If Angels Fall

THIRTY-ONE

Standing at the living room window of her stucco bungalow, Eva Blair was curious about thestrange truck that had stopped in front of the Walker place across the street.Nobody got out of the truck. The engine was idling. Looked like a man and-Evacould just make out a little head-a child. A bearded man talking, no, arguing,with a child. It was none of her business. She was being an old busybody.

But something strange was going on.

Eva could just make out part of the truck’s rearplate. California. “B” or “8” or “E”. It was a battered old pickup. A Ford,according to the tailgate. The man seemed angry. There was a glint of metal inthe cab. A knife? Did the man have a knife? Goodness! What in the world was hedoing? Now he was tossing something out the window. She should call the police.The truck was filthy, neglected, a disgrace.

The engine growled and the truck sped away.

An ominous feeling came over Eva and she decided, forgood measure, to jot down what she could remember of the truck. She slipped onher bifocals, left her house by the front door, and started across the streettoward the spot where the truck had stopped. Something was on the sidewalk.

Eva gasped. A mound. A small, fluffy, heap of…hair.Human hair, beautiful chestnut hair. She bent over to examine it closely,gasping before hurrying back to her house to call the police.

The hair was dotted with fresh blood.