No, this was how it was going to end. But why? What had he meant when he'd said Razzamatazz? Did he mean the club her father had played in all those years ago? Funny, she and Colin had just been talking about it.
A blast of rock music cut off her thoughts. The door opened and closed. His footsteps approached. Annie began to pray.
– -
It was hell waiting. What was taking Hallock so long? Jesus, what if Schufeldt arrested him for something? He wouldn't put it past that guy. Colin slapped his pockets looking for a cigarette he might have missed. Nothing.
If he thought he could get to his car without being seen, he'd try it. But then what? He hadn't the slightest idea where to look for Annie. Still, driving around would feel better than sitting here, helpless. Driving around. He thought about what was ahead, going in the car with Hallock. He mustn't start the fears now. What had Dr. Safier told him? Put yourself in a safe place, create an atmosphere in your mind, stay there. Colin's place was a darkened movie theater, his chair soft luxurious leather. While they drove he'd tell Hallock not to talk to him. He'd keep the panic down by going to his theater.
But that wasn't going to help him now. He paced the dark room, listening to the rain. If Hallock didn't come back in fifteen minutes he'd leave him a note and make a try for his car. He had to do something. The one thing he couldn't be was helpless. If Annie died because he hadn't given it his all, he didn't think he'd survive. He knew he wouldn't.
Hallock walked into the emergency room. A nurse was wheeling an old man down the corridor. 'Excuse me, miss.' When she looked up at him, Hallock saw that it was Mary Lee Larson, his neighbor. He asked about Griffing.
Mary Lee said, 'He left about fifteen minutes ago.'
'You know if he was driving?'
'I wouldn't know… no, wait a minute. Doctor asked him if he wanted someone to call his wife to pick him up and he said he had his car.'
'Was he going home?'
She shrugged. 'I don't think he was going out dancing. He had to have eight stitches and his cheek was burned, too. Somebody was sure mad at him.'
He thanked her and ran back to his car. It took him four minutes to get to the Griffing house. There were lights on but no sign of Griffing's car. He rang the bell. Sarah came to the door. She looked odd, as though she knew something she shouldn't.
'Sorry to just drop by this way, Sarah, but I need to speak to Mark.'
'He's not home,' she said crisply. 'Anything I can do?'
'No, 'fraid not. Know where he is?' He hated asking her, putting her on the spot. She seemed so frail.
'I don't. Sorry.' She forced a smile. 'He didn't come home from the paper. Have you tried there?'
'I'll go there next,' he said truthfully.
'If you see him, Waldo, tell him it might be nice to call his wife.' Her mouth turned down in bitterness. 'No. Don't. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.'
He wanted to reach out, give her a hug, tell her it was going to be okay. But he, of all people, couldn't reassure her. He was trying to pin five murders on her husband. 'You all right, Sarah?'
'I'm fine. Just tired.'
He nodded as if to say he knew that kind of tiredness. 'Well, thanks.' He started to go back down the steps when she called to him.
'Please, don't… don't say anything to anyone, will you, Waldo?'
'Don't worry,' he assured her.
'Sometimes being the wife of a newspaper publisher gets lonely. He's so busy, has so many commitments. You can't blame him for forgetting to call his wife to say he'll be late. I mean, when you think of what he has on his mind-'
'Sure, I understand,' he said, cutting her off. He wanted her to stop justifying Griffing to him; it was none of his business and it was humiliating for her. 'Take care, Sarah.' He started toward the car, then stopped. Why not ask her? Turning back to her he saw she was still watching him, standing in the doorway, a waiflike figure. 'I wonder if you could tell me something.'
'Depends what it is.'
He nodded. 'Mark's mother. She died a long time ago, right?'
'Yes.'
'Do you know how she died?'
'Cancer,' she said. 'His mother died of cancer when he was ten. Why?'
Hallock felt stunned. 'Oh, just something I needed to clear up in my mind.' It made no sense but he wasn't going to explain it now.
Sarah didn't pursue it, just said goodnight and closed the door.
As he drove to the motel to pick up Maguire, he experienced a sense of dread, of impending doom. Something he hadn't considered was a definite possibility: Griffing wasn't the killer after all. And Annie Winters was missing. He didn't need to go back to second- grade math to figure this one out: One and one made two. The Razzamatazz killer was somebody else. And he didn't have a clue who it was.
LOOKING BACK-50 YEARS AGO
Frank (Kid) Edwards of Seaville, an Alaskan 'Sourdough,' on Wednesday of this week identified Thomas R Jensen as 'Blueberry Tom,' wanted for the murder of three prospectors in a battle over $9,000 worth of gold in Alaska in 1916. Edwards, who is 46 years old, has been a resident of Seaville for a number of years. He was in Alaska during the gold rush and personally knew the three murdered prospectors who were killed near Fairbanks, Alaska.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Hallock jammed his foot on the brake. The car skidded, and this time he drove into the skid, avoiding trouble. He backed up, turned in close to the curb. Rain continued to fall, making visibility almost impossible. Still, he thought he recognized the car. Big Cherokee, black and white. Hard to miss. And he knew whose driveway it was parked in, too.
He doused the lights, left the car running, jumped out, and ran across the lawn to the side of the house. In those twenty seconds he found himself wet to the skin as if he'd just taken a swim. Streams of water ran down his face from his hair. Crouching, he slowly rose up until he was eye-level with the partially opened window.
First he saw her. She strode across the room. When she turned toward the window saying, 'Do you want another drink?' Hallock felt a blade of fear go through him. He'd had the momentary illusion that Julia Dorman was speaking to him. A man's voice answered, 'I shouldn't be drinking at all.'
Hallock knew the voice at once: Mark Griffing.
Julia said, 'Come over to the couch, darling.' She reached out both hands.
Griffing's hands met hers and he rose up, back to Hallock, and walked across the room. When they sat on the couch, Griffing immediately stretched out and put his head in Julia's lap. A bandage spanned his head from hairline to midway down his face.
Now Hallock understood why Julia had done him in, and who was behind it. Well, he'd seen enough. As he ran back to his car, he recalled Maguire's tale of Griffing's unexplained whereabouts on the morning of Joe Carroll's murder. Hallock was sure he knew now where Griffing had been. Feeling the way he did about Julia Dorman and that bastard, Griffing, a part of him wanted to broadcast their little romance. But the other part, the part that cared for Sarah, knew he'd say nothing except to Maguire. Poor Sarah, he thought as he got into the car, poor old
