The Heaven Makers Part 19

Maybeck straightened from a brief examination of the man. "Dead all right." He looked at Thurlow. "How long you been here, Doc?"

"He brought Mrs. Hudson about half an hour ago." It was the neighbor woman. She came to a stop beside Thurlow. "He's dead isn't he?" How delighted she sounded!

"I . . . I've been waiting in the car," Thurlow said. "That's right," the woman said. "We saw them come up. Expected another fight between Hudson there and his Missus. I heard the crash, him falling, but I was in the bathroom. I came right out to the kitchen."

"Did you see Mrs. Hudson?" Maybeck asked.

"She wasn't anywhere around. There was a lot of smoke coming out these doors here, though. He may've burnt something. He drank a lot, Mr. Hudson. May've been trying to open the doors for the smoke and . . ." She pointed to the body.

Thurlow wet his lips with his tongue. He was afraid to go in that house, he realized. He said: "Hadn't we better look inside. Perhaps . . ."

Maybeck met his stare. "Yes. Perhaps we had better."

They could hear an ambulance siren now. It wailed to silence out front. The other officer came around the house, said: "Ambulance is here, Carl. Where . . ." He saw the body.

"Tell 'em not to disturb any more than they have to," Maybeck said. "We're going to look around inside."

The other officer peered suspiciously at Thurlow.

"This is Dr. Thurlow," Maybeck said.

"Oh." The officer turned to direct men in white coming around the house.

Maybeck led the way inside.

Thurlow was caught immediately by the sight of Ruth's clothing thrown on the bed. His chest felt tight, painful. The neighbor woman had said Ruth wasn't here, but . . .

Maybeck stooped, peered under the bed. He straightened, sniffed. "You smell something, Doc?"

Thurlow grew aware that there was an odd odor in the room -- almost like burnt insulation.

"Almost smells like fire and brimstone," Maybeck said. "Probably was something burned in here." He glanced around. There was an empty ashtray on a nightstand. It was clean. He looked in the closet, went into an adjoining bath, returned shaking his head.

Thurlow went out to the hall, looked down it toward the living room. Maybeck brushed past him, led the way into the room. He moved cautiously but with a practiced sureness, peered into the hall closet, behind a davenport. He touched only what he had to touch for his investigation.

They progressed through the house this way, Thurlow a hesitant onlooker, fearful of what they might find around the next corner.

Shortly, they were back in the bedroom.

The ambulance doctor stood in the door, smoking. He glanced at Maybeck. "Not much we can do here, Carl. Coroner's on his way."

"What's it look like?" Maybeck asked. "Was he pushed?"

"Looks like he stumbled," the doctor said. "Carpets pushed up there by his feet. Can't say much about his condition at the time, but there's a smell of whiskey on him."

Maybeck nodded, taking in the evidence. They could hear the other officer talking outside to the neighbor woman. "I don't know what it was," she said, her voice rising. "It just looked like a big cloud of smoke . . . steam, maybe. Or it could've been an insect bomb -- something white and smoky."

Thurlow turned his back on the door. He found he couldn't stand the sight of the sprawled body. Ruth wasn't in the house; no doubt of that.

Insect bomb, he thought. White and smoky.

He recalled the grove then, the hovering something which Ruth had seen as a cloud. Abruptly, he knew what had happened to her. She wouldn't have disappeared like this without some word to him. Something had intruded here and taken her away. It would explain the strange smell, the presence of the thing at the grove, the interest of those weird creatures with their glowing eyes.

But why? he asked himself. What do they want?

Then: This is crazy! She was here when Nev injured himself and she ran for help. She's at a neighbor's and she'll be back any moment.

And his mind said: She's been gone a long time. She saw the crowd and now she's frightened, he told himself.

There was a bustle of activity at the door behind him -- the coroner and the police homicide squad. Maybeck came up beside Thurlow, said: "Doc, they want you to come down to the station and make a statement."

"Yes," he said. "Of course." Then: "That's the homicide detail. Surely they don't think . . ."

"Just routine, Doc," Maybeck said. "You know that. It looks like he was drinking and stumbled, but Mrs. Hudson's not around. We have to make sure . . . you know."

"I see." He allowed himself to be led out the door past the still figure that had been Ruth's husband, past the men with tape measures and cameras and dusting brushes and coldly measuring eyes.

Ruth's husband . . . Ruth's husband . . . The label boiled in his mind. Where is she? Did she break down and run away? But she isn't the type for that. She was under strain, yes, but . . . What was that cloud the neighbor saw? What was that smell in the room?

They were outside then. The rain had stopped, but the shrubbery beside the house still drenched them. Porch lights were on across the street. People stood there staring. A white lab truck had been pulled into the driveway beside the house on the other side.

"You know, Doc," Maybeck said. "You really shouldn't drive at night with those dark gla.s.ses."

"They're . . . adjustable," Thurlow said. "Not as dark as they look."

Ruth! Where are you?

He wondered then: Did she push Nev . . . a fight? Did she think people would say, "Like father, like daughter"? Did she run, not wanting to drag me into it?

"You can ride with us," Maybeck said. "Well bring you back to your car later."

"Yes." He allowed himself to be eased into the back seat. Then: "Ruth . . . Mrs. Hudson -- shouldn't someone be looking for . . ."

"We're looking for her, Doc," Maybeck said. "We'll find her, never you worry."

Will you find her? Thurlow wondered. What was that thing at the grove -- looking at us, trying to manipulate our emotions? It was real. I know it was real. If it wasn't real, then I'm insane. And I know I'm not insane.

He looked down at his feet in the dim shadows behind the seat. They were soaking from the walk across the wet lawn.

Joe Murphey, he thought. Joe knows he isn't insane.

11.

Ruth awoke on something soft -- soothing blue-gray light. She felt around her: a bed, silky warm covers. She realized she was nude on the bed . . . but warm . . . warm. Above her there was an oval shape full of glittering crystal facets. They changed colors as she watched -- green, silver, yellow, blue . . . They were soothing.

Somewhere she knew there was something urgently demanding her attention, but it was a paradox. Her whole being told her the urgent thing could wait.