The Hellfire Club

Sprinklers threw arcs of water across the long lawns. She was in a cul-de-sac ending in a circle before the most imposing house on the street, a three-story red-brick mansion with a bow window, a dark green front door, and a border of bright flowers. She had arrived at Longfellow Lane, and the house with the bow window belonged to Dr Daniel Harwich.

Her panic melted into relief. She had reached the end of the street before she realized that Mrs Lark Pettigrew Harwich might not welcome the sudden appearance of one of her husband's old girlfriends, however desperate that old girlfriend might be. At that moment, coffee mug in one hand, Dan Harwich emerged from the depth of the room and stood at the bow window to survey his realm. A fist struck her heart.

Harwich gave Nora's car a mildly curious glance before taking a sip of coffee and raising his head to look at the sky.

He had changed little since she had last seen him. The same weary, witty competence inhabited his face and gestures. He turned and disappeared into the room. Somewhere behind him, pouring coffee for herself in a redesigned kitchen, very likely lurked wife number two.

Nora cramped the wheel and sped out of the circle, wondering how on earth she was going to find a telephone. She turned left onto Longfellow Street, another treeless length of demi-mansions old and new, all but identical to Longfellow Lane except for being a real street instead of a cul-de-sac and the absence from any of its numerous bay windows of Dr Daniel Harwich. At the next corner, she turned left onto Bryant Street, another stretch of wide green lawns and sturdy houses, and began to feel that she would spend the rest of her life moving down these identical streets past these identical houses.

At the next corner she turned left again, this time into Whittier Street, then into Whitman Street, another replica of Longfellow Lane, the chief difference being that instead of an asphalt circle at the end of the block there was a stop sign at an intersection, and directly beside the stop sign stood the metal hood and black rectangle of a public telephone.57

Three feet from a chintz sofa piled with cushions, Nora felt herself slip into a collapse. She sank a quarter of an inch, then another quarter of an inch, taking Dan Harwich's unresisting hand with her. Then an arm wrapped around her waist, a hand gripped her shoulder, and she stopped moving.

Harwich pulled her upright. 'I could carry you the rest of the way.'

'I'll make it.'

He loosened his grip, and Nora stepped around the side of a wooden coffee table and let him guide her to the sofa.

'Do you want to lie down?'

'I'll be okay. It's letting go of all that tension, I guess.' She slumped back against the cushions. Harwich was kneeling in front of her, holding both her hands and staring up at her face.

He stood up, still staring at her face. 'How did you get away from this Dart?'

'I hit him with a hammer, then I ran into him with the car.'

'Where?'

'Outside some motel, I don't remember. Don't call the police. Please.'

He looked down at her, chewing his lower lip. 'Back in a sec.'

Nora put an arm behind her back and pulled out a stiff round cushion embroidered with sunflowers on one side and a farmhouse on the other. There was still an uncomfortable number of cushions back there. She did not remember the chintz sofa or this profusion of cushions from her earlier visit to Longfellow Lane. Helen Harwich's living room had been sober and dark, with big square leather furniture on a huge white rug.

Now, apart from the mess, the room was like a decorator's idea of an English country house. Dirty shirts lay over the back of a rocking chair. One running shoe lay on its side near the entrance to the front hall. The table on which she had nearly cracked her head was littered with old newspapers, dirty glasses, and an empty Pizza Hut carton.

Harwich came back with a tumbler so full that a trail of shining dots lay behind him. 'Drink some water before it slops all over the place, sorry.' He handed her the wet tumbler and knelt in front of her. Nora swallowed and looked around for a place to put the glass. Harwich took it and set it on the table.

'You're going to leave a ring,' she said.

'I don't give a shit.' He grasped her right hand in both of his. 'Why don't you want me to call the police?'

'Right before I got abducted by Dick Dart, I was about to be charged with about half a dozen crimes. It sounds a little funny, given what happened, but I'm pretty sure that kidnapping was one of them. That's why I was in the police station.'

Harwich stopped kneading her hand. 'You mean if you go to the police you'll get arrested?'

'Think so.'

'What did you do?'

She pulled her hand away from his. 'Do you want to hear what happened, or do you just want to call the FBI and have me hauled away?'

'The FBI?'

'Couple of real charming guys,' she said. 'They had no trouble at all assuming I was guilty.'

Harwich stood up and moved to the other end of the sofa.

'If this is too much for you, I'll get out of here,' Nora said. 'I have to find this doctor. If I can remember his name.'

'You're not going anywhere,' Harwich said. 'I want to hear the whole story, but before that, let's see if we can take care of Dick Dart.' He stood up and took a cellular phone from the mantel. Nora started to protest. 'Don't worry, I won't say anything about you. Try to remember the name of that motel.' He went across the room and pulled a telephone book from beneath a stack of magazines and newspapers.

'I can't.'

'Did it have a sign?' He held his finger over a number.

'Sure, but…' She saw the sign. 'It was called the Hillside. 'Like the strangler,' Dart said.'

'Like the strangler?'

'The Hillside Strangler.'

'Jesus,' Harwich punched numbers. 'Listen to me. I'm only going to say this once. The escaped murderer Dick Dart checked into the Hillside Motel in Springfield this morning. He may be injured.' He turned off the phone and replaced it on the mantel. 'I suppose you'll feel safer once Dart is off the streets.'

'You have no idea.'

'So talk,' Harwich said.

She told him about Natalie Weil and Holly Fenn and Slim and Slam, she told him about Daisy's book and Aiden's ultimatum, she described the scene in the police station, Natalie's accusation, her abduction, Ernest Forrest Ernest, the Chicopee Inn. She told Harwich that Dart had raped her. She told him about the library and the shopping spree and being made up; she told him about Sheldon Dolkis.

While she spoke, Harwich scratched his head, squinted, circled the room, flopped into a chair, bounced up again, interjected sympathetic, astounded, essentially noncommittal remarks, and finally urged her into the kitchen. After gathering up the dirty glasses and utensils and stashing them in or around the sink, he made an omelette for them both. He leaned forward, his chin on his elbow. 'How do you get yourself into these situations?'

She put down her fork, her appetite gone. 'What I want to know is, how do I get out of it?'

Harwich tilted his head, raised his eyebrows, and spread his hands in a pantomime of uncertainty. 'Do you want me to take a look at you? You should have an examination.'

'On your kitchen table?'

'I was thinking that we could use one of the beds, but if you prefer, I could take you to my office. I have an operation this afternoon, but I'm free until then.'

'There's no need for that,' Nora said.

'No serious bleeding?'

'I bled a little, but it stopped. Dan, what should I do?'

He sighed. 'I'll tell you what baffles me about all this. This woman, this Natalie Weil, accuses you of beating her, starving her, God knows what, and the FBI and most of your local police force believe her. Why would she lie about it?'

'Screw you, Dan.'