couldn't remember how it had started-something to do with bunny pajamas Laura had given Kylie on her first Christmas, just like the ones Laura had as a child. 'We're fine, just great. I'd let you talk to her, only she's in bed now. School day tomorrow, you know.'
'Sure, sure. So she's okay?'
'Fine. Hey, listen, don't worry. The cops are still keeping an eye on us.'
'Good, good. Is your alarm system on?'
'Yeah, sure. Any breaks in the case?'
'Not yet, but we're working on it.'
'You'll get him. I know you will. Hey, let's have a cookout at my place one of these days, huh?' George said. He loved entertaining, and liked to fire up his barbeque and grill steaks.
'Sounds great.'
'Good. It's a deal, then.'
'Sure, sure.' Lee wasn't about to tell George the whole story, any more than he would tell his mother.
'Okay, then, buddy, I'll see you soon.' Lee heard the sound of a sports broadcaster in the background, and could tell George wanted to get him off the phone so he could watch the sports news.
'Right. See you soon,' Lee said.
'I'll tell Bunny you called.'
'Great, thanks. 'Bye.'
'So long.'
Lee hung up and stood in front of the collection of faded snapshots of his sister on the refrigerator. In one, the sun glinted off her dark hair, showing the copper highlights-more evidence of their family's Celtic ancestry. Her grin was wide and lopsided, and she held a border collie puppy in her arms, a present from George Callahan. After Laura's disappearance George had given the dog away. Though he never said so, Lee thought that he couldn't stand the daily reminder of her absence. He knew that ever since Laura's disappearance, George watched his daughter very carefully-and as an emergency room worker, he knew what people were capable of.
He went back into the living room, where the piano stood, waiting for him. It was close to eleven now, though-too late to play without disturbing the neighbors. He ran his fingers lightly over the keys, looking the pages of a Bach partita open in front of him. Tomorrow he would make time for Bach.
Back in the kitchen, he looked out the window at the couple across the way having dinner. They had finished now and were doing the dishes together. The woman stood at the sink, head down, washing dishes, and the man came up behind her and put his arms around her waist, hugging her body to him. It was a simple gesture, but it conveyed both protectiveness and possession. What happened, Lee thought, when protection faded and only possession was left? He closed the window's bamboo shades and left the room.
Somewhere, out there in the darkness, was a man with evil on his mind. The phrase ran through his mind, over and over, stuck in a never-ending loop of numbing repetition: Closer to home…closer to home…
Chapter Fifty
The girl was slim and long of body, with willowy light brown hair. She walked with the loose-limbed grace of youth, and the satisfaction of being alive. She was not pretty, with small, pale eyes, a long prominent nose, and thin mouth, but her features were clean and wholesome and oddly aristocratic. Her face radiated kindness and honesty. She was the kind of girl you'd want as a best friend, the kind of girl men might not fall in love with right away but would feel drawn to. Samuel knew, down deep, that such a girl could never want him… And he longed for her, for her carefree body that moved so freely and easily-her aliveness and unself-conscious enjoyment of physical existence. He tried to imagine feeling that way, but if he ever had, he couldn't remember it.
He watched her sitting on the park bench for quite a while, until she stood up and stretched, arching her back and throwing her head back, exposing her throat. It was the sight of their exposed throats that excited him the most: moist, white, supple, arched in passion. The naked curves of this bare flesh were more alluring to him than breasts, erect nipples, or tender thighs. The sight of a woman's bare throat made his eyes glaze over and his heart quicken in its bony cage, as if it wanted to burst out of his body.
After she had left the bench, he went over and sat on the spot where she had sat, warming the green- painted wood with her soft bottom. Samuel could smell faint traces of her shampoo-lily of the valley. He knew his floral scents-his mother had taught him well. He thought of his mother, digging in the dirt, her back to him, her bottom in the air, waving it at him, taunting him.
He felt the anger inside him, a tiny nugget of hardened rage, smoldered and condensed, shrunken like a piece of anthracite fired to its most hardened form. It hovered there at the core of him, shiny and black and smooth, nestled at the very center of his being. There was a time when it had hurt him, when its sharp and unpolished edges tore at his soul, chafing him no matter which way he turned-but he had nurtured it, until eventually it became his constant friend and companion. He turned it this way and that, gazing upon its shiny surface, noticing with admiration how it seemed to absorb all the light around it, drawing him down into its darkened depths.
Gradually he had come to accept his rage not as an enemy, but as a friend. It had things to teach him, and he was determined to listen. He learned to love its hard, unforgiving surface and dark beauty. The outside world would always be a bewildering, disappointing place, but he could draw into himself and know that his rage would be there waiting for him, an unpolished gemstone in the dark center of his soul.
Underneath the park bench, a fly struggled in a spider-web. He smiled as he watched the spider approach its struggling prey, all nicely wrapped in the deadly grip of the spider's web. In eating the fly, the spider was simply doing its job. Just as he, in his late-night missions, was doing his job. A spider, he knew, can feel the tiniest vibration on its web-a signal that another meal has landed. Then, carefully, the spider will approach to inject venom in its hapless victim. He too felt a vibration on his web, and he was going to do what he could to trap his victim.
Chapter Fifty-one
The next day, Lee, Nelson, Chuck, and Detectives Butts and Florette sat in Chuck Morton's office, discarded coffee cups littering the surfaces of the room. The five of them now comprised the officially appointed members of the mayor's 'elite task force.' Butts and Florette also had a couple of sergeants and patrolmen at their disposal, as needed.
Nelson had responded to Chuck's phone calls-and, without apology or explanation, had turned up at the meeting, looking tired and thinner, but sober.
'What's with this whole 'elite task force' business?' Butts said, biting deeply into a sugared doughnut. 'And why does it rate a press conference?'
'Politics,' Chuck replied. 'The mayor wants to let people know he's in control and on top of things.'
'All right, so what about the instant messages the killer sent to Lee?' Nelson asked. 'Any chance of tracking them?'
'Nope,' said Chuck. 'It's a cold trail. According to the computer whiz kids in the Computer Crimes department, the address and information on the account were bogus.'
'He certainly knows what he's doing,' Florette remarked with a frown. He was dressed elegantly as usual, with a gray silk tie over a striped blue and white shirt with French cuffs.
'What about leaving a trail from where he logged on?' Lee suggested.
'Holyman logged on from different locations all over the place, including public libraries,' Chuck answered.
'So he's used every means available to protect himself,' Florette said.
'Yep,' Chuck agreed. 'And so far it's worked.'
'So our guy is basically a ghost,' Butts remarked. 'A face without a name.'
'Okay, what about the online conversation between this guy and Lee?' Chuck said. 'Did anyone have a chance
