Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

But would his gates be open or would he fortify himself against unwanted, unwholesome company?
    Julia stopped in the yard just beyond the porch railing. Mrs. Covington sipped her tea and lit a cigarette. The red tip glowed in the dusk. "How you doing, Julia?"
    "I'm fine, Mrs. Covington."
    "Call me 'Mabel,' honey."
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "Cops made a big show of it last night, didn't they?" The woman sucked on the cigarette, its glow throwing strange shadows on her wrinkled face.
    "Yeah. They arrested that guy for breaking into my house. He stole my—"
    "Didn't I tell you to watch out for him?"
    “He broke into my house and–”
    "It ain’t the first time." Mrs. Covington took a puff and let the smoke swirl around her face. The porch squeaked in rhythm with the rocker. "They done let him out. I saw him up yonder with his buddies, drinking beer like he didn't have a care in the world."
    "The police were supposed to come today and dust for fingerprints."
    "Never you mind about the law. You'd best just take care of yourself."
    Julia patted her purse. "I've got a can of mace. And a baseball bat under the bed."
    The old woman cackled. "As good as a gun. Just make sure you use it on the right person."
    The tobacco smoke wreathed Julia, sweet at first, but then cloying. "I thought mountain people were supposed to be trustworthy."
    "That's just what they show on the TV set. People is people all over, I reckon. Some good, some bad, and sometimes you can't tell which is which."
    "Well, I'm just glad Walter was here when the Creep broke in. No telling what might have happened if not for him."
    Mrs. Covington quit rocking and leaned forward. "That's a mighty handy coincidence, don't you think?"
    "Coincidence?" Julia preferred to think of it as good luck. She deserved a little, didn't she?
    "He's been around right regular lately."
    "He told me he was working for you yesterday."
    Mrs. Covington stubbed out her cigarette. Her face was barely discernible in the shadows. Julia wondered why the woman didn't have on her porch light as usual.
    "Sure, he was working for me. But he could have done that any time. And he come by your place twice while you was gone. Walked around the back of the house where I couldn't see him."
    Julia's mind spun with this information, trying to match it up with what Walter had told her. "He seems okay to me."
    As okay as anybody in this new future where my lover attacks me and my shrink has a pentagram scar and cops let perverted Creeps roam free and headless bodies float downstream.
    “He’s keeping an eye on you, but I’m keeping an eye on him.” A cat padded across the porch like a moving shadow.
    "Well, if you don't trust him, why do you let him work for you?"
    "He's mountain. Knew some of his kin, and kind of felt sorry for him when he fell on hard times. He might not be innocent but so far I can’t find a crack in his story. And I spend a lot of time looking. That’s why I keep him close."
    "He seems to be doing all right for himself." Julia fidgeted, changed her purse strap to the opposite shoulder. She caught herself wondering if her door would be unlocked. Or if Walter would be hidden in her closet, waiting for her, a man who had a key to her house.
    Julia moved to the porch steps, feeling lost herself though she was only a few feet from the railing. A light came on in one of the apartment buildings, and Julia wondered if it was coming from the Creep's window. Would he dare to come back for a second helping of whatever pleasure he'd stolen in her room, or to finish the job of stealing the engagement ring?
    And what if Walter had a secret agenda, and his kind face was only the mask of a sociopathic killer?
    No. Julia refused to believe it, not of the man who had sat across from her in the living room last night. She couldn't see those same gentle but strong hands wrapped around a throat, squeezing, squeezing, fingers digging into soft flesh. That face with the cheeks that creased when he smiled couldn't twist into a punishing, murderous mask. And his Christian faith seemed sincere. Walter simply wasn't capable of harming anyone without a good reason.
    But then, Mitchell had kept his own violent urges carefully hemmed in, hidden behind eyes that disguised whatever strange storms brewed inside his head.
    “Cops been out again,” Mrs. Covington said.
    “Good. They said they would follow up on the breaking and entering.”
    “They wasn’t doing much following. They went inside your house for a