Now she knew he wasn't joking, but that didn't mean she believed it. "Come on, Quentin." She wound the tape all the way around his torso several times. "Why would Mrs. Tyler's daughter send some guy to kill her?"
"Because Mrs. Tyler killed her son, Paul, when he was a baby, and Rowena knows it and never forgave her." There was no point in trying to explain about Roz and the treasure box and Madeleine. Even this much was obviously more than Sally could believe.
"This story is crazier than Ross Perot," said Sally.
He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it over the bag of hair taped to his chest.
Sally was still trying to find something believable in Quentin's account. "Chief Bolt really did intend to kill Mrs. Tyler?"
"He doesn't intend anything," said Quentin. "It all depends on what the witch who controls him wants him to do."
"You're the one with witch friends, Quentin. When is the next time he's going to try it?"
They stood looking at each other for a long moment, there in Chief Bolt's office, as they thought of at least one possible reason why he wasn't there in the office with them. Why hadn't they realized it before?
Quentin opened the door and rushed out to the receptionist. "Where's Chief Bolt?"
"He doesn't report to me, Mr. Fears, it's the other way around."
"Can't you raise him by radio?"
"He didn't take a radio car."
"I thought all police cars had radios."
"The radio cars are all needed for on-duty officers," she said. "He was going out of the city anyway, what does he need a radio car for?"
"Out of the city? Where?"
"Check with me Friday when he has me type up his mileage report for the week."
Sally put her hand on his arm. "Quentin, I'm going back to the rest home."
"If he's really there, Sally, you can't stop him yourself. You get in the way, he'll plow right through you."
"I'll call the police," she said. "I'll call them as I go."
The receptionist looked puzzled. "What are you two talking about?"
"Nothing to do with you," Quentin reassured her. "Thanks for letting us use Chief Bolt's office."
"Oh, he said you should make yourselves comfortable if you showed up."
"Ourselves?" said Quentin. "He was expecting both of us?"
"Sure. Sally Sannazzaro and Quentin Fears. He wasn't sure you'd come in, Mr. Fears, but he said you were coming for sure, Ms. Sannazzaro."
Sally looked at Quentin with tear in her eyes. "There's no way he could have known that."
"I've been telling you the truth, Sally," said Quentin. "Whatever the witch who controls him needs him to know, he knows."
"I wish I had time to ask you why all this is happening," said Sally. "Wish me luck."
"Good luck, Sally." But he could see in her eyes that she already knew it was too late.
"Good luck yourself," she said. Then she practically flew out the door. Quentin heard her sensible nurse's shoes make ringing footfalls as she ran down the corridor out toward the parking lot.
With a sick feeling, Quentin followed her out into the hall, more slowly. Maybe he should go with her, head north, try to stop Mike. But it was obvious to him that Roz was manipulating things this morning. If she allowed him to go north, it was because it didn't matter—she had blocked him easily enough this morning, just by making him forgetful. In all likelihood, Mike had left an hour before, while Quentin was still showering. It would be easy for Roz to fool the receptionist into thinking Bolt had "just" stepped out even if he had never come in this morning at all. If Roz wanted Mrs. Tyler dead, it was already too late.
Quentin's only hope was to make sure that if Mrs. Tyler died today, she didn't die in vain. His job was to go ahead with whatever awaited him at the Laurent house. The Duncans were undoubtedly there already. Roz was an eleven-year-old kid. She wouldn't wait. They probably left for Mixinack before Quentin was through arguing with the rental car clerk on the phone. They probably arrived at the house before he even woke up this morning.
One thing for sure, though. They wouldn't start without him. He was the one who had to be there to open the box. That made him the guest of honor. He got in his car, pulled out onto the main thoroughfare, and headed south for the Laurent house.
18. The Dragon
Sally Sannazzaro was on the phone the minute she got her car out onto the road. "Chief Todd, this is Sally Sannazzaro. I'm down in Mixinack, and I have reason to believe that an armed man is going to attempt to kill one of my residents."
"This the same guy from the other night?"
"Yes."
"The police chief from Mixinack?"
"He's made an attempt before."
"It's pretty ugly when one police department arrests the chief of another one."
"We can sort it out later."
"How do you know he intends violence?"
"While we're talking about this, he could be shooting her. The resident in question is in room 368, that's third floor, the end of the south wing on the left, her name is Anna Tyler, she's an old woman, bedridden, completely helpless."
"Why would he have it in for a—"
"Don't just send a couple of patrolmen as if it were a domestic disturbance call or something, I have reason to believe Chief Bolt is having a psychotic episode. He's going to be extremely hard to stop."
"I sure hope you aren't just crying wolf, Ms. Sannazzaro."
"I sure hope I am."
She disconnected the phone. It was out of her hands. All she could do was drive north and hope she was wrong, hope that Quentin was as crazy as his story and Chief Bolt was just out in Mixinack somewhere running a speed trap or something.
But Quentin Fears didn't seem crazy. He seemed like the soul of rationality. A nice guy. How many millionaires stop to help a rest home make salad on a stormy night?
Got to stop thinking about the salad. Got to stop thinking about Quentin Fears. Drive, that's all I can do right now, drive north. Taping the old lady's hair over his heart. But that's what she asked for. And Chief Bolt did try to smother her. Can three people share a psychosis? Am I bringing the total to four?
Mike Bolt opened the glass door and walked right past the reception desk. There was no reason to skulk or hide. She didn't see him. None of them would see him. He was invisible. Two attendants walked past him as he stood before the elevator. His gun was in his hand—nothing subtle about what he was doing. But they didn't notice he existed.
Deep inside him, some lost part of himself was crying out, "I've got a gun, you fools! Somebody stop me!"
Outside, sirens wailed. Cars crunched through ice-crusted snow. Car doors slammed. The elevator door opened. Mike stepped on and punched the 3 button. He watched four policemen charge into the rest home, hands on their guns. Mike was in plain sight, framed in the closing elevator door, but they didn't see him. One of them inquired at the reception desk as two others took off at a run along the corridor, one left, one right. The fourth ran straight for the elevator, but instead of trying to get on as the elevator door slowly closed, he punched the up button. The door reopened, but the policeman didn't get on. He just stood there, tapping his foot impatiently, waiting. Finally the door closed completely without the policeman ever having seen the man he was there to find.
That lost inner part of Mike Bolt fell silent in despair.
Quentin pulled into the drive at the Laurent house, a place far too familiar to him now. He remembered how nervous he had been the first time, in the back of the limo, worried about meeting Madeleine's family. Would they like him? What a joke. But still he wished that he could go back. That Madeleine could be real, that the life he thought he had could be the real life.