Mary Clark - Nighttime Is My Time

When the pictures were developed, he viewed them with intense pleasure. From different angles he had caught the starkness of the car with its sides dented from hitting a rock pile in the river and its open trunk, dripping water. He also had gotten a good shot of the meat wagon, its lights flashing as it backed away.

The pictures he had taken in the morning of the Mountain Road house were still clipped and hanging on the line. His gaze fell on the last one, the out-of-focus picture of the front of the house. As he looked closely at it, his eyes widened.

He grabbed the magnifying glass, studied the picture, then un-clipped it and rushed out of the darkroom. Jill Ferris was still there, grading papers. He dropped the picture in front of her and handed her the magnifying glass.

"Jake," she protested.

"This is important, really important. Look at this picture and tell me if something looks out of place or different. Please, Ms. Ferris, really look."

"Jake, you'd drive anyone crazy," she said with a sigh, taking the magnifying glass from him to study the print. "I guess you mean that the shade on that window on the second floor in the corner is kind of lopsided. Is that it?"

"That's exactly it," Jale exulted. "It wasn't lopsided yesterday. I don't care how empty that kitchen looks-somebody's living in that house!"

Sam had returned to the Glen-Ridge House rather than go back to the office in Goshen because he was beginning to feel certain that one of the honorees, or perhaps Jack Emerson or Joel Nieman, was responsible for the threats to Lily. All of them had worked in the building where Dr. Connors' office was located. At some point over the weekend, one of them had referred to Jean as having been his patient. But which one he hadn't yet determined.

Fleischman had insisted he heard one of those other men mention that Jean was Connors' patient. Of course, he could be lying, Sam thought. Stewart denied ever hearing the remark. And he could be lying, too. But at least at the Glen-Ridge he could keep an eye on Fleischman and Gordon Amory, who were still checked in there. The fact that Jean was missing would be picked up by reporters and be broadcast, and he'd bet anything that the news would bring Jack Emerson rushing there as well.

He'd already asked Rich Stevens to put surveillance on all of them. That would kick in soon.

At ten after twelve he got the call he was hoping to receive from the technical guys. "Sam, we have a fix on Jean Sheridan's phone."

"Where is it?"

"In a moving car."

"Can you tell where the car is?"

"Near Storm King, heading toward the Cornwall area."

"He's coming from West Point /' Sam said. "He has the cadet. Don't lose him. Don't lose him."

"We don't intend to."

"Please turn the car around," Meredith said. "I am not permitted to leave the grounds. When you asked me to sit in the car, I thought you meant just to talk for a minute. I'm sorry you left the letter about my mother in your other pocket, but I'll have to wait to get it. Please, I must go back, Mr. – "

"You were about to use my name, Meredith. I don't want you to do that. You must refer to me as Owl or The Owl."

She stared at him, fear suddenly gripping her. "I don't understand. Please take me back." Meredith grasped the handle of the passenger door. If he stops for a light, I'll jump out, she thought. He's different. He even looks different. No, not just different-crazy! Questions of doubt, unanswerable questions, flitted through her mind. Why did Dad ask me to promise I wouldn't leave the grounds? Why did he ask me about the hairbrush that I lost? What does this have to do with my birth mother?

The car was speeding north along Route 218. He's going way over the speed limit, Meredith thought. Please, God, let us pass a cop. Let a cop see us. She considered grabbing the steering wheel, but there were cars coming in the other direction; somebody in one of them might get killed. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded. Something was pressing into her back. She moved forward in the seat, but it was still there. What was it?

"Meredith, I lied when I said I met your mother's friend at the reunion. I met your mother there. I'm taking you to see her."

"My mother! Jean! You're taking me to see her?"

"Yes, I am. And then the two of you are going to join your birth father in heaven. You'll have a wonderful reunion, I'm sure. You look a lot like him, you know. At least you look as he did before I smashed into him on the road. You know where that happened, Meredith? On the road near the picnic grounds at West Point. That's where your real daddy died. I wish you'd had a chance to visit his grave. His name is on the tombstone: Carroll Reed Thornton,}r. He would have graduated one week later. I wonder if they'll bury you and Jeannie beside him. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"My father went to West Point, and you killed him?"

"Of course I did. Do you think it was fair for him and Jean to be so happy and leave me out in the cold? Do you think that was fair, Meredith ?"

He turned his head and glared at her. His eyes were flashing. His lips were pressed together so tightly that his mouth seemed to have disappeared beneath flaring nostrils.

He's crazy, she thought. "No, sir. It doesn't seem fair," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. I can't show him how scared lam.

He seemed mollified. "Your West Point training. 'Yes, ma'am.' 'No, sir.' I didn't ask you to call me sir. I told you to call me 'Owl.'"

They had passed the cutoff for Storm King Mountain and were on the outskirts of Cornwall. Where are we going? Meredith wondered. Is he really taking me to my mother? Did he really kill my father and is he planning to kill us now? What can I do to stop him? Don't panic, she warned herself. Look around. See if there's anything you can use to defend yourself. Maybe there's a bottle of water somewhere. I could hit him in the face with it. It might give me enough time to reach the ignition key and stop the car. We're passing enough cars now that somebody might notice a struggle. But as she glanced around, she saw absolutely nothing she could use to defend herself.

"Meredith, I can read your thoughts. Don't even think about trying to attract attention to yourself, because if you do, you will not live to get out of this car. I have a gun, and I will use it. At least I am offering you a chance to meet your mother. Don't be foolish and throw it away."

Meredith's hands were gripped together. What was pressing against her back? Maybe, maybe it was something that would give her a chance to save herself and save her mother. With infinite care she unclasped her hands and moved her right hand slowly to her side. She sat up straighter in the seat as she slid her hand behind her back. Her fingers touched the edge of a narrow object that felt familiar.

It was a cell phone. She had to tug to get it loose, but The Owl didn't seem to notice. They were driving through Cornwall now, and he was looking from side to side as though afraid he'd be stopped.

Meredith moved her hand slowly back, the phone cupped in it. She flipped it open, glanced down, and her finger pressed 91-

She did not see his hand shoot across the car seat, but she felt it as he grabbed her neck. She slumped forward, unconscious, as The Owl grabbed the phone, lowered his window, and threw it onto the road.

Less than ten seconds later, a mail truck rumbled over it, breaking it into bits of plastic.

"Sam, we've lost him," Eddie Zarro said. "He's in Cornwall, but we're not getting any more signals."

"How did you lose him?" Sam shouted. It was a stupid, useless question. He knew the answer-the phone had been discovered and destroyed.