Then the line went dead.
Sawyer put the phone down and fumbled in his pants pocket for the pack
of Marlboros and lit another cigarette. He used his cupped hand for an
ashtray while he paced around the room. He stopped and fingered the
fist-sized hole in the wall and seriously contemplated giving it a twin.
Instead he stepped to the window and looked out in complete despair at a
frosty winter night.
As soon as Sidney had gone back into the house, the man stepped from the
dark shadows of the garage. His breath frosted in the freezing
environment. He opened the door to the Land Rover. As the car’s
interior dome light came on, the deadly blue eyes shimmered like
hideously carved jewels in the soft light. Kenneth Scales’s gloved
hands expertly searched the car but found nothing of interest. He then
picked up the cell phone and hit the redial button. The phone rang only
once before Lee Sawyer’s excited voice came on the line.
Scales smiled as he listened to the urgent tones of the FBI agent, who
evidently thought Sidney Archer had called him back. Then Scales
disconnected the call, quietly closed the car door and made his way up
the stairs to the house. From a leather sheath on his belt he pulled
the stiletto blade he had used to kill Edward Page. He would have taken
care of Sidney Archer as she stepped from the Land Rover except he was
uncertain whether she was armed. He had already seen her skill with a
gun. Besides, his method of killing was based on the total surprise of
his victims.
He made his way through the first floor looking for the leather jacket
Sidney had been wearing, but did not find it. Her purse was on the
counter, but what he wanted wasn’t in there. He proceeded over to the
stairs leading up to the second floor. He paused at that point and
cocked his head. Over the rush of the wind, the sound reaching his ears
from the second floor made him smile once again.
Water running in the tub. On this bitterly cold winter’s night in
rustic Maine, the sole occupant of the house was preparing to take a
nice, hot, soothing bath. He made his way silently up the stairs.
The bedroom door at the top of the landing was shut, but he could
clearly hear the water running in the adjoining bathroom. Then the
water was turned off. He waited a few more seconds as he envisioned
Sidney Archer climbing into the tub, letting the hot water comfort her
weary body. Then he stepped to the door of the bedroom.
Scales would get the password first and then occupy himself for a while
with the lady of the house. If he could not find what he wanted, he
would promise to let her live in exchange for her secret and then he
would kill her. He wondered briefly what the attractive lawyer would
look like naked. From what he had seen of her, Scales concluded she
would look very good indeed. And it wasn’t as though he was in a rush.
It had been a long, weary trip up the East Coast to Maine. He deserved
a little R&R, he thought as he contemplated the upcoming event.
Scales stood to the side of the door, his back against the wall, his
knife at the ready, and placed one hand on the knob, turning it
virtually noiselessly.
The shotgun blast that disintegrated the door and embedded several
pieces of the weapon’s Magnum load in his left forearm was not nearly so
quiet. He screamed and threw himself down the stairs, athletically
rolling and landing virtually upright, gripping his bloody arm. He
jerked his eyes upward as Sidney Archer, fully dressed, charged out of
the bedroom. She racked the action of the shotgun again and Scales
barely managed to throw himself out of the way before another blast hit
the very spot where he had been standing. The house was almost totally
dark, but if he moved again she would be able ro zero in on his
location. He crouched down behind the sofa, his predicament evident. At