第 54 页

He was awakened sometime later by a slight stinging on his neck. At first he thought a bee or mosquito had gotten him but as he reached up to the sting he found himself so weak that he could barely lift his hand above his chest.

He looked down and saw that his shirt was soaked with blood. He cried out and forced his hands to his neck. He touched the loose flap of skin where his carotid artery had been severed. Okun tried to stand and fell immediately to the floor. He grabbed at the telephone cord and pulled it off the desk onto the floor beside him.

'Ohgodhelp . . .' The weakness of his voice terrified him.

He pressed 9.

The receiver slipped from his bloody hand. He managed to retrieve it.

He pressed 1.

He stared at the blurring number pad of the phone. He tried to touch the final digit but found his arm would not respond. He heard a hum and a click then a three-part ascending musical tone followed by a woman's electronically-generated voice speaking to him, saying the last words he would ever hear: 'Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try your call again.

Diane Corde slipped her arms around Ben Breck and hugged him hard.

This seemed a wholly natural thing to do: standing up in her garden as she watched him pull up in the driveway then walking quickly to him, wrapping her arms around him, feeling his around her.

Wholly natural. This frightened her terribly. She said, 'I left a message for you at the library.'

'I've been over at Arts and Sciences. How's Jamie?'

That's what I called about. He's much better. I just got back from the hospital.'

Diane realized with a shock that they were still embracing. She stepped back quickly. Oh, God, the neighbors... At least he didn't kiss me... She looked around and stepped into the cover of the juniper bushes. Breck followed.

And why didn't he kiss me?

Diane haltingly explained Jamie's diagnosis by rote, not even hearing the words she'd repeated a dozen times that day.

As they talked Breck slipped his hands into his pockets. This added to his boyishness and made him infuriatingly appealing. He wore dark jeans and a thick burgundy sweater with a braided collar. He said, 'You told me on the phone that Wisconsin's out.'

'Surely is. Seems they got that fellow. Got him up in Fitzberg.'

Relief seemed to flood into his face. 'I'm glad you won't be going.'

'Agree with you there. Doris's never outgrown the big sister complex. And it's hardly fair since she only outranks me by thirteen months.'

'I have more selfish reasons for being glad you're not going.' He spoke seductively.

Diane swallowed. 'Say, Ben, I think you and I ought to have a talk.'

'Somewhere alone.' He smiled. "Private.' A thought seemed to slip spontaneously into his mind. 'How about my place?'

"No,' she whined playfully. Tm serious.' The smile faded. 'Are you saying you don't want to see me?'

'No,' Diane said quickly. Tm just saying we have to talk. Before things get... You know. Get too complicated.' 'Fair enough.'

Diane tamped on mounds of moist earth at the base of some newly planted zinnias and asked if he wanted something to drink. She had a recurring image - of her pouring coffee or wine into him in the afternoons. Trying to delay his leaving. All these beverages struck her as funny. She wondered if he ever felt waterlogged on the drive home.

"No, I just better collect Sarah. I've got the video camera reserved for two-thirty.'

'Honey,' Diane shouted, 'Dr Breck's here.' "Kay,' came the answering shout. Diane asked, These tests you're giving Sarah, what are they?'

They're the same as Dr Parker gave her. I want to correlate short-term results to sessions of study per week. The first draft of my article for the New England Journal of Child Psychology is due tomorrow and I wanted to include her revised results on the Bender- Gestalt and Gray's Oral. The data are also important for me - they'll give me an idea of where we should go next.'

Data are... Some boys never quit being the show-offs.

"You think they'll upset her?' Diane asked cautiously.

He shook his head. 'Ill be videotaping her but it's a hidden camera. She'll never know she's being filmed. She'll do fine.'

Sarah's face appeared through the front screen door. Dr Breck!'

'Hello, Sarah. Bring your book with you. If we get a chance, well do some more work.'

I've got it here.' She slapped her backpack.

'All of it?'

'Everything. The new pages from Dr Parker too.'

'Good. Let's get a move on.'

She ran to the car. He hesitated, his face clouded. Diane noticed it. 'Something wrong?'

His eyes were distant. He didn't seem to hear her and she repeated the question, touching his arm gently. He blinked and said, 'I was thinking about Jamie.'

'No, no. He's going to be fine. He is.'

Breck's smile returned but Diane saw a glint of something in his eyes - regret or pining, she believed. She considered this. Perhaps what she saw was a childless man approaching middle age, which was one of the saddest things she could imagine. She wanted to wrap her arms around him. She muscled up restraint and laughed. That boy's going to be just fine. He's a tough one.'

'I must stop by and visit him sometime. I'll bring him a present Maybe something about that movie he liked.'

'Come on, Dr Breck!'

Diane said to them both, Don't be late,' and stepped back into the tilled dirt of her garden.

When he noticed Tom - the young deputy who had guarded his house - walking toward him, Corde was crouched down, jamming stacks of papers from the Gebben case into file cabinets in the small storeroom off the Sheriffs Department. He paused, a file halfway sunk into a clogged drawer. He froze as he watched the grave face of the approaching deputy.

Jamie!

He knew without a doubt that the hospital had just called and that his son had died. When Corde had last seen him the boy was frighteningly disoriented. His eyes wouldn't stay on his father's face and he blacked out twice.

Propelled by fear Corde rose fast, his knee a resounding gunshot. 'What is it?' he demanded. The desperation in his voice stopped the deputy short.

Tom told him, There's a problem on your case, Bill.'

Case?

Corde was confused. He wasn't working on any cases at the moment. The only case he could have meant was the Gebben case. But it was closed. Corde knew this because he had written that word in careful block printing in the 'Status' box on form FI-113, which was this very moment sitting in Sheriff Jim Slocum's in basket.

Corde was wrong.

Tom said, 'We just got a fax. An erroneous identification notice from Fitzberg. The man Wynton Kresge shot wasn't Gilchrist. It was some guy with a rap sheet full of GL arrests, mostly credit card dealing. Prints confirmed it.'

'Oh, no.' Corde closed his eyes as he leaned against the doorjamb. 'Did you tell Wynton?'

'Yessir. And Emma says a call just came in. A grad student was found hi Gilchrist's old office a few minutes ago. Murdered, looks like.'

'Okun? Was that the name?'

'Matter of fact, that's it.'

Corde's grim-set mouth didn't come close to the despair he felt. And fear too. Gilchrist had returned to New Lebanon. And Corde knew why.

'Okay, Tom, get over to my house now and keep an eye on Diane and Sarah. I think Gilchrist is after them.

And get somebody over to the hospital to stay with Jamie.'

'Will do.'

As he hurried back to the squad room Emma shouted from the dispatcher office, Detective Corde? It's Wynton Kresge on the phone for you. He's over at the university.'

Corde sent Tom on his way then trotted to his office and snatched up the phone. Wynton, what've we got?'

'Killed just like Sayles, Bill.' Kresge sounded despondent. 'Cut throat. Razor. Witness says a car stopped outside the building, man matching Gilchrist's description got out and went inside for three* four minutes then left, got into the car and drove off. Late-model green sedan, no tag, no make. About forty minutes ago.'

'Any idea where he headed?'

'Just toward the campus exit. They didn't see after that.'

There was a lengthy pause, both men lost in their own vital thoughts. Kresge finally said, 'Looks like I got the wrong man, huh, Bill?'

Corde's squad car moves at seventy, lights whipping around, siren grating. The driving is fast but, in this big taut American cruiser, oddly placid. He is on the outskirts of town, passing small stores and buildings. He sees a vef s office. Dog 8 Cat Hospital, the numeral substituting for an ampersand stolen long ago. Along white structure, TRIBUTION CENTR, burnt out letters never replaced. He blazed through the town's last stoplight, then the land opens up, there is no traffic and Corde is free to have a discussion with himself. This makes him extremely agitated.

Think, goddamn it. Think.

Leon Gilchrist, who sees by the light of pure brilliance, the Prince of Auden University. Come on, think of something clever, think of something unlikely, think of something he would think of.

Think!

His hands sweat and he feels ill.

I can't think!

The newspaper clipping, the scrawled threat.

IT COULD HAPPEN TO THEM.

Corde zooms past Andy Dexter's harvester listing half off the highway as it bobs along at ten miles per hour. The cruiser's slipstream rattles the blades as it passes.

I can't think the way he does ... He's too smart for me...

Corde sees the Polaroid of Sarah and Jamie, looking safe and silly as actors in a commercial. He sees Gilchrist's handwriting:

SAY GOOD-BYE, DETECTIVE.

Corde crests the road by Sutler's farm and is blinded by a sheet of stunning sun. The streaked, bug-dotted windshield goes opaque. He is out of the glare immediately, dropping rollercoaster over the hill and sees before him a three-mile straightaway of cambered gray asphalt. His foot aims for the accelerator then waffles and goes suddenly to the brake.

His skid is as precariously controlled as the ones he practiced for weeks on the State Police course. The Dodge comes to rest dead center in the road, at the head of twin black stripes. The cloud of burnt rubber and dust catches up with the cruiser, encloses it, then passes away intact on an impossibly gentle breeze.

Corde's car sat askew in front of his own house, half on the lawn, engine still running, next to Tom's cruiser, which was parked civilly in the center of the driveway.

Inside Diane looked up at her husband's wide green eyes as he burst through the door. He took her hands and placed her on the couch.

You're scaring me, Bill.' As if speaking to a stranger. 'Is it Jamie? What's happened?1

Corde sat next to her. His breath was rapid. He didn't let go of her hands. She squirmed. What?' she said, then louder: "What is it?

'I think...' He squeezed her cold fingers. 'I think Ben Breck is Leon Gilchrist.'

13

'Oh, God, no . ..' Diane's voice crumbled. "No, it's not true...'

'Gilchrist is a special education lecturer at Auden. Isn't that the department where the tutors work?1

She nodded, her eyes sweeping the floor at her feet.

'He could've read Sarah's file and known all about her problem.'

'No, Bill,' she protested. "No!'

'What does he look like?'

'No, no, no... He wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't do it!...' Her voice vanished in hysterical sobbing.

'Diane,' Corde said harshly, 'you've got to help me on this. Think.'

'Oh, Bill, no!'

He gripped her shoulders. 'Describe him!'

She did, as best she could, her words punctuated with sobs. When she finished she cried, 'Oh, God, it can't be. I know it can't.'

Diane's description was vague but it did depict someone who could resemble Gilchrist. 'Where's he staying?'

'I don't know! Near hear somewhere. He never told me.'

'He never told you?' Corde shouted. 'How did you call him?'

'Usually he called me. When I called I left messages at the library. I never saw his office.' Every word grew weaker as the evidence mounted.

What kind of car does he drive?'

'I don't know! Quit cross-examining me!'

Corde gripped his wife by her shoulders. Think. You must've seen it. Is it green?'

1 don't know. Just a car. American, I think. A four-door of some kind. I don't remember the color. I think it was dark. No... Oh, and I just saw it! When he picked her up...' Her hands flew to her face. 'Oh Bill!'

'Sarah?' Corde shouted. 'Sarah's with him now?'

He grabbed the phone and dialed Auden. He heard a click. You have reached Auden University. The school will be closed until summer session registration on June 10. If you would like to leave a message, press the number of the extension for the department you wish to reach and at the tone leave your message. If you-'

He slammed the phone down. He paused a moment then picked up the receiver again, intending to dial directory assistance. In his frazzled state of mind he dialed 911 by mistake. He shuddered at the error and pressed the receiver cradle down then released it. The line wouldn't disconnect. He held it again for three seconds. Still no dial tone. Then five seconds. GOD STRIKE THEM DEAD! Finally he heard the tone.

Four. One. One.

'Operator, this is the New Lebanon Sheriffs Department. We have a police emergency. I need the number and address of a man named Breck. In New Lebanon.'

'Breck? First name?'

How many Brecks do you have? 'Ben. Benjamin.'

The wait was a huge black pit. He heard the clattering of keys. He heard pages riffling. He heard a one-sided conversation - another operator saying 'I'll bring 'em home but you have to cook 'em. I won't have time.'

'Sir?'

'Yes?' Corde asked.