Shiver

21

Shortly after Delgado left, a doctor examined Wendy, looking her over like a mechanic inspecting a damaged but still functioning piece of machinery, and concluded she was well enough to go home. She was relieved to hear it. She’d always hated hospitals. No matter how much Lysol disinfected and deodorized the air, she was morbidly certain she could smell death in these places; and today of all days, she didn’t like that smell.

Alone again in her room, she put on the clothes that had been left for her in the bureau. As she dressed, she found herself humming a melody, a strangely familiar one. Then she recognized it: “Full Moon and Empty Arms”-the same tune she’d hummed in the kitchen last night while she felt the pressure of a killer’s gaze.

The police officer who’d delivered the clothes had selected an outfit typical of the old Wendy: white cotton blouse, gray pleated skirt, sensible low-heeled shoes. Wendy studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror with a muted sense of nostalgia. She felt as if she were looking at a photograph of herself from years ago, her college yearbook portrait, perhaps, or the faded photo on her driver’s license. The drab uniform no longer suited her. From now on she would wear only bold colors and exotic styles. She wanted to stand out in a crowd, to be seen and admired. She wanted-

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” she said automatically, assuming her visitor was another nurse or orderly.

But when she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw a uniformed policeman standing at the threshold of her room.

“ ’Morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning,” she answered uncertainly.

“Detective Delgado sent me to collect you.”

“You mean, take me home?”

“Well, no, not exactly. He’d like to have you wait at the police station.”

She blinked. “Wait there? Why?”

“Just a precaution.”

“He didn’t say anything about that to me when he was here.”

“Well…”

Then she understood.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. Sudden fear jellied her knees. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

The cop moved his big shoulders. “That’s the rumor. But don’t tell the detective I said so, or I could be in some real hot water, if you catch my drift…”

He went on speaking, but Wendy no longer heard him. His voice had receded, as had the walls of the room. The floor canted dangerously. Her head hummed.

“God. Oh, God.” Was she saying that? “Oh, my God.”

“Ma’am?” The cop took a step toward her. “You okay?”

That was a question. She had to answer it.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes.” She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She regained some measure of control. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“I shouldn’t have shot my mouth off. Like I said, it’s a rumor, that’s all. I’m just a grunt; nobody tells me much.”

“I understand.”

“All I know for sure is that I’ve got to get you over to the station. And that it’s for precautionary purposes only. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You got any stuff you want to take with you?”

“No. Nothing. Let’s go.”

As they walked down the hall, a new thought occurred to her.

“I’ll have to arrange the payment of my bill before I leave.”

“I’m afraid Detective Delgado’s orders were to take you there straightaway. He was what you might call explicit on the subject.”

“I can’t just walk out without paying.”

“As a matter of fact, you can.” He tapped his shield. “Believe me, a badge can work wonders in a situation like this.”

She didn’t argue, because of course he was right.

They rode the elevator to the ground floor. At the front desk the cop talked briefly with the receptionist. Wendy signed a carbon-backed form she didn’t bother to read, and then she was free to go.

The parking garage was directly adjacent to the lobby. The cop led her to a Dodge Aries coupe.

“The detective thought it would be a good idea to use an unmarked car,” he explained as he unlocked the driver’s-side door. “There’s a whole bunch of TV people out front, and if they laid eyes on a black-and-white, they’d be after it in a New York minute.”

Wendy slid into the backseat. She watched the cop remove a tan coat from the passenger seat and shrug it on, concealing his uniform.

As he climbed behind the wheel, she leaned forward and said, “The TV people aren’t the only reason for taking this car, are they?”

His face was all innocence as he turned to her. “Beg your pardon?”

“The real reason is that Detective Delgado is afraid the Gryphon will be waiting in the crowd outside. And if he is, then he might be the one to follow us. Or he might try something crazy, right on the spot.”

The cop nodded sheepishly. “Guess there’s no use trying to fool you, ma’am. And in case you’re wondering, I’m wearing this beat-up old coat on account of the same considerations. I’m not supposed to look like a cop, see? And, uh, I’m not supposed to be seen with a passenger either.”

She recalled the routine in the parking lot of the police station last night. “You want me to stay out of sight?”

“I’m afraid so.”

With a sigh, she knelt on the floor and lowered her head. The narrow space between the front and rear seats was as claustrophobic as a coffin, the coffin that might yet be hers if the Gryphon learned her whereabouts again.

Suppose he was in the crowd outside, with the pistol he’d used during the car chase concealed under his jacket. Suppose, despite every safeguard, he somehow knew which car she was in. Suppose…

Don’t think about it, she ordered.

Through the bandages on her palms she felt the four-cylinder engine shudder to life. The tires screeched as the Dodge reversed out of the parking space and pulled up to the gate. A moment later sunlight flooded the car’s interior. Wendy waited tensely as sounds of traffic and rushing air flew past.

“Okay,” the cop said after what seemed like several hours, “you can come up for air now.”

Shaky with relief, she climbed back into her seat.

She looked out the window and saw that they were heading west on Santa Monica Boulevard. As she watched, the steel-and-glass towers of Century City glided into view on the left. She picked out the smaller office building where she worked. The sight of it reminded her to call the office and let everybody know she was all right.

“Nice part of town, isn’t it?” the cop asked from the front seat. She noticed he was wearing sunglasses now, an unofficial part of the uniform of every L.A. patrolman. “Century City, I mean.”

“I work there.”

“Do you? What sort of job?”

“I write informational booklets for an actuarial firm, Iver and Barnes. It’s pretty boring, actually. I’ve been doing it for five years, and I think pretty soon I’ll be trying something new.”

She realized what she’d just said. The words astonished her; and more astonishing still was the knowledge that they were true.

Rolling down the window, she gazed out at the morning. Last night’s winds had died down, and a fresh breeze off the ocean had scrubbed the city clean, gifting L.A. with one of those rare perfect days unblemished by a brown haze of smog and unbleached by a white smear of sun. There was only a baby-blue sky streaked with herringbone filigrees of cloud.

She let her head drop back against the seat and surrendered herself to the crisp sunshine and the cool, healing air.

“Private joke, ma’am?”

At first she didn’t understand. Then she realized she’d been smiling broadly; he must have seen her in the rearview mirror.

“No,” she said. “Not a joke. I was just thinking that… well, that it’s a good day to be alive.”

“Every day is like that.”

Yes, Wendy answered silently. Every day from now on.