forehead from his scalp wounds and clouded his vision, he realized that
there were many pairs of silvery eyes in the room. Dozens of them.
This had to be a dream. A nightmare.
But the pain was real.
The ravenous intruders swarmed up his chest, up his back and onto his
shoulders, all of them the size of rats but not rats, all of them
clawing and biting. They were all over him, pulling him down. He went
to his knees.
He let go of the beast he was holding, and he pounded at the others with
his fists.
One of them bit off part of his ear.
Wickedly pointed little teeth sank into his chin.
He heard himself mouthing the same pathetic pleas that he had heard from
Ross Morrant. Then the darkness grew deeper and an eternal silence
settled over him.
PART ONE
Wednesday, 7:53A.M.-3:30P.M.
Holy men tell us life is a mystery.
They embrace that concept happily.
But some mysteries bite and bark and come to get you in the dark. -THE
BOOK OF COUNTED SORROWS
A rain of shadows, a storm, a squall!
Daylight retreats; night swallows all.
If good is bright, if evil is gloom, high evil walls the world entombs.
-THE BOOK OF COUNTED SORROWS
CHAPTER ONE
The next morning, the first thing Rebecca said to Jack Dawson was, “We
have two stiffs.”
“Huh?”
“Two corpses.”
“I know what stiffs are,” he said.
“The call just came in.”
“Did you order two stiffs?”
“Be serious.”
“Ididn’t order two stiffs.”
“Uniforms are already on the scene,” she said.
“Our Shift doesn’t start for seven minutes.”
“You want me to say we won’t be going out there because it was
thoughtless of them to die this early in the morning?”
“Isn’t there at least time for polite chit-chat?” he asked.
“See. the way it should be . . . you’re supposed to say. “Good
morning, Detective Dawson.” And then } say. “Good morning, Detective
Chandler.” Then you say. “How’re you this morning?” And then I wink and
say-”
She frowned. “It’s the same as the other two, Jack.
Bloody and strange. Just like the one Sunday and the one yesterday. But
this time it’s two men. Both with crime family connections from the
sound of it.”
Standing in the grubby police squad room, half out of his heavy gray
overcoat, a smile incompletely formed, Jack Dawson stared at her in
disbelief. He wasn’t surprised that there had been another murder or
two. we are homicide detectives; there was always another murder. Or
two. He wasn’t even surprised that there was another strange murder;
after all, this was New York City. What he couldn’t believe was her
attitude, the way she was treating him-this morning of all mornings.
“Better put your coat back on,” she said. -“Rebecca-”
“you’re expecting us.”
“Rebecca, last night-”
“another ward one,” she said, snatching up, her purse from the top of a
battered desk.
“Didn’t we-”
“We’ve sure got a sick one on our hands this time,” she saud’ heading
for the door. “Really sick.”
“Rebecca She stopped in the doorway and shook her head.
“You know what I wish sometimes?”
He stared at her.
She said, “Sometimes I wish I’d marred Tiny Taylor.
Right now, I’d be up there in Connecticut, snug in my all41ectric
kitchen, having coffee and Danish, the kids off to school for the day,
the twice-a-week maid taking care of the housework, looking forward to
lunch at the country club with the girls . . .”
Why is she doing this to me? he wondered.
She noticed that he was still half out of his coat, and she said,
“Didn’t you hear me, Jack? We’ve got a call to answer.”
“Yeah. I-”
“We’ve got two more stiffs.”
She left the squad room, which was colder and shabbier for her
departure.
He sighed.
He shrugged back into his coat.
He followed her.
Jack felt gray and washed out, partly because Rebecca was being so
strange, but also because the day itself was gray, and he was always
sensitive to the weather. The sky was flat and hard and gray.
Manhattan’s piles of stone, steel, and concrete were all gray and stark.