"Sure. Anika even admitted to her that she was lying. She said Andy was home sick, that he couldn't have killed his brother or Loy."

Al's eyes dropped to his desk as his fist slammed on top of a stack of papers. "Gotcha," he crowed.

"No, no. You're not listening. It's Phil! He's the one you're looking for."

Al thought for a moment, squeezing the back of his neck, then picked up his phone and punched in a bunch of numbers. "It's Lundquist. Yeah. Where's Molly?" He listened. "Well, when she reports in, tell her to call me ASAP. Got that? ASAP."

"You're targeting the wrong guy," said Bram, even before Al hung up the phone.

Al shook his head. "Okay, I hear you. Phil's an asshole. He's also a rough character. You should be glad he didn't clock you right there in the garage. You could be climbing out of a drainage ditch right now instead of talking to me."

"But you're not listening."

"I am. Any guy who would hit a woman is a total sleaze. But he was ringing your chimes today, pal, and probably enjoying the hell out of it. The fact that Chris wasn't there doesn't mean a thing. If, in twenty-four hours, she still doesn't turn up, file a missing person's report."

"This is what I pay taxes for?"

"What do you want me to do? Go out there and arrest him? For what? On what evidence?"

The phone on Al's desk gave a jarring ring. Al picked it up. "Lundquist." He listened a moment, then cracked a smile. "We got him. Yeah. I'll explain when I see you. Stay there, okay. I'll be right over."

Bram flung his arms in the air. "You're just going to blow this off? I know in my gut that Phil's done something with her. All right, so maybe he was playing with me, maybe he didn't kill her, but he's got her locked up somewhere so she can't hurt him. Who knows how long it will be before he does decide to get rid of her?"

Al stood and shrugged into his Twins baseball jacket. "You've got a lethal imagination. You're also assuming he's our perp. If he isn't-and I know for a fact that he isn't-he's got no reason to hurt her. Unless it's a domestic, in which case somebody else will have to cover it." He put his hand on Bram's shoulder. "You're a great guy. You care about people. But you're off base on this one. Okay? Trust me. I've been doing this a long time. Now, I gotta go." Pushing Bram out of his office, he added, "Do yourself a favor. Go home, take two aspirin, and take a nap."

Bram couldn't let it go. Chris was either dead or in danger. Either way, somebody had to find her. He remembered that her mother's first name was Nora. Sitting in his car, he used his cell phone to call directory assistance. A few minutes later, Nora Parillo was on the line: "Hello?"

"Is this Nora?"

"Speaking."

"My name's Baldric. Bram Baldric."

"Oh, sure. I recognize your voice from the radio. You're a friend of my daughter."

She sounded a lot like Chris, except that her voice was deeper. "I am. I was wondering if you'd heard from Chris today? I'm trying to reach her." Bram didn't want to alarm her.

"Well, yes, I did. But I didn't actually talk to her. I was out walking the dog when she called. She left me a message."

Bram's heart skipped a beat. Maybe Chris was okay. "Can I ask what she said?"

"Just that her car was on the fritz. She planned to drive it over to Phil's mechanic's place and leave it there for him to look at. Phil said he'd follow in his car so he could drive her back home. She said she wanted to talk to me today, but not to call her at the house. She said she'd get back to me."

"That's all she said?"

"Well, yes. And that she loved me."

"What time was the call?"

"About eight fifteen."

So that meant if Phil had done something to Chris, it had to have happened between eight fifteen and ten thirty-when Bram arrived at Phil's house. Not much time.

"Why are you so interested?" asked Nora.

"Like I said, I'd like to get in touch with her today."

"Is this about that job offer? She told me all about it. I think it would be a godsend for her to do something with her life other than wait hand and foot on that horrible man."

"I couldn't agree more. You don't by any chance know who Phil's mechanic is, do you?"

"No idea. Sorry. Listen, Mr. Baldric, if you find her, will you tell her to call me right away? She sounded kind of nervous in that message she left me. Maybe nobody else would have noticed, but I'm her mother. I worry about her."

"I understand. And I promise. As soon as I find her, I'll make sure she calls."

30.

When Anika was thirteen, she saw a man being pulled from Chatham Lake. It was an image she would never forget. It was wintertime, and the lake was a favorite spot for skaters in her small Michigan hometown. That December day, Anika had been walking home from school when a squad car, lights flashing, whizzed past her and made a hard right on Tarnauer Road, heading for the lake. By the time she reached the warming house, she saw that a paramedic truck had already arrived and that men in wet suits were attempting to walk out onto the lake.

People were scattered around in small groups, muttering softly. Anika stood close to one of them and learned that a man had fallen through just a few minutes before and had disappeared under the ice. Anika watched as one of the men in wet suits jumped into a gaping hole.

Ten minutes later, rescuers tossed ropes to the diver as paramedics helped drag the man from the water. Anika inched closer to the warming house as the man was carried past her on a stretcher. What seemed so astonishing to her then-and ever after-was how he was encased from head to toe in a thin, glistening sheet of ice. It looked like shiny plastic, perfectly molded to his clothes and skin. She could see the horror on his face as he must have struggled to find a way out.

The man's eyes were open, but he was dead inside an ice cocoon.

As Anika looked over at her husband now, watching him behind the wheel of their car driving back to Bob's house, just minutes after dropping Rick off at the airport, she was certain she saw that same ice cocoon forming around him. She shivered as she turned her eyes away.

After arriving home last night, Andy had drunk one glass of champagne after another. When the bubbly was gone, he started in on the Scotch, refusing to eat any of the pizza. Anika couldn't pinpoint just what was wrong, but she knew that whatever it was, it was huge. She'd never seen Andy so fractured-laughing gaily, almost desperately one minute, zoned out the next. The booze was obviously a way to anesthetize his pain, though it eventually cut him off entirely. Shortly after nine, he'd excused himself and lurched his way upstairs to bed.

After he was gone, Anika and Rick talked for a while. Rick was devastated by the change in his old friend. Together, they tried to analyze Andy, using every pop psychological theory they could come up with to explain his behavior, but by eleven they both realized neither one of them knew how to help.

After getting Rick settled in one of the guest bedrooms, Anika entered the room she shared with Andy. It was only their second night in the house and everything still felt foreign. She found him asleep on top of the velvet spread. He'd fallen face-first onto the pillows and looked as if he hadn't moved since he hit them. She took off his shoes and covered him with a quilt. Sitting next to him for a few minutes, she caressed his hair, weeping for the two people who had once been so in love. She slept in the next room, aware for the first time of how dank and gloomy the house felt-how it seemed to be filled with moving, angry shadows, and secrets that held her husband in a hard grip and wouldn't let go.

Andy had awakened with a hangover. He'd come down to breakfast looking scrubbed and pink from a hot shower, but no less troubled. Once again, he wouldn't eat a thing. He tried to make conversation with Rick, tried to be the old Andy, but the detachment Anika had seen glimpses of in the last few months now consumed him completely. Andy had looked forward to Rick's trip to Minnesota, but for whatever reason, his disconnection with the world around him now seemed total. He was like the man in the ice cocoon. He wasn't dead, but what was vital and human inside him was surely dying.

Both Anika and Andy were silent on the way home from the airport. After parking in the driveway, Andy shut off the motor.

"We've got to talk," said Anika, turning to look at him.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "I know."

He seemed so vulnerable, so utterly defenseless. But if he couldn't or wouldn't share his problems with her, what chance did they have? It was intolerable to think that she was about to add to his defeat, but if she didn't make a stand, he'd take them both down. "Andy . . . I'm leaving you."

His body jerked, but he kept his eyes closed.

She waited, but when he didn't respond, she said, "Did you hear me?" That's when she noticed the tears on his cheeks. Her heart twisted inside her. "Andy? Say something."

He opened his eyes and placed both hands on the top of the steering wheel, as if to anchor himself to the earth. "I don't blame you."

"That's it? That's all you've got to say?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you I loved you." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against his hands. "God," he whispered, sucking in his breath.

If she left him now, it was like she accepted that he was doomed. She wanted desperately for him to pull her back from the brink, but at the same time she knew he couldn't.

"I've already packed a bag."

He swallowed a couple of times. "Where will you go?"

"I'll take a room at the Maxfield for now. We can . . . figure the rest out later. When you're feeling better."

He nodded.

There was nothing else to do but get out of the car. She stared at him a moment more, feeling the finality of her words, but not quite believing that she'd actually said them. And then she opened the door and got out.

As she was coming down the stairs a few minutes later, carrying her suitcase and an overnight bag, she heard the doorbell chime. Andy walked into the foyer, glanced at her for a second, then stepped over to the door and opened it.

Anika set her bags on the floor as a tall, lanky man in a baseball jacket introduced himself as Detective Al Lundquist. He was accompanied by two burly uniformed police officers. "Mr. Gladstone?" he asked.

"Yes?" said Andy.

The detective motioned to the uniforms.

Before Anika could absorb what was happening, they'd handcuffed Andy and the detective was reading him his rights.

"He's being arrested?" she said.

"Yes," said the detective. "Like I said, for the murder of Del Irazarian."

Anika gasped. "He's dead?"

"He was shot last night in his motel room."

Anika and Andy locked eyes.

"We have a search warrant for your home, Mr. Gladstone." He removed a sheet of paper from his pocket and held it up for Andy to read. When Andy looked away, he handed it across to Anika.

She took it, but she couldn't focus. Everything inside her screamed that this couldn't be happening.

The detective nodded and more officers, this time a crew of eight, entered the house. Anika remembered the shirt Andy had thrown into the hamper this morning, the one with blood on the cuff. Her mind slid sideways.

As they led Andy away, he shouted over his shoulder, "Anika, call my lawyer. Ray Lawless. The number's in my address book in my briefcase. Tell him to meet me at the police station."

"Right away," she called after him. Stepping up to the door, she stood behind the screen and watched as her husband was helped into the backseat of a waiting squad car.

So this was it, thought Anika. The storm she'd been expecting. There was a certain relief in finally seeing it descend. But never in her wildest nightmares had she imagined that her husband could be a murderer.

Sophie was working the reservation desk on the Maxfield's main level when she noticed Anika come through the front double doors. She was surprised to see her again so soon, and even more surprised to find her carrying a suitcase. In Sophie's mind, it was an ominous sign.

Anika approached the desk. "Ah, hi," she said, setting the suitcase down. "I, ah . . . I need a room."

"Are you okay?" asked Sophie. She could see how unsteady Anika was.

"No."

Sophie tapped a couple numbers into the computer terminal while sneaking peeks at Anika. She came up with a suite on the ninth floor. After making a couple of key cards, she grabbed the minibar key and came around the front of the reception desk, picking up the suitcase. "I'll take you upstairs."

"Thanks, Sophie. I could use a friend right about now."

They got on the elevator along with several other people and rode in silence up to nine.

Once in the suite, Anika removed her coat, tossing it over the desk chair. She looked as if every muscle in her body hurt. She sank down on the couch with a dazed expression on her face.

Sophie turned on the lights, then opened the curtains. Remembering the minibar key, she opened up the bar and removed a tiny bottle of brandy. Cracking the top, she poured the golden liquid into a glass, handing it to Anika. "Drink some of this. You'll feel better."

Anika stared at it a moment as if she wasn't sure what it was. "Oh. Yeah. Good idea." She drank it down in two neat swallows.

Sophie removed the glass from her shaking hand, then perched on the edge of one of the club chairs. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I . . . I . . ." She lowered her head, closed her eyes. "It's a nightmare. Andy was arrested a couple hours ago."

"Oh, no." Sophie was afraid it had been something like that.

"They put him in a lineup and a witness picked him out." She rubbed the back of her neck.

"I didn't think there were witnesses to either of the murders."

Anika's head popped up. "He was arrested for shooting Del Irazarian."

"But . . . I thought-"

"They're all connected. Apparently, the same gun was used in all three murders. Andy has a gun. He kept it in the glove compartment of his car. But it's not a match. Since they don't have the murder weapon, Andy's lawyer thought the case for Bob's death and Ken Loy's would be hard to prove. But once they find the blood on Andy's cuff-"

"What blood?" asked Sophie.

Anika took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "When Andy came home last night, he had blood on his cuff. The police think it will prove to be Irazarian's. They've got an eyewitness that puts him at the motel, so more than likely, it will be a match. Andy didn't even deny that he'd been there. But he insists he didn't do it. That when he got to the motel, Irazarian was already dead."

"Wow."

"Yeah. I know." Anika nodded to the minibar. "I think I'd like another."

Sophie got up and found another brandy. She handed the bottle and the glass to Anika and then sat back down. "Who's his lawyer?"