“Slow down, slow down,” the authoritative voice said. “I can’t understand you. Repeat that, please.”
Janes drew in deep, audible breaths. “Another woman’s been killed. I saw a bald man run. She’s cut all to pieces, there’s blood—” He made gagging noises in the phone.
“Calm down, sir. Where are you? Can you give me an address?”
Janes rattled off an address he had looked up, on the opposite side of town. He stumbled over the street and numbers a couple of times to make it realistic. Then he hung up and waited.
He was at a phone booth two blocks from Detective Hollister’s house.
The telephone rang. Dane snatched it up. After listening a minute, he said, “I’m on my way.” He rolled out of bed and began pulling on his clothes.
Marlie raised herself on her elbow. “What?” “Another murder,” he said tersely. “They think it was him.”
She shook her head. “No.”
He paused, remembering. “That’s right. You didn’t feel anything, did you?”
“Not a thing. It wasn’t him.” She got out of bed and began dressing, too.
He sighed. “It’s probably another copycat, damn it. I’m sorry, baby.”
“It isn’t your fault,” she said. “You’re on the task force; you have to go.”
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
She rubbed her face against his chest, enjoying the heated scent of him. “I’ll watch television and wait up for you.”
He tilted her face up and leaned down to kiss her. “If you happen to go to sleep, I’ll wake you up.”
“It’s a deal.”
“We have a lot to talk about,” he said, determination in his voice.
“I know. Go!”
He started toward the door, then turned back. He pulled open the top drawer of the bedside table and took out a pistol. He checked it, made certain the chamber was full and that the safety was on. “Keep this handy. Do you know how to use it?”
She nodded. She wasn’t exactly experienced, but she knew how a pistol worked. After all, she had lived alone in the mountains; it had seemed only smart to teach herself the basics.
He kissed her again. “Okay. Be careful, keep the pistol with you, and don’t open the door to strangers. I’ll radio in and have a patrolman over to watch the house; one should be outside within five minutes. I’ll call you when I’m on the way home, so you won’t shoot me by mistake.”
“I said I’ll wait up for you,” she said, smiling.
“A man can’t be too careful. Or a woman,” he added sternly.
“Gotcha.”
He left, and she turned on the television, settling down on the couch to run through the channels and look for something interesting.
Dane had been gone for less than five minutes when she sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. A cold chill chased over her skin, roughening it. A powerful sense of alarm filled her.
She felt the blow of recognition as an image flashed through her mind, blotting out her own thought: blackgloved hands, one of them holding wire cutters, tugging at a group of wires.
She panted, trying to draw in enough oxygen from air that suddenly seemed to suffocate. Dear God, so he was striking after all! And Dane had left. Had the call been a false alarm, to draw them away, so the killer could get at Beverly? The policewoman would be all alone.
Marlie stumbled toward the phone. A vision flashed, halting her. In her mind, she saw the wire cutters biting through plastic and wire.
And the lights went out.
24
MARLIE FROZE, BLINDED BY THE SUDDEN DARKNESS, PARALYZED by terror and the crashing knowledge. He wasn’t after Beverly, he was after her—and he was right outside.
She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, trying to hurry her night vision. She should try to get out, but by which door, front or back? Or was he at a window? Which one? Which one?
—Gently he cut a screen, snipping the tiny strands one by one—
Desperately she fought off the vision. Oh, God, she wouldn’t let herself be swamped by the vision. She would be helpless. But she had never been able to resist one for long, never been able to block it, or control it. They rolled over her like tidal waves.
—He knew she was in there. He could feel her, the bitch. He could already taste the triumph, the power—
“No,” Marlie moaned in a whisper. Desperately she summoned up an image of the mental door she had learned how to open and close. All she had to do was close it, and keep him on the other side.
—He’d see how smart she was when she felt the blade biting into her—
It was washing over her in black waves. The evil was so strong, she couldn’t breathe. He was so close, the power of it was crushing her. She couldn’t fight him off.
—The damn lock on the window wouldn’t budge. Whitehot fury roared through him at this delay. Snarling, he smashed his gloved fist into the glass—
She heard the crash and tinkle of breaking glass, but the vision was roaring through her, blotting out everything else, and she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It could have been right behind her, but he was sucking all the strength out of her, and she couldn’t even turn around.
Dane. Oh, God, Dane! She didn’t want him to have to see this.
As soon as he got into his car, Dane radioed in and told the dispatcher to send a patrol car to his house immediately.
“Ten-four,” said the dispatcher. “It’ll take ten, fifteen minutes, though. It’s a busy night.”