Read Online The Anatomy of Violence by Charles Runyon - Free Book Online
Authors: Charles Runyon
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find the floodlights while I waited.
The lights came on, and the picture burned into my mind like an overexposed photograph. Eileen’s face was dark now, her blue shoes awash in two inches of rain water. The gold chain I’d given her still gleamed around her right ankle. The blue dress was ripped down to her waist. Below the sharp line of tan, her breasts looked like snow in the harsh light. And the net—I screamed when I saw it rolled into a narrow band, still tight around her throat.
Telling it had made it real, and I could almost smell again the rainwashed concrete and hear my own distant scream.
“Her hair wasn’t wet,” said Captain Riemann. “I figure he killed her somewhere then dumped her in the pool after the rain.”
“Footprints?”
“A couple. A guy makes a pretty deep print with a body on his back.” His face was set hard in the cloudy, colorless dawn. “She never told you where she got the car and dress?”
“She was good at changing the subject.”
“Yeah, but what ties you two together? Did you take any guys for—” He stopped and shook his head. “No. Eileen either tried to cut him off, or he got tired of paying off.”
“Would he rape her then?”
“Might … if he was a little crazy.” He stood suddenly, knocking over the half-full bottle. He grabbed it and threw it. I heard it smash in Gwen’s rock garden. “Laurie, I am going to the ball park and get some plaster casts before the footprints—” He stopped and snapped his fingers. “Damn! I promised your dad I’d stick close to you.”
I thought of the gun. “I can protect myself, Captain.”
“Well, don’t you take chances. I’ll do all the detective work.”
“If you find out who he is, Captain, will you tell me first?”
He looked down at me and rubbed his chin. “I always wondered what would happen if Ben had a boy, and he’d turn up with his daddy’s brains and his momma’s will power. Never thought I’d see it in a girl.” He laughed. “All right, Laurie, I’ll tell you first. But I ain’t saying I’ll let you get to him.”
CHAPTER FOUR
H EAT WRAPPED me in a stifling blanket as I left the doctor’s air-conditioned home. It was noon. My nose felt musty from too little sleep. An ache throbbed in my left buttock as I walked.
Hip, the nurse had called it. “Don’t want to get sick, do we, honey? Roll over and I’ll give you a shot where it won’t show.”
Doctor Field had been sympathetic. He’d said after the examination, “Internally, Laurie, there’s no serious damage. You’ll have some pain, but that’s normal.”
Then I’d asked him about a baby. “I suggest, Laurie, we take up that problem if and when it arrives. Come back if anything develops. Your attitude may change.”
Like hell.
I shifted the purse, heavy with the gun, and looked behind me. The street lay empty beneath the tall elms. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched; the same crawly sensation I’d felt beneath the bleachers.
That memory was disappearing though, like water spilled on sand. I’d asked the doctor about that, too. “Not too rare, Laurie. You thought you were dying; the shock could cause other incidents to fade. You wouldn’t necessarily realize you’d forgotten something if the memory seemed continuous—no more than you’d know where wallpaper joined if the pattern matched.”
So I might have known who it was, then forgotten. I’d been probing my memory since then, but nothing had turned up. Now I opened the Sunday
Clarion
I’d borrowed from his doorstep. The headline slapped me across the eyes: BEAUTY QUEEN ASSAULTED.
As I read it, I remembered Richard’s formula for a front page story: sex, violence, a pretty girl—and a slow day on the wire.
The
Clarion
had rated me a “dark, lovely coed,” even though I’d already graduated from our junior college. Most of the story had come from Koch. He didn’t think my case and Eileen’s were connected. (Here the paper devoted a
The lights came on, and the picture burned into my mind like an overexposed photograph. Eileen’s face was dark now, her blue shoes awash in two inches of rain water. The gold chain I’d given her still gleamed around her right ankle. The blue dress was ripped down to her waist. Below the sharp line of tan, her breasts looked like snow in the harsh light. And the net—I screamed when I saw it rolled into a narrow band, still tight around her throat.
Telling it had made it real, and I could almost smell again the rainwashed concrete and hear my own distant scream.
“Her hair wasn’t wet,” said Captain Riemann. “I figure he killed her somewhere then dumped her in the pool after the rain.”
“Footprints?”
“A couple. A guy makes a pretty deep print with a body on his back.” His face was set hard in the cloudy, colorless dawn. “She never told you where she got the car and dress?”
“She was good at changing the subject.”
“Yeah, but what ties you two together? Did you take any guys for—” He stopped and shook his head. “No. Eileen either tried to cut him off, or he got tired of paying off.”
“Would he rape her then?”
“Might … if he was a little crazy.” He stood suddenly, knocking over the half-full bottle. He grabbed it and threw it. I heard it smash in Gwen’s rock garden. “Laurie, I am going to the ball park and get some plaster casts before the footprints—” He stopped and snapped his fingers. “Damn! I promised your dad I’d stick close to you.”
I thought of the gun. “I can protect myself, Captain.”
“Well, don’t you take chances. I’ll do all the detective work.”
“If you find out who he is, Captain, will you tell me first?”
He looked down at me and rubbed his chin. “I always wondered what would happen if Ben had a boy, and he’d turn up with his daddy’s brains and his momma’s will power. Never thought I’d see it in a girl.” He laughed. “All right, Laurie, I’ll tell you first. But I ain’t saying I’ll let you get to him.”
CHAPTER FOUR
H EAT WRAPPED me in a stifling blanket as I left the doctor’s air-conditioned home. It was noon. My nose felt musty from too little sleep. An ache throbbed in my left buttock as I walked.
Hip, the nurse had called it. “Don’t want to get sick, do we, honey? Roll over and I’ll give you a shot where it won’t show.”
Doctor Field had been sympathetic. He’d said after the examination, “Internally, Laurie, there’s no serious damage. You’ll have some pain, but that’s normal.”
Then I’d asked him about a baby. “I suggest, Laurie, we take up that problem if and when it arrives. Come back if anything develops. Your attitude may change.”
Like hell.
I shifted the purse, heavy with the gun, and looked behind me. The street lay empty beneath the tall elms. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched; the same crawly sensation I’d felt beneath the bleachers.
That memory was disappearing though, like water spilled on sand. I’d asked the doctor about that, too. “Not too rare, Laurie. You thought you were dying; the shock could cause other incidents to fade. You wouldn’t necessarily realize you’d forgotten something if the memory seemed continuous—no more than you’d know where wallpaper joined if the pattern matched.”
So I might have known who it was, then forgotten. I’d been probing my memory since then, but nothing had turned up. Now I opened the Sunday
Clarion
I’d borrowed from his doorstep. The headline slapped me across the eyes: BEAUTY QUEEN ASSAULTED.
As I read it, I remembered Richard’s formula for a front page story: sex, violence, a pretty girl—and a slow day on the wire.
The
Clarion
had rated me a “dark, lovely coed,” even though I’d already graduated from our junior college. Most of the story had come from Koch. He didn’t think my case and Eileen’s were connected. (Here the paper devoted a
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