The second officer jerked his head toward the meeting room. “Chief said to keep them in the meeting room until these civilians had cleared the building.”
“Where is Rawlings?” Olivia demanded as the remnants of the audience walked past them.
The officer shrugged, but he looked worried. “He hasn’t responded to our calls. Must have turned off his radio for some reason.”
As they stood there, the last stragglers exited the building and the cops decided to join the ranks of those guarding the young celebrities. They never got the chance to re-enter the meeting room, however, for Heidi St. Claire strode into the hallway, brushing aside Mayor Guthrie’s protests. “I promised to sign autographs!” she declared in a haughty tone she seemed to have acquired since Olivia first listened to her speak at The Boot Top.
“Come on, Heidi. Who cares if you blow off these hick kids?” Blake’s tone was petulant. He pushed his sunglasses onto his forehead and grabbed his girlfriend by the arm. “Look, something’s happened to Max. He didn’t show tonight and he never even bothered to call. Finding out why he blew me off is more important than what you promised the peasants.” When she didn’t respond, Blake glanced nervously around the hall and then leaned over to whisper in Heidi’s ear.
She scowled and shook him off. “No way am I going out the back! I gave my word to those fans and I plan to keep it!” She pulled away from him and walked more purposely up the hall.
Suddenly, one of the closed office doors flew open as Heidi passed by. A man emerged from the doorway and raised a gun, taking aim at Blake Talbot’s chest. The primed policemen reached for their weapons but were seconds too late. Instinctively, Olivia reached out for Heidi, as though to pull her to safety.
The next few seconds passed as though everyone in that hallway were moving underwater.
Olivia saw the mouths of the lawmen part as they prepared to shout orders. She watched Blake’s eyes widen in surprise and fear. As she had not yet turned, Heidi didn’t know what was happening behind her back and had time only to experience confusion.
Cook raised his weapon and squared his shoulders. “Don’t do it, man! I’ll fire before you can get your shot off.”
Olivia caught a movement in the darkness behind Atlas Kraus. Finally, her heart began to beat again. She allowed her lungs to exhale. All would be well. For there was Chief Rawlings standing in Atlas Kraus’s shadow. Rawlings didn’t move, didn’t speak. His eyes were fixed on the killer. Poised to attack, he waited.
Staring at him in wonder, Olivia realized Rawlings must have snuck, crouched and catlike, through an adjoining office to emerge at the killer’s back.
Heidi swiveled, saw the armed man in the doorway, and screamed. Atlas glanced at her, wounded by her reaction. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going to let this scumbag bring you down.” He then turned to face Blake again, but in the moment he’d broken eye contact with his target, two policemen had stepped in front of the civilian, creating a human shield.
“Back off!” Atlas gestured angrily with his gun, his lips curled into an animal-like snarl. “I’ll shoot through you to get to him. I swear I will.”
Olivia watched the muscles in his right arm constrict as he made to pull the trigger.
But Atlas never got the shot off, for as the threat was leaving his mouth and the tendons in his forearm were tightening, Rawlings was raising his nightstick into the air. In a swift, powerful stroke, the police chief brought it down on the killer’s head.
The crack echoed down the hall.
Chapter 17
Do what we can, summer will have its flies.
—RALPH WALDO EMERSON
Olivia hadn’t expected to dream.
At first, her sleep had been deep and untroubled, but as the dawn light crept over the ocean, strange and disjointed images stirred in the trenches of her psyche.
She was back in the town hall again, but this time she was alone.
There were no policemen or exuberant preteens or members of her writer’s group filling the shadowy corridors . Haviland wasn’t at her flank. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered weakly.
“Haviland?” Olivia called out in a disembodied voice.
She knew the killer was here. At the same doorway in which she’d seen Atlas Kraus standing hours earlier, she stopped and reached out a trembling hand to turn the knob.
“That’s not your job,” Chief Rawlings murmured behind her. She turned, letting her hand fall to her side and surrendering her position. Rawlings opened the door, stepped into the yawning blackness, and was gone.
A bark emitted from another hallway and suddenly Olivia was outside. It was no longer raining, but the poster board signs bearing messages of idolization for Heidi St. Claire were scattered across the glistening asphalt of the parking lot, their words smeared, their hearts and smiley faces bleeding into ugly, distorted shapes.
Haviland came racing from around the corner of the building, a billow of fog following behind. Olivia embraced the poodle, then turned to witness Rawlings burst through the double doors of the hall with such force that the brass door pulls slapped against the bricks like a thunderclap. He shoved a handcuffed prisoner forward, shouting for the bystanders to make room.
In the way of dreams, where logic and orderliness seldom exist, the town hall’s portico, which had been deserted a moment ago, was crammed with people. Dozens of cops, reporters, and stunned townsfolk formed a tight knot Rawlings had to push his prisoner through.
Rawlings made his way to a waiting police cruiser, his grim face bathed in blue light.
The captive kept his head bowed and his face completely shielded by the brim of his baseball cap.
Olivia felt a pang of anxiety. Atlas hadn’t been wearing a hat, but the faded American flag emblem was familiar to her.
Rawlings placed a hand on his prisoner’s head and eased him into the squad car. He shut the door with an authoritative push and turned to address the yelling multitudes.
Feeling that the chief had made a grave mistake, Olivia circled around the edge of the crowd, which seemed to be rapidly multiplying. It was as if the fog were carrying people on its back and depositing them in front of the building.
Olivia picked up her pace, feeling a growing sense of fear as the police car slowly pulled away from the curb. Running now, she checked to make sure that Haviland was beside her as she cut across the lawn, hoping to intercept the cruiser at the end of the parking lot before it had a chance to turn onto the main road.
Breathing hard, she pumped her long legs and arms. Her bare feet were chilled by puddled water and pierced by sharp stones. Her lungs burned, but she somehow managed to reach the corner as the police car made its right turn.
At that moment, the killer raised his head and looked out the window, his eyes finding hers.
“No,” Olivia whispered in shock, for the face was not that of Atlas Kraus.
It was her father’s.