they might think.
She went behind her desk again, and again Bobby perched on it.
After winking at Julie, Bobby said, “Frank, I was premature in accepting
the case. We really can’t make that decision until we’ve heard your
whole story.”
“Sure,” Frank said, looking quickly at Bobby, at Julie, then down at his
scratched hands, which were now clutching the open flight bag.
“That’s perfectly understandable.”
“Of course it is,” Julie said.
Clint switched on the tape recorder again.
Exchanging the flight bag on his lap for the one on the floor, Pollard
said, “I should give you these.”
He unzippered the second satchel and withdrew a plastic bag that
contained a small portion of the handsful of black sand he’d been
clutching when he had awakened after his brief sleep Thursday morning.
He also withdrew the bloody shirt he had been wearing when he had arisen
from his even shorter nap later that same day.
“I saved them because… well, they seemed like evidence. Clues. Maybe
they’ll help you figure out what’s going on, what I’ve done.”
Bobby accepted the shirt and the sand, examined them briefly, then put
them on the desk beside him.
Julie noted that the shirt had been thoroughly saturated with blood, not
merely spotted. Now the dry brownish stains made the material stiffer.
“So you were in the motel Thursday afternoon,” Bobby prompted.
Pollard nodded.
“Nothing much happened that night. I went to a movie, couldn’t get
interested in it. Drove around a while. I was tired, real tired, in
spite of the nap, but I couldn’t sleep at all. I was afraid to sleep.
Next morning I moved to another motel.”
“When did you finally sleep again?” Julie asked.
“The next evening.”
“Friday evening that was?”
“Yeah. I tried to stay awake with lots of coffee. Sat at the counter
in the little restaurant attached to the motel, and drank coffee until I
started to float off the stool. Stomach got so acidic, I had to stop.
Went back to my room. Every time I started nodding off, I went out for
a walk. But it was pointless. I couldn’t stay awake forever. I was
coming apart at the seams.
I Had to get some rest. So I went to bed shortly past eight in the
evening, fell asleep instantly, and didn’t wake up until half past five
in the morning.”
“Saturday morning.”
“Yeah.”
“And everything was okay?” Bobby asked.
“At least there was no blood. But there was something else They waited.
Pollard licked his lips, nodded as if confirming to himself his
willingness to continue.
“See, I’d gone to bed in my boxer shorts… but when I woke up I was
fully clothed.”
“So you were sleepwalking, and you dressed in your sleep. Julie said.
“But the clothes I was wearing weren’t any I’d ever seen before.”
Julie blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“They weren’t the clothes I was wearing when I came to that alleyway two
nights before, and they weren’t the clothes I bought at the mall on
Thursday morning.”
“Whose clothes were they?” Bobby asked.
“Oh, they must be mine,” Pollard said, “because they fit too well to
belong to anyone else. They fit perfectly. Even the shoes fit
perfectly. I couldn’t have lifted that outfit from some one else and
been lucky enough to have it all fit so well.”
Bobby slipped off the desk and began to pace.
“So what are you saying? That you left that motel in your underwear,
went out to some store, bought clothes, and nobody objected to your
modesty or even questioned you about it?”
Shaking his head, Pollard said, “I don’t know.”
Clint Karaghiosis said, “He could’ve dressed in his room while
sleepwalking, then went out, bought other clothes changed into them.”
“But why would he do that?” Julie asked.
Clint shrugged.
“I’m just offering a possible explanation
“Mr. Pollard,” Bobby said, “why would you have done something like
that?”
“I don’t know.”
Pollard had used those three words so oft that he was wearing them out;
each time he repeated them his voice seemed softer and fuzzier than
before.
“I don’t think I did. It doesn’t feel right-as an explanation, I mean.