No way, I decided. I didn’t know how many others were inside that warehouse.
Or what they were doing.
Or why Neverman hadn’t gone inside with Mr. Moe.
Restlessly, I moved my foot. It hit something light that tipped over and rolled onto the metal surface toward the center of the pier. It rattled along, making an incredible racket for what could be only a pop or beer can. I shrank back against the post, hoping Neverman was too stoned to notice.
“Who’s there?” His shout echoed up and down the pier.
I turned and ran.
“Hey! Come back here!”
My feet clanked along the metal slabs. I stumbled when I hit flat ground.
“Stop, you!”
Neverman’s footsteps staggered down the pier.
I dived behind a pile of bricks.
The warehouse door clanged open.
“What the hell’s going on out here?” a rough voice shouted.
I dodged from one heap of bricks to another, toward the ruined building I’d seen earlier.
“Neverman! Hold it!” Mr. Moe’s voice rang out.
I crawled into the half-demolished building on my hands and knees. Pieces of glass and metal cut into me. My pants ripped with a sickening sound.
I lay flat on the ground, under a tilted piece of corrugated iron, my gun out, waiting for them. My cheek pressed into the rubble, and I sucked in grit with every ragged breath.
Miraculously, no one came.
After a few minutes, I inched forward and hazarded a look. Four figures stood at the foot of the pier. Neverman and Mr. Moe and two larger men. They milled about, then walked back toward the warehouse. Mr. Moe and Neverman parted company with the others at the van. It started and backed down the pier, then bumped across the debris-filled field toward the old factory and the gate.
Obviously they didn’t want to attract attention by using their headlights to search for me.
I lay still, listening to the silence. From far off, a ship’s horn groaned. The faint bellow of foghorns answered it. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had rain by morning.
After a while, I crawled from under the piece of iron. My clothes were a mess, and my rear end was definitely open to the night air. I slipped from rubbish heap to rubbish heap and plunged into the alley between the two factory buildings. In their ponderous silence they took on an evil, Dickensian air. I hurried along to my car.
It was where I’d left it, untouched and apparently unobserved. I started up and pulled away with a spray of gravel. After an adventure like this, the best place for me was home in bed. Given Linnea’s condition, however, that wasn’t possible. I’d have to settle for my office at All Souls.
17
I was in my office, sewing up the rip in the seat of my pants, when Hank barged in. He scratched furiously at his head and muttered, “Oh, you’re not dressed.”
“No, I’m not.” I draped the pants over my bare legs. “Why don’t you come back in about five minutes.”
“Uh, sure.” He backed out the door, his eyes bemused as he tried to act as if finding me half-naked in my office were an everyday event.
I chuckled softly while I inspected my repair job. The pants were intact, but they would never be the same. As I was putting them on, Hank knocked and, after an elaborate pause, reentered. His tall, lanky frame seemed to fill the little room.
“Ted mentioned you’d snuck in the back way, holding yourself together,” he said, perching on the edge of my desk. “I thought I’d better check things out.”
I’d parked two blocks away and slipped down the stone footpath that scaled the hill behind All Souls, hoping no one would see me. Ted, the para-legal worker and receptionist, had been fixing a snack in the kitchen when I’d come through the service porch, and he’d made appropriately lewd comments.
“Well, I’m sewn together now.” I sat down in my ratty armchair.
Hank grinned. “You’re having a rough vacation. Exactly how did you split your britches?”
“It would take years in the telling.”
“I’ve got all night. Besides, I don’t think it would be smart for you to leave here.”
“Oh?”
“Our friend Greg Marcus was here — minus his usual candy bar. Seems you’re wanted for questioning in a homicide.”
“Oh, Lord. I was afraid of that. How’d he figure out I reported it?”
“For one thing, the murder was in your building — again. For another, a young-sounding woman reported it. And, when Greg went looking for you, you were missing from your usual haunts.”
“That’s pretty flimsy evidence to put out a warrant on.”
“I don’t think there’s a warrant yet. He said something about keeping it friendly. But he’s got better evidence than what I just told you.”
“What?”
“Greg went to your apartment. Your houseguest answered the door, drunk as a skunk.”
“Oh, God.”
“When Greg asked where you were, your friend said she didn’t know, that you might have paid another visit to ‘that goddamned fortune teller’ far as she knew.”
“Oh, Linnea!” I wailed.
“She sounds like a delightful guest.”
“She’s getting more so every day. Hank, do you think Greg will come back here tonight?”
“Nope. He thinks you’re too clever to show your face in these parts. If you stay inside, you’re safe. So how about telling me how you ripped your pants?”
“Why? So you can go back and gossip with Ted?”
“Now,” Hank admonished, “you know we’re only interested in your welfare. I came right down here to reassure myself...”
“You mean to get the dirt. It’s no wonder it’s impossible to maintain one’s dignity around this place!”
“Aw, Shar, aren’t you going to let me in on it?”
The teasing light in his eyes was infectious. “What’s it worth to you?”
He considered. “A damned good cup of coffee. I brewed some of that French roast you like a while ago.”
“It’s a deal. Let me clean up and brush my hair first.”
“I’ll go wash some cups.”
When I went into the kitchen, Hank sat at the big table, two steaming mugs and a bottle of brandy in front of him. “Didn’t think you’d mind.” He motioned at the bottle. “Makes for better storytelling.”
I thought back to the brandy I’d shared with Sebastian. It seemed like years ago. “Mind? Not in the slightest.”
“So tell me your strange and wonderful tale,” Hank commanded.
I told all of it, not even bothering to edit the scene at Anya’s. When I got to the part about being imprisoned in the bathroom with the bird, Hank stroked his chin, pulling at the corners of his mouth to keep them from turning up. When I was finished, he looked more serious.
“What do you think Anya planned to do with you?” he asked.
“I don’t know. She knew I was afraid of birds, but not that it was a serious phobia. Actually, I think she just flipped out.”
“And you heard voices while you were trapped in the john?”
“Yes. I thought she’d called someone in to help her. I still think whoever it was must have been someone she knew.”
“Why so?”
“Because Anya had a habit of answering her door with a gun. She must have put it away and let this person in. Then, after he killed her, he took the gun from the table drawer.”
“You sound like you think it might not have been the husband.”
“Everything points to him, though. Even though I saw him pick up Mr. Moe right after I called the cops, he still had plenty of time to go back to the Blind Center and get the truck. I must have searched Anya’s apartment for a good fifteen minutes before I made that call.”
“And what was it you found? Nylons?”
“Yes. Wait a minute.” I hurried back to my office and got the box of nylons from my bag. Returning to the kitchen, I tossed it on the table.