The Devil's Laughter Page 7

  “But Sheriff Ingalls told me that your parents were two of the finest people he’d ever known.”

  “Oh, they are. They just had some bum kids, that’s all.”

  “Why did the other children dislike you, Link?”

  “Oh, a combination of things. Being the youngest, I got spoiled to a degree. And everything just seemed to fall in my lap. Even as a kid, I never sweated things too much. I took the punches, stayed on my feet, and punched back. I never let life bother me like it seems to bother other people.

  “But I think what really irritated my brothers and sisters was when I turned twelve, I told my father and mother they would never have to buy my clothes or give me a nickel again. And they didn’t. I raked leaves, I mowed lawns, I ran errands, I picked up cans, I cleaned out gutters, I did carpentry work, construction work.... You name it, if it payed an honest dollar, I did it. And oh, that made my lazy playboy brothers hot.” Link laughed aloud. “And I loved to rub their noses in it.”

  She stared at him and then a slow grin pulled at her mouth. “Lincoln Donovan, you have a mean streak in you.”

  “For a fact, I do, Mrs. Brooks. For a fact.”

  Before Link left, and after the kids were up and fed, he took Anne out in the back of her house and had her show him how well she could use her weapons. As Link had suspected, she was very, very good. Whoever had trained her had done a bang-up job.

  “You’ll do,” Link told her. “You’ll do just fine.”

  When Link got home, Paul Morris, the young man who took care of the animals whenever Link had to take a trip, was waiting on his front porch.

  “Something wrong, Paul?” Link asked, for he knew the young man worked at a local service station and saved his money for college. He worked a year, then went to college for a year up in Ruston.

  “Got to talk to you, Link. Something bad is going on in this town . . . this parish. I made coffee while I waited for you. It’s fresh.”

  In the den, Link sat in his chair and waited for the young man to form his words. He could see that Paul was worried about something. The young man shared Link’s views about animals and had been ostracized by some in town for those views. Paul was twenty-one years old and built like a butcher’s block. He literally did not know his own strength. But like so many people who are extraordinarily strong – other than the macho types – Paul was a gentle person until angered. When that happened, Paul took on the personality of a pissed-off eight-hundred-pound mountain gorilla.

  “Frankie Marley is making talk about coming out here some night and killing the animals, Link,” Paul finally blurted out, running the words together.

  Link was not surprised to hear it. He’d heard it before. “Any firm date?” he asked, as that old familiar coldness began filling him.

  “Soon,” the young man said.

  “You heard about the blow-up out at our new vet’s house?”

  “Yes. That’s all over town. Chris is staying out at Dick Marley’s house. That’s a dangerous, vicious bunch, Link. They’ll do anything for kicks.”

  “Even going as far as joining a coven that worships the devil, Paul?” Link asked softly. The young have a network all their own, he thought. If the young would talk, a lot of social problems in the nation could more easily be solved.

  Paul met Link’s steady gaze. “It’s growing, Link. Real fast. I’ve been hearing rumors about it for a couple of years. Now I understand the ... coven is real big.”

  “Big like in numbers?”

  “Yes. Three or four hundred people in this parish alone.”

  That shook Link. He would have guessed twenty-five or thirty members. But three or four hundred people? “You want to name some names, Paul?”

  The young man didn’t hesitate. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out several sheets of paper, handing them to Link. “At first I thought it was just a group of kids playing a game. Maybe that’s how it got started. I don’t know. Then I heard they were into animal sacrifice. That made me mad. I started keeping a list of names and started listening more closely to the talk. Then these murders really opened my eyes. Link, some of the names on that list will shock you. I have no proof to back up those names. It’s all just talk. But it’s talk that I’ve been hearing for a long time. And that’s only a partial list.”

  Link opened the pages. The list was long and included some of the town and parish’s so-called leading and respectable citizens, men and women and young people. Black and white. Judge Jackson and wife, Deputies Ed Westcott and Waldo Brown, Dave Bradley, a very wealthy man. Dr. Bradshaw, Dick Marley, Charlie Ford, Nelson Marshall, another extremely moneyed man, Jack Matisse, and George Keenan.

  “Jesus Christ, Paul. The mayor, members of the town council, many of the town’s cops and deputies, members of the police jury, deacons and elders of various churches ... This list is mind-boggling.”

  “And something is up, Link. I lost my job today. Old man Jenkins told me I could take a hike. Said that anybody who’d be a friend of yours was a sorry son of a bitch. I told him to kiss my ass and he gave me one minute to get off his property. How come all of a sudden so many people in town dislike you, Link?”

  Link shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never been the town’s favorite son, that’s for sure. But mostly it’s been a subtle dislike. Never this open.”

  Paul stood up and paced the den. “There are three people I left off that list, Link.”

  Link looked at him and waited.

  “My dad, my mother, and my brother. Dad and I had a big cuss fight last night. I ... uh ... I’ve been driving all night. I got all my stuff packed in my old car. I guess what I’m asking is, can I fix up that apartment above the garage and stay out here?”

  “Sure, you can. I’ll feel a lot better knowing there is someone here with my critters. You’re on the payroll, Paul. I’ll pay you whatever you think is fair and give you free room and board. How’s that sound?”

  “Fantastic!”

  Link smiled. Full-time help would crimp him a little financially, but he could manage it until this mess in the parish was resolved. If it could be resolved, he added.

  “... get to work,” he heard the last of Paul’s statement.

  “Sure. You know where everything is. Mind if I keep this list?”

  “It’s yours.”

  “I’ll be gone most of the rest of the day, Paul. Go in my war room and pick out a couple of guns. The ones you’re familiar with. Take them to your new quarters. I’m getting a bad feeling about this situation.”

  “If anybody hurts your animals, Link,” the young man said solemnly, “it’ll be after they’ve put me on the ground, clear out of action.”

  And Link knew the young man meant every word of it.

  * * *

  “Good God!” Ray said, slowly going over each name on the list. “Henry James at the jewelry store. Frances over at the drug store. Rose Hillman at mental health. Dewey Ventress at the supermarket. Angie Campbell, Wesley Davidson, Billy Curtis . . .” He threw the list on his desk. “It’s . . . absolutely mind-boggling, Link. It’s incredible.”

  The Bureau man picked up the list. “How reliable is this Paul Morris, Donovan.”

  “The name is Link, Sweeney.”

  The two men eyeballed each other for a long moment. Cliff slowly nodded his head. “All right, Link. Maybe we’re getting off on the wrong foot here. But I won’t pretend to like you.”

  “I don’t want to stroll in the moonlight with you, either,” Link told him. “So you pulled my jacket and found out I used to work for the Company. Big deal. That was then, this is now. Let’s bury the hatchet . . . but not in each other’s back.”

  Cliff thought about that for a few seconds. “Are you reporting to the Company?”

  Link burst out laughing. “For God’s sake, Cliff! The CIA isn’t interested in devil worship in a rural parish in Louisiana. You’ve been watching too many movies.”

  “I never watch anything unless it’s G-rated.
The filthy language offends me.”

  Gerard rolled his eyes and covered his mouth with his hand. Ray swiveled in his chair to hide his smile. Link, unfortunately, was sitting facing Cliff. He had no place to go. “Well, bully for you, Cliff. But whether it’s good or bad, the literature and the motion pictures of the time pretty well go along with what’s happening in the real world.”

  “More is the pity,” the Bureau man said. He held up the list of names. “May I make a copy of these names?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  Cliff left the room. Ray swiveled around. “I keep telling myself, over and over, that Sweeney’s a good cop. I just keep telling myself that.”

  “Did you get a court order about the Romaire complex?” Link asked.

  “No. But Cliff did. Give him that much. He knows the right people to call. Just don’t ask me how he did it, ’cause I don’t know.”

  “So Paul is staying out at your place for the duration?” Gerard asked.

  “Yeah. He’s fixing up that old apartment over the garage. Mostly all it needs is a good cleaning.”

  “He’s a fine boy. I guarantee you this: If anyone comes on your property at night with intentions of hurting your animals, they’ll be found there in the morning.”

  “Tell him not to wound anyone,” Ray said grimly. He again swiveled in his chair, putting his back to Link. “If I was concerned about my life, the lives of loved ones, or the welfare of pets, I’d get me a half dozen or so unregistered guns. Like them that’s in that sack over in the corner of this office. I put them out there this morning, to throw away. Then I’d slip on a pair of those rubber gloves women use when they wash dishes. I’d real careful clean those guns and load them up full and seal them in plastic bags. Then, if I had to shoot some punk ... why, I’d just drop that gun down by the body, press his fingers against the barrel and the cylinder, and when the cops come, just point to the gun. We got a law in this state that some folks call the Shoot The Punk Act. If you feel your life is in danger, if you are convinced that deadly force is the only way you can save your life, jack it back and let it bang. It’s the Deadly Force Act. Y’all excuse me, I got to go to the bathroom.”

  Ray left the room.

  Gerard stood up and walked to a window, his back to Link. “Sure is a lovely day.”

  Link picked up the sack of pistols and went home.

  Chapter 9

  Most of the pistols in the sack were cheap ones, but they were just as deadly as the most expensive handgun made, perhaps more so; some of these might blow up in the shooter’s hand.

  Link cleaned them up and loaded them, dropping them into plastic bags. He explained what he was doing to Paul and gave him three of the guns.

  “Neat,” Paul said. “Very neat.”

  Link drove up to Anne’s and gave her three of the guns. “Most people make mistakes when they try to use cold guns, Anne,” he explained. “They make their stories too complicated and the cops trip them up. Keep it simple. The man came in here, threatening to kill me if I didn’t give him my money. I told him I didn’t have any money in the house. I had my gun in my hand, by my side. He didn’t see it. He cursed me and lifted his gun. I shot him. Then I called you people. Period. And stay with that story. Cry a little bit, be hysterical, shake and tremble at the horrible thing you had to do. Just make sure the son of a bitch is dead. Don’t just shoot him once; shoot him four or five times. A woman can get away with that better than a man could. Don’t let anybody see those guns, Anne. Put them away in a safe place.”

  “All right, Link,” she said softly. “Now, you tell me why you’re doing this.”

  One sharp, sharp lady, Link thought. He told her what Paul had said and also about the long list of names.

  “So you have a boarder now?” she asked.

  “Yes. And he loves animals. No one will hurt my animals with Paul there.”

  “Did you give him one of these . . . ah ... cold guns?”

  “Several of them.”

  “I ... see. Looks like I moved right into a bubbling cauldron, doesn’t it?”

  Link smiled. “Witches’ brew? Pretty apt choice of words, Anne. Yeah, I guess you did. Sorry?”

  She stared at him without speaking. An invisible spark ignited between the two, both of them feeling it and knowing what it was. For Link, it was the first time in his life he was absolutely sure.

  Link stood up and walked to the picture window in the den, looking out over the chilly landscape. Thanksgiving was just around the corner. School would be out for one week. So was that important? Did that mean something? Link wasn’t sure. But the weather was abnormally cold for this time of the year and it wasn’t supposed to improve. Folks would be staying home. Outdoor nighttime activity would be limited.

  “You’re deep in thought,” Anne said, walking over to stand beside him.

  “Yeah. Did you have . . . ah ... any ghostly visitors last night? I forgot to ask this morning.”

  “No. It was very peaceful. Maybe they’re friendly and were trying to warn me about Chris?”

  He glanced at her to see if she was kidding. Her expression was serious. “It’s as good an explanation as any.” He glanced at his watch. “You’re going to have to feed the kids in a few minutes. Monday, I’ll come over right after they leave for school and we’ll inspect the basement. Okay?”

  “Sure. But it’s a mess. What are we looking for?”

  “I don’t know. Hidden passageways or something equally sinister. You said things were bumping around down there the other night, didn’t you?”

  “Well, I thought they were. Did you ever see the door leading to the basement, Link?”

  “No.”

  “Come on. I want you to see this.”

  It was solid steel, set, of course, in a steel frame. The dead bolts, two of them, were massive.

  “Locked?” Link asked.

  “You better believe it,” she quickly replied. “I have two sets of keys. You want a set?”

  “Yeah. Just to be on the safe side. I’d hate to get locked in down there.”

  “So would I. There is no other way out.”

  Link walked around the outside of the old home. She was right. There was no other way out of the basement. He could see where one used to be, but it had been filled in with concrete.

  Why?

  Why would anyone do that?

  Maybe to keep somebody out.

  Or to keep somebody – or some thing – in.

  He shuddered as something evil seemed to touch him. Anne, standing with her arms folded under her breasts, narrowed her eyes. “What are you thinking?”

  “The worst. Monsters. Crazy homicidal people. Hell, I don’t know, Anne. Maybe we’ll find out Monday.”

  “I just cannot put into words how enthusiastic I am about that.” If she had said the words any more dryly, they would have turned to dust the instant they left her mouth.

  He smiled at her. “I’ll check on you in the morning, Anne. Hang tough. It’ll be all right.”

  She returned his smile.

  “You better get the kids in,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon.”

  Her smile faded.

  * * *

  Gerard called at eight that evening. “It’s the strangest thing, Link,” he said. “Nothing is moving. The town is as dead as a graveyard.”

  “I wish you had used another metaphor.”

  Gerard chuckled. “Is there anything happening out your way?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t even seen a car on the road. Paul had his new quarters all cleaned out by the time I got back. It’s liveable, anyway.”

  “Did you arm him?”

  “He armed himself. He’s well-armed.”

  “Stay loose.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Link fixed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk. He spread a towel on the table in the kitchen and went to his bedroom, opening a closet door and pulling out a trunk. He took out a zippered bag and returned to the kit
chen, laying the bag on the floor beside his chair.

  In this day of super-duper 9mm autoloaders that would shoot umpteen times before the clip emptied, rifles and pistols with laser beams attached, and heavy magnums that would supposedly stop anything short of an armored personnel carrier, Link’s favorite weapon was an old-fashioned one. As he ate half of his sandwich then drank some milk, he unzipped the bag and took out an oil-soiled towel.

  Link laid the towel on the table and opened it. He picked up the pistol and hefted it. It still felt good in his hands. There was nothing fancy about it, except for the satin nickel finish and the Pachmayr grips. It was a government model MK IV/series 70 .45 caliber ACP. Six rounds in the clip, one in the slot. Link knew what the .45 would do. It would not do everything that Hollywood had it doing, but it usually was a man-stopper. He had taken one off a dead second john in ’Nam and carried it and used it. A good solid hit against a major bone with the heavy slug was not going to fling a man backward fifteen feet as the movies liked to show. But the shock was hard and anyone hit with a .45 slug was, in all probability, going down.

  Link field-stripped the autoloader and cleaned it. Then he loaded up half a dozen clips with hollow-nosed ammo. A lot of your super-duper new pistols are calibrated so close they tend to jam up with many brands of hollow-nosed rounds. But the .45 wasn’t machined that closely. Most would fire a hollow-nose all day.

  He reassembled the .45 and shoved it into a shoulder holster rig. Two full clips went into the pouch on the right side of the rig. The other clips went into belt pouches.

  Link wrote adventure books, and whenever possible, he field-tested new weapons before he would write about them. It left him with quite a collection of firearms.

  He cleaned his derringer and loaded the twin barrels with .410 magnum shotgun shells – guaranteed to take a man’s face off at close range.

  Link stowed the .45 and tucked the derringer in his pocket. He finished his sandwich and drank his milk, then made a final check on the critters in his hospital.

  Walking back to the house, he noticed that the lights in the garage apartment were off. Paul was one of those rare young people who liked to go to bed early and get up early.