Inside she turned the lock, and sobbing, slid down the door to the floor. Her ankle throbbed. She heard herself crying. The sound was alien, frightening. And then the phone rang.
She cried out as if she'd been stabbed. Her attempts to stand were futile so she crawled, keeping count of the rings, willing it to go on until she reached it. The seventh ring had just ended when she pulled on the cord to the receiver. It dropped to the floor. Still, crying, she reeled it in like fishing line.
"Hello, Hello!" she shouted. "Who is it?"
There was no answer.
"Hello. Colin, is that you? Please speak to me." But she knew no one would. She'd answered too late. The line was dead.
– -
The plane had circled above Kennedy Airport for fifteen minutes before it landed. Hallock's patience was wearing thin as he waited in line at the Hertz counter. The limousine was available, but after what he'd learned, he wanted to get home in a hurry. As soon as he'd gotten off the plane he'd called Charlie Copin at home but he wasn't in. Then, hating to do it, he'd called Fran again. She wasn't in either but Cynthia was. His daughter had told him three things: Fran was at a meeting (which burned his ass), Babe Parkinson had been murdered, and the police were looking for Maguire, who was missing.
Hallock thought he knew where Maguire was, and wanted to find him before Schufeldt did. He needed Maguire to help him get to the newspaper accounts of the Razzamatazz fire. Mark Griffing's family had been summer residents in Seaville for years before Griffing bought the paper, and if his suspicions were correct, they'd find that some of Griffing's family was in that fire. But if he was wrong, if nobody connected to Griffing had been involved in the fire, then he was fucked, back to square one.
LOOKING BACK-25 YEARS AGO
The Seaville Fire Department, despite the rainstorm, lived up to its over a century old tradition by having its annual spectacular firemen's parade of uniformed firemen and firefighting equipment. Despite the inclement weather, the streets were lined with motorcars filled with spectators, and eight visiting fire departments, together with two high school bands and three drum corps, made a colorful parade on a gloomy stormy day.
THIRTY-FOUR
The crash of thunder that awakened Colin made him sit straight up. There was an awful moment when he didn't know where he was, and thought he was back in Chicago, waking in the car that morning. He'd been dreaming about it again.
When he got his bearings he reached for a cigarette, saw he only had four left. He hadn't noticed a machine in the office, but there must be one somewhere. Lighting up, he looked at his watch. He must have been asleep for over an hour. He tried Annie again. She answered on the first ring, sounding terrible. "Annie, what's wrong?"
"Oh, Colin, I've been so scared, so worried about you."
"I'm okay. Are you all right?"
"I don't know. I mean, yes, yes, I am now."
"But?"
"Someone was following me tonight. From the meeting where I was."
"Are you sure?" His gut tightened and he thought of Mark. "I'm almost positive. Whoever it was didn't come into the parking lot, but he was with me right up until I turned in."
"You didn't recognize the car?"
"I could only see headlights."
He had to tell her. "Annie, I think you'd better get out of there, go to a friend's." "Why?"
"You might be in danger," he warned.
She was silent for a few moments, then asked, "Colin, where are you?"
"I'm at Wood's Motel, waiting for Waldo."
"I don't understand. Why are you waiting for him there?"
"This is where he's staying. He and Fran are having some trouble," he said.
"I talked to her earlier, and she said he was in Florida and didn't know when he'd be back."
"He should be back soon."
Annie said, "Do you know about Babe?"
"Yes. Look, Annie, I want you to get out of there right away."
"You're scaring me."
"I mean to."
"Why would I be in danger? I don't under-oh, God!" she cried.
"What is it? Annie?"
"Someone's at the front door."
"Don't let them in," he commanded.
"But Colin, what if it's somebody in trouble? What if someone needs me?"
"The hell with that."
"I at least have to see who it is? Hold on."
"Annie? Annie, don't-" Colin paced as far as the cord would allow. Smoke from his cigarette curled past his eyes, making them water. He pulled the butt from his mouth, squashed it out in the pink plastic ashtray. A fine film of sweat covered his body, making him feel cold. Why was she taking so long? He lit another cigarette. And then he heard the phone being retrieved.
"Colin?"
"I'm here."
"Listen, everything's okay. It was Mark at the door."
"No!" he yelled. "Annie, listen carefully. You're in danger from Mark."
"That's crazy."
"No, it isn't. Now listen. Does he know you're talking to me?"
"Yes. I forgot what Peg told me this morning but I don't think I'm-"
"You're wrong. You're in great danger. Annie, you've got to get out of there. Believe me. I'm going to hang up now and try to get the police to your place. And whatever you do, don't tell him where I am. Do you understand?"
"Of course, but-"
"This is serious, Annie. Get the hell out of there. Get away from Mark. I think he's the killer."
"That's impossible."
"No, it's not. You have to trust me." His voice was calm, assured.
"All right," she said. "I wish-Colin? Colin are you there?"
Smiling, he listened to her pretending that he'd hung up, then heard her break the connection. He was just about to put his finger on the button when he heard the sound of another receiver being replaced. It could only have been Liz Wood. So now she knew who he was. He couldn't stay in the room any longer. Surely she'd call the police. But he needed to get to them first.
"Seaville Police," the voice said.
It was Frank Tuthill. Colin hoped Frank wouldn't recognize his voice. "I want to report a possible assault."
"Who is this, please?"
He ignored the question. "The address is two hundred and thirty- one Webster."
"What's your name, sir?"
"Just get there, okay?"
"Hey, is this Maguire?"
"A murder might be in progress, you moron. Now get there." He hung up. Turning out the lights, he went to the window. The rain was coming down harder than before. And the lightning and thunder hadn't diminished. There was no way he could get to Annie. He prayed she'd be able to get away from Mark. Why was he always incapacitated when the women he cared about were in danger?
Thinking of that was a waste of time. His priority now was to get out of the room and find someplace to hide. Schufeldt would probably arrive any moment. Stepping into the rain he gave the warm, dry room a longing glance, then shut the door behind him.
Mark said, "What happened?"
"He hung up."
"Damn!"
Annie couldn't believe she should be afraid of Mark. He looked so harmless, water dripping from his yellow slicker, his bruised face handsome, innocent. But that same innocent face had been capable of deceiving his wife, she reminded herself.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
He touched his chin. "Colin did this. Where was he calling from?"
"I don't know," she lied. "Do you want some coffee?" She took a step and winced.
"What is it?"
"I slipped in the parking lot and turned my ankle."
He put a hand on her arm. "Let's see."
Now she felt afraid, but tried not to show it. "No, it's okay."
Mark dropped his hand. "Are you sure you don't know where Colin is? This is important, Annie."
"He didn't say."
"What was he telling you? Why did you say, 'That's impossible'?"
"I don't know. I can't remember."