Mr. Murder. By: Dean R. Koontz

mall.

Move, move, confront, challenge, grapple, and prevail.

He starts looking for a service station, not because the Buick needs

fuel but because he has to find a pay phone.

He remembers the voices in the kitchen while he had twitched in agony

midst the ruins of the stair railing. The imposter had been hustling

Paige and the girls out of the house before they could come into the

foyer and see their real father struggling to get off his back onto his

hands and knees.

‘. . . take them across the street to Vic and Kathy’s . . . ” And

seconds later, there had been a name more useful still, . . . over to

the Delonos’ place . . . ” Although they are his neighbors, he can’t

remember Vic and Kathy Delorio or which house is theirs. That knowledge

was stolen from him with the rest of his life. However, if they have a

listed phone, he will be able to find them.

A service station. A blue Pacific Bell sign.

Even as he drives up beside the Plexiglas-walled phone booth, he can

dimly see the thick directory secured by a chain.

Leaving the Buick engine running, he sloshes through a puddle into the

booth. He closes the door to turn on the overhead light, and flips

frantically through the White Pages.

Luck is with him. Victor W. Delorio. The only listing under that name.

Mission Viejo. His own street. Bingo. He memorizes the address.

He runs into the service station to buy candy bars. Twenty of them.

Hershey’s bars with almonds, 3 Musketeers, Mounds, Nestle’s white

chocolate Crunch. His appetite is sated for the time being, he does not

want the candy now–but the need will soon arise.

He pays with some of the cash that belongs to the dead man in the trunk

of the Buick.

“You sure have a sweet tooth,” says the attendant.

In the Buick again, pulling out of the service station into traffic, he

is afraid for his family, which remains unwittingly under the thrall of

the imposter. They might be taken away to a far place where he won’t be

able to find them. They might be harmed. Or even killed.

Anything can happen. He has just seen their photograph and has only

begun to re-acquaint himself with them, yet he might lose them before he

ever has a chance to kiss them again or tell them how much he loves

them. So unfair. Cruel. His heart pounds fiercely, re-igniting some

of the pain that had been recently extinguished in his steadily knitting

wounds.

Oh God, he needs his family. He needs to hold them in his arms and be

held in return. He needs to comfort them and be comforted and hear them

say his name. Hearing them say his name, he once and for all will be

somebody.

Accelerating through a traffic light as it turns from yellow to red, he

speaks aloud to his children in a voice that quavers with emotion,

“Charlotte, Emily, I’m coming. Be brave. Daddy’s coming. Daddy’s

coming. Daddy. Is. Coming.”

Lieutenant Lowbock was the last cop out of the house.

On the front stoop, as the doors of squad cars slammed in the street

behind him and engines started, he turned to Paige and Marty to favor

them with one more short-lived and barely perceptible smile.

He was evidently loath to be remembered for the tightly controlled anger

they had finally stirred in him. “I’ll be seeing you as soon as we have

the lab results.”

“Can’t be too soon,” Paige said. “We’ve had such a charming visit, we

simply can’t wait for the next time.”

Lowbock said, “Good evening, Mrs. Stillwater.” He turned to Marty.

“Good evening, Mr. Murder.”

Marty knew it was childish to close the door in the detective’s face,

but it was also satisfying.

Sliding the security chain into place as Marty engaged the deadbolt

lock, Paige said, “Mr. Murder?”

“That’s what they call me in the People article.”

“I haven’t seen it yet.”

“Right in the headline. Oh, wait’ll you read it. It makes me look

ridiculous, spooky-old-scary-old Marty Stillwater, book hustler

extraordinary. Jesus, if he happened to read that article today, I

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *