The Dark: A Collection (Point Horror) Page 11

  She was thrashing about in her clothes, her heavy tennis shoes dragging her down. Arms closed around her waist. They were sinking down to the bottom of the pool together. She kept breaking loose and surfacing, only to be yanked down again.

  Bianca didn't have any strength left. The creep was dragging her out of the pool. They were on the deck.

  "Bianca!" He hugged her to him.

  Harry!

  "What on earth happened? I heard you screaming. I was at my locker. I came as soon as I could."

  The lights came on. There stood Doc and the police along with the district attorney. A reporter stood behind them flashing pictures.

  "I came to pick Bianca up. I was walking down the hall toward her classroom. I heard screaming and summoned the police in from the parking lot at once," Doc explained. "Fellini's been chasing her around the school trying to murder her because she's remembering too much."

  Bianca protested. "Harry rescued me from the pool. The killer was chasing me around the school trying to strangle me."

  "Sorry, Miss Winters," an officer spoke up. She recognized him as the policeman who had been stationed in the front office that morning. "We've found other incriminating evidence. We'd just gotten the call from the chief to arrest Harry Fellini right before Dr. McCollough summoned us."

  "What other evidence?" Harry sounded bold and brash, even defiant.

  "We obtained a warrant to search your house today while you were at school. We found some mighty suspicious evidence right under your bed."

  "That's impossible! It must have been planted!" Harry proclaimed.

  "The police told me that they found a map there," Doc added.

  "So what?"

  Bianca swallowed hard. She feared what was coming next.

  "It was a map of the Shipleys' house, with details of how to get to their bedroom. Mrs. Shipley's jewelry box or her furs were your target two years ago when you shot Mrs. Ingersoll and pushed her down the stairs." Doc pronounced doom on Harry. "Wound around the map was a lock of Mrs. Ingersoll's hair."

  Chapter 11

  "I'm going to set Harry Fellini's bail at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," announced Judge Hopkins.

  Mrs. Fellini, wearing an old housedress with a raincoat thrown over it, shrank down in her seat at the defendant's table. Harry and his mother were broke. Mrs. Fellini had no way to pay one red cent. She huddled next to the court-appointed attorney for indigents and dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex, sniffling and blowing her nose.

  The court-appointed attorney, a young man in his twenties, was playing Solitaire. He'd given up on the case. Now that DNA analysis of Mrs. Ingersoll's hair had confirmed that it belonged to the dead lady, he'd decided that the evidence against his client was overwhelming. He glanced up at the judge and Harry, then looked back down at his cards.

  The black-robed judge with a balding head and wrinkled-up face scolded Harry. "You were lucky to be able to go home when they dragged you before me for playing cemetery pranks. Now you've been stupid enough to assault Miss Bianca Winters — not to mention leaving incriminating evidence under your bed. I'm going to put you in jail while you're awaiting trial. Since you're eighteen, it won't be the detention home for juveniles. Do you have anything to say?"

  Judge Hopkins glowered at Harry. He resembled one of those ugly gargoyles that stared down from Neo-Gothic buildings. Looking at his face was a punishment in itself.

  "Judge Hopkins, I didn't murder Mrs. Ingersoll. I didn't assault Bianca. I wouldn't do that for the world. I — I love her!"

  Harry turned around and gazed toward where Bianca herself was sitting in the first row of seats.

  Mrs. Fellini suppressed a sob. The defense attorney didn't look up. He coughed and continued playing cards.

  Bianca blushed hotly. She kept staring at Harry until her eyes burned, silently cheering him on. Even in a tough situation like this, he was providing a perfect example of how she ought to behave.

  "If you love the young lady, Mr. Fellini, you sure have a strange way of showing it!" The judge looked down his long nose. "In my day if a young man admired a young lady, he'd give her flowers, ask her out to dinner, and carry her books home from school. He wouldn't try to drown her in the high school pool!"

  "I was only trying to save her! I heard her screaming and thought somebody was trying to murder her."

  "Strange way of trying to save her!" the judge barked.

  The district attorney stood up at the table for the prosecution. He was an impressive figure, dressed in a three-piece suit despite the hot Georgia weather.

  "Your honor, the prosecution would like to object. I've already laid out copious evidence against the defendant. I've established nefarious links between the defendant and his notorious brother, Mike Fellini. They form a crime team. I'm charging Mike with kidnapping, and Harry with the murder of Mrs. Ingersoll and the attempted murder of Bianca."

  Again Mrs. Fellini let out a sob.

  Bianca wasn't sure what "nefarious" and "notorious" meant. But she was willing to swear that Harry wasn't either. Mrs. Shipley, sitting next to her, patted her on the arm to give her courage. Little Katie saw her "Anca" was troubled and gave her a hug.

  "I certainly agree," the judge remarked to the district attorney, "it would be a sad day if this bench started listening to criminals. You can sit in jail, young man. Maybe that'll make you come to your senses. It might be too late. The district attorney, distinguished gentleman that he is —" The district attorney inclined his head in a little bow and smiled. "The district attorney," continued the judge, "is in the process of collecting evidence against you. He's already got enough to convict you of killing Mrs. Ingersoll, in my opinion. A conviction there could land you in jail for a long time, son, maybe for ever."

  "But—" Harry never gave up.

  The judge struck the bench with his gavel. "Arraignment over. Put him in jail!"

  Applause came from the back of the courtroom. In the last row Rick was cheering and snickering. No doubt he thought he could escape blame for whatever he might have done if Harry were carted off to jail. So far the district attorney had been able to connect him with nothing except the cemetery pranks.

  The district attorney leaped up. He started chatting with the judge about a dinner party at the Cloister Hotel that they were both attending with their wives.

  Bianca rose. Mrs. Shipley, holding Katie in her arms, stood beside her. "Judge, I want to pay the bail," declared Bianca. She didn't know how she had the courage. But when Harry was involved, the courage just came.

  Harry gaped at Bianca in disbelief as the jailers were about to nab him. He turned around and hid his face, hunching his shoulders. He was trying to conceal his tears.

  Mrs. Fellini jumped up from the defendant's table and raced back to the first row of seats. She hugged Bianca, kissing her on each cheek.

  The defense attorney dropped his cards. His mouth fell open as he gaped at Bianca.

  "Order in the court!" The judge pounded his gavel on the bench.

  "The money's part of my trust fund. I didn't care about it until I knew it could do good for somebody else. Mrs. Shipley's signed special papers to let me use it before I turn eighteen."

  Mrs. Shipley's Atlanta attorney, a slick-looking fellow wearing a toupee, rushed up to the bench and dumped a whole briefcase of signed papers in front of the judge. Not even the district attorney could object to how legal everything was.

  "Well, young man," the judge quipped sarcastically, "maybe you do have some hidden talents with the ladies we haven't appreciated. No wonder you and your brother make such a dangerous team. You've got the millionaires on your side!"

  "Judge —" Harry wiped his eyes with his fists — "I don't know if I can accept Bianca's money. I—"

  "Feeling guilty, eh?" The judge eyed Harry. "Didn't know the Fellinis had a conscience."

  "Harry!" Bianca stomped her foot in frustration. "This means so much to me!"

  Their eyes locked. She tried to make him und
erstand that the money was as much for her as for him. She didn't know if she could stand the guilt of having him in jail because he'd come to her rescue. A certain, quiet understanding passed between them.

  Harry turned toward the judge. "I accept the money, if it makes Bianca feel better."

  "Very well!" the judge remarked. "As much as I don't like it, you're free to go on bail, son, only because you have no previous criminal record. I warn you not to skip out on bail, though. That is a serious offense, especially when the crime's murder."

  Rick cupped his hands to his mouth and made loud catcalls. The officers, who were stationed about the courtroom, escorted him out. He made lewd remarks and dirty hand signs the whole way.

  Doc, who had until now been sitting beside the district attorney, stood up. "Think of your own safety. Think of Little Katie's safety, if you don't want to think of your own. You're letting the killer loose to prey on you. Don't you want to reconsider?"

  This was the first major decision she'd come to in the past two years without his help. She'd gone to Mrs. Shipley because she'd known that Doc would object. They had planned the move with the help of Mrs. Shipley's big-city attorneys. Mrs. Shipley had deferred to Bianca's feelings in the matter because she was so grateful to her.

  Doc's eyes bored into Bianca's. She turned away and hung her head. When the judge asked for the check, her hand shook as she wrote it. She couldn't approach the bench. Mrs. Shipley's attorney had to convey it to the judge.

  Harry's mother, with her arms around her son, stumbled up to Bianca. Harry struggled for something to say, so overcome with emotion that he looked as if he were ready to burst. He kept on shuffling his feet, biting his lip, and stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. Bianca stepped forward and took Harry's hands. Harry kissed her.

  "None of that in my court!" The judge pounded his gavel.

  Bianca squeezed Harry's hand. Harry gave her a parting look and left the courtroom with his mother.

  Bianca and Mrs. Shipley got no farther than their lawyer's car before Doc caught up with them. She looked down at her feet. She could tell as soon as Doc started to speak that this was going to be bad. She'd never seen Doc in a temper. He didn't shout. Instead, there was an icy tone to his voice.

  "This is a bad sign, Bianca, when you start conspiring with the killer to torture and punish yourself." He regarded her through his thick, horn-rimmed glasses. "You are suffering from survivor's guilt. Mrs. Ingersoll died. You didn't. I'll have to mention this to your other doctors."

  This bad feeling between Doc and Harry made tears start up in Bianca's eyes. Why couldn't she convince Doc of Harry's innocence? But then, everyone was suspicious about the Fellini brothers, and Doc was protective of her. Maybe he was jealous of her feelings for Harry. At one time this would have given her a thrill. Now it made her confused.

  Bianca reached for Doc's hand with her own cold, clammy one. He did something he'd never done before. He shook off her grasp and stalked off without a backward glance. She collapsed in tears. Mrs. Shipley had to catch her.

  When Bianca called later, Doc's parents said he couldn't come to the phone. She phoned the house again and again. He never called her back.

  Bianca sat prostrate on her sofa in the living room. She couldn't stop crying about Doc. She had a wastebasket filled up with Kleenex.

  A druggist's assistant arrived on her doorstep. Doc and her other physicians had prescribed stronger pills to soothe her nerves. Attached to the prescription was a note from Doc. She recognized his handwriting. It curtly told her how many pills to take. There was no personal message.

  Bianca took one of the pills to make Doc happy, as if he could see her doing it. She put the rest into her medicine cabinet. The pill made her conk out on the sofa. She could barely stumble to the phone when her chief psychiatrist called later to say he was as concerned as Doc. Bianca couldn't give up on Harry no matter what. Her gut instinct was that he was telling the truth despite the evidence. She sniffled when she remembered the letter he'd written her before the bail hearing, telling her goodbye. He'd thought he was going to jail:

  Dearest Bianca,

  Chin up! Maybe it's for the best that we won't be able to see each other. I'm poor as a church mouse. I wouldn't have much to offer a nice girl like you. You deserve much better than a charity case for a boyfriend.

  I don't have a job. It's better that I go to jail. That way I won't be a burden on Mom. I'll be one less person she has to feed and clothe. She's been fired from the temporary agency. The landlord's leaning on us about the rent.

  Mom will have to live out of the old Rambler next, the one that was almost totaled at the cemetery — there's no way we can have it repaired. She'll be lucky to get it to run. Maybe she can park it near the pier. No one will care.

  Lately we've been eating out of the church soup kitchen. We have to if we don't want to start robbing folks the way Mike would do. The next step for Mom is welfare and food stamps. Not much better than jail, huh?

  Find yourself another guy who's not a jailbird. But stay away from Doc! You don't need somebody to run your life. You can do a better job than anyone else. You've got good instincts. Trust them!

  I don't want to sound down. I'm innocent, and I'll never forget it. There's got to be a way to escape this. Never say die!

  Love,

  Harry

  The bail money that she'd provided was only a temporary fix. The district attorney would put him on trial. Juries convicted people of murder on flimsy, circumstantial evidence, such as the map found in his bedroom or the lock of hair, both of which could have been planted. The feeling on the island was so much against Harry and his family that any jury would convict him of anything. The judge would order them to do it!

  Bianca held the key to everything, if only she could visualize the killer's face. She was the only one who'd seen the criminal that night. It had been dark, but there had been that shaft of moonlight coming through the door. It had illuminated Mrs. Ingersoll's dead body and the killer on the stairs.

  When Bianca was taking her hot shower that night, washing her hair, she flicked on the radio. The local announcer broke in with a news flash. She paused with the shampoo bottle in her hand.

  Marianna Haynes, the girl who's been in a coma since she fell into an open grave in Christ's Church Cemetery, is still in critical condition. However a source at Brunswick Memorial Hospital has told us that she has started to talk. Much of what she says doesn't make literal sense, but apparently she's begun to mumble something about plans for a murder. She keeps on murmuring Bianca Winters' name.

  The police have been sent to the hospital. Yet they still haven't been able to question Marianna, as she hasn't woken up. Legal authorities say that whatever she seems to confess to in her present state of mind cannot be used against her in a court of law. No one can tell for sure if she's fantasizing or telling the truth — it adds an intriguing twist to the unsolved murder mystery.

  Marianna had seemed to hate Bianca with a fanatical intensity. It made sense that she was the killer. But how could she have escaped from her hospital bed to chase Bianca around the school? How could she have pursued her on a balance beam or jumped on a trampoline? She couldn't walk!

  Maybe Marianna had been in league with someone like Rick. Perhaps she was mumbling about her old boyfriend's plans. Whatever happened, Bianca needed to remember all that had occurred on that night more than ever. Time was running out.

  When she laid down to sleep that night, she tossed, turned and thrashed about. She dreamed about the Shipleys' house on that evening two years ago. She relived the whole experience the way she'd remembered it time and time again since that Friday night at the theater.

  This time she remembered a new detail. When she was struggling with the killer in the upstairs hallway, she stepped on something small but very hard. It was something that the killer had dropped. He was trying hard to push her away from it. As soon as she recalled stepping on it, she woke up.

  Bianca s
at up in bed. What could the killer have dropped? Why hadn't she remembered it until now? It must have been important, or the murderer wouldn't have been trying to kick it away from her. She tried hard to remember exactly how the object had felt under the soft sole of her tennis shoe. The clearness of the memory was fast slipping away like a night mist.

  She glanced at the clock radio. It was three am. The day was May 27, exactly two years from the date of the killing. The Shipleys were away and they'd given her the key to look after their house. They'd taken Little Katie with them on their big trip to check on their investments.

  Bianca reached inside the top drawer of her night stand and retrieved the Shipleys' house key. She had to go back and see the house at night — it might help her to remember what had fallen on the floor that the killer had been trying to conceal. Hurriedly she threw on her clothes. She put on Doc's turquoise earrings for good luck. She picked up the phone.

  She'd heard that Harry and his mother were staying in the parking lot at the pier. There was an ice cream store on the corner that was open twenty-four hours, Island Ice Cream Delights. The owners lived in a little apartment above the shop. She dialed the number.

  "Hello?" Mr. Pigsley, the proprietor, answered.

  Mr. Pigsley was a pleasant man, nice, round and pink-cheeked. He had a long, pointed, red nose and was always smiling. He'd gone to all the grade schools doing demonstrations about how to make ice cream and giving out free samples. Bianca hoped that he was in a good mood tonight, despite the hour.

  "Please let me talk to Harry. He's outside in the parking lot with his mother. Wake him up if you have to. This is important."

  "Is this Bianca?" Mr. Pigsley asked in surprise. "You know you're not supposed to talk to that Fellini boy! He does nothing except cause trouble."

  "Mr. Pigsley, please!"

  She had a lot to do to convince the old man to cooperate. Finally he went grumbling out to the parking lot to look for an old Rambler.