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They took everythingthey had—food, luggage—and loaded it back into Callister’s Subaru. Scott said, “Get the gun out,” but Catton answered, “Can’t shoot her. Her neighborhood’s too dark and quiet. Somebody would call the police…give me one minute.”
She walked out the back door and came back with a rock the size of her fist. “I saw it when we looked at the house. There’s a little stone johnnie out there.”
Callister: “I used to make those, when I was hiking up in the Cascades.”
“What’s a stone johnnie?” Scott asked, puzzled.
“A little stack of stones that people put up to mark waypoints along wilderness trails,” Callister said. “Now people just put them in their yards.”
“All right, I’ve seen those,” Scott said. “But what are you planning to do with a rock?”
“I’ll threaten her with the gun, tie her up. If she tries to fight or scream, hit her with the rock.”
—
Marilyn Wong livedin another of the ubiquitous adobe-look houses in a neighborhood at the north end of Taos. They stuck to back-streets going over, and saw two checkpoints at a distance. Wong’s house was distinguished by an extensive flower garden with masses of multicolored zinnias and a dozen dinner-plate-sized sunflowers.
“Let me lead,” Catton said. She led the way up the front walkway with her stone and pushed a lighted doorbell button. A moment later, a woman’s voice, from a speaker next to the door: “Who is it?”
“Marilyn, I’m terribly sorry to bother you at this time of night, but this is Clarice Catton. I came to talk to you with Dr. Scott about renting a house. We’ve run into a really difficult situation and we thought you might have some ideas…”
The door popped open and Wong, dressed in a pair of black silk pajamas, said, “I understand the police…”
What she understood, the group never found out, because Catton struck her in the forehead with the rock, a sound like a sack of sand being dropped off a ladder. Wong collapsed on her back. Catton stepped over her, stooped and hit her twice more, and was about to hit her a fourth time when Scott caught her arm and said, “Clarice…enough.”
He pushed past Catton, bent over Wong, whose head was misshapen like a deflated volleyball. He felt for a pulse in her neck and shook his head. He looked back at Catton, whose eyes were glittering like a leopard’s, and it occurred to him, not for the first time, that Catton was mad as a hatter. Mad in a medical sense: something far beyond the rational or calculated. “She’s gone. Let’s get inside.”
They stepped inside, trailed by Callister, whose face had gone paper-white. Catton, her nose twitching with the scent of fresh blood, pulled a revolver out of her pocket and hurried through the house, making sure it was empty.
Scott and Callister watched her do it: it hadn’t occurred to them it might be needed. When Catton came back, she said, “All clear,” and “Marilyn was on her computer. It’s still running, so we’re online if we need to be.”
“Okay. Great,” Scott said. He went to one knee, lifted Wong’s body in his arms, carried her to a family room—shook his head, they mightwant to watch television—then to a powder room, where he lay her on the floor, checked her pulse again, then backed away and closed the door.
To Callister, he said, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“She needs to toughen up,” Catton said. “We’re not doing anything that’s not necessary.”
“She’s fine as she is, she’s a smart, sensitive human being,” Scott said. He wrapped Callister in his arms, hugging her for a long ten seconds, whispered, “You are great,” into her ear, then backed away and said, “Let’s see if they’re looking for us. The news should be on.”
The news came out of Albuquerque, and the talking heads got to Taos ten seconds into the broadcast. “We are told that there’s a major police action taking place in Taos, and that cars are being stopped at police checkpoints all around the town. According to a police officer we talked to, who didn’t want to be named because he wasn’t authorized to talk to the news media, they are searching for a man and a woman believed to be involved in a child sex ring, and that some of the children may have been murdered.”
Photos of Scott and Catton came up.
“We don’t yet have names for the people being sought, but police say that they are armed and dangerous. If you have seen either of these individuals, contact Taos police immediately by dialing 9-1-1. We will be enlarging on this breaking story as soon as we have further information.”
Catton said, “Well, there goes my hair.”
Scott said to Callister, “They don’t have your photo.”
“I should still go at three o’clock?”
“I believe that would be best.”
—
They’d left theSubaru in the driveway, and now looked in the garage and found a blue Nissan SUV and a black Jeep with oversized tires. Catton backed the Nissan into the driveway, and Callister drove the Subaru into the garage, to get it off the street and out of sight.
When the garage door was down, Scott, unsure of what should come next, simply nodded when Catton said, “We should eat.”
