Unfortunately, late in the afternoon of the third day my idylls came to an
excessively harsh and disturbing end. Before walking the half mile down the
highway to a local cafe, which served delicious fish sadnwiches and all sorts of
wonderful seafoods, for an early supper, I had decided to take a catnap in the
hammock tied between the trees behind the row of cottages. There was a cool sea
breeze and one could lay there and watch the vacationers' sail boats and the fishing
boats returning to port. Far in the distance were the oil platorms that not long ago
had stirred up so much trouble with the conservationalists. This was an unusual
afternoon' the fong had not yet rolled in, but was standing in a massive bank on the
horizon. Swaying myself gently, I was staring up, my mind drifting toward sleep, at
the patches of bright blue sky that contrasted sharply with the dark clumps of pine
needles that surrounded them. Unexpectedly, the terror began again.
A young girl of about sixteen or seventeen was sticking out her thumb, trying
to hitch a ride at a freeway on-ramp. While she stood beneath the sign that read "no
pedstrians, bicycles, or motor driven cycles permitted on freeway," she held a torn
cardboard placard that proclaimed, "San Diego" in big, black letters. A battered
valise and a violin case, which was not in much better condition, were sitting in the
ice plant beside her feet. Farther down the ramp, where it met the extremely
congested street, could be seen another sign saying "San Diego Freeway South."
The girl was searing worn and patched, but clean, blue jeans. One patch said
"Jesus saves," another was a yellow and black happy face, the others were only
bright pieces of clother, however they served their purpose as well as anything else
could. The jeans were tucked into scuffed, comfortable-looking, brown, knee-high
boots. A vivid yellow halter top covered her breasts; her midriff was bare. Over this
shre wore a faded, red plaid, flannel work shirt, open at the front, and with the
sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Covering her curly, red hair was a wide birmmed
straw hat with a long yellow and pink print scarf, which fluttered over her shoulders
and sometimes across her freckled face, tied around the crown. At her throat was an
oval, silver locket attached to a leather thong.
After what had seemed like the thousandth car to pass without even slowing,
she let herself droop tiredly and dejectedly onto her suitcase. Nevertheless,
everytime another auto sped by she did not fail to project that thumb or to raise her
sign. At last, her persistance paid off; a dark blue, dented station wagon pulled to a
halt. The driver, a man, also with red hair, but thinnning and streaked with gray,
poened the passenger door and motioned for the girl to get in. S he gleefully
complied; one could see from her bouncy movements that she was indeed young.
"Thanks, Mister. You really saved my life. I was about ready to give up.
How far you goin'? she chattered like a happy, excited child, which she was.
"San Diego," was the gruff reply.
"Oh, great! I'm from up north, Sebastopol. It's just north of San Francisco.
Where do you live?"
"Around here."
"Oh. Ging to San Diego on business? I am. The San Diego Symphony is
having auditions, and I'm going to try out," she giggled, petting her violin case. "My
parents think I'm too young still, but I'm almost seventeen. I'll be going to Europe in
the fall to study music, unless, of course, I make it in the auditions. The don't know
where I've gone. It'll be such a good surprise, if I make it."
"What's your name?"
"Amber--- Amber Jaqueline Elise van der Zindt. Some name, huh? It'll look
good on a program--- special guest appearance by--- I'm a child prodigy, you know,
but mom and pop wanted me to "have a normal childhood". I was offered a concert
tour when I was nine. Why are you turning off here?"
"Gotta stop past home and pick up some papers."
"Oh. My grandpa was a Dutch count, but the family had to get out of Holland
when the Nazi's invaded. They only got out with what they could carry, which is
why I have this--- a real Guarnerius violin. It's over three hundred years old and is
as valuable as any Stradivarius." Amber continued to prattle, whie again patting her
instrument's case. "My parents will be absolutely furious with me for running off
the way I did, but if I make it, it will be worth it and they'll be proud of me. I'm
going to call them as soon as we get to San Diego.
"What kind of business are you in?" the girl never seemed to take a breath,
not even between subjects. My father is an authority on art; all the museums
consult him. Mom used to be an opera singer, but she quit when she married Pop.
We have a ranch near Stockton too. It's always so much fun to spend thes ummer
there. Boy, that's sure a big cemetery over there. You don't talk much, do you?"
The driver remained silent, looking straight ahead. His square, powerful
hands clinching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white.
"I've never been in Los Angeles before," continued Amber in her non-stop
monologue. "It's so huge. The one thing I can't get over, though, is that it's so bare
and gray looking, even though there are loads of trees. Up where I come from there
a lots of big, tall trees and everything is always green. There's nothing here by
streets, freeways, kind of cruddy, flat buildings, power lines, and cars. Even the sky
is gray. It's all so inhuman. Why are we oing on this dirt road?"
"Thought you might like to see a nice view." In the few words he had uttered,
his voice monotonously remained calm and remote.
"No, I don't think so. Let me out here and I'll go back to the freeway and get
another ride," the girl said nervously. "Please, let me out, I said!" Her hand clutched
the door handle.
"We're almost there. From the top of this hill you can see the whole basin---from the ocean clear to downtown, and looking the other way, you can even see
Catalina Island. You know, I used to have a daughter, looked a lot like you. Her
name was Linda, but she left me. She rean away with some man, damn little slut."
Suddenly, just before reaching the crest of the hill, he brought the car to a
sliding stop. "Get out, Linda," he firmly commanded.
Amber remained still, confused and unsre of what she should do. "I'm not
Linda," she finally said in a quiet, trembling tone.
"Get out of the car, you bitch." He scooted from behind the wheel. Then
reaching under his seat, he produced a strong, shiney butcher knife, causing a sharp
intake of breath by the teenager. At the sight of this, Amber, already overflowing
with terror, sprang from the station wagon and bolted into the greasewood brush
that flanked the road. She could have made great speed had not the twigs and
stickers torn at her clothes and hair, scratching her arms, face, and chest. But, it
was useless, within a few strides she felt herself yanked backwards into the weeds
by her curly hair. She screamed. The loss of her balance caused her to fall so
heavily on her back that the breath was completely knowcked from her lungs. She
lay stunned for a second. Immediately, the man was astride her torso. Her arms
were pinned to her sides by the man's pincer-like legs. She could barely breathe
because of his weight on her stomach. She trhashed her legs in futility. In her
position they could not bring the slightest discomfort to her enemy. He gently
stroked her cheeks and hair. For the first time her eyes caught notice of the evil
contained in the thin lipped mouth, as he smiled at her without showing his teeth.
"Linda, dear, you must be punished for your whoredoms, then I must take
your sins upon myself, so you will be cleansed. I must sacrifice myself as our Lord
did," he whispered soberly, lovingly.
"I'm not Linda--- not Linda!" she cried, violently swinging her head from side
to side. "Oh, God! Help me! I'm not Linda!" Her voice echoed with a terror and a
hysteria that would have childed the nerves of any sane witness.
He kissed her, first on the forehead and in the tangled mop of flaming hair,
then on the whimpering outh, again and again and again. Once more, employing her
remaining strength, Amber began to kick and wriggle, trying valiantly, but in vain,
to squirm from beneath his weighty mass.
Finally, the knife passed across her throat; arterial blood spurted into the air,
covering the face, hands, andclothing of the intended filicide. The ground took on
more the tint of Oklahoma's red dirt, than of Califorina adobe. Then, after having
unzipped the scarred boots and pulled off Amber's patched jeans, he concluded his
afternoon's sanguinary work.
Before the hour had passed, he had rolled the limp, gory thing into a narrow,
but deep cleft that slashed into the bluff a few yards distant from where the cement-like earth was damp and tinged with crimson. It was followed into the gouge by the
boots and jeans, and the villain's own polluted clothing, on which he had wiped
himself and the weapon clean. To conceal the garbage, he cause the slightly
undermied rim of the gully to collapse and cover the grusome mess, so that should
anyone happen by, they would never notice anything abnormal. That done, he
returned to the station wagon, having strewn brush over the moist area and the
mashed, broken weeds, then checking the space to make certain that no precaution
had been left undone. Lastly, he put on a pair of grimey, tan work pants that had
been stuffed in a corner near the spare tire and repalced the sharp object to its
hideaway under the seat.
"My. Ryan, are you all right?" said an anxious voice.
It took me a second to realize that I was supposed to be Ryan. Gradually, I
came to myself. "Yah, sure. I must have been having a bad dream. Thanks."
"But your eyes were open, thought you might be hav'n some kinda damn fit,"
rumbled the disturbed motel manager. He was a rather unusual gentlman, the
manager; most certainly transplanted from Missouri or Arkansas, he had never lost
his rustic ways. He still wore overalls, which were pulled smoothly over his slightly
protruding stomach. He also chewed tobacco. Practically every other word that
emerged from his lips was profane, so for the sake of delicacy I have omitted some
of them. But at the moment, the strangest thing about him was that he was searing
an unironed woman's blouse. It was pale pink with three-quarter length sleeves and
a rounded collar embroidered with lavender flowers.
"Oh," I stumbled, "but sometimes I sleep with my eyes open." Not a very
ingenious explanation, but adequate. "Do you have a phone I could use; it's very
important. By the way, why are you wearing a lady's blouse?"
"Aw, hell, my wife told me to get a shirt on, so I just grabbed one out of the
clothes basket. It's my daughter's. Ain't it purdy," he replied jokingly. "You can use
the phone on the office desk."
"Thanks." I left the bemused fellow standing amongst the trees, trying to
puzzle out what he had just seen. As I strode across the gravel driveway, I was
sorry that my escape couldn't have lasted longer. Now my head was paining.
Once again I was calling Carter; I wondered how many more times I would
have to use this number before the whole obscene affair would be at an end.
"Hello, Sgt. Williams speaking," was the reply after one ring.
"Let me talk to Carter. This is Randolph."
"After a pause, "Carter. Where you been?"
"There's been another one," I said slowly and sadly.
"What? Are you sure?" he exclaimed. "None's been reported."
"This one might never be found. I'll tell you all about it when I get there. I'm
leaving now."
"Wait! Where are you? I'll send a car for you."
"I'm in Carpenteria. It'd take too long. I'll be there in a couple of hours." I
abruptly ended the conversation by hanging up.
I walked back to my cottage, gathered up my things, and threw them into the
car. I yelled to the manager, who was returning to his office, that I was checking
out.
"Too bad," he shouted. "Gotta keep your rent, since you stayed past check-out time." I didn't care.
I came to the conclusion that a few extra minutes wouldn't matter, especially
not to Amber, so I walked to the little grove of pines once more. I needed another
look at the ocean and another breath of peace. The fog was moving in quickly. The
whole scene was becoming quite dismal, as befitted such an evening as this.
