As she pulled it open and felt the blast of heat invade her townhouse, the phone rang. She slammed the door and ran to the phone.
“Hello?”
“Thank God you’re still there,” Kevin said, the relief in his voice palpable. “I want you to get out of there.”
“What? Kevin, what’s going on? I’ve been calling for twenty…”
“I can’t tell you right now, so don’t ask.”
“Tell me what? You’re not making sense. Just calm down.”
“I’m about as calm as I’ll get until you come get me.”
“Come get you? Where’s your car? Where
“I’m at…” He paused. “Do you remember where I said I wanted to go for lunch on my birthday?”
“You wanted…”
“Don’t say the name! Just answer yes or no.”
“Kevin, what is going on?”
“There’s no time! I think they tapped the phone. Just answer me,
“All right! Yes, I remember.”
“Good. I’m at the gas station across the street from there. I want you to leave the townhouse right now and come pick me up. Get your car keys and go.”
“Will you at least tell me…”
“No. I’ll explain everything when you get here. Just get out of there.” With that, the phone clicked off. He had hung up.
She stared at the receiver, but for only a second. In the four months Erica had known Kevin, he had never once been irrational. Stubborn maybe, but never irrational. And she didn’t think he was starting now. She didn’t know what was going on, but apparently he was terrified about her staying in the apartment. That was enough for her.
She dropped the handset into the cradle and ran out of the townhouse, pausing only to pick up her purse and lock the door. In ten seconds she was driving her three-year-old Honda Accord to a gas station across the street from Fuddrucker’s Hamburgers.
CHAPTER 10
The air conditioning was on the fritz again, and Detective Guy Robley was sweating his ass off. The HPD headquarters was already 85 degrees, and it was only going to get worse.
Robley filled out the report as fast as he could type. As soon as he was done, he could hit the field again in his nice cool Caprice. There was no way he was going to spend a minute longer in this hellhole than he had to. The phone rang, and he stopped typing, looking at the black receiver with disgust. He picked it up, handling it as if it were a used Kleenex.
“Robley.”
It was Joe Johnson, who was sitting on the other side of the homicide division office. “Hey, Robe, some guy on the line says he has to talk to you. Says it’s an emergency.”
“Who is it?”
“Name’s Hamilton. Says he talked to you earlier about the Stein case.”
“That crank again? Goddammit, what is it with the heat that brings out these nuts?”
“You want me to get rid of him?”
“No, I’ll take care of it. Put him on.” Under his breath he muttered, “Goddamned heat.”
As soon as the transfer was made, Robley could hear the noise of traffic in the background and the ding of a service station’s bell.
“Detective Robley here.”
“Detective Robley, this is Kevin Hamilton. We spoke about twenty minutes ago.” The voice was slightly higher in pitch than the last time, but it was definitely the same guy.
“Yes, Mr. Hamilton, I remember. We got disconnected.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to hang up.” He paused, as if struggling for words. “Some men tried to kill me.”
Robley rolled his eyes. “Someone tried to kill you, Mr. Hamilton?” Johnson, who was watching him from across the room, shook his head and chuckled. “You mean, while we were on the phone, or afterwards.”
“I know this sounds crazy, Detective, but these two guys who came to my door and said they were cops, shot at me and then chased me in a blue Pontiac. A Bonneville.”
“Uh huh. And did you get their license plate number?”
“Uh, no, I couldn’t see it. They were behind me, and we were going too fast.”
“I see. Look, Mr. Hamilton, why don’t you come down to the station and make a statement. You know, give us a detailed description of the assailants and an account of the events.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll see what we can do about it.”
“That’s it? You’ll see what you can do about it? Those guys tried to kill me! They know where I live.”
“Why would they want to kill you, Mr. Hamilton?”
Another pause. “I don’t know. I think it has to do with this note I got from Dr. Ward. You know, Michael Ward? The South Texas professor who died this morning? I used to work for him.”
“The professor and his wife who died in the home fire?”
“Yes, in the note he said the same people who killed Stein were after him. Then he said it has to do with an experiment we did together.”
“What’s so special about this experiment?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” Of course he doesn’t.
“Look, I do know that a guy in a business suit and his muscle-bound buddy came to my apartment this morning pretending to be cops and tried to shoot me.”
Robley wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Where do you live?”
“The Sycamore apartments.”
The Sycamore was on the west side. No reports of shots fired came from that area this morning. “Did anyone else at The Sycamore hear the shots?”
“I doubt it. They were using silencers.”
This was too much. “Silencers? Mr. Hamilton, you’ve seen too many movies.”
“If you don’t believe me, my car is on Newcastle just south of Westpark. It has two bullet holes in the driver’s door.”
Robley sighed. “Okay, I’ll check it out. But falsely reporting a crime is a serious offense, Mr. Hamilton. Do you want to stick with your story?”
“It’s the truth! I swear!”
“Fine. Give me the license number on your car.” As Robley jotted the information on a notepad, he shook his head. Maybe it wasn’t the heat that brought out the nuts. Maybe it was the humidity.
Kevin let out his breath in relief as he saw the familiar gray Honda pull into the Exxon station. He emerged from the shadows of the food mart and dashed to the car as it came to a stop. Even before she had stopped, he flung the door open and leapt in.
“Go. Romanelli's. It’s dark and it shouldn’t be too crowded yet.”
As Erica began heading in the direction of the Italian restaurant, Kevin looked behind her to see if he could spot anybody following her, particularly a Pontiac sedan.
“What’s going on?” She glanced at him. Her dark eyebrows were furrowed with a mixture of concern,
