So what was he doing at the scene? He was taking a hell of a risk, despite the disguise. He would have known that law enforcement often checked TV footage for suspicious individuals. What was so important that he had shown up in Philadelphia? Had Rothmann sent him? I was pretty sure that Lister would have hooked up with his boss after he disappeared. But if the Nazi was behind the murders, why would he risk incriminating himself and his underground organization by sending Lister to the locus? I was certain he was still scheming, no doubt having changed the name of his armed force from the North American National Revival, also known as the North American Nazi Revival, and no doubt still manipulating the Antichurch of Lucifer Triumphant. Details of the M.O. s had been scanty, presumably because Sebastian had censored the reports, but it seemed to me that the satanic cult’s sacrificial ritual might be being copied in the stringing up and mutilation of the victims. On the other hand, Heinz Rothmann was a subtle operator, at least until his plans came to fruition. These murders were about as subtle as a cockroach in a cup of coffee.
Karen moved her bulk on the sofa. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’ I hurriedly turned the TV off. ‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘I was. Who were you talking to?’
‘What? Oh, Quincy Jerome. Just arranging a run.’ I didn’t want her to know about the latest murder, and especially not about Gordy Lister. She hadn’t met him, but she knew who he was. The idea of her going into labor with him in mind was not appealing. Then again, the process might not start for days. Keeping the news from her would be impossible now we had internet and TV access.
‘How about some music?’ she said, hands on her bulge. ‘There’s a whole lot of kicking going on down here.’
I turned on the CD player. Julie Simms brought fresh disks from the camp library every week. I’d managed to get her to steer clear of garbage pop and concentrate on rock and folk. She was obviously a classical fan; there were always a couple of orchestral pieces in the bag.
The Manic Street Preachers blasted out. I’d forgotten that I’d left the CD in. They weren’t a top class band as far as I was concerned, but I couldn’t fault the sentiments of what was playing now-‘If You Tolerate This, Then Your Children Will Be Next.’
‘No!’ Karen cried. ‘Too raucous. Do you want your son to shake his way out of me?’
‘Sorry.’ I ejected the disk and put on one of Julie’s. A swathe of gentle strings and what sounded like a harpsichord filled the room.
‘That’s better. What is it?’
I looked at the box. ‘Monteverdi.’
‘Mmm, it’s nice. Come over here.’
I did as I was told.
‘I feel…funny,’ Karen said, taking my hand.
I was instantly alert. ‘Is it beginning?’
‘I don’t think so. It’s just…it’s just that I’m afraid, Matt.’ She let out a sob.
I pressed myself against her. ‘Don’t be silly. You’re my strong woman, you can stand up to anything.’
‘I don’t think I can. I keep…I keep thinking about what the Rothmanns did to me. What if the baby’s damaged? What if I can’t act like a proper mother?’
I squeezed her hands. ‘You’ve had plenty of tests. Nothing’s wrong with the boy. Or with you.’
‘How do you know?’ she demanded, pulling her hands away. ‘Rivers is still dredging triggers out of you and I’ve had much less treatment. What if some function of the conditioning is activated when I give birth? What if they designed the process to keep female subjects childless? That isn’t so unlikely. They wouldn’t want their robot soldiers to be distracted by kids-’
‘Karen, Karen,’ I said, wiping her brow. ‘Calm down. Take some deep breaths.’ I did that and she eventually followed suit. ‘That’s better. You know you mustn’t get overwrought. It’s bad for junior.’
‘Don’t call him that. He’s Magnus Oliver-Magnus Oliver Wells.’
‘That’s right, darling.’ I repeated the names. ‘He’s desperate to see us, so you have to look your best.’ I handed her a box of tissues.
‘I’m sorry, Matt. Sometimes it gets too much for me.’
‘I don’t believe that for a second. You’re just trying to make me sorry for you so that I’ll make your lunch.’
She laughed. ‘I don’t want anything to eat.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to keep your strength up?’
‘Look at me. I’ve got enough blubber reserves to sink a whaling ship.’
‘Rubbish. You’re the most attractive woman in the camp.’
She raised an eyebrow at that admittedly less than ringing endorsement. The average female soldier’s looks were forbidding and Julie Simms was no Venus de Milo, though she did have a full set of limbs.
‘Matt, don’t go out today.’
‘Okay,’ I said, alert to her tone again. ‘I think Rivers is expecting me in the evening, though.’
‘Let’s see if we get that far,’ she said, closing her eyes.
I took the phone into the bedroom and called the medical center. The midwife said everything was ready and there was nothing else to do, so I cut the connection. I felt useless, a spare part. I went back into the living room and turned the music down. Monteverdi was surprisingly pleasant, but the lack of guitars was a problem for me. I was going to make sure Magnus Oliver Wells had a working knowledge of classic rock music before he went to school.
There were certain things a father had to do for his son.
The boy was between two and three years old. His legs were short and bowed, in a pair of clean and well- pressed corduroy trousers. The black leather boots had been polished, but were now spattered with Central Park mud-the Filipina nanny wasn’t quick enough to stop him dashing onto the grass and under the trees. He screamed with delight every time she came after him, his cheeks red and his blue eyes sparkling. The last time the woman approached, he pulled off his woolen hat and threw it in her face. That earned him a stern talking-to and he started to sniffle as he was led back to the path.
Sara Robbins watched from behind a wider tree trunk than most. The day was milder than its predecessors, but there was still a bite in the wind. The water in the reservoir looked chill, low waves sweeping across its surface. As she walked out of the cover, she felt the plastic switchblade in the pocket of her Levi’s. She always had it with her, not least because it wasn’t picked up by metal detectors.
As the little boy walked past, trying to tug his hand away from the Filipina’s, Sara threw the ball she’d bought in his direction. The nanny looked round and stared at her suspiciously. Scott smiled at Sara and then ran to retrieve the ball.
‘Tana,’ said the boy, pointing at the picture of the steam engine on the ball.
‘Thomas?’ Sara said. ‘That’s right, it’s Thomas.’
‘Come, Scott,’ the nanny said firmly. ‘We do not talk to strangers.’
Sara ignored her, kneeling down beside the boy. ‘Your name’s Scott? My brother’s called Scott.’ She viewed that as a white lie.
The Filipina pulled on her charge’s arm. ‘Come on. Mummy will be angry.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Sara said. ‘I’ve got kids myself.’
The nanny looked around the area of grass. ‘So where are they, Mrs.?’
Sara laughed hollowly. ‘Where are they? Visiting Granny.’ She pointed to the ball. ‘Would you like to have Thomas?’
The little boy nodded avidly. ‘Tana. Scott love Tana.’
‘Come on now,’ the Filipina said, glaring at Sara. ‘Or I call police.’
‘Because I gave him a ball? Are you insane?’
‘No. You are insane person.’ The nanny tugged hard at the boy’s arm.
‘You’re hurting him,’ Sara said, standing up and grabbing the woman’s wrist. ‘Let go.’
The Filipina’s face clenched in pain and she quickly released Scott’s hand.
‘That’s better,’ Sara said. ‘Are you all right, darling?’
The boy smiled. ‘Tana.’
Sara ran her fingertips down his cheek. ‘Have fun. I have to go now. Bye-bye.’ She looked at the nanny. ‘Don’t
