Darker Than Night

71

Now!

The Night Prowler soundlessly rotated the knob and opened the closet door about six inches.

The living room was still dark, but there was a light on somewhere in the back of the apartment, the bedroom.

For several seconds he stood without moving, listening, listening….

Then he stepped from the closet and silently made his way toward the kitchen.

Claire would be in the bedroom, still trying to figure everything out, nursing her grief and pain, too much of it to allow sleep.

She’d be awake and alone.

That was best, that she be awake. If it’s going to be just the two of us.

In the kitchen he tried to decide between a boning knife—perhaps too flexible and fragile—and a serrated bread knife with sharp twin points.

And, of course, the sturdy, all-purpose chef’s knife. Hail to the Chef!

Did he want her to come here, to the kitchen, or should he go to her?

Where will you die, Claire?

He decided on the bedroom. Enough had gone wrong tonight already, so why take chances?

It would be quick. He’d be careful not to make any noise on his way to the bedroom, then when he entered she’d be astounded and paralyzed with terror. Her throat would be solid. She’d be unable to breathe for a moment, much less cry out.

Then it would be too late.

No one spoke as the elevator descended. Quinn resisted the temptation to stare upward, as people did out of habit in elevators, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Jubal’s reflection in the shiny control panel.

Suddenly he saw an arm extended alongside him.

Pearl pressed the emergency stop button, and the elevator slowed, lurched, and was still.

Fedderman said, “What the hell, Pearl?”

Quinn turned and looked at her. “Why?”

She jerked a thumb toward Jubal. “He’s just been in a fight for his life with a tough cop and made a run for freedom.”

“And?” Fedderman said.

“He isn’t breathing hard.”

Quinn stared at Jubal.

It was true. Jubal’s complexion was pasty and he was obviously distressed, frightened, but his chest wasn’t heaving and his pale lips were pressed together. His breathing was even. After going several rounds with Campbell? And he wasn’t marked up from his struggle with Campbell and then with Campbell’s reinforcements.

He isn’t the Night Prowler!

Which meant…

“Good Christ!” Fedderman said.

All three of them had figured it out and were reaching for the 29 button. It was Pearl who pressed it, with Quinn’s finger mashing down on her thumb.

The elevator began its slow ascent back toward Claire’s floor.