very worried about ratings and determined to get some kind of edge on his foes at the other stations.
So now, instead of walking up to the crime scene commander, she bypassed him and went over to O'Sullivan.
She had to wait until he was finished intimidating his troops.
He turned to her and said, 'Channel 6 is going to beat the hell out of us on this story. They're up to something. I know it.' O'Sullivan always said this. Then he narrowed his eyes and said, 'Where's Lindstrom?'
'On the other side of the barricade.'
Some of the people in the crowd had recognised her. They were pointing and waving. She waved back. Anything except face O'Sullivan's scrutiny.
'Where you going after this?'
'Emily wants to talk to the Fane girl.'
'You think you can get in to see her?'
She crossed her fingers. 'Hope so.' Then she gave him a most unprofessional kiss on the cheek and left.
Five blocks from the bookstore, Richard Dobyns was hiding in the deep shadows of a five-storey all-night parking garage. He was on the third floor.
Crouched in a corner of the place, he was slowly becoming aware of smells: leaky motor oil, fading cigarette smoke, his own sticky sweat, and the chill breeze off the nearby river smelling of fish and pollutants.
He was slowly becoming aware of sights, too: the way the perfectly waxed hood of a new Lincoln shone in the starlight through the open wall, the stars themselves inscrutable and imperious, and closer by the concrete floor slanting down into shadows. There were only a few cars left on this floor. The place looked deserted and lonely in the dim and dirty overhead light. Occasionally, from down below, he could hear footsteps and cars starting up, and then a laugh or two.
He wanted to be one of them. One of those everyday normal people getting into an everyday normal car going home to an everyday normal wife and kids. All his life he'd wanted to be everyday and normal yet he never had been quite-not in high school where he'd been the nerdy editor of the school newspaper or in college where he'd been the nerdy editor of the literary. He'd always felt the outsider, walking around with a nervous insincere smile on his face, and knowing a sorrow even he couldn't quite define.
Well, given what he'd done in the past twenty-four hours, now he was the ultimate outsider-
He tried to keep images of the teenage boy from his mind.
My God, he'd-
His breath still came in spasms.
Leaning back against the rough concrete wall, he felt his chest and belly heave as breath ripped upward through his lungs.
And then he felt the thing inside him shift.
Not a major shift, just a small one as if adjusting position.
He put his hand to his stomach.
And felt it.
Moving now; twisting.
He put his head back against the concrete wall again and closed his eyes. A shadow cut his face perfectly in two. He'd gone unshaven and his beard was a stubbly black. His dark hair was wildly messed up. And now a single silver tear slid down the curve of his cheek. It rolled to his dry lips and settled there feeling hot and tasting salty. He did not open his eyes or move his head for long minutes.
And then he heard the voices.
Man and woman.
Young, probably about his age.
Coming toward him.
His eyes came open. He looked momentarily as if he were coming out of a very deep trance. The dark eyes flicked left, right-
Coming toward him.
'Come on, admit it. You thought she was cute.'
'Well-'
'It's all right, David. I won't get jealous. She's a movie star, not somebody you can call up for a date.'
The man chuckled. 'Right, you won't get jealous. Remember the night I told you I thought Demi Moore was so good looking?'
Now the woman laughed. 'You just happened to catch me on an off night.'
'Sure,' the man said. 'An off night.'
They walked a few steps in silence then, and there was no doubt where they were heading. The Lincoln with Dobyns hiding on the other side.
If he waited till they came around to his side, they would be at an advantage, standing over him-
He had to move now-
He sprang up off the concrete floor to his feet, running around the rear end of the Lincoln right toward them. The door leading downstairs was perhaps thirty yards behind them.
This was the only thing he could do.
When they saw him appear, like some berserk jack-in-the-box abruptly popping up, they both screamed.
The man was brave. He pulled the woman to him protectively.
Dobyns ran right past them, his footsteps echoing flap-flap-flap in the empty parking garage, all the way to the door, then faster flap-flap-flap as he took the stairs down to the ground floor two at a time.
Three blocks away, in an area that was mostly shadowy warehouses long left deserted, he found a phone booth glowing in the blackness.
He fed change into the phone and then dialled a certain number with trembling fingers.
'Hello.'
Right away, she said, 'Please, Richard. Please just turn yourself over.'
'I take it the phone is tapped.'
'Richard, please, the police have assured me that-'
He laughed. 'I'll bet they've assured you of a lot of things, haven't they?'
'Richard, I-'
'I'm sorry, honey. I can't turn myself over. I can't. There's no other way to explain it.'
'But-'
'I need you to do me a favour.'
'Richard, there's a detective standing-'
'I know there's a detective there. I just need to talk to Cindy a minute. Just put her on the phone. Please do that for me.'
There was a long pause on the other end. Then a little girl's voice, more sombre than he'd ever heard it, said, 'Hi, Daddy.'
'Hi, pumpkin.'
'There are policemen here.'
'I know, honey.'
'They want you to talk to them. They promised Mommy that they won't hurt you.'
'I know, sweetie. But it's you I want to talk to. I-' But how could he explain to anybody-even to himself-the terrible darkness that overcame him when the thing inside wanted him to kill? 'Do you know how much I love you?'
'Yes, Daddy. And I love you.'
'That's what you've got to remember, pumpkin. How much we love each other. Okay, sweetheart?'
'All right, Daddy.'
'Now I've got to go. I'm sorry but I do.'
Cindy started crying. 'I love you, Daddy. I love you, Daddy.' He could hear the terror in her voice and hated
