she had undressed with her back toward him. Now she undressed facing him, occasionally looking at him, a slight smile on her lips.
She was wearing only the blouse and her skirt and she finished undressing while he was still unbuttoning his shirt. She stood near the bed, naked, her legs apart, swaying slightly, watching him while he undressed. When he removed the last of his clothing, her smile broadened. When he reached her, she slid her arms around his back.
She was so tall he didn't have to bend to kiss her and he found himself kissing her without really intending to. Her lips were soft and warm and as he felt their responsive pressure, he felt her hands caressing his back. She was enjoying it!
She pressed her naked body against him and he moved his hands to the small of her back to thrust her thighs and loins against him. With one of her hands she guided their union, gasping as they slid together and then leaning forward until her breasts were against his chest. She moved back and forth, toward him until he felt the warm flat softness of her stomach and away from him, until they were almost entirely separated.
She moved back and forth, back and forth, moaning softly, until he could wait no longer and shoved her across the bed. They fell together, still joined, and she writhed beneath him, thrusting her body at him. As he held her in his arms, he felt her tremble violently. Then for a moment she was still, but then she began to move again until he finished.
They lay side by side on the bed. He could hear the wind outside and he wondered if it had begun to snow again. A cool breeze swept across his legs and he resisted the impulse to slide under the blankets. It would be easy for the two of them to lie under the blankets, where he could press against the warmth of her soft naked body and fall asleep.
But if he fell asleep, she might kill him with the Luger. If she didn't kill him, she could certainly get the Luger and keep him at a safe distance while she freed the other girls. No-he couldn't fall asleep. He had to stay awake. It could be a part of a plan she had to throw him off-guard.
He turned on his side to look at her. Still naked, she remained on her back. She had crossed her legs, her arms at her sides. Her breasts rose and fell with her regular breathing. He thought she had fallen asleep, but suddenly her lips twisted in a smile and she giggled.
"That wasn't rape, was it?"
It had been half-question, half-statement.
"No," he said. "It definitely wasn't rape."
She spoke softly with her eyes closed, "I can tell you the truth. It doesn't matter. I know you won't tell anyone else. You can't tell anyone else because you can't let anyone else know you've kidnapped us."
Her breathing quickened. He waited for her to continue and when it seemed she would not continue, asked, "Tell me what?"
"The truth. You see, I'm not like Irene or Emma or Janie. I've...."
He heard a car. He tensed, waiting for the sound of the car to pass by the house. Sometimes cars passed by-when someone turned onto the road by mistake-but the road was too far off the main routes for any regular traffic.
The car stopped.
He jumped from the bed and struggled into his clothes. Ellen stared at him. "What.....? "
He grabbed the Luger, aimed it at her. He took her clothes, threw them at her. "Get in your clothes!"
Her eyes widened and she scrambled from the bed, pulling on her skirt and stepping into her shoes. She started to slip into her blouse, but he heard the knocking on the door and pushed her across the bedroom. He had to get her back to the cellar-fast!
She ran ahead of him out of the bedroom, through the living room, through the storage room, through the passageway. He unlocked the door and shoved her inside. By the time he had locked the door and hidden the Luger in the storage room, and run to the front door of the house, the knocking had stopped.
He opened the door.
A man had turned to walk toward a car parked at the side of the road. Stan hesitated, trying to identify him. The sky had darkened and thick clouds hid the moon. The man was only a dark shadow against the pale whiteness of the snow but there was something familiar about the broad shoulders, the swaggering walk.
"Bob!
Bob Jarrell turned and walked back to the house. When they were inside, Stan apologized. "Sorry, Bob. I was sleeping. I didn't hear you."
"You must be a heavy sleeper, buddy. I almost broke my knuckles. I knew you were here. I saw your car."
Stan fumbled for a cigarette. His fingers were trembling and he prayed Bob wouldn't notice.
"What brings you out here this time of night?"
Bob was a tall broad-shouldered man in his early thirties. In school he had been a good athlete and a poor student. Stan had known him since they were both eight years old and, because of the scarcely populated area in which they lived, Bob had been his only close friend.
Bob had joined the State Police when he quit college during the first year. He had been with the constabulary for more than ten years, had reached the rank of sergeant, but his sandy hair and boyish features gave him the appearance of a rookie.
"Remember the time you helped in the search for Cathy Renslow?" Bob asked.
"You have another case like that?"
"Not exactly. There's four of them-four women. We found their car on 882 near Sellers' Park. We made a search today but tomorrow we want to make a more thorough search."
Bob hesitated and Stan wondered how he should react.
"Four women did you say? Do you think they were kidnapped?"
"We don't think they were kidnapped. It'd be hard to kidnap four women and keep them prisoners. It's just a hunch, but we think some maniac has killed them."
"You think they're dead?"
"There's four of 'em. None of the four has showed up. If they hadn't been killed, one of them would have showed up by now. We're going to make a more thorough search tomorrow. We could use your help if you have the time."
"I have the time."
"Still trying to find a job?"
"But not trying too hard." He grinned and winked.
"You're a lazy sonofabitch."
"And you're a jealous sonofabitch. What time is the search going to start tomorrow?"
"Everybody will meet on 882 at five-thirty. We'll start as soon as the sun comes up."
"On 882 near Sellers' Park?"
"Right."
"I'll be there."
"We should be finished by noon. Stop by and have lunch with us."