“What is it?” he said.
She could not answer. She clung to the wall with the flat palms of her hands, her eyes still squeezed shut tightly, the scream frozen in her throat and blocking articulation. She shook her head.
“Blanche, what is it?”
She shook her head again, and then pulled one hand from the wall, as if afraid that by doing so she would lose her grip and tumble to the floor. The hand rose limply. It did not point, it only indicated, and that in the vaguest manner, as if it too were dazed.
“The bathroom?” he asked.
She nodded. He turned from her. The bathroom door was partly open. He opened it the rest of the way, rushing into the room, and then stopping instantly, as if he had run into a stone wall.
Maria Fiers was inside her clothing and outside of it. The killer had caught her either dressing or undressing, had caught her in what she supposed was privacy, so that one leg was in the trousers of her pajamas and the other lay twisted beneath her body, naked. Her pajama top had ridden up over one delicately curved breast, perhaps as she fell, perhaps as she struggled. Even her hair seemed in a state of uncertain transition, some of it held firmly in place by curlers, the rest hanging in haphazard abandon, the loose curlers scattered on the bathroom floor. The hook latch on the inside of the door had been ripped from the jamb when the door was forced. The water in the sink was still running. The girl lay still and dead in her invaded privacy, partially clothed, partially disrobed, surprise and terror wedded in the death mask of her face. A towel was twisted about her throat. It had been twisted there with tremendous force, biting into the skin with such power that it remained twisted there now, the flesh torn and overlapping it in places, the coarse cloth almost embedded into her neck and throat. Her tongue protruded from her mouth. She was bleeding from her nose where her face had struck the bathroom tile in falling.
He backed out of the room.
He found a pay telephone in the main building, and from there he called Theodore Watt.
12
Blanche sat on the edge of the bed in room 105, shivering inside her gown, her robe, and a blanket which had been thrown over her shoulders. Theodore Watt leaned disjointedly against the dresser, puffed on his cigar, and said, “Now you want to tell me exactly what happened, Miss Colby?”
Blanche sat shivering and hunched, her face pale. She searched for her voice, seemed unable to find it, shook her head, nodded, cleared her throat, and seemed surprised that she could speak. “I ... I was alone. Cotton had gone down to see what ... what the noise was.”
“What noise, Hawes?” Watt asked.
“A grinding wheel,” he answered. “Downstairs in the ski shop. I heard it last night, too.”
“Did you find out who was running the wheel?”
“Tonight, it was a guy named Helmut Kurtz. He’s an instructor here, too. Claims he was nowhere near the shop last night. But he did see a light burning after midnight.”
“Where’s he now?”
“I don’t know. Sheriff, he was with me when the girl was killed. He couldn’t possibly have ...”
Watt ignored him and walked to the door. He opened it, and leaned into the corridor. “Fred,” he said, “find me Helmut Kurtz, an instructor here.”
“I got that other guy from down the hall,” Fred answered.
“I’ll be right with him. Tell him to wait.”
“What other guy?” Hawes asked.
“Instructor in 102. Larry Davidson.” Watt shook his head. “Place is crawling with goddamn instructors, excuse me, miss. Wonder there’s any room for guests.” He shook his head again. “You said you were alone, Miss Colby.”
“Yes. And I ... I thought I heard something down the hall ... like ... I didn’t know what. A loud sudden noise.”
“Probably the bathroom door being kicked in,” Watt said. “Go on.”
“And then I ... I heard a girl’s voice saying, ‘Get out of here! Do you hear me! Get out of here!’ And ... and it was quiet, and I heard someone running down the hall and down the steps, so I ... I thought I ought to ... to look.”
“Yes, go on.”
“I went down the ... the hallway and looked down the steps, but I didn’t see anyone. And then, when I ... when I was starting back for the room, I ... I heard the water running in the bathroom. The ... the door was open, so I ... Oh Jesus, do I have to?”
“You found the girl, is that right?”
“Yes,” Blanche said, her voice very low.
“And then you screamed.”
“Yes.”
“And then Hawes came upstairs, is that right?”
“Yes,” Hawes said. “And I called you from the main building.”
“Um-huh,” Watt said. He went to the door and opened it. “Want to come in here, Mr. Davidson?” he asked.
Larry Davidson came into the room hesitantly. He was a tall man, and he stooped as he came through the doorway, giving an impression of even greater height, as if he had to stoop to avoid the top of the door frame. He was wearing dark trousers and a plaid woolen sports shirt. His hair was clipped close to his scalp. His blue eyes were alert, if not wary.
“Guess you know what this is all about, huh, Mr. Davidson?” Watt asked.
“Yes, I think so,” Davidson answered.
“You don’t mind answering a few questions, do you?”
“No. I’ll ... I’ll answer anything you ...”
“Fine. Were you in your room all night, Mr. Davidson?”
“Not all night, no. I was up at the main building part of the time.”
“Doing what?”
“Well, I ...”
“Yes, Mr. Davidson, what were you doing?”
“I ... I was fencing. Look, I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“You were what, Mr. Davidson?”
“Fencing. We’ve got some foils and masks up there, and I ... I was just fooling around. Look, I know Helga was stabbed, but ...”
“What time did you get back here, Mr. Davidson?”
“About ... about ten-thirty, eleven.”
“And you’ve been in your room since then?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do when you got back here?”
“I wrote a letter to my wife, and then I went to sleep.”
“What time did you go to sleep?”
“About midnight.”
“Did you hear any loud noise in the hall?”
“No.”
“Did you hear any voices?”
“No.”
“Did you hear Miss Colby when she screamed?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I guess I was asleep.”
“You sleep in your clothes, Mr. Davidson?”
“What? Oh. Oh, no. Your fellow ... your deputy said I could put on some clothes.”
“What were you sleeping in?”
“My pajamas. Listen, I barely knew those girls. I only joined the school here two weeks ago. I mean, I knew them to talk to, but that’s all. And the fencing is just a coincidence. I mean, we always fool around with the foils. I mean ever since I came here, somebody’s been up there fooling around with…”
“How many times did you scream, Miss Colby?” Watt asked.
“I don’t remember,” Blanche said.
“She screamed twice,” Hawes said.
“Where were you when you heard the screams, Hawes?”
“Downstairs. In the ski shop.”
“But you were in your room, right down the hall, Mr. Davidson, and you didn’t hear anything, hmmm? Maybe you were too busy ...”