Rosalyn was a friend of Lanny Olsen. She worked for the Napa County Sheriff’s Department. She came into the tavern now and then. Before Billy had been able to decide what to do about Lanny’s body, it must have been found.
The instant that he realized he hadn’t responded to her, Rosalyn said probingly, “Are you all right?”
“Me? I’m fine. Doin’ okay. This heat’s making me crazy, though.”
“Is something wrong there?”
He flashed on a mental image of Cottle’s corpse in the bathroom, and guilt rolled his mind into angles of disorientation. “Wrong? No. Why would there be?”
“Did you just call here and hang up without saying anything?” Clouds of mystification thickened for a moment, then abruptly evaporated. For a moment he had forgotten what Rosalyn did in the sheriff’s department. She was a 911
operator.
The name and address of every 911 caller appeared on her monitor as soon as she picked up the phone at her end.
“That was just—what?—was that even a minute ago?” he asked, thinking fast, or trying to.
“A minute ten now,” Rosalyn said. “Did you—”
“What I did,” he said, “is I keyed in 911 when I meant to call information.”
“You meant to call 411?”
“I meant to call 411, but I pressed 911. I realized right away what I’d done, so I hung up.”
The freak was still in the house. The freak had called 911. Why he had done this, what he hoped to achieve, Billy couldn’t figure, at least not under this pressure.
“Why didn’t you stay on the line,” Rosalyn Chan asked, “and tell me the call was made in error?”
“I realized my mistake right away, I hung up so fast, I didn’t think a connection had been made yet. That was stupid. I’m sorry, Rosalyn. I was calling 411.”
“So you’re all right?”
“I’m all right. It’s just this crazy heat.”
118
“Don’t you have air conditioning?”
“I have it, but it conked out.”
“That sucks.”
“Totally.”
The revolver lay on the desk. Billy picked it up. The freak was in the house.
“Hey, maybe I’ll stop in the tavern around five,” she said.
“Well, I won’t be there. I’m feeling sort of punky, so I called in sick.”
“I thought you said you were fine.”
So easy to trip himself up. He needed to look for the intruder, but he needed to sound right to Rosalyn.
“I am fine. I’m okay. Nothing serious. Just a little stomach thing. Maybe it’s a summer cold. I’m taking that nasal gel stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“You know, that zinc gel, you squeeze it up your nose, it knocks the cold right out of you.”
She said, “I think I heard about that.”
“It’s good. It works. Jackie O’Hara put me on to it. You should keep some on hand.”
“So everything’s okay there?” she asked.
“Except for the heat and me feeling punky, but you can’t do much about that. Nine-one-one can’t fix a cold or an air conditioner. I’m sorry, Rosalyn. I feel like an idiot.”
“It’s no big deal. Half the calls we get aren’t emergencies.”
“They aren’t?”
“People call, their cat’s in a tree, the neighbors are having a noisy party, things like that.”
“That makes me feel better. At least I’m not the biggest idiot on the block.”
“Just take care of yourself, Billy.”
“I will. You too. You take care of yourself.”
“Bye,” she said.
He put down the phone and rose from his chair.
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