him.
Clever.
But not clever enough.
After all, they were nothing but ignorant game, while he was a master
hunter.
He laughed softly.
Bathed in red light, Bollinger went to the nearest end of the hall and
opened the fire door without making a sound. He stepped onto the
landing in the emergency stairwell, closing the door quietly behind him.
A dim white bulb burned above the exit on this side.
He heard their footsteps reverberating from below, amplified by the cold
concrete walls.
He went to the steel railing and peered into the alter nave layers of
light and shadow: landings hung with bulbs, and stairs left dark. Ten
or twelve flights down, five or six floors below, the woman's hand
appeared on the railing, moving along less quickly than it should have.
(If he had been in their place, he would have taken the steps two at a
time, perhaps even faster.) Because the open core was so narrow-as long
as a flight ,of stairs, but only one yard wide-Bollinger wasn't able to
see at an angle into the tiers of steps beneath him. All he could see
was the serpentine railing winding to infinity, and nothing of his prey
except her white hand. A second later Harris's hand emerged from the
velvety shadows, into the light that spilled out from a landing; he
gripped the railing, followed the woman through the hazy light and into
the darkness once again, descending.
For an instant Bollinger considered going down the steps behind them,
shooting them in the back, but he rejected that thought almost as soon
as it occurred to him. They would hear him coming. They would most
likely scuttle out of the stairwell, seeking a place to hide or another
escape route. He wouldn't know for certain at which floor they had left
the stairs, and he couldn't run after them and watch their hands on the
railing at the same time.
He didn't want to lose track of them. Although he wouldn't mind an
interesting and complicated hunt, he didn't want it to drag on all
night. For one thing, Billy would be waiting in the car, outside in the
alley, at ten o'clock. For another, he wanted time with the woman, at
least half an hour if she was at all good-looking.
Them Her pale hand slipped into sight on a light-swathed patch of
railing.
Then Harris's hand.
They were still not moving as fast as they should have.
He tried to count flights of stairs. Twelve to fourteen.... They were
six, maybe seven flogrs below. Where did that put them?
Thirty-third floor?
Bollinger turned away from the railing, opened the door and left the
stairwell. He ran down the fortiethfloor corridor to the elevator cab
he was using. He switched, it on with his key, hesitated, then put his
thumb on the button for the twenty-sixth floor.
To Connie the stairwell seemed endless. As she passed through
alternating levels of purple darkness and wan in light, she felt as if
