"I heard you," the bee-keeper said resignedly. "Believe me, I heard you."
Morton removed his arm from the other man's shoulder, giving him a slight shove forward. "Just don't forget what I said."
They were in the marbled hallway of the court building, leading toward the revolving doors to the outside world. Morton watched Willims go through them, slouching with unhappiness.
I'll have to watch that one, he thought.
The M.E. came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Meet you at the restaurant," he said laconically. "I've got to dip into my office upstairs for a minute."
The M.E. peeled off into another hallway, his footsteps echoing away on the polished stone floor.
After a moment, the D.A. composed himself into his public face of smiling bluster, and drove through the revolving doors.
Outside it was cold and bright, early November chill making the recent October heat wave a memory.
The D.A. shivered, wishing he had remembered his topcoat. But the restaurant was only a block away.
He began to descend the wide stone steps of the courthouse, which led to the street, when something small and striped orange and black, an insect, brushed by his ear and settled lightly there.
He heard the faintest of whispers before he swatted it away—as if someone were talking to him from a far distance. Later he would wonder if he had heard at all what it said:
"Next Halloween..."