But even without that angle, this issue was special because it also ran his advocacy piece continuing the amnesty call for the Savior. Both in the first three pages. Which had led Pokorny to quip that soon Palmer would be writing the entire paper.
Sandy finished his coffee while Beth went back to work on the treatment for her film. He leaned over and kissed her.
"Got to go. Meeting somebody at nine, then the DA later on. I'll catch you later."
A short, shoulder-to-shoulder ride on the crowded Nine, followed by a quick walk, and he was back in Riverside Park. He and the Savior had arranged to meet at nine this morning to follow up, but the Savior had set the spot ten blocks uptown from their previous encounters.
He'd also told him to make sure he wasn't followed. That was an unsettling thought, but Sandy kept an eye out and couldn't find a hint that anyone was tailing him.
With rain threatening, the park was almost deserted. Sandy had his pick of empty benches. He chose one under a tree—in case it started to rain—and sat down. The Savior appeared a few minutes later, and sat on the far end of the bench.
"You look better," Sandy said. He still lacked the vitality of the man he'd first encountered here, but at least he didn't look like death warmed over. "That poison must be working its way out of your system."
"What?" the Savior said. He twisted his body back and forth, doing a full scan of the park. "Oh, yeah. I'm up to maybe seventy-five percent." He slumped back and rubbed his temples as if he had a headache.
"Holdstock walked," Sandy said. "Despite the handprint."
The Savior shrugged. "Figured that would happen. His cult buddies alibied him, right?"
"Right." He explained his dilemma about not being allowed to use the cult angle. "I mentioned that Terrence Holdstock was questioned, then released, but couldn't go beyond that."
The Savior said, "You've got to. There's a big story there."
"Yeah but I can't squeeze more ink out of it without an angle."
"Fielding was strangled. Can you imagine what that's like? Eyes bugging out, head feeling like it's going to explode. Nasty way to go. I think hunting his killer should be angle enough."
Sandy had to smile. "Do you know my girlfriend?"
"Should I?" he said, doing another body-twisting scan.
"Something wrong?
"You sure you weren't followed?"
"Absolutely." Well, not absolutely, but he was reasonably sure. "Why?"
"Got this watched feeling."
"Yeah?" Sandy glanced around. He saw a few people strolling above on Riverside Drive, but none of them appeared particularly interested in what was going on down here. "I don't."
"Had it since I left home, but I haven't been able to spot anybody. Maybe it's because I'm still not feeling right."
Or maybe you're scared, Sandy thought. I'd sure as hell be if I'd been poisoned.
"Worried they'll make another try on you?"
"The thought has crossed my mind."
Sandy wondered if hanging around this guy might be hazardous to his health. He glanced at his watch and rose.
"I've got a meeting with the DA about you."
The Savior's eyes widened. "Me?"
"Sure. Your amnesty."
"Forget that. Holdstock and his cult are the real story. You can bring in a murderer."
"And I can bring in a hero, too, if I can get you amnesty."
The Savior shook his head. "Holdstock. Not me. Holdstock."
"Don't worry. I'm on him right after I write up my DA tête-à-tête."
Sandy waved and strolled away, leaving the Savior on the bench, rubbing his temples again.
He started thinking about his meeting with the DA. First off, just being able to book such a meeting was a jaw dropper; he'd called at eight and they'd penciled him in for 11:30. A week ago he'd still be waiting for the call-back that would never come. Sandy expected no promise of amnesty, but no outright refusal either. A carefully clipped hedge. Fine. That would be a battle call Sandy could use to rally the troops and circle the wagons around the Savior.
While simultaneously trying to expose a murder cult.
It ain't easy being me.
He was going to need some fancy footwork to keep all these balls in the air, but he was up to it.
3
And now Kate, in a middle-aged woman's body, is moving down a grassy slope toward Jack. The younger man he was talking to has moved away, and that seems to have set the woman in motion. Jack's back is to her as he slouches on the bench.
Turn around! she screams.
But no cry is heard as she moves silently forward.
A dozen feet from Jack and picking up speed, the woman's right hand pulls a long, slim knife from her pocketbook.
Get up, Jack! Move! Get up and go! Anything but sit there!
But to her horror Kate senses another part of her urging the woman on, glorying in the imminent demise of a threat to the Unity.
No! That's not me! It can't be! I won't let it be!
The woman holds the blade low, pointed toward the left side of Jack's mid-dorsal region, ready to slip between the wooden slats of the bench and the bony slats of his ribs and into the posterior wall of his heart. She's almost to him now, the arm swinging back, preparing to thrust—
Jackieeeeee!
"Look out!"
A cry from somewhere behind, a man's voice, faint, distant, but enough to alert Jack. He leaps up from the bench and whirls just as the woman strikes, but her thrust stabs only air, and her momentum carries her forward, bending her over the back of the bench as Jack's foot lashes out, catching her under the chin.
A deafening crunch! and a blaze of pain in her throat and then Kate is unable to breathe. It's as if someone has clamped a vise on her trachea—no air moves either way. She sees Jack moving away as an impossible pressure builds in her chest and black and purple splotches swell and coalesce in her vision, and then she's falling backward and she wants to call out to Jack because she is dying… dying…
4
Jack hurried away down the path. Wanted to run but that would only draw attention. Not many people around on this dreary Monday morning but only a matter of short time before someone spotted the woman and dropped an emergency dime.
Glanced over his shoulder. Saw she'd finally stopped kicking and writhing. She lay flat on her back now, one knee bent over the other, the knife at her side, her clawed hands frozen at her throat. Never seen her before but he could guess who sent her.
Glanced up and saw Palmer at the railing overlooking the park, moving toward the stairs that Jack would take up to the street. Must have been him who shouted the warning. Now we're even, kid.
As Jack rounded a clump of shrubbery, he shot one last look at the supine woman. A couple coming up the downtown side of the path had stopped and were pointing at her.
He shook his head as he increased his pace toward the steps. How had he let her get so close? Must be this headache. Like a hammer and chisel chipping away at the inner surface of his skull.
He'd reacted instinctively when he'd seen the knife. Hadn't been aiming for her throat. Had intended a head kick but caught her as she was bending forward. Just as well, he thought, but Kate's words trailed him up the steps…
… the individuals are innocent. They didn't ask to be infected…
Yeah, well, that may be so, but it didn't make their knives any less sharp. If Palmer hadn't yelled, it would be Jack be on the ground back there and the woman walking away.
The Unity had just attempted Pearl Harbor. Jack was not going to give them a second chance.
At the top of the steps he found Palmer waiting, face white, eyes wild.
"I saw her! She climbed over the railing and jumped down to the slope!"