Night-World Read Online Free PDF Page A

he came around to her car and nodded at Hyams to roll down the window on his side.
    “Would you come in now, please?”
    The question was addressed to Karen, but it was Hyams who nodded. All very courteous, very correct. And if Karen refused, they would be equally courteous and correct as they dragged her into the house.
    Or was she being unfair? It seemed so when they entered the hall, because Sergeant Cole deliberately moved before her to shield her from the sight of the reception desk beyond. He was, she realized, keeping his promise that she wouldn’t have to look at the bodies.
    “This way,” he said, indicating an open doorway on the left. As Hyams led her toward it, she caught a glimpse of Montoya descending the open staircase at the far end of the hall. It seemed to Karen, even in the dim light, that his swarthy face was unnaturally pale, but perhaps she was imagining that.
    Sergeant Cole nodded at Montoya as he approached. “They’re on the way now. When they get here, I want them to go ahead, S.O.P., the works. I’ll be with them as soon as I can. But unless you run into something we’ve missed, tell them I’m not to be disturbed.”
    “Right,” said Montoya.
    Cole stepped aside, gesturing Karen through the doorway, then followed her with Hyams.
    The room beyond was obviously a study, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves built into two of the walls. Drawn drapes covered the windows of the third wall, and the fourth—at the far end—held a grouping of diplomas and medical certificates in ornate frames. Karen glanced at the desk and the two heavy, old-fashioned leather armchairs before it, realizing she’d seen this setting before. She’d been in this room, with Bruce, at the interview preceding his commitment.
    But now Sergeant Cole was moving to sit behind the desk, and it was Hyams who stood beside her, not Bruce. Because Dr. Griswold was dead, and Bruce was—
    Where is he? Where is he now? She closed her eyes against a silent scream.
    “Are you all right, Mrs. Raymond?” Cole’s voice was softly solicitous.
    Karen blinked and met his glance.
    “Please sit down.”
    She took her place in the chair nearest the desk, conscious of Hyams’ close presence.
    And while Cole’s smile was casual and relaxed, Karen saw that he now held a ballpoint pen poised over an open note pad on the desk. Every movement was unobtrusive, but these men knew exactly what they were doing; Karen remembered how deftly Hyams’ hand had descended to poise behind the holster of his revolver in the car.
    S.O.P. Standard Operating Procedure. Interrogation of the witness. Witness —or suspect? She’d have to be careful, very careful.
    “Now, Mrs. Raymond, we’d like you to tell us what happened—”
    The odd part of it was that Karen, as she talked, found herself relaxing. She’d anticipated Cole’s asking why Bruce was in the sanatorium, and framed her answer in advance, but she hadn’t anticipated there’d be no further questions about his “nervous breakdown.” Once Karen realized her explanation was accepted, she had no difficulty continuing.
    She told about Griswold’s call at the office, and, at Sergeant Cole’s request, established the time. She also furnished the approximate time for her visit with Rita—and, when Cole interrupted, furnished him with Rita’s address and home telephone number.
    So far, so good. But now there was the matter of reporting her conversation with Bruce’s sister. Rita’s warning about the visit, about Bruce’s not being ready for release—these were subjects to be avoided at all cost.
    But how?
    Rescue came from outside, in the form of loudly wailing sirens. And then, from beyond the door, she heard the clatter of footsteps in the hall and the deep murmur of many voices.
    Sergeant Cole frowned and gestured to Hyams. “Tell them to hold it down,” he said.
    Hyams rose and went to the door. He opened it on bedlam, stepped outside. A moment later, the noise subsided noticeably,