Blood Marks Read online

  Damn. In some ways she actually missed him.

  "Come on, Mom!" Margaret said, interrupting her thoughts. "What're you waiting for? Everyone at the pool will be wondering where we are!"

  Margaret was already browner than Casey would allow herself to get, but her coloring was another inheritance from the Asshole and had nothing to do with the sun.

  "Mom!" Margaret said, striking a comic pose with her hands on her slim hips, her right foot tapping impatiently.

  "All right, all right," Casey said, laughing. "I'm coming. Can't a mom have a little time to think? You're the one who was watching the movie and not going swimming."

  "That was when there was a movie to watch," Margaret pointed out. "It's over now."

  "Can't argue with logic like that," Casey said, reaching down for her daughter's hand.

  Margaret slipped her own slim hand into her mother's and they went out the apartment door together.

  It was after six o'clock, but it was still very hot outside. Daylight Savings Time meant that it would not get dark until nearly nine, so there was still plenty of sun. If Casey and Margaret had not been wearing beach sandals, the sidewalk in front of the apartment would have practically scorched their feet.

  The humidity was still in evidence, too. If anything, it was worse, an almost palpable presence in the air.

  "It's hot," Margaret said.

  "Wow, you should be a detective," Casey said. "Don't worry. We'll be at the pool in a minute. Then you can cool off."

  The pool was located in a central courtyard in the midst of the apartment complex. They could hear laughter and splashing from where they were, and Casey wondered if there would be noise like that all night. Then she recalled that they had not heard anything from inside the apartment. That meant they had good soundproofing, which was a relief.

  They followed the sidewalk to the end of a row of apartments, then turned left and went into the shade between two of the units. They could see the concrete apron of the pool. There were people sitting at tables, others in reclining chairs, and some stretched out on towels beside the pool. Most of them were adults, but there were one or two kids. There was a separate shallow pool for them at the other end of the larger one.

  As Casey and Margaret walked back out into the sun, Rob hailed them from a table with an umbrella over it. There were three other people sitting there with him, two men and a woman.

  Casey and Margaret started toward them, but Margaret veered away.

  "I want to go in the water," she said.

  "OK," Casey said. "But just in the little pool."

  Margaret turned and made an exaggerated frown. "But that's for kids," she said.

  "What do you think you are, an old lady?"

  Margaret laughed and went on toward the little pool, which is where she had intended to go all along.

  Casey headed for the table where Rob was sitting. It was time for her to start meeting people. If Margaret wanted to put if off for a while longer, well, Casey didn't blame her.

  She thought for a minute of the friends she had left behind in Lubbock, and there had been more than a few.

  The Hansens next door, and Bernie their dog.

  The Terrells across the street. They had a son, Jon, about Margaret's age, and the two had been good friends.

  Some of the members of the Asshole's department, many of whom had come to visit in their home over the years.

  For just a brief moment, Casey allowed herself to be sentimental about what she had left behind her.

  Then she thought of the Asshole and his bimbo. To hell with them. To hell with the past. This was the new Casey Buckner. She was going to win friends and influence people.

  Feeling a bit self-conscious in her new suit, she walked as confidently as she could across the patio, threading her way between tables, smiling when she received curious looks from the other residents who recognized her as a newcomer.

  What was that sappy saying that people embroidered on samplers and framed and hung on their living room walls?

  For a second she couldn't think of it, but then it came to her: "Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

  Maybe it wasn't so sappy, after all. This was the first day of the rest of her life, and she was going to make the most of it.

  Casey arrived at the table and sat in a chair that Rob had saved for her. She hung her towels on the chair back. It had a metal frame and lengths of vinyl strips formed the back and sides. The vinyl was sticky in the humid heat, but the shade of the umbrella helped a little. There were canned drinks, beer and soda, on the table, since there was a prominent sign demanding that residents bring NO GLASS IN THE POOL AREA.

  "Let me introduce you to some people," Rob said. "Casey Buckner, this happy couple here is Craig and Tina Warley."

  The man and woman smiled. They were both in their mid-twenties, maybe a little younger than Rob.

  "Hi," Craig said, half standing and making a sort of bow with his hands on the arms of his chair. He had a deep bass voice, a hairy barrel-shaped chest and a dimpled chin that Kirk Douglas might have envied. His already thinning hair was combed straight back off his forehead in a widow's peak, and there was an old scar high up near the hairline.

  "Glad to meet you," Craig went on. "Rob tells us you just moved to Houston from somewhere out in West Texas."

  "Lubbock," Casey said.

  "It's not always this bad down here," Tina said, waving a hand as if to indicate the sun and humidity. "It just seems that way because the weather's so shitty."

  Everyone laughed, including Casey.

  Tina's name must have been given her by hopeful parents who did not see their hope fulfilled, because Tina was not tiny. She was broad-shouldered and heavy-breasted, with brown hair that hung to her shoulders. She had a wide forehead, big brown eyes and a wide, sensuous mouth.

  "Don't let her kid you," the other man at the table said. "It's always pretty bad here."

  "And this cheerful fellow is Dan Romain," Rob said.

  Romain, older than the others, wearing a pair of thick glasses, was the only one to offer her his hand. "Pleased to meet you," he said.

  Chapter 9

  No one in the police department was aware of Romain's double life, nor were the people who lived in the apartment complex aware that he was on the force.

  That was the way he wanted it. He kept the two halves of his life entirely separate, never socializing with anyone at the office, never telling anyone from the apartment where he worked. He told them he was a psychologist, but that was as far as he went.

  He would never tell anyone at the table that only a few hours earlier he had been discussing serial murder with a homicide investigator. It wasn't the kind of thing that tended to come up in conversation, though the murders themselves very well might. It was becoming obvious to nearly everyone that something strange was going on in Houston.

  Not that anyone thought there was anything extremely unusual about it. A year or so previously there had been another series of murders, this time of elderly women, mostly black, who lived alone.

  At first some people, including some of the police, had thought that a serial killer might be responsible; but as it turned out, the connection among the victims was that because of their ages and living situations they were all especially vulnerable to anyone who wanted to try a quick burglary for dope money.

  There were a lot of people in Houston who needed dope money, and the old women had just happened to get in the way of some of them. All the cases that had so far been cleared had different perpetrators.

  So it was only natural that people would wonder about the latest killings, wonder if they were merely random as the earlier ones had been or if they were part of a series.

  No one at the pool had ever asked Romain's opinion, however, and if they had he would not have given it.

  He was more interested in finding out about the new woman who had joined them. She was quite attractive, and Romain found himself getting interested in her.

  He had much better luck relating to people outside the department, and though he was not what most men would have considered an outstanding success with women, he did have occasional dates, none of which he ever discussed with his colleagues. Howland would have been amazed.

  Casey told them something about herself, glossing over the divorce again, and turned the subject to the community colleges she hoped to get part-time jobs in.

  Craig was not impressed. "Community colleges. They used to call them all junior colleges, and that's what they are. Not the real thing. "

  "Don't mind him," Tina said. "The rest of us are used to him, and he does take some getting used to." She looked at her husband with a mixture of affection and exasperation. "He can be a pompous ass, now and then."

  Craig looked slightly hurt and definitely taken aback. "Moi? A pompous ass? You must be kidding."

  "Come on, Craig," Rob said. "You know you do tend to make pronouncements about things. You might have hurt Casey's feelings, after all. She's hoping to teach in those places."

  "Those places are not for intellectual development," Craig insisted. "They're for baby-sitting."

  Romain was accustomed to Warley's manner. It didn't bother him. He attributed it to deep-seated and well-concealed feelings of inferiority which led Warley to criticize everything that was of no immediate interest to himself.

  The psychologist wondered whether Casey would bother to defend the community colleges, and he was glad when she did. That told him something about her personality.

  "Did you ever attend a community college?" she asked Craig.

  "No, I never did," he said. "I went to a real school."

  "So did I," Casey said. "But I did a little research before I moved here, and I happen to think community
colleges perform quite a few valuable services."

  She went on to tell him what those services were, mentioning quality education at a bargain price, offering an education to people who might not get to attend a four-year institution, giving technical training to people who would not otherwise be able to receive it, and especially providing small classes and a personal attention that was impossible to find in the larger universities.

  Romain was impressed, but not Warley. Nothing impressed Warley. Nothing, that is, that he had not thought of himself.

  Romain had wondered more than once why a beauty like Tina had ever married the jerk.

  Changing to a more pleasant subject, at least to him, Warley began telling Casey what he did for a living.

  "I'm an accountant," he said. "So's Tina. We've got our own office not far from here."

  "They're good, too," Rob admitted. "They do my taxes. In a way, they're like me. They can do a lot of work at home."

  "Thank God for the personal computer," Tina said.

  "The greatest invention since the wheel," Craig said, making another of his pronouncements. This time no one bothered to argue with him.

  "I'll drink to that," Romain said, picking up a Coors from the table in front of him and taking a long sip.

  Rob reached into a plastic cooler at his feet and pulled out another beer, offering it to Casey, who accepted it, and pulled the tab.

  They drank their beers and talked for a while about computers, a subject that did not particularly interest Casey. Word-processing programs, spreadsheets, data bases, Mac versus the Big Blue—all of those were beyond her experience. She said if she took any graduate courses, she planned to type her papers on the old Olympia portable typewriter she had gotten for high school graduation.

  "You've gotta be kidding," Craig said. "I didn't even know there were any of those things around anymore. It must be an antique."

  "I'm not that old," Casey said.

  "We can see that," Rob said, looking at her appreciatively.

  "Craig always likes to have the latest technology," Tina said. "Another one of his failings."

  Warley's face reddened. "I don't like to hear so much about my failings."

  "Sorry dear," Tina said. She didn't look sorry to Casey.

  "Why don't we go for a swim?" Rob said. "Casey must be really hot, not being used to this weather."

  Casey was grateful for the chance to get away from Craig and Tina. Dan Romain seemed all right, but she was not overly fond of the Warleys.

  "I'd like to try the water," she said.

  "Last one in's an effete snob, ' ' Rob said, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet.

  Casey followed him to the pool and dived in, feeling the cool water close over her. She didn't know whether anyone followed them.

  Chapter 10

  She has the marks.

  I don't know why no one else saw them while we were sitting there. Or maybe they did. Maybe they're like me and just didn't want to say anything.

  But I don't think so. I still think that no one can see the marks but me and that because I can see them, I'm the one who has to do something about them.

  To me, they were plain as day, right there on her face, the face that floated above the body she was flaunting in that suit that barely covered anything.

  The blood marks.

  So she will be the next one.

  Casey Buckner.

  Blond, leggy, good body as anyone could see, not that any of that matters. The others weren't all like that. Some of them were, but not all. It's not the body that matters, not the hair, the face, the eyes.

  It's always the marks.

  I don't think I've put anything in here about where the marks are, but that's because they can be anywhere. Usually they're on the arms or the face, somewhere that's easy to see, and that's the way with this one, too.

  The marks are on her face.

  They're red, as red as blood, like all the others, but that's the only similarity, because they can have different shapes.

  Sometimes they look like a heart, a real one, not the kind you see on Valentine's Day. Sometimes they look more like a bloody puddle, and sometimes they just look like a shapeless red thing. Like something that might be able to move and wiggle and crawl right off that face or arm if you stared at it long enough.

  The marks can move. They move like something alive there on the face or the arms, and they can change. They don't always have to look the same.

  People with things like that on them don't deserve to live. I never stare, however, no matter how grotesque the marks might appear.

  I never give anyone the idea that I'm overly interested in her face, even though I'm pretty sure they don't even know themselves that the marks are there.

  I don't see how that can be, how they can't know about them, but they don't seem to. If they were aware of them, surely they'd cover them with makeup. It wouldn't be that hard to do, but I don't think they could hide the marks from me even by doing that.

  Somehow I'd know the marks were there.

  I'd know because I'm the one that's supposed to see them, and when I see them I know what I'm supposed to do.

  This one may be a little more difficult, though. She's too close to home.

  The others were women I'd see in malls or on the streets or at a restaurant. I'd have to follow them home, get to know their habits, study them. They were no danger to me because they were always from far away. I had to go looking for them to find them.

  And now one turns up right in my backyard. I should have expected it, sooner or later, but somehow it came as a big surprise to me.

  Can I kill her here? I don't see how. Far too dangerous. It will have to be somewhere else, but where?

  That doesn't really matter, not yet. It's something I can deal with as the plan develops. I never rush into things. Not since the first time.

  Maybe I should explain about that here. I know my readers will be curious about that very first one.

  Her name was Ellen Forsch, though of course I didn't know that when I first saw her. She was in line at Egg Roll Charlie's in one of the malls. I'd just come out of the movie when I saw her.

  I knew then, instantly, that I was going to kill her. I don't know why.

  I'd never killed anyone before. I'd never even thought about it.

  That's a lie. I promised myself that I'd be honest here, because I know the readers of this document will expect that. They'll want to know the whole truth about me. So let me retract that last bit.

  I'd thought about it. I'd thought about it a hell of a lot. In a purely theoretical way.

  I'd never thought I'd act out the thoughts, however. What I mean is that I'd seen women, not women that I knew but just women that I'd pass in the street or at a mall, and I'd think, Jesus, I wonder what she'd think if I walked over and stuck a knife in her stomach and ripped right straight up to her breastbone?

  I guess not everyone has thoughts like that, but I do. Did.

  I don't have them anymore, now that I know the answer. OK. I'm getting off the track again. I saw the woman in the line, and I knew that I was going to kill her. Simple as that.

  She was standing there, probably trying to decide whether to have shrimp or pork or just vegetables in her egg roll, and I was looking at her and knowing that she was as good as dead.

  It wasn't the blood marks. I didn't know about them then. I just knew that she had to die.

  As I said, I'd been to the movie in the mall, Great Balls of Fire, if you must know, and I'd been alone. I mean I attended the movie unaccompanied, but I don't think there were more than two or three people in the theater aside from myself, either. The movie had been hyped beyond belief, but it was a bomb.

  Anyway, I was there in the mall, alone, and she was there, also alone.

  I don't know where she'd been, and I didn't care. I knew what was going to happen to her.

  She didn't.

  Not yet, she didn't. She found out, however.

  When she found out, it was far too late for her to do anything about it.