It was almost like the first time he had taken a life, that night in Laura's house, The Owl thought. Through the haze of memory he recalled tiptoeing up the back stairs, heading to the room where he had expected to find Laura. That was twenty years ago.
Last night, knowing that Robby Brent was following him, it hadn't been hard to outsmart him. But then he'd had to dig in Robby's pocket for his keys so he could drive his car into the garage. His first rental car, the one with the muddy tires, was occupying one space in the garage. He'd driven Robby Brent's car into the other space and then dragged Brent's body to it from the staircase where he had killed him.
Somehow he had revealed himself to Robby Brent. Somehow Robby had figured it out. What about the others? Was a circle closing so that soon he would no longer be able to escape into the night? He didn't like uncertainty. He needed reassurance-the reassurance that came only when he carried out the deed that reaffirmed his mastery over life and death.
At eleven o'clock he began to drive through Orange County. Not too near Cornwall, he thought. Not too near Washingtonville, where Helen Whelan's body was found. Maybe Highland Falls would be a good choice. Maybe somewhere in the vicinity of the motel where Jean Sheridan had stayed with the cadet would be the place to look.
Maybe one of the sidestreets near that motel would be the place where he was destined to find his victim.
At eleven-thirty, as he cruised down a tree-lined street, he observed two women standing on a porch beneath an overhead light. As he watched, one turned, went back inside, and closed the door. The other began to go down the porch stairs. The Owl pulled over to the curb, turned off the lights of the car, and waited for her as she cut across the lawn to the sidewalk.
She was looking down, walking swiftly, and did not hear him when he got out of the car and moved to the shadow of the tree. He stepped out as she passed him. He could feel The Owl spring from its cage as his hand covered her mouth, and he swiftly slid the rope around her neck.
'I'm sorry for you,' he whispered, 'but you have been chosen.'
60
The body of Yvonne Tepper was discovered at 6:00 a.m. by Bessie Koch, a seventy-year-old widow who supplemented her Social Security check by delivering
She had been about to turn her car into Tepper's driveway, one of her sales pitches being her 'no bare feet' policy. 'People don't have to come down the driveway to get my papers,' she explained in her flyers. 'The paper is there when you open your door.' The campaign was a loving tribute to her now deceased husband who typically went out in his bare feet to retrieve the morning newspaper from wherever their own delivery man had thrown it, usually nearer the curb than the front steps.
At first Bessie's mind did not accept the evidence of her eyes. There had been an overnight frost, and Yvonne Tepper was lying between two bushes, on grass that still glittered with shiny patches of icy moisture. Her legs were bent, and her hands were in the pockets of her navy blue parka. Her appearance was so neat and orderly that Bessie's first impression was that she must have just fallen.
When the reality hit, Bessie stopped the car with an abrupt slam of the brakes. Flinging open the door, she raced the few feet to Tepper's body. For a few moments she stood over it, numb with shock as she took in the woman's opened eyes, her slack mouth, and the cord that was twisted around her neck.
Bessie tried to call for help but was unable to force a sound past her throat and lips. Then she turned and stumbled back to the car and into the driver's seat. She leaned on the horn. In the nearby houses, lights flashed on, and annoyed residents rushed to their windows. Several men ran outside to see the cause of the commotion- ironically, all of them barefooted.
The husband of the neighbor Yvonne Tepper had been visiting when she was waylaid by The Owl jumped into the passenger seat of Bessie's car and firmly pulled her hands off the blaring horn.
That was when Bessie was finally able to scream.
61
Sam Deegan was weary enough to sleep the sleep of the just, even though the instinct that made him a good cop was not satisfied that the latest fax Jean had received was on the level.
The alarm woke him at 6:00 a.m., and he lay in bed briefly with his eyes closed. The fax was the first conscious thought in his mind. Too glib, he thought again. Covers everything. But it's doubtful that a judge would grant a rush order to open Lily's file now, he decided.
Maybe that had been the point of the fax. Maybe someone had panicked, fearing that if a judge allowed the file to be opened and Lily had been questioned about her missing hairbrush, it might have implicated him.
It was that scenario that worried Sam. He opened his eyes, sat up, and threw back the covers. On the other hand, he thought, mentally playing devil's advocate, it does make sense that Laura somehow learned years ago that Jean was pregnant. At dinner Jean had told Alice and him that, before she disappeared, Laura had made a reference to Reed Thornton. 'I'm not sure if she used his name,' Jean said. 'But I was surprised that she even had known I was dating a cadet.'
I don't trust that fax, and I still think it's too much of a coincidence that five women died in the order that they were sitting at a lunch table, Sam thought as he plodded into the kitchen, plugged in the coffee maker, and went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
The coffee was ready when he got back to the kitchen, dressed for the office in a jacket and slacks. He poured orange juice into a glass and dropped an English muffin into the toaster. When Kate was alive, he always had oatmeal for breakfast. Even though he had tried to convince himself that it wasn't difficult-putting a third of a cup of oatmeal in a bowl, adding a cup of low-fat milk and sticking the bowl in the microwave for two minutes-it just never came out right. Kate's was so much better. After a while he'd given up trying to make it for himself.
It had been nearly three years since Kate lost her long battle with cancer. Fortunately, the house wasn't so big that, with the boys raised and out, he felt the need to sell it. You don't get to live in a big house on an investigator's salary, Sam thought. A lot of other women might have complained about that, but not Kate. She loved this house, he thought. She had made it a home, and no matter how rough his day had been, he'd been happy and grateful to return to it at night.
It's still the same house, Sam thought as he picked up the newspaper from outside the kitchen door and settled down at the breakfast table. But it feels a lot different without Kate. Last night, dozing in Alice 's den, he'd had the same kind of feeling there that he used to have about this place. Comfortable. Warm. The sound of Alice preparing dinner. The mouthwatering smell of roast beef drifting into the den.
He then remembered that, as he had been dozing off, something had caught his attention. What was it? Did it have something to do with Alice 's curio cabinet? Next time he dropped in, he'd take a look. Maybe it was the demitasse cups she collected. His mother had loved them, too. He still had some of hers in the china closet.
Should he put butter on the English muffin, or eat it dry? he wondered.
Reluctantly, Sam decided not to use butter. I sure went off my diet last night, he recalled. That Yorkshire pudding Alice made was terrific. Jean enjoyed it as much as I did. She had been about ready to break under the tension of worrying about Lily. It was good to see her really relax. She's been looking as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Let's hope that fax was on the level and that we hear from Laura again soon.
The phone rang just as he opened the newspaper. It was Eddie Zarro. 'Sam, we just heard from the police chief in Highland Falls. A woman was found strangled on her front lawn there. The D.A. wants all of us in his office ASAP.'
There was something Eddie was holding back. 'What else?' Sam snapped.
'There was one of those little pewter owls in her pocket. Sam, we've got a full-blown nut case out there. I've
