Blood Marks, page 23
"I thought I asked you to stay at your apartment," Howland said.
"I know. But I didn't," Rob said. "I wanted to know about Casey. What happened here?"
"Something bad," Margaret said, looking back at Warley.
"Listen,” Romain said, "as long as you're here, you might as well make yourself useful. Take these two to the hospital down the road. Get them sewed up, whatever they need. They can tell you what happened. But don't leave. We'll have to talk to them later."
Rob picked up Margaret in one arm and held her close. She put her arms around his neck. She was quite a load, but he didn't mind. He put his other arm around Casey and hugged her tight.
"I couldn't stand to lose either of you," he said. "Who did this?"
"Craig Warley," Romain told him.
"Warley? That bastard," Rob said. "I'll kill the son of a bitch."
"I don't think you'll have to," Romain said. "I think Casey may have taken care of that already."
But she hadn't.
Romain finally managed to get Rob to leave for the hospital by pointing out the urgency of getting treatment for Margaret and Casey. Then he joined Howland, who was looking at Warley, who seemed in no condition to speak coherently. He was muttering about bitches and blood marks and how he would cut them all to pieces. His hands were clasped tightly over his abdomen. Romain still found it slightly hard to believe that it was really Warley who was lying there.
"What do you think?" Howland said.
Romain tried to wipe the rain off his glasses with the tail of his shirt, but all he succeeded in doing was smearing the lenses. He bent down and looked into Warley's face. Then, as best he could under the circumstances, he examined the two steel ribs sticking into Warley.
"He'll probably live, unless he gets tetanus. I don't think anything vital's been hit. His eye's gone, too, but that's not fatal."
"Good. That's good. But will he talk?"
"He'll talk," Romain said, knowing that he was right but sharing none of Howland's enthusiasm. His voice was tired. "Once they're caught, they always want to talk."
"Great!” Howland started tapping on the glass door with the barrel of his 38. "You think they've got security here, or am I going to have to shoot down the fucking door?"
"It's after two in the morning," Alma said. "And you look like somebody tried to drown you."
Howland was standing in her doorway wet as a water rat. "Yeah. I know. So can I come in, or what?"
Alma laughed. "You can come in, I guess. Don't let the cat see you, though. You might scare him to death."
Howland stepped inside. "Our case is solved," he said. "Thanks to you. It was the license number that did it."
Alma clapped her hands together. "It was? You'll have to tell me all about it. As soon as I get you out of those wet clothes."
She started unbuttoning Howland's shirt, then leaned over and licked his chest.
"Well," she said, "Maybe not that soon. There might be time for something else first."
Howland smiled. "Yeah. Maybe there will, at that."
Romain lay in his bed and stared at the black ceiling above him, wondering how he could have missed it.
Craig Warley. A man that he had seen every day.
And you think you're so fucking smart, he thought. But it could have been anyone.
It could even have been me. Howland thought it was me.
It wasn't, of course. No way. The job had gotten to him, but he wasn't crazy. Yet. And they had gotten the killer off the streets, finally, thanks to a rather sizable assist from Casey Buckner.
Romain and Howland had talked to Casey at the hospital after Warley had been taken away. Casey was a strong young woman, and Margaret was just like her. They would heal quickly, and it appeared that they would have plenty of help from Rob in doing so. There would be no permanent effects on either of them as a result of Warley's madness, except that both of them would have new scars. Casey's probably wouldn't be visible under makeup. Margaret's was a little deeper, and she would carry the reminder of the attack for everyone to see on her arm.
Romain thought again about how tired he was of dealing with killers, trying to think like them, trying to live inside their twisted heads.
He thought about how Warley had been right there under his nose all along and not been noticed.
I can't quit now, he told himself. It wouldn't be right.
He had to keep on, just as Howland would keep on, working on the next case and then on the one after that, trusting to their skills, and hoping for a little luck.
Maybe that would be enough.
After a while, Romain slept.
About the Author
Bill Crider is the author of mysteries featuring Sheriff Dan Rhodes among numerous other novels. He is chairman of the English Department of Alvin Community College in Alvin, Texas.
Bill Crider, Blood Marks
