It was nine-forty-five. He had gotten a late start because he had slept late, his sleep an amalgam of tossing and dream shreds. The questions were piling up, the answers scarce, and David's decision scar was swollen. But he believed he had spent more than enough time in mental knots, and that perhaps there was little time to spare before more tragedy struck again. His enemy was not only a killer among a thousand suspects but also time itself. And, having discovered proof of what he and his psychiatrist colleague had believed all along-that Victor Spritz, the prime among the thousand, has some loose connections-he thought it essential to speed up the pace of his investigation. Foster's records also provided the clincher in a toss-up of whether he should force enter Spritz's house or not. He would contact Musco after lunch.
Belle had not yet arrived at the Hole and David thought it had more to do with the weather than with disturbed sleep, particularly since his was one of only four cars in the parking lot and the morning was half over. The phone rang. It was Kathy. He hadn't spoken to her for thirty-six hours, and her voice broke a thin shell of alienation which he feared since the frigid conversation with Sparky.
"You slept late," she stated, not asked. "I've been trying for an hour."
"It could have been the snow," he said.
"No way. You're good in snow."
"We never did it in snow."
"David!"
"What? We never did."
In the following silence, questions that had layered like black coral broke off and shot through his mind. Level with her about everything? About everything surmised about Nick? And Sparky? Or, just stay the course? Stay the course. He wanted nothing-not medicine, not sleuthing, not the cops-to interfere with their relationship.
"Sorry, darling," he said, "I couldn't resist. 'What's up?"
David felt vibrations of resignation in the phone set. "Well, I wanted you to know we picked up Bernie Bugles yesterday. Actually, he came in voluntarily. He was booked and arraigned on a charge of assault with an attempt to commit murder."
"Good. Where is he now?"
"Out on bail. On Monday, the judge is supposed to meet with the prosecutor and his attorney to plea-bargain, unless Robert withdraws charges before then. I understand he considered it for awhile."
"He still hospitalized?"
"No, he was discharged yesterday. They said there were no internal injuries."
"Any word on Spritz?"
"None."
Switching the subject without a lead-in, David said, "Kath, I miss you. How about coming over after work? We'll send out for something." Kathy agreed, adding she would pack a bag again.
"You know," David said, "we've got to stop meeting like this."
"Why?"
"All that packing. Either keep a separate wardrobe at my place or … or … "
"Or what?"
"Never mind."
"David, don't do that! Or what?"
"Move in. It's been five years."
"Plus a month. Here we go again. Why not just set the date-go ahead with it-and avoid the middle step, see?"
"That's a good point," David said with authority. "You're cooling on me."
"How's that?"
"You usually say, `That's a good point, darling.' "
After lunch, David called Musco and arranged to meet him outside the Red Checker Cab Company at three o'clock. This followed unanswered calls to Spritz's office and frequent ones to Spritz's home to be sure he was not around-at least for now. David also checked with Jack Ryan, Spritz's stand-in, and learned no one had heard from him since last week.
Belle, who had arrived at the Hole shortly before noon, commented that the radio indicated sleet had turned to snow and thirteen inches had fallen.
"Big deal," David said. "In the old days, we had twice as much and everybody loved it. Seemed to pull people together. Now, they all bitch." He put on his scarf and gloves.
"We're twice as old now," Belle said.
"Who? Maybe, you, but not me," David replied, bending to pick up Friday. As he straightened, he grabbed at a stabbing sensation in his knee and soured his face.
"Just me?" Belle said. Through the corner of his eye, he saw her pretend not to notice.
Outside, the snow had tapered to a near standstill and, in the parking lot, David shook his head as he peered down at the rear end of his car. From above the wheels and trunk, it was wrapped in tight slush and topped with snow.
"Goddamn it!" he said, glaring at the panel truck and plow rig which was covering other cars at the opposite end of the lot. "What's wrong with those guys?"
He wiped away the snow from the trunk and, opening it, removed the shovel, conscious of the metal strip which had ripped his finger before. Straight legged, he dug away the snow while cursing the maintenance workers, and finally got to the roof, hood and windows, clearing them with the brush end of an ice scraper. He had worked fast.
Huffing, David steadied himself against a fender. He looked up at the cardboard sky and imagined there were tiny invisible holes in it through which the snowflakes escaped. He tasted the moist air in his throat and, tilting his head back, closed his eyes and felt flakes melt on his face. He stiffened and popped his eyes open. Sometimes you'd swear you're out to lunch.
After replacing the tools in the trunk, he slid into the car and realized his feet burned from packed snow. He couldn't remember the last time he wore the boots he would have to locate at home before the drive to Victor Spritz's.
David had seldom traveled the Marblehead section of Hollings. Named after the city's most famous benefactor, there was no marble there except in the foyers and driveways of the fashionable end of its caste system of homes. To reach that end, labeled Marblehead Proper, one drove up a gentle incline, through soporific rows of World War II capes and on through the middle part, a grab bag of raised ranches, split levels, even a Georgian or two. The baby version of Levittown was named Mainline Road and the middle part, Veterans Heaven. Spritz lived with the veterans.
David had given Musco the address and followed him through the section, its roads clear and sanded. The day was also clear, the sun shining as if making up for lost time. In the distance, the hum of snow blowers spiked the air.
Musco stopped his cab across from two houses short of a house David pointed to. David pulled in behind, got out, and walked awkwardly to the cab. Besides his scarf and gloves, he wore tall black boots, tall enough to lap the knees of Mr. Average.
"That's the place," Musco said, lowering his window.
"You see anyone around?" David asked.
"I ain't seen no one."
"Let's walk over from here … but, wait, I'll be right back."
David took high steps to his car and opened the passenger side. He picked up his cellular phone which he had placed on the seat and, referring to a card he took from his pocket, called Spritz's number one last time. There was no answer.
They tramped alongside Spritz's house, heading for a back entrance. Musco led the way, a third of his tattered raincoat skimming over the surface of the snow. He pushed his legs forward; David lifted.
There had been no shoveling or plowing that David could see, and no footprints or tire tracks spoiled the meringue grounds. An elongated garage-its door shut-was attached to the two-story house, small and square, and made of red brick. He thought the length of the garage curious. For two cars in a series? The house had front dormers and vertical slots for windows, and he pictured its interior a crisscross of sunbeams.
At the back stoop, David opened the storm door and said, "Here we are. You want I should go build a snowman?"
"Negative. You might catch cold."
For David, a first in ten years! He watched as Musco knocked first, then produced a flexible skewer from somewhere near his heart. It was lined with miniature grooves and glistened in the sun. He inserted it into the keyhole and below it, forced in another tool which he took from his pocket. "This here's my tension wrench. Keeps tension on the pins in there while I do my rotating." He pressed on the skewer's retractable end and twisted it clockwise. Nothing happened. He pressed twice, twisted and still the door didn't budge. "This should do it," he said, as he pressed three times and twisted counterclockwise. David heard a click and the door inched open.