Pittman didn’t reply.
“The other nights,” Jill asked. “Where-?”
“A park bench and the floor of the intensive-care waiting room.”
“Dear God.”
“Maybe the police aren’t such a bad idea. Call them. Maybe they
“But for how long? I told you, I’d be terrified that they’d let down their guard. No. I’m staying with you,” Jill said.
“In the long run, I’m not sure that would be smart.”
“But in the short run, it’s the option that scares me the least. Besides, there’s something you still haven’t figured out about me,” Jill said.
“You mean in addition to the fact that you have money?”
“The money’s part of it. I don’t have to work for a living. The point is, I’m a nurse because I want to be. Because I need to be. And right now…”
“Yes?”
“My conscience wouldn’t bear what might happen to you if you fail. You need help.”
Pittman’s chest became tight with emotion. He touched her arm. “Thank you.”
“Hey, if I don’t hang around, who’s going to change the bandage on your hand?”
Pittman smiled.
“You ought to do that more often,” Jill said.
Self-conscious, Pittman felt his smile lose its strength.
Jill glanced toward East End Avenue. “I’d better find a pay phone and tell the hospital that I won’t be coming to work. They’ll still have time to get a replacement.”
But after she made the call and stepped from the booth, Jill looked perplexed.
“What’s wrong?”
“My supervisor in intensive care-she said the police had been in touch with her.”
“They must have checked your apartment and connected you with the hospital.”
“But she said somebody else called her as well, one of my friends, telling her I was all right but that I wouldn’t be coming in.”
“
“A man.”
Pittman’s muscles contracted. “Millgate’s people. Trying to cover everything. If you did show up at the hospital tonight, you would never have gotten to the sixth floor. But your supervisor wouldn’t be worried enough to call the police when you didn’t show up-because your ‘friend’ told her you were okay.”
“Now I’m
“And we still haven’t solved our problem. Where are you going to stay?”
“I’ve got a better idea.”
“What?”
“Let’s keep moving,” Jill said.
“All night? We’d collapse.”
“Not necessarily. You need to go to the library, but it won’t be open until tomorrow.”
“Right.” Pittman was mystified.
“Well, they’ve got libraries in other cities. Instead of waiting until tomorrow, let’s use the time. We’ll be able to sleep on the train.”
“Train?”
“I take the overnight when I go skiing there.”
Pittman continued to look perplexed.
“Vermont.”
Pittman suddenly, tensely understood. A chill swept through him. “Yes. Where Professor Folsom told us it was. Grollier Academy. Vermont.”
FOUR
1
A sleeper car wasn’t available. Not that it made a difference-Pittman was so exhausted that he was ready to sleep anywhere. Shortly after the train left Penn Station, he and Jill ate sandwiches and coffee that she had bought in the terminal. She had also been the one who bought the tickets; he didn’t want anyone to get a close look at him. For the same reason, he chose a seat against a window in an area that had few passengers. The photo of him that the newspapers and television were using didn’t show him as he now looked. Still, he had to be careful.
Soon the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of wheels on rails became hypnotic. Pittman glanced toward the other passengers in the half-full car, assuring himself that they showed no interest in him. Then he peered toward the lights in buildings the train was passing. His eyelids felt heavy. He leaned against the gym bag-he’d retrieved it from Sean O’Reilly’s loft-and started to ask Jill how long the trip would take, but his eyelids kept sinking, and he never got the question out.
2
“Wake up.”
He felt someone nudging him.
“It’s time to wake up.”
Slowly he opened his eyes.
Jill was sitting next to him, her hand on his shoulder. Her face was washed. Her hair was combed. She looked remarkably alert, not to mention attractive for so early in the morning. “Guess what?” she asked. “You snore.”
“Sorry.”
“No problem. You must be exhausted. I’ve never seen anyone sleep so deeply in such uncomfortable conditions.”
“Compared to a park bench, this is the Ritz.”
“Do you remember switching trains?”
Pittman shook his head. The car was almost deserted. No one was close enough to overhear them.
“You do a convincing job of sleepwalking,” Jill said. “If we hadn’t had to board another train, I bet you wouldn’t even have gotten up to go to the bathroom.”
Pittman gradually straightened from where he’d been scrunched down on the seat. His back hurt. “Where are we?”
“A few miles outside Montpelier, Vermont.” Jill raised the shade on the window.
Although the sun was barely up, Pittman squinted painfully at a line of pine trees that suddenly gave way, revealing cattle on a sloping pasture. Across a narrow valley, low wooded mountains still had occasional patches of snow on them.
“What time is…?”
“Six-fifteen.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any coffee left from last night.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“In that case, wake me when this is over.”
“Come on,” Jill said. “Straighten yourself up. When this train stops, I want to hit the ground running.”
“Are you always this energetic so early in the morning?”
