Dave's hands tightened around the steering wheel as he sped up to a record of twenty miles per hour while still inside the town limits. Out on the coast highway, he drove at real-world speeds. He was on the way to an anonymous saloon on the outskirts of a distant town, a small biker bar, where no one was ever friendly enough or sober enough to ask his name. It was a place where he could hunker down and do some serious drinking- drink after drink after drink.
Tonight, the library did not smell. That was different.
All the windows had been opened prior to the visit. Mrs. Hardy had even washed her hair for this occasion, and it was still damp when the three of them sat down at the reader's table. They were twenty minutes into the visit, and the woman had yet to utter any profanity. She looked so tired. And Oren noted other signs that this semblance of sanity was wearing on her-the grinding teeth and rigid body.
The librarian handed a few sheets of paper to Hannah. "I printed this up from that file you started the other day." She turned to Oren. "Hannah's been doing research on the Internet."
"So I heard." In these familiar surroundings, it was easier for him to remember Mrs. Hardy in pre-monsterhood days, stripped of bulk and muscle, a time when a thin, fragile woman had guided the Hobbs boys through their changing phases of westerns and science fiction, steering them into the better writers of each genre that took their fancy. Tonight, he recognized the effort she made only to smile at him and make simple small talk.
Hannah was absorbed in her computer printout. "I just love hard science." She folded the papers into the pocket of her dress and winked at Oren. "It'll come in handy later on-when you tell me I'm wrong about how the witchboard works."
"Poor Sarah." Mrs. Hardy resumed her perusal of the birder logs. "I've never seen these books before, but that's her handwriting." And now she answered an earlier question of Oren's. "We both went to UCLA. But I can't say I really knew her then. In my younger, skinnier days, I almost wasn't there. I swear I could walk between raindrops. A good-looking boy like you never would've noticed me-and neither would someone like Sarah.
We met at the university library. That was my work-study job when I was in school. Sarah wanted books on ornithology. Well, that was my hobby. I told her about some rare sightings in Coventry, birds that haven't been seen in fifty years. So she came to my dormitory for a look at my notes. It was like visiting royalty-the way people stared at that beautiful girl when she came in the door. That day we talked for hours and hours. I never spoke to her again, not on campus… My fault. I was shy. But Sarah always waved every time she saw me. I wasn't invisible anymore. At the end of that semester, I heard she got married and left school."
"What about William Swahn? He went to UCLA."
"I never met him, but I knew who he was. Always saw him walking around with Sarah and little Belle. He tended to stand out even on a campus the size of a city. He was thirteen, maybe fourteen years old, and he looked younger. Geeky little kid. Big feet, big brain."
"Mrs. Winston was in her twenties then," said Oren. "Why would she hang out with a little boy?"
"I thought I just explained that. Sarah was very kind to freaks. Like him. Like me." Mavis Hardy's voice held no rebuke. "And years later, when that little boy was all grown up, I'm sure it was kindness on Sarah's part to have Addison represent him. That was a nasty business with those cops down in LA."
Hannah was right. Mrs. Hardy knew all the best stories. It had taken Cable Babitt years to learn this much. "So Mrs. Winston stayed in touch with Swahn after she left school? Maybe they exchanged letters?"
This gentle trap brought out no response. The woman only shook her head and shrugged to say she didn't know. Even with the evidence of the post office photographs, he could not be certain that she was lying.
"After I graduated, years went by before I ran into Sarah again." The librarian looked down at the open journal in her hands. The drawings in this early one had a light and fanciful touch. "I've got the hang of it now. She pointed to a sketch. "That grouse hen must be me. It's a bird that puffs itself up when it's frightened." She turned a few more pages. "And this one seems to be frightened all the time-silly old thing." With a half-smile, she gently closed the journal and opened another. Mrs. Hardy did not look up from the pages when she said, "Here I am again-in the woods with my binoculars. And this pale yellow songbird must be Sarah. The clue is the fledgling redbird. Who could that be but little Belle? So Sarah told you about our field trips. I never told anyone."
Field trips? Hannah's surprise was more obvious, and Oren signaled her to keep still. He waited for the librarian to fill the silence.
"Sarah used to visit Coventry years before Addison built the lodge. This area is birder heaven. She'd drive up on the weekends and stay at the Straub Hotel. I wasn't so much changed in those days, still skinny as a rail, and she recognized me on the street. I took her into the deep woods where the trails don't go and showed her some nests I'd found. She kept coming back all the time after that, longer visits. Sometimes she brought Belle along. Then Addison built her that log mansion."
"And all you two ever talked about was birds?"
"Oren, what else would we have in common?" She spread her arms as an invitation for him to look at her life, to see her as she was in those days-and these days.
"You said that Swahn and Mrs. Winston were friends in college. I thought his name might've come up in conversation."
The librarian shook her head. "I think I was the first one to mention William Swahn. That was a long while ago, more than twenty-five years. I saw his name on a list in a newspaper article. I told Sarah that he was graduating from the police academy. That made her happy. She said it was always his big dream to become a policeman. A year later, William moved to Coventry, and he wasn't a policeman anymore. That's when Sarah told me he'd been wounded down in Los Angeles."
"So she saw a lot of him after he moved here?"
"Well, he used to have dinner at the lodge once a week. That stopped after maybe five years. I never knew why. Around that same time, Sarah gave up our field trips in the woods. I lost interest in birds after that." Mrs. Hardy shook her head as she looked down at a drawing of monsters. "I guess Sarah stopped bird-watching, too. I don't see a single creature here that matches up to an actual species."
Oren was hardly paying attention anymore. He was doing the math on Mrs. Winston's long-ago estrangements from Swahn and the librarian.
Mrs. Hardy flipped backward through the pages, then stopped and stabbed the heart of a drawing with one finger. "Here," she said. "The dead lark seems to mark the beginning of the change in Sarah."
When Dave Hardy entered Peck's Roadhouse, a cluster of patrons was gathered at one end of the bar and watching another repeat of the news. The volume was loud. One more time, he saw the film of Sally Polk and the reporters. This version was cut to make it look like a formal press conference-more like Polk's own idea instead of a media ambush.
The voice of a studio guest rode over the action on film, and this celebrity author profiled a child killer for the viewing audience. The bones of the female victim were never mentioned. Dave supposed a young boy made a more sensational story.
The camera cut to a photograph of Josh Hobbs as he was in life, that silly grin. The guest author was also smiling. "As you can see," he said to the anchorman, "Joshua was delicate-almost pretty, if you get my meaning. I believe he attracted a predator who couldn't handle a boy with more muscle."