Victims Read Online Free PDF

microphones, in John’s room. There’s a speaker, too. I can hear a pin drop, in that room. Or so I thought.”
    “Did you hear anything tonight?”
    “I’m not really sure,” he answered. “Something woke me up, certainly. I was awake, in any case, before I heard the shots. So I assume I heard something. But, unfortunately, I’m rather a heavy sleeper.”
    “Do you have electronic security? A burglar alarm system?”
    “Of course.”
    “Is it wired to this panel?”
    “This panel and others. There’re several panels throughout the house. And, in addition, the burglar alarm activates a loud bell, naturally.”
    “Did the alarm sound tonight?”
    “No,” he answered. “At least, not that I heard.”
    “Did you set the alarm system before you went to bed?”
    “I never set it. Fred—my driver—sets it when he’s here. And Quade sets it, too, when he’s here.”
    “So you aren’t sure whether the alarm was set tonight.”
    He waved an impatient, long-suffering hand. “No, I’m not sure, Lieutenant. And, obviously, Quade can’t tell us, can he?”
    I wrote ‘Alarm Set?’ in my notebook, then asked him to continue.
    “As soon as I got John settled,” he said, “I turned out the lights, and locked up, and came up here, to my bedroom. I got into bed, and read until about 11:30, I’d say, at which time I turned out the lights. The next thing I knew, I was awake. And I remember feeling a sense of foreboding, that something was wrong. Probably I’d heard something from John’s room—voices, perhaps. But it certainly wasn’t anything specific. I remember looking at the clock. The time was just a little after one o’clock—five minutes after, perhaps. I sat up in bed, and listened. I thought I heard something—some very faint sound, from downstairs, or possibly from the garage. So I got out of bed, and went to the window—” He gestured to the huge plate glass window, with its spectacular view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Slow-moving auto headlights traversed the bridge: animated jewels, inching through the darkness.
    “From there,” he said, “you can see the garage, and most of the driveway.” He paused, looking at me expectantly. As a lawyer, he knew what I should do now. So I got to my feet and went to the window. Standing close to the glass and looking down at the sharpest possible angle, I could see most of the large garage, with its three overhead doors and its single small access door. I could only see about half of the driveway, front to back; the other half, closest to the house, was cut off by the ledge of the bedroom window. I could see almost all of the concrete apron that connected the driveway to the garage. As I returned to my chair, Guest continued.
    “I stood there for perhaps a minute. I didn’t see anything, or hear anything. So I went back to my bed. I’d just gotten under the covers, and was settling myself, when—” He sharply shook his head, as if the memory of what happened next caused him physical pain. “When I heard shots. I—I guess I was frozen for a few seconds. Then I heard voices from outside, on the driveway. So I went to the window, just in time to catch a glimpse of Kramer—and John. He had John by the hand, and he was pulling him, half running, toward the sidewalk, in front of the house.”
    “Would you mind showing me exactly where you stood, and where Kramer stood on the driveway, when you first saw him?”
    “Certainly not.” He rose to his feet, and walked to the window. His movements were vigorous and decisive, as if he’d regained his earlier vigor. “I stood here, and the two of them were there—” He pointed down to the driveway—“just about even with the rear of that white station wagon, there.”
    “Was there enough light for you to recognize Kramer? The area’s brightly lit now. What about earlier, when you saw him?”
    “There was less light than there is now, obviously. But it was enough. There’s always an outside light