LOOKING BACK-50 YEARS AGO
Frank (Kid) Edwards of Seaville, an Alaskan "Sourdough," on Wednesday of this week identified Thomas R Jensen as "Blueberry Tom," wanted for the murder of three prospectors in a battle over $9,000 worth of gold in Alaska in 1916. Edwards, who is 46 years old, has been a resident of Seaville for a number of years. He was in Alaska during the gold rush and personally knew the three murdered prospectors who were killed near Fairbanks, Alaska.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Hallock jammed his foot on the brake. The car skidded, and this time he drove into the skid, avoiding trouble. He backed up, turned in close to the curb. Rain continued to fall, making visibility almost impossible. Still, he thought he recognized the car. Big Cherokee, black and white. Hard to miss. And he knew whose driveway it was parked in, too.
He doused the lights, left the car running, jumped out, and ran across the lawn to the side of the house. In those twenty seconds he found himself wet to the skin as if he'd just taken a swim. Streams of water ran down his face from his hair. Crouching, he slowly rose up until he was eye-level with the partially opened window.
First he saw her. She strode across the room. When she turned toward the window saying, "Do you want another drink?" Hallock felt a blade of fear go through him. He'd had the momentary illusion that Julia Dorman was speaking to him. A man's voice answered, "I shouldn't be drinking at all."
Hallock knew the voice at once: Mark Griffing.
Julia said, "Come over to the couch, darling." She reached out both hands.
Griffing's hands met hers and he rose up, back to Hallock, and walked across the room. When they sat on the couch, Griffing immediately stretched out and put his head in Julia's lap. A bandage spanned his head from hairline to midway down his face.
Now Hallock understood why Julia had done him in, and who was behind it. Well, he'd seen enough. As he ran back to his car, he recalled Maguire's tale of Griffing's unexplained whereabouts on the morning of Joe Carroll's murder. Hallock was sure he knew now where Griffing had been. Feeling the way he did about Julia Dorman and that bastard, Griffing, a part of him wanted to broadcast their little romance. But the other part, the part that cared for Sarah, knew he'd say nothing except to Maguire. Poor Sarah, he thought as he got into the car, poor old gal.
– -
When he took the gag out of her mouth she said, "Are you going to kill me?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you are."
He was silent.
"Are you?"
He didn't answer.
"At least tell me, okay?" Annie wondered why she wanted to know.
"What will it do for you if I tell you?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said truthfully. "I just want you to tell me. And how about taking off the blindfold?"
"You want to see yourself die?"
Her stomach muscles tightened as if she'd been struck. He'd answered her after all. "Please take off the blindfold," she begged.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I said."
Annie felt powerless, as though she'd been made a child again. She tried a different tack. "Why are you doing this?"
"I can't believe you don't know."
"Razzamatazz?" she ventured.
"Razzamatazz. Right."
"I don't know what that means."
"The hell you don't."
She felt something sharp and cold at her neck, knew it was his knife. "What I mean," she said carefully, "is that I don't know what it has to do with me."
"But you remember?"
"Remember?"
"The club?"
"Yes." If only he would take off the blindfold she would have a better chance, she thought. As though sight would give her power.
"Your father played the trumpet in that club."
She said nothing, deciding on a strategy.
"Did you hear me?"
Frightened, she remained silent.
"Did you hear me?" he asked again.
She refused to answer, and then she felt the knife break her skin, felt blood dribble down her neck. Still she kept silent.
"What is it with you?"
"I want you to take off the blindfold."
"Why?"
"Why do I have to keep it on is more to the point."
"I'm running things here, not you."
She believed he wanted to talk to her, tell her what it was all about. It was important to make him believe the removal of the blindfold was essential to her responding to him. "I can't talk with this damn thing on."
"You don't have to see to talk."
"I do."
"You'll talk if I say so."
"No. You're going to kill me anyway, so I'll do what I choose, and I choose not to speak to you if I can't see you." It might have been the biggest gamble she'd taken in her life. And maybe the last.
After a moment he said, "Are you telling me you won't talk unless I take that thing off?"
"Yes."
"What if I say if you don't talk I'll slit your throat?"
"I just explained that. Go ahead. It makes no difference to me if I die now or later. But I'm not talking anymore with this blindfold on." These could be my last moments on earth, she told herself. It was an odd feeling, like the seconds before skiing downhill or the moment before the rollercoaster is released-suspended time, a slap in death's face.
He said nothing.
She could hear him breathing, feel the point of the knife at her throat. And then he moved. She held her breath.
"Okay," he said. "But don't get smart."
The first round was over and she had won.
– -
Colin opened the door on the passenger side of Hallock's rented tan Camaro. He got in, didn't quite close the door. "You okay?" Hallock asked.
"Yeah." But he wasn't. Far from it. He shut the door. "I'm going to start the car now."
"Okay. Go ahead." There was a low roaring in his ears and then he heard Safier's voice: "You are never really trapped, Colin. There is always a way out of any situation." And it was true. At any time he could tell Hallock to stop. Get out, walk to the Gazette building. Sure he could! Safier hadn't counted on time being of the essence. He had had no way of knowing that his patient would one day be fighting the clock, mixed up once again in murder. Jesus, he thought, maybe it's me. Maybe I'm a jinx. "Stop being the center of the universe," Safier had said. And, "Take a positive view." What the hell could be positive about this? A second chance. He was being given a second chance. Oh, God, he thought, this time I mustn't fail.
"You tell me, Maguire, if you want me to stop or anything."
"Thanks, Waldo." His voice sounded odd, he thought, like someone with a cold.
Hallock turned the key. The motor sprang to life.
Pain shot through Colin's arms, down his legs. He'd had this before, but familiarity didn't ease his discomfort. Grabbing the leather handgrip, he squeezed, and pressed his feet against the floor.
Hallock eased the car along the road, pebbles spraying the undersides. The wipers groaned under the onslaught of rain.
Colin closed his eyes. The last time he'd driven in a car with another person had been with his family. The day before they died. Nancy'd been driving, and the kids were in the back in car seats. He saw himself turn toward Todd, his three-year-old face chocolate- spotted, dark eyes glistening with life, the lashes long, thick.
"Daddy? What's Alicia doing?" Todd always asked what everyone was doing, his way of understanding the complexities of personality.
"She's sleeping," Colin answered.
"Could I be sleeping, too?"
"Just close your eyes, honey."
"Okay."
Nancy said, "You know something, Colly, you've got a way with kids." She smiled at him, touched his knee.
"Maybe I should have more," he declared.
"Over my dead body," she said.