'I'll call your mother. She'll set your place for dinner.'
'No, Dad, II'd rather speak to you alone.'
Now her father paused. 'I wish you knew how much your mother loved you, sweetheart.'
'I know, Dad. Butbut I'd rather talk to you about it. Alone. At least at first.'
'Is your car running in this weather?'
'I think so.'
'Why not come out to the office, then?' His clinic was near River Plaza. 'I'll be here all afternoon.'
'I'd really appreciate that, Dad.'
'You just hang in there, honey. Everything'll be fine. You'll see.'
'Oh Dad, I love you so much. Thanks.'
After hanging up, she sat there a moment, recalling the detective as he'd stood next to her door a few minutes ago. He had the same bearing as her fatherimposing but not unkind.
But she was going to change her father, or at least change his perception of his one and only child. She was going to tell him what she'd done with Eric Brooks, and why, and then she would never again be the same girl in his eyes.
Never the same girl again.
Marcy spent the morning chasing down two more useless blue Volvo owners, not so easy to do with most parts of the city still a freezing mess from yesterday's blizzard. A couple of times she almost slid into people. She was not what you'd call incredibly deft at navigating icy streets.
The first owner turned out to be a wizened little guy with a glistening scalp and a cane to help him move his tiny arthritic body around.
By contrast, the second owner was a towering fat guy who wore an ascot tie and sunglasses and a cape. Marcy found out that he was a director in one of the local community theaters. She wondered if he ever wore spats.
Which left her with some guyfive more names to gonamed Richard Corday, whom she chose on the basis of simple geography. He was the closest guy on the remaining list of names.
Marcy headed in his direction.
Here and there she saw cars that had run up into snowbanks. The wreckers hadn't gotten to them yet. The closer she came to the suburbs, the more snowmen and snow angels and snow forts she saw. All of which made her briefly nostalgic for her childhood. You'd come in at lunch all freezing and wet from rolling around in the snow and Mom had a nice big bowl of Campbell's tomato soup ready for you. She'd get you dry clothes and even wipe your runny nose for you. From Marcy's experience, adulthood wasn't anything like that at all. Especially if you tried to find somebody who'd wipe your nose.
Cini opened the door, ready to leave her apartment, and there he was in the gloom of her long dark hallway. Waiting.
Red-and-black checkered hunting hat with big checkered ear-flaps; glasses so thick his blue eyes were grotesquely magnified; coat to match the hunting cap. Curly red hair tumbled out from beneath the cap.
'Are you Cini?'
'Yes, I am.'
'I have something for you.'
'A package, you mean?'
'No, this.'
Three things happened instantly: he brought up a nine-inch switchblade and snicked it open and put it right to her throat; he pushed her back into her apartment; and he grabbed her arm so tight, it hurt.
He closed the door and said, 'If you scream, I'll kill you right now.'
'Oh God, I don't even know who you are.' She was babbling.
He pushed her onto the couch. The tip of the shiny blade never left her throat.'
'The cop was here.'
'Please, please don't hurt me.'
'The cop was here.'
'Yes, he was.'
'What did you tell him?'
'I didn't tell him anything. Did you hear what I said? About not hurting me?'
'I heard you.'
He took off his cap. And then he took off his wig.
And then he took off the glasses.
She said, feeling sick and feeling faint, 'It's you. Oh my Lord.'
The killer in Eric Brooks' office removed the knife from her throat. He stood up straight and looked around.
'Where were you going just now?'
'To see my father.'
'Why?'
'H-he's my father.'
'That isn't an answer.'
'To talk to him.'
'About what?'
'Could I go to the bathroom? I have to go real bad. I really do. I've been sick. I've beeneating too much.'
'Just sit right there and tell me why you were going to see your father.'
'I needed to talk to him.'
'What about?'
'The detective who was herehe asked me questions.'
'Did you answer them?'
'No.'
He glanced around the room again, noticing the half-empty Fritos package (large size), the box of chocolate- covered graham crackers, the red and yellow and blue and green Tootsie-Pop wrappers that looked like dead flowers strewn across the coffee table; and the open half-gallon of ice cream that sat on a plate. Most of the ice cream had melted and formed a sticky pool around the box.
'You eat all this crap?'
'That's what I was telling you. I have an eating disorder.'
He seemed to lose interest quickly. 'Tell me exactly what you told the cop.'
She told him.
'Now tell me exactly what you told your father?'
She told him.
He sat down next to her. He put a hand on her breast and left it there a moment, daring her with his gaze to say anything. She said nothing. She was trembling and even twitching some.
He slashed her silk copper blouse with a single arc of the blade. He took the white strap of her bra and cut that, too.
He ripped blouse and bra away until one of her nicely-shaped breasts fell free.
He touched the tip of the blade to her sweet little nipple.
'Now you're going to tell me the truth.'
'Oh God, please, listenlisten to me, all right? I really don't want to get mixed up in this. I really don't. That's what I was going to tell my father when I went to see him. That I don't want to get mixed up in it. That I don't want to have anything to do with it at all.'
He was sitting there watching her, listening to her, when he could feel the first inkling of blackout coming over him. Distantly, somewhere inside him, he heard a voicehis own, yet not his own. What was the voice trying to tell him?
