Читать книгу The Anointing - Aubrey Smith - Страница 3

On his way home, Slore drove north on Blanco Road. He and Kelly had a homey place where they had lived for the past nine years. Although he was eager to get home, tonight his mind was a jumble of thoughts that raced here and there. He thought of the dead children and the haunting notes that were left with each body. Why were they written? What was the real reason? Were the killer or killers trying to tell the police something? If that were the case, I should be able to unravel the mystery hidden in the puzzle.

Slore’s mind vibrated with unholy visions of children whose small bodies were ripped apart, boys who would never again play ball. Boys who were dead before they would taste a first kiss, or feel a first love. Now they were boys who would be known from pictures on dressers and remembered only in minds attached to broken hearts. They were children who would never know the joys of life. He couldn’t forget today’s smells. They made him want to vomit.

Racing throughout his head were images of his own playful childhood. He had enjoyed a childhood free of responsibility. He’d been able to just enjoy being a kid. Suddenly there was a feeling of panic as he realized his and Kelly’s precious child could be such a victim. The thought of anyone hurting Joey sent anger and fear screaming through his mind.

He recalled his own near death when he was only nine years old. He remembered the car wreck, one dark and rainy night twenty‑five years ago, that left him alive while killing his mother’s two brothers. A drunk had parked in the center of the road and his uncle swerved too late to miss the parked car.

His mind began to settle. Happier thoughts loomed large with anticipation of the early arrival home and an evening with his family. Slore became happy for the first time today. He realized just how lucky he was to have such a wonderful wife and son. He also pondered a marriage that had weathered some occasional rough water. The last few months, he and Kelly had drifted in opposite directions. He knew there had been a strain in their relationship and that thought brought a nagging, sick feeling. He wondered if Joey was aware of the problem. Kids don’t miss much, he thought. Also there are these strange rushes of colors that he now called his twilight time. It only lasts a few seconds. Sometimes there are strange smells and that funny taste. It’s just the pressure of the job, he thought. He also realized his extra security job at Sears was taking away time he wanted to spend with Kelly and Joey.

There were the twilight times. Not like the warm and safe feeling he now had as the sun slid down behind the low hills just west of town. The temperature cooled a bit and dusk fell across the city, turning the blue of the day into the magenta of sunset.

Slore’s eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar sight. At the traffic light, he saw Kelly’s old red Volvo station wagon turn east on West Avenue. They had taken his Christmas overtime paycheck to pay off the wagon six months early. He watched as the car turned left across traffic. There were four cars between him and the light, but Slore waved when he saw Kelly. She did not see him and went speeding east on West Avenue.

“The food is going to get cold before I get home,” Slore said in a disappointing tone. He waited for the light and the traffic to move and quickly turned in the same direction Kelly had taken. Slow pokes, come on, let’s go, he thought.

The red Volvo was out of sight when he finally made the turn onto West Avenue. As darkness quickly fell, shoppers began turning on their headlights as they pulled out of the shopping places, which made seeing very difficult. Slore contemplated that dusk is the time of the day when it is hardest to see, but, driving as fast as was safe, he hurried on in hopes of catching up with his wife. Searching, searching, it looked like her car turning right onto Bitters Road.

“Where’s she going?” he asked himself aloud. There are no malls or movies this way. Maybe she’s going to Sam’s, he thought. He wished for the old blue detective’s car with its siren and dash-mounted red light so he could hurry the slow‑moving cars out of his way. Pushing the accelerator and driving a little faster, he saw Kelly driving along the access road. She had begun turning into the parking lot beside a row of small shops.

Slore knew he would have to hurry to catch her before she got out of the car and into the stores. His calculations indicated that if he hurried and drove straight to the main entrance, he could cut her off just as she got to the shops’ front doors.

With one eye on Kelly and the other on the entrance, he cut back into the parking lot and drove around to the area where Kelly was about to park. There were people everywhere. While most of them were in a rush, it seemed to Slore as though half the shoppers were dragging their feet, just poking along. He felt that every bad driver and old lady in San Antonio had suddenly appeared in this parking area with their feet on their brakes.

Still watching Kelly over his shoulder, he saw her park the car in an empty space. She was dressed in a light yellow sundress and seemed to bounce out of the car. Her auburn hair was shining brightly in the artificial light of the night. She was beautiful. Kelly was smiling and happy. He could see sparkles reflecting from her eyes and there was a lightness in her step as she walked. Slore thought she looked like she was going to a party.

Instead of going straight to the stores’ entrance, Kelly walked around the Volvo then behind a light blue Cadillac. Suddenly she turned beside the Caddy, opened the door, and quickly disappeared inside.

This doesn’t seem right, he thought. Then he realized she must be meeting a girlfriend for shopping and a movie. Quickly he parked and waited for them to come to the mall entrance. From where he was parked, Slore could see the silhouettes of the occupants in the blue Cad.

That sixth sense police officers had seemed to come alive. Whether you take that ability into the job with you or whether you develop it is a mystery, he thought. The intuition and perception are there or you don’t survive long on the streets. Tonight, Slore’s awareness was acute. It surrounded him like an aura. Not only could he see things in sixth-sense perspective, he now heard and felt his surroundings with increased sensitivity.

Time seemed to slow. He knew this was a time to mentally take notes and be alert. Where was this feeling of impending danger coming from? His senses sharpened, as he observed the blue car. He was oblivious to his other surroundings. The shoppers and parking lot traffic faded from his thoughts. Within the deep recesses of his mind, a strange feeling was beginning to stir. It was a feeling of uncertainty, a tactile sense he was not accustomed to.

He estimated he was parked about fifty yards from the red Volvo and the blue Cadillac. Overhead streetlights and the lights from the cars passing on the street cast strange reflections across the parking area. Slore scrunched down in the seat to get a better look into the Caddy. Now he could see the two occupants well in the artificial light illuminating the parking area. It was Kelly and… “A man. Who’s that guy? I can’t believe it! It’s her boss, Henserling.”

His mind went blank for a second. He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing as Kelly, his Kelly, turned in the seat to kiss her boss. Not a peck on the cheek, but a real kiss. She put her hand to the back of Henserling’s neck and seemed to pull him closer. The world stopped for Slore. He felt the rush of color and a smell of garlic.

Henserling was a man in his early forties. He had distinguished gray hair. Politicians’ hair, long and stylishly cut. He was a health freak and played handball every day at lunch. Slore knew Henserling was an excellent athlete. He knew because he had seen him play once in a tournament. They didn’t go to the same health club. Slore worked out at the police gym. He could never afford to be a member of the Executive Sports Club. That’s where the rich went to play and socialize over business deals.

Around town, Henserling was a very well known attorney. He was born with it all, rich parents and brains. One night Slore had remarked to Kelly, “That is a fairly good combination to start life.” After graduating cum laude from the University of Texas, Henserling had started his own practice at an office in the Frost Bank Building. He did extremely well in business and now had several associates who worked with him in the firm.

Kelly was Henserling’s personal secretary, his right hand, as she put it. She’d told Slore she was very fortunate to have been selected out of all the applicants to be Henserling’s secretary.

That was two years ago. It was a good job and she seemed to enjoy going to work every day. She had an enjoyable job. It was quite unlike that of a homicide detective. She loved her work. Slore had had no dealings with Kelly’s boss, since Henserling specialized in corporate law and did almost no criminal work. “He does not like the world of the wacky and immoral,” Kelly once told him.

The last time Slore had seen Henserling was at the law firm’s Christmas party two years ago. He had missed last year’s party because of the extra job at Sears. Slore had seen Henserling one other time last summer at a picnic Kelly’s office had held at Aggie Park. He’d immediately liked Henserling, even if Henserling’s team had beaten his team in the egg‑in‑the‑spoon race.

Slore felt sick. The same sick-to-the-stomach feeling he felt when he knew he was going to throw up. Suddenly his head went numb and the numbness invaded his entire body. This was exactly the same emotion he had experienced the day his dad died. He had been on patrol when the call came over the radio to return to the station for a message. His father had not been sick. He was working at the Toyota plant when he just fell over and died.

Dad had worked as an accountant for them since they moved their truck assembly plant to San Antonio, Slore recalled. When he got to the police station, he was told to call his mother’s house. He knew something was wrong as soon as he heard his sister’s voice. The sickness started when she blurted out, “Daddy’s dead!”

That day the numbness started in Slore’s head and he thought he was going to pass out. Today was just the same. He felt the beginnings of rage. I’ll beat his brains out, he thought, as he opened the door to get out of the car. He had just taken a step or two when the lights of the blue Cadillac suddenly came on and the car pulled away. Did they see me? No, not a chance. Slore quickly got back into his car, but by the time he started his car, the blue Caddy was pulling out of the parking lot and onto the San Pedro access road. They were heading downtown. Slore knew he would have to hurry in order not to lose them as they entered the ramp to the main road just north of the airport.

There was no air in the car. He had to roll the window down to breath. He felt sicker and his hands started to perspire. Instantly, there was that smell. He fought off the impending feeling of doom and made himself drive on. Just a flash and it was over this time. He felt as if someone had turned a heat lamp onto his forehead, and immediately the cool of the evening was lost as he turned the AC to max.

“My wife, Kelly, with another man? No! This must be a dream or a hallucination,” he protested. “Maybe it’s just a hallucination like the colored light show I saw in army boot camp.” Vividly, he remembered the day he licked the stamp. LSD had blown his world apart on that day, the one and only time he had experimented with drugs. It was a dare he would not have taken if he had not already been drunk on tequila. He had never again wanted to trifle with drugs.

But, Slore knew this was no dream or hallucination. It was very real. Kelly was the only woman he had ever loved. He was even a virgin when he married Kelly. She was the only woman he had ever slept with. She and Joey had been his whole life. His family and the police department were all he cared about. How could she kiss another man? Where were they going? He felt as though he had died and was just coming back.

As a police officer, Slore had talked with several people who had been injured and he’d heard them tell of near‑death experiences. He remembered their stories of how they saw everything around them shrinking. They told stories of a calm darkness coming over them as they saw a tunnel of light drawing their soul elsewhere. Most said how calm and unafraid they felt, detached from life. This is how Slore felt as he set a surveillance mode behind the southbound Cadillac. He was not sure where the trip would take him, but there was a sense of depression that settled all around him.

Police training and instinct controlled his driving pattern as he pulled close then dropped back into traffic. He changed lanes when he slowed so he would just fade out of sight if they were watching in their rearview mirror. After years of training in surveillance, he would not be seen tonight. He wondered if he really wanted to know the truth? Somehow he knew that at the end of tonight’s road there lay a sign that read Dead End. He could see the night skyline of downtown San Antonio as the two cars approached Loop 410. He observed the Caddy exit onto the ramp for westbound traffic. Unexpectedly, the Caddy turned into the entrance of the Hilton Hotel. Slore stopped in the darkness. From his hiding place, he saw the Caddy pull under the covered entrance to the hotel.

As soon as the car stopped, a doorman appeared and opened the driver’s door. Henserling, dressed in a dark blue suit, stepped out and quickly walked around and opened the passenger’s door. Slore saw Kelly take Henserling’s hand as she slid out of the car. She looked so happy in the bright lights that lit up the red-carpeted entrance to the hotel.

Unable to bear the sight of Kelly betraying their marriage vows, Slore looked away as they entered the glass doors to the lobby. As he sat in the dark, his heart broke into a million pieces. He sat for a long time until he noticed his right hand was tightly gripping the Glock 9 mm that rested under his left armpit. Nestled in the leather shoulder holster, the gun felt warm to his touch. Slore was suddenly surprised by the lack of anger he felt and, as he sat alone in the darkness, sorrow and sadness swept over him.

Not sure if he were thinking of killing Kelly and Henserling or shooting the top of his own head off, Slore started the car, letting it idle. Thinking crazy thoughts, he wondered why people either sat or lay down to shoot themselves? In all the years he had investigated suicides, he’d never known of anyone to shoot themselves while standing up.

From where he had parked, he looked up to see Kelly and Henserling still at the check‑in desk as they got a room key. He could see that they held hands waiting for the elevator doors to open. His vision blurred. He felt a tight crushing sensation in his chest, as he saw them smiling and laughing in the elevator before the polished brass doors closed around them. As long as he lived, he would never forget the sight of Kelly smiling and laughing when those elevator doors closed. He would always remember the way she looked up at Henserling, like he was a god she worshiped and loved.

Crying was something he had not done since that horrible day three years ago. The day he shot a husband involved in a domestic violence call on Guadalupe Street.

The man, Hector Lopez, had come at him with a cabbage knife, one of those hooked‑blade knives that field hands carry. Lopez just wouldn’t stop and, when Slore had no place to move, he shot. Following his training, he had fired a burst of three shots at his target. All three shots hit Lopez in the chest. He was pronounced dead on arrival at University Hospital’s Emergency Room.

Slore looked away. Through tear filled eyes, he noticed the Tower of the Americas in the rearview mirror. He sat in the car for a long time, waiting for the rage to come, but it never did. Sobs shook his body like thunder and tears splattered on clenched fists as he surrendered to his emotions and cried.