Then the stranger smiled. His was a broad, warm, genuine smile that transformed his face. In an instant he no longer looked sinister but friendly. He winked at Bob and mouthed one word through the thick glass: “Beautiful.”
Bob relaxed, smiled, realized his smile could not be seen behind his mask, and nodded a thank you.
The stranger looked once more at Laura, winked at Bob again, and walked away from the window.
Later, after Bob Shane had gone home for the day, a tall man in dark clothing approached the creche window. His name was Kokoschka. He studied the infants; then his field of vision shifted, and he became aware of his colorless reflection in the polished glass. He had a broad, flat face with sharp-edged features, lips so thin and hard that they seemed to be made of horn. A two-inch dueling scar marked his left cheek. His dark eyes had no depth, as if they were painted ceramic spheres, much like the cold eyes of a shark cruising in shadowy ocean trenches. He was amused to realize how starkly his face contrasted to the innocent visages of the cradled babies beyond the window; he smiled, a rare expression for him, which imparted no warmth to his face but actually made him appear more threatening.
He looked beyond his reflection again. He had no trouble finding Laura Shane among the swaddled infants, for the surname of each child was printed on a card and affixed to the back of his or her cradle.
Why is there such interest in you, Laura? he wondered. Why is your life so important? Why all this energy expended to see that you are brought safely into the world? Should I kill you now and put an end to the traitor’s scheme?
He’d be able to murder her without compunction. He had killed children before, though none quite so young as this. No crime was too terrible if it furthered the cause to which he had devoted his life.
The babe was sleeping. Now and then her mouth worked, and her tiny face briefly wrinkled, as perhaps she dreamed of the womb with regret and longing.
At last he decided not to kill her. Not yet.
“I can always eliminate you later, little one,” he murmured. “When I understand what part you play in the traitor’s plans, then I can kill you.”
Kokoschka walked away from the window. He knew he would not see the girl again for more than eight years.
In southern California rain falls rarely in the spring, summer, and autumn. The true rainy season usually begins in December and ends in March. But on Saturday the second of April, 1963, the sky was overcast, and humidity was high. Holding open the front door of his small, neighborhood grocery in Santa Ana, Bob Shane decided that the prospects were good for one last big downpour of the season.
The ficus trees in the yard of the house across the street and the date palm on the corner were motionless in the dead air and seemed to droop as if with the weight of the oncoming storm.
By the cash register, the radio was turned low. The Beach Boys were singing their new hit “Surfin’ U.S.A.” Considering the weather, their tune was as appropriate as “White Christmas” sung in July.
Bob looked at his watch: three-fifteen.
There’ll be rain by three-thirty, he thought, and a lot of it.
Business had been good during the morning, but the afternoon had been slow. At the moment no shoppers were in the store.
The family-owned grocery faced new, deadly competition from convenience store chains like 7-Eleven. He was planning to shift to a deli-style operation, offering more fresh foods, but was delaying as long as possible because a deli required considerably more work.
If the oncoming storm was bad he would have few customers the rest of the day. He might close early and take Laura to a movie.
Turning from the door, he said, “Better get the boat, doll.”
Laura was kneeling at the head of the first aisle, across from the cash register, absorbed in her work. Bob had carried four cartons of canned soup from the stockroom, then Laura had taken over. She was only eight years old, but she was a reliable kid, and she liked to help out around the store. After stamping the correct price on each of the cans, she stacked them on the shelves, remembering to cycle the merchandise, putting the new soup behind the old.