and quickly found a call placed from a house along the coast, just north of the
beach park, to your number here. When we went around to talk to the people
there—the Essenby family—we focused on their son, a teenager named Tommy, and
although it took some time, we ascertained that it had, indeed, been Dilworth
who used their phone. The first part was terribly time-consuming, weeks and
weeks, but after that . . . child’s play.”
“Do you want a medal or what?” Cornell asked.
The woman picked up another apple, quartered it, and began to strip off the
peel.
They were not making this easy for him—but then his intentions were much
different from what they would be expecting. They could not be criticized for
being cool toward him when they did not yet know that he had come as a friend.
He said, “Listen, I’ve left my men at the end of the lane. Told them you might
panic, do something stupid, if you saw us coming in a group. But why I really
came alone was . . . to make you an offer.”
They both met his eyes at last, with interest.
He said, “I’m getting out of this goddamn job by spring. Why I’m getting Out . .
. you don’t have to know or care. Just say that I’ve gone through a sea change.
Learned to deal with failure, and now it doesn’t scare me any more.” He sighed
and shrugged. “Anyway, the dog doesn’t belong in a cage. I don’t give a good
goddamn what they say, what they want—I know what’s right. I know what it’s like
being in a cage. I’ve been in one most of my life, Until recently. The dog
shouldn’t have to go back to that. What I’m going to Suggest is that you get him
out of here now, Mr. Cornell, take him off through the woods, let him somewhere
that he’ll be safe, then come back and face the music. Say that the dog ran off
a couple of months ago, in some other
place, and you think he must be dead by now, or in the hands of people who’re
taking good care of him. There’ll still be the problem of The Outsider, which
you must know about, but you and I can work up a way to deal with that when it
comes. I’ll put men on a surveillance of you, but after a few weeks I’ll pull
them, say it’s a lost cause—”
Cornell stood up and stepped to Lem’s chair. With his left hand he grabbed hold
of Lem’s shirt and hauled him to his feet. “You’re sixteen days too late, you
son of a bitch.”
“What do you mean?”
“The dog is dead. The Outsider killed him, and I killed The Outsider.”
The woman laid down her paring knife and a piece of apple. She put her face in
her hands and sat forward in her chair, shoulders hunched, making soft, sad
sounds.
“Ah, Jesus,” Lem said.
Cornell let go of him. Embarrassed, depressed, Lem straightened his tie,
smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt. He looked down at his pants—brushed them
off.
“Ah, Jesus,” he repeated.
Cornell was willing to lead them to the place in the forest where he had buried
The Outsider.
Lem’s men dug it up. The monstrosity was wrapped in plastic, but they didn’t
have to unwrap it to know that it was Yarbeck’s creation.
The weather had been cool since the thing had been killed, but it was getting
rank.
Cornell would not tell them where the dog was buried. “He never had much of a
chance to live in peace,” Cornell said sullenly. “But, by God, he’s going to
rest in peace now. No one’s going to put him on an autopsy table and hack him
up. No way.”
“In a case where the national security is at stake, you can be forced—”
“Let them,” Cornell said. “If they haul me up before a judge and try to make me
tell them where I buried Einstein, I’ll spill the whole story to the press. But
if they leave Einstein alone, if they leave me and mine alone, I’ll keep my