Angry again, but more under control now, the Moth opened the medicine chest, found Ben Sheridan’s pain medication and stole it.
In the kitchen, the Moth did a search of the cabinets and quickly found the dog’s food. The Moth opened a can of this, put a small amount of it into a bowl and began opening the capsules of pain medication over it. Mixing a dozen or so of them in well, the Moth put the cap back on the bottle and was about to take it — then paused. Wouldn’t do to be caught carrying something with Sheridan’s name on it, now would it? Spilling the pills out and pocketing them, the Moth left the container on the counter and went outside.
The dog did not perceive an enemy. This was a familiar person carrying a bowl of food. The dog was alert, and studied the Moth now. The dog was already interested in what the Moth had brought for him.
The Moth opened the gate to the run just slightly, then slid the bowl in.
“Good dog.”
The dog looked up at the Moth, then cocked his head to one side. The dog stared at the food, licked his chops, but didn’t touch it.
Was there some command it was waiting for?
The Moth opened the gate again, reached into the bowl and took a handful of the food and held it under the dog’s nose. The dog looked between the Moth and the food, then gently, almost reluctantly, ate the food out of the gloved hand.
This will take forever!
The Moth heard the neighbor’s dog barking, then several other dogs barking as well. The big shepherd’s ears pitched forward. Was someone approaching the house? The Moth hurried out of the enclosure. Scaling the high back fence, the Moth left through another backyard — a yard whose owners were without a dog, whose owners were never home during the day.
Reaching the car, the Moth closed and locked the door, then sighed, feeling safer now. Driving away, looking in the rearview mirror, satisfied that no one was watching or following, the Moth smiled and said, “
52
MONDAY AFTERNOON, SEPTEMBER 25
Las Piernas
Jack waited patiently in the van, using his cell phone to have a long talk with Stinger Dalton. This time, the police had left the van, but took my cell phone. They had promised to have it back to me later today, after they had made some recordings of Parrish’s call.
I rang Phil Newly’s doorbell a dozen times, and knocked until my knuckles were sore. Newly didn’t come to the door. I told myself that I should simply accept that he was either not willing to see me or was out of town. I told myself that I should leave — but something kept me from going back to the van. At first, it just seemed to be one of those one-size-fits-all cases of the creeps. I tried to narrow it to something a little more specific.
The house wasn’t just quiet, it seemed abandoned. There were a few handbills and a real estate broker’s notepad on the front porch. And while the lawn and flower beds, which would be watered by automatic sprinklers, were green, the potted plants on the front porch looked dried out.
I walked over to the front window, but the miniblinds were closed. I thought back to my last visit here. No dogs. I opened the gate to the backyard. I called Phil’s name. Nothing.
There were more windows along the back of the house. The blinds were down here, too, but one of them hadn’t closed properly. I realized that it was the room where Phil spent most of his time. I moved closer to the window and peered in.
“What the hell are you doing?” a voice said behind me.
I jumped back, hand over heart. “Damn it, Jack, don’t do that!”
“Don’t sneak up on you when you’re sneaking around?”
“Right.” I looked back into the house, then at Jack. “Something’s wrong here.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Look in there. What do you see?”
He looked, and said, “Nothing much. A couple of chairs, bookshelves, and a little table.”
“A few days ago, there was a pile of books on that table, and he was looking at maps.”
“When?”
I thought about it. “About two weeks ago, I guess.”
“Irene . . .”
“He lives in this room. It’s too neat. I can even see the marks the vacuum cleaner made on the carpet.”
Jack shook his head. “You were in it once and you know for a fact that he never cleans this room? Don’t you think it’s possible that a cleaning lady or someone else with a vacuum cleaner has been through here in the last two weeks?”
“I don’t know, Jack, you’re probably right. But doesn’t the house seem a little empty?”
“Maybe he went off to see his sister again.”
“Maybe so,” I said. “Maybe I’m overreacting.”
But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to me to worry about Newly’s whereabouts while Parrish was on the loose. By the time we were back at home, I was convinced that someone should try to locate the lawyer.
“What is it you’re imagining?” Jack asked. “That he’s been killed? If so, where’s his mail? Where’s the pile of newspapers?”
“Newspapers!” I went to the phone and called circulation. They don’t give out subscriber information as a rule,
