Razzamatazz

Mark stared at him, his brown eyes cold. 'It's all over, Colin.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I was an asshole to give you this job. Christ, you really jerked me around.'

Colin took a step toward Mark.

He moved back. 'Listen, pal, don't try anything with me. The police are onto you. They called me an hour ago, said you weren't at your house but your car was there. I figured you'd be here. I want you to surrender.'

'Surrender?'

'Cut the shit, Colin.'

'You think I committed these murders?' He almost laughed. 'You've got to be kidding.'

'You really had me fooled. I just couldn't believe you could kill Nancy and the kids. I guess nobody can ever believe a friend is guilty of something like that.'

So this was what Mark was going to do-try to pin it all on him. 'This isn't going to work, you know.'

'Don't make it harder than it is, pal. They've already found her, okay?'

'Who's already found who?'

Mark smiled. 'You're beautiful, you really are. Missed your calling, Colin. You should have been an actor.'

Colin's mouth was dry. It clicked when he opened it. 'Who did they find?' he asked. The only person he could think about was Annie. If Mark had killed her, he didn't know what he would do.

'You know who they found. Why ask me?'

'I don't know, Mark. Tell me.'

'What I don't get are the symbols. What the hell do these swastikas mean?'

'Another one?'

'Look, Colin, you're very sick. You need help. I feel responsible bringing you here to the Fork, so the least I can do is stop you. And I will.' He pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Colin. 'Let's go peacefully, okay?'

Colin didn't want to give Mark a reason to shoot him. Jesus, it would be so easy. If Mark killed him, he could blame all the killings on Colin and with his past, nobody would doubt it. On the other hand, if he went with Mark, let them arrest him, he might never get out. He didn't have alibis any more than Mark had. Except last night… unless… He couldn't even contemplate Annie's death, but he had to know. 'Mark, tell me who was killed. Humor me.'

Mark shrugged, the gun still pointing at Colin's chest. 'They found her body in her car this morning, swastika carved in her chest.'

'Who?' he shouted.

'Babe, of course. You killed her last night, didn't you?'

Colin wanted to weep with relief. Then suddenly he realized that from the moment he'd accepted Mark's offer of a job, he'd never had a chance. It had all been carefully planned, and Babe's murder was the final nail in the coffin. After what she'd written about him, no one would believe he hadn't done it. Any more than they'd believe Mark was the killer. If only he could find a motive. In jail he wouldn't find out anything. Annie was his alibi, but he couldn't bring her into this. Her career would be destroyed.

Colin made his decision. He doubled over and slammed his head into Mark's gut, knocking him backwards. The gun fell to the floor and skidded out of sight. Colin was going for it as Mark pulled him down by his ankle. They rolled over, and Mark shot a right to the side of Colin's head. Colin kneed him and Mark let go, grunting. Colin started to get up but Mark tackled him around his calves. They fell forward, Mark on top. He grabbed Colin by the hair, pulled hard. Colin shoved both elbows up into Mark's ribs. He let go of Colin's hair, and Colin snapped over on his back. Sitting partway up, he got Mark on the chin with a right cross, then used a left hook just to make sure. Mark fell back, eyes closed.

Colin looked around for the gun. He found it under a table and scooped it up, checked Mark to make sure he was breathing, then ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top he slammed the door, threw the bolt, and ran through the empty offices to the front. He lifted an edge of the green shade. Coming down the street was a white police car, its siren silent. The car pulled into the curb in front of the Gazette. Colin dropped the shade, ran back through the building, and into his office. Grabbing his windbreaker from his chair, he hastily put it on, shoved the gun in his belt, pushed up the window, and climbed through. Once outside he closed the window and, keeping low, ran to the back edge of the yard.

He pushed through the hedge into the next property. Laundry was drying on a line and a cool breeze lifted a sheet that slapped him across the face, twisted around his body. He disentangled himself, made his way across that yard and into the next. He had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do. All he knew was he had to find a place to hide, to plan.

Jesus, he was pissed off Hallock hadn't come back. And then he had it. If he could just get to Wood's Motel, he would try and talk Liz Wood into letting him stay in Hallock's room until he returned. If she didn't know who he was, he had a chance. He would say he was Hallock's cousin or old friend. But getting there was not going to be easy. The motel was off the main road just outside of Seaville proper, and he couldn't take the chance of being seen. He would have to stay in the yards, then cross the main drag at a point just before the turnoff to the motel. The best way to do that was at night. Now he had to find a place to hide until sundown. And then he saw the familiar doghouse and remembered the story he'd done three weeks ago. Elsbeth Kiske's German shepherd had been killed by poisoned meat. Colin had interviewed Mrs. Kiske, who'd taken him outside, shown him where she'd found Pencil, the dog, then shown him the big doghouse her late husband had made. He remembered admiring it, saying it was big enough for a person to live in, remembered getting a wan smile out of Mrs. Kiske. And now here he was and there it was, the perfect hiding place.

He ducked down behind a maple. There was no sound except that of birds and insect life, a breeze rustling the leaves. It was approximately six yards from the tree to the doghouse. Colin made a dash across the yard. Dropping down on all fours he crawled inside, hoping Mrs. Kiske hadn't gotten another dog.

– -

'Shit,' Hallock said, standing at the door of his room, suitcase in hand, looking at the phone as it rang. If he answered it he might be late for his plane. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he was already seven minutes behind schedule and he didn't know what he'd do if he had to spend another hour, let alone a night, in this burg. But the only person he could think of who might be calling him here was Fran. And after hanging up on him she wouldn't be calling unless something was wrong. He dropped the suitcase and crossed to the phone.

A thin, quaking voice said, 'Is this the chief?'

'Yeah. Who's this?'

'Is this the chief from Seaville?'

Hallock wondered what other chief would be staying at the Breezeway Motel in Miami Beach in June. Then he recognized the voice. 'Mister Conway?'

'Yessir, that's me. Ruth Cooper's daddy.'

He pictured Elmer Conway, eighty-five, white-haired and stooped, his face and hands covered with age spots, and still he was Ruth Cooper's daddy. Hallock wondered if he would always be a daddy to his children. 'What can I do for you, Mr. Conway?'

'Well sir, I did what you asked.'

Hallock waited for Conway to go on, but there was nothing happening on the line but some static. 'Mister Conway?'

'Yessir?'

'What is it you did?' He looked at his watch, swore silently. Now he was eight minutes behind schedule.

'Well sir, you remember when you were here?'

Hallock shifted from one foot to the other. 'I remember.'

'Was that yestiday?'

'That's right.'

'Seems like longer ago than that, don't it?'

'Time flies,' Hallock said and added to himself, when you're having fun!

'Yeah, that's the truth.'

The line seemed dead.

Hallock said, 'Mister Conway, are you there?'

'Yessir.'

He took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. 'Mister Conway, what is it I can do for you?'