“Tell both of them hi for us.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he replied then paused. “Look, Row… If ya’ happen ta’ do that la-la thing… Ya’know, if ya’ go all Twilight Zone and see somethin’…”
I cut him off before he could finish the thought. “I wouldn’t wait by the phone, Ben, because I won’t be calling. Not about that. I’m serious. I’m done.”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Okay. But, if ya’ change your mind…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” I switched the subject before he could press me again. “Before you go, are you and Constance doing anything the seventeenth?”
“Dunno, why?”
“Felicity and I were wondering if you two might be up for dinner or something.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’ll check.”
“Just dinner with friends. Nice and normal. No shop talk.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Just let us know.”
“I will. Okay… Well… Guess I’d better get goin’.”
“Look, Ben… I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be,” he breathed. “You’re right. You didn’t sign up for this shit, it just kinda happened to ya’. It ain’t your problem.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“Yeah. No problem.”
I could tell he wasn’t happy with the situation, but at the same time I also knew he didn’t truly fault me for the decision.
“So, I’ll talk to you later?” I asked.
“Yeah. Later.”
He started to leave, but before he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and looked back up at me. “Oh, by the way. Speakin’ of Constance, she’s been checkin’ on that thing for ya’. You know, the secret Feeb call to the NOLA PD.”
“Did she find anything?”
“Nada. Whoever called ‘em from the bureau ta’ get you released ain’t talkin’.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it don’t. She’s gonna keep on it, but it pretty much looks like she’s at a dead end. Apparently you got another mystery on your hands.”
“I think I’ll just call it good and leave it alone.”
“Yeah, well let’s hope it has the same plan about you.”
Wednesday, December 7
11:46 P.M.
Room 3
Continental Motel
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
CHAPTER 22:
Annalise stared at the limp body. She was on her knees, straddling the man’s stomach where he lay on the floor.
“I hate you, Rowan Gant,” she growled, her voice thick with anger.
He had started twitching uncontrollably after the first blow. Following the second, all movement stopped, and she felt his chest lower slowly as the air sighed from his lungs. She raised her arm over her head again, feeling the cold derision knotting into a ball at the pit of her stomach.
“I HATE YOU,” she repeated, as she swung the tenderizing mallet down hard for the third and final time.
She heard a mushy thump and the splintering of bone.
Blood was now soaking through the black fabric of the hood wherever the pulpy remnants of his face came into contact with it. The sticky wetness made the cloth glisten in the harsh, overhead light of the small room. She sat back and allowed herself to smile as she watched it spread.
There was no impending reward behind this kill. No tickle, no itch, no physical gratification. She didn’t love this man as she did the others. He was a tool for her to use. He was nothing more than an object. And now, the object had fulfilled a purpose.
Annalise pulled herself up to her feet and stepped over to the bed. She could still feel the anger coursing through her body as she reached into her bag then withdrew the brand new twelve-inch butcher’s saw. She tore off the paperboard sleeve and carefully removed the blade guard before turning back to the body on the floor.
One cross wouldn’t be enough, and there was still much to do.
Thursday, December 8
2:46 P.M.
St. Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 23:
The headache had come on me in the middle of the night, which meant I had been wide-awake since a little after one in the morning. The cause of the pain, however, was a mystery to me. I had become so accustomed to the ethereal pounding in my skull that I couldn’t always distinguish between it and a plain old migraine, but this one was definitely bizarre. It had some of the same hallmarks as the chronic ache I experienced when someone or something from the other side wanted to have a sit down with me. However, those had a tendency to come at me from the back. This one was a full-bore frontal assault. In fact, my entire face hurt.
I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was pushing three o’clock in the afternoon, and the vexation had been coming and going all day. I’d barely managed to get any work done at all, and I had a client who was starting to get more than just a little anxious.
“Screw it,” I muttered to myself, then reached out and snatched a bottle from the counter.
After removing the lid, I poured a pile of aspirin into my hand and stared at them. I started to pop the analgesics into my mouth but stopped in the middle of the motion then lowered my hand and stared at them again. With a sigh I scooped the pills back into the bottle and replaced the cap. I had poisoned myself once already, so I didn’t need to get back into the habit of eating these things like candy.
I glanced at the clock again. It hadn’t changed.
I tried to manage a quick mental calculation and failed miserably. Felicity had called earlier to tell me she wasn’t going to be home until after seven because she was stuck on a photo shoot, and apparently a foul-up had them running behind schedule.
I tried to do the calculation again and came up with a different answer. I gave it a third go, using my fingers this time and came up with four hours before she would possibly be home. I didn’t guess there was any need for me to do anything about starting dinner just yet. I sighed, mulled over my options for a moment, then reached over and yanked open the freezer door. I rummaged around for a bit then pulled out an icepack. I figured my best bet was to lie down for a while and hope the ache would subside.
I was a half dozen steps from the couch when the telephone rang. I paused for a second then continued toward the sofa. The answering machine was on; it could get it.
The telephone pealed again, demanding to be answered. As much as I wanted to simply sprawl out on the
