entered the room, the others behind him. Then they were gone from Colin's line of vision.
A strong wind swept through the tree. Colin's branch swayed, pulling him downward. He clung fiercely to the branch as it flipped back up, but his feet slipped and he slid down, crashing into the crotch, sending a jolting pain up through his body. He cried out, but the rain covered his yelp. Trying to regain his hold he tilted sideways; his gun fell from his belt down through the tree, hitting the ground with a splat.
Liz Wood heard the sound and turned. Taking a few steps toward the tree, she put a hand to her eyes under the brim of her orange rain hat. Then, seeing nothing, she moved back to the side of the door.
'The fucker's not here,' Schufeldt shouted.
Liz moved into the open door. 'He was here. I'm telling you, that man was here.'
'Who'd you say Maguire phoned?'
'He called her Annie.'
Wiggins said, 'I think Maguire was seeing Annie Winters.'
'Who's that?' Schufeldt asked.
'She's that lady preacher they got at that church that don't believe in Our Lord Jesus. And somebody named Mark was there,' Liz added.
'Did Maguire say he was going there?'
'Nope. Just told her to leave the house. Said she should get away from this Mark person.'
'Probably Mark Griffing,' Charlie Copin said.
'The newspaper guy?'
'Yeah.'
Wiggins said, 'Frank got a call said he thought was Maguire. Called in with a possible ten-five in progress. Frank said the address was the Unitarian Church.'
'That's right,' Liz said, 'that was the second call he made.'
'Well, fuck it, why didn't somebody say so?' Schufeldt shouted. 'Let's get the hell outta here.' He ran toward the car, Wiggins and Copin following.
Go, Colin wanted to shout, move it! At least they might save Annie.
Liz Wood yelled, 'Hey, wait up there! You shot his room all to pieces. Who's gonna pay for that? Huh?'
The doors of the cruiser slammed shut. Wiggins backed it up and, turning around with a squeal of tires, drove up the hill.
'Hey, you bums, you wrecked this room here!' Liz continued to shout. 'Somebody's gotta pay and it ain't gonna be me. Goddamn bums.' She switched off the light and slapped shut the door; then, mumbling to herself, made her way up the hill toward the office.
In his tree, Colin couldn't help smiling. It served her right, he thought. When she was gone he climbed down. He found his gun, then went to Hallock's room and tried the door. It was unlocked.
Positive Liz wouldn't be back tonight, he nevertheless took a precaution and shut himself into the bathroom to wait for Hallock.
LOOKING BACK-50 YEARS AGO
John Williams, a well-known barber shop proprietor in Seaville, is very familiar with the expression 'a close shave,' as it is a term used by his customers. Last Saturday, while Williams was busy cutting the hair of his last customer, Louis Stauber, an employee, attacked Mr. Williams with a hair clipper which he waved before Williams' face. Then Stauber picked up a pair of scissors and threatened to give Williams 'a close shave.'
THIRTY-FIVE
Mark said, 'So? Where is he?'
Annie wasn't sure what it was, perhaps the subtle change in his eyes when she'd agreed to tell him Colin's whereabouts. Or maybe the set of his shoulders. She didn't really know. But there was a change. It could have been as simple as Mark's competitive personality, the fact that he'd won her over. And then again it might have been because as soon as he knew-he'd kill her. She was back to believing Colin. It was absurd to think he was a killer.
'Did you hear me, Annie?' He started toward her.
'I heard.' Her back was against the stove; she could feel the heat from the kettle.
'Well, then?'
'I don't know where he is,' she responded.
'Bullshit!' His face contorted, anger flared in his eyes. Grabbing her by the arm, he shouted, 'You'd better tell me, Annie!'
She tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. Panicky, she wondered if these were her last moments on earth. 'Is that a threat?'
He ignored her question. 'You said you knew where he was. I want you to tell me. Someone's life might be at stake.
Yes, mine, she thought. Not looking, she reached behind her, picked up the kettle, and swung around, crashing it into the side of Mark's head. He screamed, let go of her arm, and fell to the floor. She dropped the kettle and some of the hot water splashed on him. He screamed again.
Annie, her ankle throbbing, hurriedly limped to the kitchen door and grabbed her purse from the table. Outside the rain was hammering the ground, killing flowers. Wind roared through the trees and buffeted her as she hobbled toward the car. She began to whimper when blades of pain shot up her leg. As she opened the car door, she saw Mark stagger from the house. Throwing herself inside, she slammed the door, locked it, and reached in her bag for her keys. Unable to find them, she screamed in frustration. Then she saw them in the ignition and laughed.
The car sprang to life on the first try. There was no way to know where Mark was or how close he might be. Switching on the headlights, she saw him in front of her, his arms raised above his head, signaling for her to stop. She pressed the horn and drove directly toward him, frightened she would hit him but unwilling to stop, her only desire to get away. At the last moment he jumped to one side, and without stopping she sped into the main road, praying that no one was coming. She was lucky.
The rain crashed against her windshield, the wipers moaning like wounded cows. Her foot, aching and swollen, barely touched the accelerator. Creeping along, she thought about driving to the motel, to Colin, but was afraid Mark might follow. It was better to go to the Moffats'; Mark wouldn't dare come there. But it was almost impossible to see. How would she ever find their street?
A sense of coming apart, losing touch, overwhelmed her. If only Bob were here, she thought. She began to cry. Then, 'No, dammit!' she yelled, banging the steering wheel with the side of her fist. 'I don't need him, I have myself. Oh, God, please, please, help me,' she cried.
And then she realized if she stayed on the main road she would eventually come to Center Street and the Seaville Police Station. It wouldn't matter if Mark followed her there. She was elated by her decision but then she felt it-something cold against the side of her neck. She sucked in air, gasping. Thoughts flew through her mind, colliding, then falling away like boulders down a mountain. Looking in the rearview mirror, she saw his face, the knife against her throat. 'It's you,' she cried.
'Yes. Me.'
She felt a sense of guilt at what she'd done to Mark, but it was immediately diminished as she realized the irony of her situation: She'd been safe and run straight into danger. Shocked at her own calm she asked, 'What do you want?'
'You,' he responded.
'Why?'
'I thought you'd know.'
'I don't. Tell me.'
