“Private investigators?”
“I know just the agency. They’re good. Considerably better than most cops. They’ll pry open Frye’s life and find all the little secrets in it. They’ll come up with the kind of evidence that’ll get the case reopened.”
“Isn’t that expensive?”
“I’ll split the cost with you,” he said.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
“That’s generous of you, but–”
“It’s not generous of me at all. You’re an extremely valuable property, my lamb. I own a percentage of you, so anything I pay to a PI team is just insurance. I only want to protect my interests.”
“That’s baloney, and you know it,” she said. “You are generous, Wally. But don’t hire anyone just yet. The other detective that I told you about, Lieutenant Clemenza, said he’d stop around later this afternoon to see if I remembered anything more. He still sort of believes me, but he’s confused because Laurenski shot a big hole in my story. I think Clemenza would use just about any excuse he could find to get the case reopened. Let’s wait until I’ve seen him. Then if the situation still looks bleak, we’ll hire your PI.”
“Well … all right,” Wally said reluctantly. “But in the meantime, I’m going to tell them to send a man over to your place for protection.”
“Wally, I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Like hell you don’t.”
“I was perfectly safe all night, and I–”
“Listen, kid, I’m sending someone over. That’s final. There won’t be any arguing with Uncle Wally. If you won’t let them inside, he’ll just stand by your front door like a palace guard.”
“Really, I–”
“Sooner or later,” Wally said gently, “you’re going to have to face the fact that you can’t get through life alone, entirely on your own steam. No one does. No one, kid. Now and then everyone has to accept a little help. You should have called me last night.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“For God’s sake, you wouldn’t have disturbed me! I’m your friend. In fact, you disturbed me a whole lot more by not disturbing me last night. Kid, it’s all right to be strong and independent and self-reliant. But when you carry it too far, when you isolate yourself like this, it’s a slap in the face to everybody who cares about you. Now, will you let the guard in when he arrives?”
She sighed. “Okay.”
“Good. He’ll be there within an hour. And you’ll call me as soon as you’ve talked to Clemenza?”
“I will.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Did you sleep last night?”
“Surprisingly, yes.”
“If you didn’t get enough sleep,” he said, “take a nap this afternoon.”
Hilary laughed. “You’d make a wonderful Jewish mother.”
“Maybe I’ll bring over a big pot of chicken soup this evening. Good-bye, dear.”
“Good-bye, Wally. Thanks for calling.”
When she hung up the receiver, she glanced at the highboy that stood in front of the door. After the uneventful night, the barricade looked foolish. Wally was right: the best way to handle this was to hire around-the-clock bodyguards and then put a first-rate team of private investigators on Frye’s trail. Her original plan for dealing with the problem was ludicrous. She simply could not board up the windows and play Battle of the Alamo with Frye.
She got out of bed, put on her silk robe, and went to the highboy. She took the drawers out and put them aside. When the tall chest was light enough to be moved, she dragged it away from the door, back to the indentation in the carpet that marked where it had rested until last night. She replaced the drawers.
She went to the nightstand, picked up the knife, and smiled ruefully as she realized how naive she had been. Hand-to-hand combat with Bruno Frye? Knife-fighting with a maniac? How could she have thought that she would have any chance whatsoever in such an uneven contest? Frye was many times stronger than she was. She had been fortunate last night when she had managed to get away from him. Luckily, she’d had the pistol. But if she tried fencing with him, he would cut her to ribbons.
Intending to return the knife to the kitchen, wanting to be dressed for the day by the time the bodyguard arrived, she went to the bedroom door, unlocked it, opened it, stepped into the hallway, and screamed as Bruno Frye grabbed her and slammed her up against the wall. The back of her head hit the plaster with a sharp crack, and she struggled to remain above a wave of darkness that washed in behind her eyes. He clutched her throat with his right hand, pinned her in place. With his left hand, he tore open the front of her robe and squeezed her bare breasts, leering at her, calling her a bitch and a slut.