“You’re not going over there?” Oslett said. “Aren’t you still worried
about blowing their cover?”
“It’s already been blown. Something’s wrong.
Clocker had pulled on his tweed coat over his clashing orange cashmere
sweater. He didn’t bother to put on his hat because he had never
bothered to take it off. Tucking the Star Trek paperback in a pocket,
he also headed for the door.
Following them with the black briefcase, Oslett said, “But what could’ve
gone wrong? Everything was moving along so smoothly again.”
Already, the storm had put down half an inch of snow. The flakes were
fine and comparatively dry now, and the streets white.
Evergreen boughs had begun to acquire Christmasy trimmings.
Spicer drove the Explorer, and in a few minutes they reached the street
where Stillwater’s parents lived. He pointed out the house when they
were still half a block from it.
Across the street from the Stillwater place, two vehicles were parked at
the curb. Oslett pegged the red recreational van as the surveillance
post because of the mirrored side windows in its rear section.
“What’s that florist’s van doing here?” Spicer wondered.
“Delivering flowers,” Oslett guessed.
“Fat chance.”
Spicer pulled past the van and parked the Explorer in front of it.
“Is this really smart?” Oslett wondered.
Using the cellular phone, Spicer called the surveillance team one more
time. They didn’t answer.
“We don’t have a choice,” Spicer said as he opened his door and got out
into the snow.
The three of them walked to the back of the red van.
On the blacktop between that vehicle and the delivery van, a large
floral arrangement lay in ruins. The ceramic container was shattered.
The stems of the flowers and ferns were still embedded in the spongy
green material that florists used to fix arrangements, so the mild wind
had not blown any of them away, though they looked as if they had been
stepped on more than once. The colors of some flowers were masked by
snow, which meant they hadn’t been disturbed in the past thirty to
forty-five minutes.
The ruined blossoms and frost-paled ferns had a curious beauty.
Snap a photo, hang it in an art gallery, title it something like
“Romance” or
“Loss,” and people would probably stand before it for long
minutes, musing.
As Spicer rapped on the back door of the surveillance vehicle, Clocker
said, “I’ll check the delivery van.”
No one answered the knock, so Spicer boldly opened the door and climbed
inside.
As he followed, Oslett heard Spicer say softly, “Oh, shit.”
The interior of the van was dark. Little light penetrated the two way
mirrors that served as windows. Only the scopes and screens of the
electronic equipment illuminated the space.
Oslett took off his sunglasses, saw the dead men, and pulled the rear
door shut.
Spicer had taken off his sunglasses too. His eyes were an odd, baleful
yellow. Or maybe that was just a color they reflected from the scopes
and gauges.
“Alfie must’ve been coming to the Stillwater place, spotted the van,
recognized it for what it was,” Spicer said. “Before he went over
there, he stopped here, took care of business, so he wouldn’t be
interrupted across the street.”
The electronic gear operated off banks of solar batteries wired to flat
solar cells on the roof. When surveillance was conducted at night, the
batteries could be charged in the conventional fashion, if necessary, by
starting the van’s engine for short periods. Even on overcast days,
however, the cells collected enough sunlight to keep the system
operative.
Without the engine running, the interior temperature of the van was
nonetheless comfortable, if slightly cool. The vehicle was unusually
well insulated, and the solar cells also operated a small heater.
Stepping over the corpse on the floor, looking through one of the view
windows, Oslett said, “If Alfie was drawn to that house, it had to be
because Martin Stillwater was already there.”
“I guess.”
“Yet this team never saw him go in or out.”
“Evidently not,” Spicer agreed.
“Wouldn’t they have let us know if they’d seen Stillwater, his wife, or
kids?”
“Absolutely.”
“So . . . is he over there now? Maybe they’re all over there, the