Bryce's arms were pinned, and although he was a strong man himself, he couldn't break Kale's iron hold on him. They staggered a few steps backwards, stumbled, and went down, with Kale on top. Bryce's head thumped hard against the pavement, and he thought he was going to black out.
Kale punched him once, ineffectively, then rolled off him and crawled away fast.
Warding off the darkness that rose behind his eyes, surprised that Kale had surrendered the advantage, Bryce pushed up onto his hands and knees. He shook his head — and then saw what the other man had gone after.
A revolver.
It lay on the macadam, a few yards away, gleaming darkly in the glow of the yellowish sodium-vapor lights.
Bryce felt his holster. Empty. The revolver on the ground was his own. Apparently, it had slipped out of his holster and had spun across the pavement when he'd fallen.
The killer's hand closed on the weapon.
Tal Whitman stepped in and swung a nightstick, striking Kale across the back of the neck. The big man collapsed on top of the gun, unconscious.
Crouching, Tal rolled Kale over and checked his pulse.
Holding the back of his own throbbing skull, Bryce hobbled over to them, “Is he all right, Tal?”
“Yeah. He'll be coming around in a few minutes.” He picked up Bryce's gun and got to his feet.
Accepting the revolver, Bryce said, “I owe you one.”
“Not at all. How's your head?”
“I should be so lucky to own an aspirin company.”
“I didn't expect him to run.”
“Neither did I,” Bryce said, “When things get worse and worse for a man like that, he usually just gets calmer, cooler, more careful.”
“Well, I guess this one saw the walls closing in.”
Bob Robine was standing in the open doorway, staring out at them, shaking his head in consternation.
A few minutes later, as Bryce Hammond sat at his desk, filling out the forms charging Fletcher Kale with two homicides, Bob Robine rapped on the open door.
Bryce looked up. “Well, counselor, how's your client?”
“He's okay. But he's not my client any more.”
“Oh? His decision or yours?”
“Mine. I can't handle a client who lies to me about everything. I don't like being made a fool of.”
“So does he want to call another-attorney tonight?”
“No. When he's arraigned, he's going to ask the judge for a public defender.”
“That'll be the Just thing in the morning.”
“Not wasting any time, huh?”
“Not with-this one,” Bryce said.
Robine nodded. “Good. He's a very bad apple, Bryce. You know, I've been a lapsed Catholic for fifteen years,” Robine said softly, “I made up my mind long ago that them weren't such things as angels, demons, miracles. I thought I was too well educated to believe that Evil — with a capital E — stalks the world on cloven hooves. But back there in the cell, Kale suddenly whirled on me and said, ‘They won't get me. They won't destroy me. Nobody can. I'll walk away from this,' When I warned him against excessive optimism, he said, ‘I'm not afraid of your kind. Besides, I didn't commit murder; I just disposed of some garbage that was stinking up my life.'”
“Jesus,” Bryce said.
They were both silent. Then Robine sighed. “What about High Country Investments? How's it provide a motive?”
Before Bryce could explain, Tal Whitman rushed in from the hall. “Bryce, could I have a word with you?” He glanced at Robine, “Uh, this better be in private.”
“Sure,” Robine said.
Tal closed the door behind the lawyer. “Bryce, do you know Dr. Jennifer Paige?”
“She set up practice in Snowfield sometime back.”
“Yeah. But what kind of person would you say she is?”
“I've never met her. I heard she's a fine doctor, though. And folks up in those little mountain towns are glad they don't have to drive all the way in to Santa Mira for a doctor any more.”
“I've never met her either. I was just wondering if maybe you'd heard anything about… about whether she drinks. I mean… booze.”
“No, I haven't heard any such thing. Why? What's going on?”
“She called a couple of minutes ago. She says there's been a disaster up in Snowfield.”
“Disaster? What's she mean?”
“Well, she says she doesn't know.”
Bryce blinked. “Did she sound hysterical?”
“Frightened, yeah. But not hysterical. She doesn't want to say much of anything to anyone but you. She's on line three right now.”
Bryce reached for the phone.
“One more thing,” Tal said, worry lines creasing his forehead.
Bryce paused, hand on the receiver.
Tal said, “She did tell me one thing, but it doesn't make sense. She said…”
“Yes?”
“She said that everyone's dead up there. Everyone in Snowfield. She said she and her sister are the only ones alive.”
Chapter 10
Sisters and Cops
Jenny and Lisa left the Oxley house the same way they had entered: through the window.
The night was growing colder. The wind had risen once more.
They walked back to Jenny's house at the top of Skyline Road and got jackets to ward off the chill.
Then they went downhill again to the sheriff's substation. A wooden bench was bolted to the cobblestones by the curb in front of the town jail, and they sat waiting for help from Santa Mira.
“How long will it take them to get here?” Lisa asked.
“Well, Santa Mira is more than thirty miles away, over some pretty twisty roads. And they've got to take some unusual precautions.” Jenny looked at her wristwatch. “I guess they'll be here in another forty-five minutes. An hour at most—”
“Jeez.”
“It's not so long, honey.”
The girl pulled up the collar of her fleece-lined, dinim jacket. “Jenny, when the phone rang at the Oxley place and you picked it up…”
“Yes?”
“Who was calling?”
“No one.”
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing,” Jenny lied.
“From the look on your face, I thought someone was threatening you or something.”
“Well, I was upset, of course. When it rang, I thought the phones were working again, but when I picked it up and it was only another dead line, I felt… finished. That was all.”
“Then you got a dial tone?”
“Yes.”
She probably doesn't believe me, Jenny thought. She thinks I'm trying to protect her from something. And, of course, I am. How can I explain the feeling that something evil was on that phone with me? I can't even begin to understand it myself. Who or what was on that telephone? Why did he — or it finally let me have a dial tone?
A scrap of paper blew along the street. Nothing else moved.
A thin rag of cloud passed over one corner of the moon.
After a while, Lisa said, “Jenny, in case something happens to me tonight”
“Nothing's going to happen to you, honey.”
“But in case something does happen to me tonight,” Lisa insisted, “I want you to know that I… well… I really am… proud of you.”
Jenny put an arm around her sister's shoulders, and they moved even closer together. “Sis, I'm sorry that we never had much time together over the years.”
“You got home as often as you could,” Lisa said, “I know it wasn't easy. I must've read a couple of dozen books about what a person has to go through to become a doctor. I always knew there was a lot on your shoulders, a lot you had to worry about.”
Surprised, Jenny said, “Well, I still could've gotten home more often.”