"I haven't seen her again," he said smoothly.
"Since when?"
"What do you mean, since when? Since Friday. What is this?"
"What's what?"
"This shit about Amy." Two spots of color, like rosebuds, appeared in Mark's cheeks.
"Is it shit?"
"Hey, pal, I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Amy. I'm talking about Amy."
"What about her?" Mark said sharply. "Come on. If you've got something to say, say it. We've been friends too long for this kind of crap."
"Forget it, Mark, I'm just… I don't know. I mean, it's not my best day."
"No, come on, you've got a bug up your ass about Amy and I want to know why. Do you think I wasn't there or something?"
Colin felt cold inside, as if all compassion had been drained from him. "Why did you ask that?
"Wait a minute. Shit. It's Sarah, isn't it? She called you, right? Goddammit."
He said nothing.
"Christ, did she give me a hard time this weekend. She accused me of everything under the sun except committing the murders."
Colin forced himself to look at Mark, who was smiling, laughing.
"I got her calmed down, though. I just stuck to my guns about the meeting with Gildersleeve. I told her to call him up if she didn't believe me, knowing she wouldn't. But she called you, huh?"
"No."
"She didn't? So, then what's all the shit?"
"Forget it, it's nothing. I'm just crazy this morning." He couldn't go on with it. "Want some coffee?"
"No, thanks. I've got to get back."
"Have you gotten any calls about me?"
Mark waved a hand. "Don't worry about it, pal."
"A lot?"
"A few. Listen, nobody's going to tell me who I can have working on my paper, so don't sweat it."
"Who's telling you?"
"Come on, Colin, you don't need to know that."
"No, I want to know."
"Just some cranks, that's all." He started for the front door.
Colin followed. "Mark, I want to know."
"Well, Gildersleeve called. You'd expect that, wouldn't you?"
"I guess. Who else?"
"Just people. Listen, pal, they're all stupid fucks and I'm not going to pay any attention to them, so don't you. Okay?" He put a hand on Colin's shoulder, squeezed. "Look, I have to get back but call me if you need anything. Do you want to come up later for dinner?"
"I'm seeing Annie." But would he? he wondered.
"Hey, terrific." He slapped Colin on the back. "If you want me to drop by later give me a buzz, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks for coming over, Mark."
"No sweat. Talk to you."
Colin closed the door after him and locked it. He'd had no idea Mark was such an accomplished liar. Still, he was having a hard time believing Mark could murder anyone, let alone four people, one a child. Oh, Christ, it was all too much.
Back at the table Colin finished the last swallow of coffee. What would Mike Rosier think if he told him of his suspicions? He picked up the dead phone, pushed down the cradle, got the tone, and dialed the number of The New York Times.
– -
Hallock had never been to Florida before. With the exception of the heat, ninety-five in the shade, he liked the place. The sand was whiter than Seaville's, sky brighter, water bluer. And those palm trees made him smile. But he wished Fran was with him. Maybe he'd call her later, see if she'd come down. Ah, hell, what was he thinking? This wasn't some damn pleasure trip. Besides, he was supposed to be mad at Fran. And day dreaming around like this he was almost late for his appointment with the Conways.
They lived in a high rise two streets back from the beach. On the phone she'd said they'd met, mentioning a benefit party for the hospital twelve years ago. He'd lied and said he remembered it well. He told her to think back over the past, to try and remember anything about their lives that might have been unusual, or anything about Ruth Cooper's life, even when she'd been Ruth Conway. Mildred Conway had said they would. Going up in the elevator Hallock had a feeling based on nothing, that he was going to get lucky. He reached into his jacket pocket and rubbed the gold coin his father had given him forty-three years before. Even though he'd never been a superstitious man he'd always carried it. What the hell, it couldn't hurt.
– -
At ten o'clock on the nose Colin pulled up in front of the Seaville Library. It was a one-story building, its facade made of fieldstone, the wooden trim painted white. Above the door was a plaque that said 1870.
Inside, the library felt cool. Betty Mills was checking something in the card catalog. She was a fairly tall woman, young, probably no more than twenty-five. Her hair was brown and she wore it long, parted on the side. She was pleasant looking, and had a sweetness to her that was immediately evident. When Colin approached her she smiled, her eyes reflecting her good humor. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"I hope so. Annie Winters said you might be able to." He wondered if Betty had seen the story in Newsline. "Well, I'm willing to give it a try."
Colin handed her his notebook with the copy of the symbol cut on Joe Carroll's chest. "I'm interested in finding out what this means."
Betty studied the drawing carefully.
Colin was startled by her fingernails. They were about an inch long, painted a carmine red. He'd never seen anything like them and wondered how she typed.
"I think I know where to find this," she said. "Just a minute." Taking long strides she walked back into the stacks. Colin looked around. On Betty's desk he noticed a copy of Newsline still in its wrapper. He felt a little less nervous.
Betty returned, holding an open book. "I think this is what you're looking for." She handed it to him, the red nail of her thumb marking the place like a bloody talon. "If it's not what you want I'll look further."
"Thanks very much." He sat down at a table and began reading:
The swastika is generally considered a form of the cross whose extremities are bent back at right angles. This popular device is known by many names, probably because of its widespread distribution throughout the ancient world. From the Sanskrit word it may be freely translated into "it is well" or "so be it” implying acceptance and denoting life, movement, pleasure, happiness, and good luck.
Theories and speculation as to the origin of the swastika are conflicting. This mystic symbol, common to both eastern and western peoples, seems to appear and reappear consistently, yet always is its significance one of happy omen.
Colin skimmed the paragraphs devoted to what the symbol meant in different countries until he came to America:
In America it is found in prehistoric burial grounds. From the earliest times this famous sign undoubtedly indicated the rotation of the heavens, expressed the power of the sun, sky, and rain gods, and symbolized all harmonious movement springing from a central source.
The many interpretations assigned to the swastika are indeed bewildering. But for the sake of brevity we may conclude by saying that in modern times it is best known as a symbol of motion, good fortune, health, and long life.
He closed the book and carried it over to Betty. "Thanks very much." On her desk Newsline was open to page 2. Colin wanted to get out of there before she read the article.
"When you talk to Annie, tell her I said hello," she said.
"I will. And thanks again."
At the door he glanced back over his shoulder just as Betty was turning the page of the paper. He sprinted to his car and drove away immediately.
More bewildered than ever, he wondered why a murderer would carve a symbol of good fortune and long life into the chest of his victim? Could it be that the killer meant it to be a Nazi swastika after all? Somehow he didn't think so. Then what? The answer came to him with numbing clarity. The symbol must have special meaning to the murderer, a code of some sort. A code he'd have to break if he wanted to stay in Seaville.
When Colin didn't show up or call, Annie called him. The line was busy. And it stayed busy. She asked the operator to try the number. The operator said the phone was out of order. Annie was sure it was off the hook.