Part 23 (1/2)
He was lost in the aroma of her and in the warmth of her and in the dizzy insistence of her mouth, but at the same time he was thinking more clearly than he had since late last night when he had dropped the refrigerator in the river. He was thinking that he had to get her out of here because he was sure he would hurt her. He had hurt Molly without even having liked her at first, had hurt her only later when she somehow got him angry, but he felt a l.u.s.ting rage now for this girl who was beautiful and ”She is colored,” his mother would say, ”Why are you bringing home a little colored wh.o.r.e to me,” he loved her lips and the way her hands she was dangerous if he did not get rid of her they would find out about Molly. If he hurt her, if she allowed him to love her, if she allowed him to enter her the dark pulsing interior of her in his hands now warm and moving against him the smooth dark smothering b.r.e.a.s.t.s if she allowed him to love her you're the man in the family now he would have to kill her there would be no other way he would have to kill her, they would find out about Molly, get away from me he thought.
He drew away from her sharply.
She stared up at him.
Her sweater was pulled up over her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her skirt was high on her thighs. He crouched over her trembling with love for her. She reached for him tenderly. Her hand came up to him slowly and with infinite gentleness, touching him, a.s.suring him ”No!” he shouted.
”What?”
”Get No,” he said.
He moved off the bed. He turned his back to her.
”Go,” he said. ”Go home. Get out of here. Get out!”
”What?”
He was at the closet. He opened the door and took out her coat and brought it to the bed and put it down beside her without looking at her again, knowing she had still not pulled down the sweater, loving her and afraid he would hate her, please, please, go, please, not knowing whether he said the words aloud.
She got off the bed silently. She adjusted her sweater, and silently got into her coat. She picked up her bag from the dresser, went to the door, and unlocked it.
”I'll never as long as I live understand,” she said and went out.
It was about seven o'clock when he went down for the truck and drove it over to the police station.
He parked just across the street, pulling up the hand brake and then cutting the ignition and glancing over to where the green globes were lighted now, the 87 showing on each of them, flanking the entrance doors.
He knew he was about to do the right thing.
It seemed very good to him that he had not harmed Amelia. That seemed like a very good sign. He didn't know why he hadn't done this right from the beginning, why he simply hadn't brought Molly here last night, right after he'd killed her, instead of putting her in the refrigerator and throwing her in the river where they'd never find her. He could have told it to someone right then and spared himself all the fear and Wouldn't they?
Find her?
He sat quite still behind the wheel of the truck with darkness covering the city and with the precinct globes feebly glowing across the street, throwing a pale-green stain on the snow banked along the precinct steps. There was the sound of shovels sc.r.a.ping the sidewalks, tire chains rattling on snow. His breath plumed into the cold cab interior, the winds.h.i.+eld was getting frosted.
She had only been in the city a week, no one knew she was here, except of course the hotel she was staying at. She would have signed a register, yes, what was the name of the hotel, a Spanish name. It didn't matter. They would think she'd skipped without paying her bill, that was all. They'd maybe report it to the police, or maybe not, depending on what she'd left behind, didn't she say she'd come here with only a suitcase and a little money, sure. But even if they did report her missing, even if they said Molly Nolan who was staying here at the hotel has just vanished without taking her clothes out of the dresser, well, okay, let's say they did that. Let's say they told the police.
She's at the bottom of the river, Roger thought.