Act of Darkness(79)

Jack turned out to be an older policeman, not fresh faced or grim, and someone Patchen disliked on sight. The man swaggered. Patchen hated that. Men who swaggered and wore uniforms at the same time made her think of Nazis, just like religious people did.

“I have something to tell Mr. Demarkian,” she said, as he came closer. Her voice was high and tight and whiny, but she was beyond noticing. “It’s important and I have to tell him now.”

“Tell me,” Jack said.

“No.”

He looked her up and down and back and forth, and Patchen didn’t think he liked what he saw. She didn’t care. He was in uniform. He couldn’t be anyone really important. All the really important policemen wore ordinary clothes, to trick people.

“I want to see Mr. Demarkian,” she repeated. “I want to see him now.”

“What’s all this about?” a different voice said.

They all turned. Coming toward them, Patchen saw the main policeman of the night before, the short little man with the bald spot on top of his head. She couldn’t remember his name. She did remember thinking, the first time she saw him, that he must eat a lot of fatty foods. He had that dead white look to his skin that people got when they filled their bodies with lard and slaughter.

She shifted a little on her feet and held her chest more tightly. “It’s me,” she said, in the best voice she could. Her throat felt like a thin steel shaft with no give to it at all. “I want to see Mr. Demarkian.”

“What about?” the short little man said.

“I don’t want to tell you,” Patchen told him. “I want to tell Mr. Demarkian.”

“She didn’t want to tell me, either,” Jack said.

Patchen took her hands away from her chest. The short little man was looking her up and down, the way Jack had done, but in doing so he had made her feel as if she were holding her breasts up for inspection. She stuck her hands into her pockets and clenched them into fists and kept them there.

“I’ve got something to tell Mr. Demarkian,” she said, “and I’m not going to tell anybody but Mr. Demarkian.”

“You’re not,” the short little man said.

“I’m not,” Patchen insisted.

The short little man gave her a look that said he thought she was simply pulling rank. She was the Great Big Movie Star and they were all supposed to run their lives her way. But he turned around anyway and went back down the hall.

Patchen caught herself gulping air and counting to ten again, but it was all right. In no time at all, the short little man was back, with Gregor Demarkian in tow.

Now that she could actually see him, Patchen wasn’t sure she had done the right thing. He looked much more intimidating than the short little man, and much less friendly. If it hadn’t been for the thought of all those vultures downstairs, circling around her, making her their sacrifice, she would have turned around and run again.

Instead, she reminded herself that she had been telling the truth, for once. She really did have something important to say and something he would want to hear. Then she wrapped her arms around her chest again and hugged herself as tightly as she could, tighter and tighter with every step Gregor Demarkian took toward her.

She had never hurt so much in her life.





[3]


Downstairs, Dan Chester was leaning against the back of the staircase, counting to ten himself and trying to think. He had heard Patchen Rawls asking for Gregor Demarkian each of the three times she had asked. He had waited in the hope that whatever conversation she had with him would take place on the balcony where he could hear. He was not in luck. He heard Demarkian’s step just above him and then the deep, studiously polite voice saying, “We can go in here. It’s Miss Hannaford’s room. We’re using it as a temporary workstation.” After that, there was more tromping around above his head, and he knew the two of them—maybe in the company of Henry Berman—had disappeared.

Standing where he was standing, he was in full view of the crowd in the living room space. Fortunately, they were paying no attention to him. Once Patchen Rawls had run out, they had retreated into themselves again. Dan turned away from them and headed across the foyer toward the kitchen.

Dan Chester had never been a kitchen person. He didn’t like kitchens, and he liked the kitchen at Great Expectations even less. It was big and surgical, full of stainless steel and sharp knives. It was also the only available place in the house at the moment with both walls and a telephone, except for Victoria’s room. And he was under no illusions that Victoria would allow him to use that.

He locked the kitchen door behind him after he went in and then went to search the pantry and the bread room. They were empty.