Nighttime Is My Time

is an investigator from the district attorney's office.'

The busboy was pouring water into their glasses. It gave Jean a moment to think. I do remember when Mark wanted to give me his handkerchief, she thought. I was so angry at myself for crying, and equally angry at him for noticing. He wanted to help me then. He wants to help me now. Should I tell him about Lily?

She saw him studying her and knew he was waiting her out. He wants me to talk to him. Should I? She looked directly back at him. He's one of those men who looks as good with glasses as without them, she thought. He has wonderful brown eyes. Those little specks of yellow in them are like sunlight.

She shrugged and raised her eyebrows. 'You remind me of a professor I had in college who, when he asked a question, would just stare at you until he got an answer.'

'That's exactly what I'm doing, Jean. One of my patients calls it my wise owl look.'

The waitress came to the table with the sandwiches. 'Right back with your tea,' she said cheerfully.

Jean waited until the tea was poured, then said quietly, 'Your wise owl look has convinced me, Mark. I guess I will tell you about Lily.'

47

Sam Deegan's first act upon arriving at his office was to call the district attorney in Los Angeles and ask to be put in touch with Carmen Russo, the investigator who had headed the inquiry into the death of Alison Kendall.

'Death by accidental drowning was the determination, and we're sticking by that,' Russo told him. 'Her friends agree that she went for an early swim every morning. Door was open to the house, but nothing was taken. Pricey jewelry on top of her vanity. Five hundred dollars cash and credit cards in her wallet. She was extremely neat. Nothing out of place anywhere in the house, on the grounds, or in the pool house. Except for being dead, she was in perfect health. Her heart was strong. No sign of alcohol or drugs.'

'Any suggestion at all of violence?' Sam asked.

'A slight bruise on her shoulder, but that was it. Without more evidence, it's not enough to suggest that it was a homicide. We took photographs, of course, but then released the body.'

'Yes, I know. Her ashes are buried here in the family plot,' Sam said. 'Thanks, Carmen.' He realized he was reluctant to break the connection. 'What is going on with her home?'

'Her parents live in Palm Springs. They're up in years. From what I understand, they have Kendall 's housekeeper still taking care of the place until they can bring themselves to have an estate sale. They can't be hungry for money. In that location the house has to be worth a couple of million bucks.'

Discouraged, Sam hung up the phone. His every instinct told him that Alison Kendall had not died a natural death. By pointing out that the five dead women from the same class at Stonecroft had shared the same lunch table, Jake Perkins had latched onto something. Sam was sure of it. But if Kendall 's death hadn't raised suspicion, how much luck would he have in trying to establish a pattern of murder with the four others who had died over a stretch of nearly twenty years?

His phone rang-it was Rich Stevens, the district attorney. 'Sam, thanks to that big mouth Perkins, we've had to call a press conference to make some kind of statement. Come on in here, and we'll figure out what to say.'

Five minutes later, in Stevens' office, they debated the best way to defuse the media onslaught. 'We believe we may have a serial killer. We've got to make this guy feel secure,' Sam argued. 'We tell it like it is. Alison Kendall's death was the result of accidental drowning. Even knowing that four other women who were once close friends have died, the Los Angeles police find nothing suspicious about her death. Laura Wilcox phoned the hotel to say her plans were indefinite. It is nothing more than a matter of conjecture on the part of a hotel employee that she sounded nervous. She is an adult with the right to privacy and should be treated as such. We are making inquiries into the deaths of the other women who shared the lunch table years ago, but it is obvious the accidents that claimed their lives-or, in the case of Gloria Martin, her suicide-indicate no pattern that suggests a serial killer.'

'I think a statement like this makes us look pretty damn naive,' Rich Stevens said flatly.

'I want us to look naive,' Sam shot back. 'I want whoever is out there to think we're a bunch of dopes. If Laura is still alive, I don't want him to panic before we have a chance to save her.'

There was a tap at the door. One of the young new investigators on the staff was obviously excited. 'Sir, we're going through the student personnel folders of the Stonecroft graduates who attended the reunion and may have something on one of them, Joel Nieman.

'What about him?' Stevens asked.

'When he was a senior, he was questioned about the fact that Alison Kimball's locker was tampered with. The screws had been removed from the hinges so that when she opened the door, it fell on her and knocked her down. She suffered a mild concussion.'

'Why was he questioned?' Sam asked.

'Because he was really upset about something she had written in the school newspaper. The senior year school play was Romeo and Juliet. Nieman had the part of Romeo, and Kendall wrote something really nasty about him not being able to remember his lines. He prided himself on memorizing Shakespeare, and went around the school saying what he'd like to do to her. He told everybody the problem had been a couple of seconds of stage fright and was not a case of him forgetting lines. Right after that, she got bowled over by the locker door.

'There's other stuff, too. He has a lousy temper and has been hauled in after a couple of bar fights. He was almost indicted last year for some imaginative accounting practices, and his wife is away most of the time, like right now.'

Monsignor Dillon and I both caught the fact that the guy who's contacting Jean about Lily quoted an obscure sonnet from Shakespeare, Sam thought.

He stood up. 'Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?' As Rich Stevens and the young investigator stared at him, Sam said, 'That's exactly what I'm going to find out right now. Then we'll see what other lines from Shakespeare Joel Nieman might be able to quote for us.'

48

At six-thirty The Owl returned to the house and crept up the stairs. This time Laura had obviously sensed his presence or had anticipated that he would be visiting, because when he entered the room and turned the flashlight on her, he could see that she was already trembling.

'Hello, Laura,' he whispered. 'Are you glad I'm back?'

Her breathing was harsh and shallow. He watched as she tried to shrink back against the mattress.

'Laura, you must answer me. Here, let me loosen the tape. Better than that, I'll take it off. I brought you something to eat. Now, are you glad I'm back?'

'Ye-yes, I'm glad,' she whispered.

'Laura, you're stuttering. I'm surprised at you. You ridicule people who stutter. Show me how you ridicule them. No, never mind. I can't stay too long. I brought you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk. You used to eat that every day in grammar school. Do you remember that?'

'Yes… yes.'

'I'm glad you remember. It's important that we don't forget the past. Now I'll allow you to use the bathroom. Then you may eat your sandwich and drink the milk.'

With a quick gesture he pulled her to a sitting position and cut the cords on her wrists. The movement was so fast that Laura swayed and reached out her hand. Inadvertently she grasped The Owl's arm.

He gasped with pain and clenched his fist, ready to strike her, but then he stopped. 'You couldn't have known that my arm is very sore, so I must not hold it against you. But never touch that arm again. Understand?'

Laura nodded.