They stood perfectly still, trying to hear movement above the noise of
their own labored breathing.
Connie felt as if the circle of light were shrinking around her, rapidly
pulling back to a tiny point of brilliance. She was afraid of being
blind and helpless, an easy target in pitch blackness. In her mind the
Butcher had the quality of a mythical being; he could see in darkness.
As they got control of their breathing, the stairwell became silent.
Too silent.
Unnaturally silent.
Finally Graham said, 'Who's there?'
She jumped, startled by his voice.
The man below said, 'Police, Mr. Harris.'
Under her breath Connie said, 'Bollinger.'
She was at the outer edge of the steps; she looked down the open core. A
man's hand was on the railing, four flights below, in the meager
illumination just two or three steps up from the landing. She could
also see the sleeve of his overcoat.
'Mr. Harris,' Bollinger said. His voice was cold, hollow, distorted by
the shaft.
'What do you want?' Graham asked.
'Is she pretty?'
'What?'
'Is she pretty?'
'Who?'
'Your woman.'
With that, Bollinger started up. Not hurrying. Leisurely. One step at
a time.
She was more frightened by his slow, casual approach than if he had
rushed them. By not hurrying, he was telling them that they were
trapped, that he had the whole. night to get them if he wished to
stretch it out that long.
If only we had a gun, she thought.
Graham took hold of her hand, and they climbed the steps as fast as he
was able. It wasn't easy for either of them. Her back and legs ached.
With each step, Graham either gritted his teeth or moaned loudly.
When they had gone two floors, four flights, they were forced to stop
and rest. He bent over, massaging his bum leg. She went to the
railing, peered down.
Bollinger was four flights under them. Evidently he had run when he
heard them running; but now he had stopped again. He was leaning over
the railing, framed in i pool of light, the gun extended in his right
hand.
He smiled at her and said, 'Hey now, you are pretty.
She screamed, jerked back.
He fired.
The shot passed up the core, ricocheted off the top of the rail, smashed
into the wall over their htads and ricocheted once more into the steps
above them.
She grabbed Graham; he held her.
'I could have killed you,' Bollinger called to her. 'I had you dead on,
