me in on it.”
She shook her head. “Our agreement was that you could come with me but
that I wasn’t going to answer questions.”
“I made no such promises.”
“Benny, damn it, my life is on the line.”
She was serious, she really meant it, she was desper lately afraid for
her life, and that was sufficient to break Ben’s resolve and make him
cooperate. Plaintively he said, “But the police could provide
protection.”
“Not from the people who may be coming after me.”
“You make it sound as if you’re being pursued by demons.”
“At least.”
She quickly embraced him, kissed him lightly on the mouth.
She felt good in his arms. He was badly shaken by the thought of a
future without her.
Rachael said, “You’re terrific. For wanting to stand by me. But go
home now. Get out of it. Let me handle things myself.”
“Not very damn likely.”
“Then don’t interfere. Now let’s go.”
Pulling away from him, she headed back across the five-car garage toward
the door that led into the house.
A moth dropped from the light and fluttered against his face, as if his
feelings for Rachael were, at the moment, brighter than the fluorescent
bulbs. He batted it away.
He slammed the lid on the Ford’s trunk, leaving the wet blood to congeal
and the gruesome smell to thicken.
He followed Rachael.
At the far end of the garage, near the door that led into the house
through the laundry room, she stopped, staring down at something on the
floor. When Ben caught up with her, he saw some clothes that had been
discarded in the corner, which neither he nor she had noticed when they
had entered the garage.
There were a pair of soft white vinyl shoes with white rubber soles and
heels, wide white laces. A pair of baggy pale green cotton pants with a
drawstring waist. And a loose short-sleeve shirt that matched the
pants.
Looking up from the clothes, he saw that Rachael’s face was no longer
merely pale and waxen. She appeared to have been dusted with ashes.
Gray. Seared.
Ben looked down at the suit of clothes again. He realized it was an
outfit of the sort surgeons wore when they went into an operating
theater, what they called hospital whites. Hospital whites had once
actually been white, but these days they were usually this soft shade of
green. However, not only surgeons wore them. Many other hospital
employees preferred the same basic uniform.
Furthermore, he had seen the assistant pathologists and attendants
dressed in exactly the same kind of clothes at the morgue, only a short
while ago.
Rachael drew a deep hissing breath through clenched teeth, shook
herself, and went into the house.
Ben hesitated, staring intently at the discarded pair of shoes and
rumpled clothes. Riveted by the soft green hue. Half mesmerized by the
random patterns of gentle folds and creases in the material. His mind
spinning. His heart pounding. Breathlessly considering the
implications.
When at last he broke the spell and hurried after Rachael, Ben
discovered that sweat had popped out all over his face.
Rachael drove much too fast to the Geneplan building in Newport Beach.
She handled the car with considerable skill, but Ben was glad to have a
seat belt.
Having ridden with her before, he knew she enjoyed driving even more
than she enjoyed most other things in life, she was exhilarated by
speed, delighted by the SL’s maneuverability. But tonight she was in
too much of a hurry to take any pleasure from her driving skill, and
although she was not exactly reckless, she took some turns at such high
speed and changed lanes so suddenly that she could not be accused of
timidity.
He said, “Are you in some kind of trouble that rules out turning to the
police? Is that it?”
“Do you mean-am I afraid the cops would get something on me?”
“Are you?”
“No,” she said without hesitation, in a tone that seemed devoid of
deception.
“Cause if somehow you’ve gotten in deep with the wrong kind of people,
it’s never too late to turn back.”
“Nothing like that.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”