Chapter 48.

Billy parked the explorer on the lawn behind the garage, where it could not be seen by any motorist who might use the dead end of the lane as a turnaround. He worked his hands into latex gloves.

With the spare key that he had taken from the hole in the oak stump little more than nineteen hours earlier, he let himself into the house through the back door.

He had with him the tarp, the strapping tape, the rope. And of course the .38 revolver.

As Billy moved forward through the ground floor, he turned on lights.

Wednesday and Thursday were Lanny's days off, so he might not be thought missing for another thirty-six hours. If a friend dropped by unannounced for a visit, however, saw lights in the house, but could not get an answer to the doorbell, trouble would follow.

Billy intended to do what needed to be done as quickly as possible and get out, turning the lights off after himself.

The cartoon hands, pointing the way to the corpse, were still taped to the walls. He would remove them later, as part of the cleanup.

If Lanny's body had been salted with evidence pointing to Billy, as Cottle said that Giselle Winslow's had been, none of it could be used in a court of law if Lanny lay forever at rest a mile or more under the earth.

Billy realized, as he eliminated planted evidence incriminating himself, he also would be destroying any evidence of the killer's guilt that the freak might unintentionally have left. He was doing cleanup for both of them.

The cunning with which this trap had been designed and the early choices that Billy had made as the performance unfolded had virtually ensured that he would come to this juncture and would have to proceed as he was proceeding now.

He didn't care. Nothing mattered but Barbara. He had to stay free to protect her, because no one else would.

If Billy came under suspicion in a homicide, John Palmer would lock him down fast and tight. The sheriff would seek vindication in the conviction of Billy for murder, and if he got that conviction, he would use it to try to rewrite history, as well.

They could hold him on suspicion alone. He wasn't sure how long. Certainly for forty-eight hours.

By then Barbara would be dead. Or missing, gone, like Judith Kesselman, music student, dog fancier, walker on beaches.

The performance would be concluded. Maybe the freak would have another face in another jar.

Past, present, future, all time eternally present in the here and now, and racing-he swore he could hear the hands on his watch whirring-and so he hurried to the stairs and climbed.

Even before arriving at this house, he'd feared that he would not find Lanny's body in the bedroom armchair where he had last seen it. Another move in the game, one more twist in the performance.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he hesitated, stopped by that same dread. He hesitated again at the doorway to the master bedroom. Then he crossed the threshold and switched on the light.

Lanny sat in the chair with the book in his lap, the photograph of Giselle Winslow tucked in the book.

The corpse didn't look good. Perhaps delayed somewhat by the air conditioning, visible decomposition had not yet occurred, but blood vessels in his face had begun to be revealed as a faint green marbling.

Lanny's eyes shifted to follow Billy across the room, but that was just a trick of the light.

Chapter 49.

After spreading the polyurethane tarp on the floor but before proceeding further, Billy sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone. Careful not to make the error that he had claimed to have made earlier in the day, he keyed in 411. From directory a.s.sistance he obtained the area code for Denver.

Even if Ramsey Ozgard continued to serve as a detective with the Denver Police Department, he might not live within the city. He might be in one of several suburbs, in which case locating him would be too difficult. His home number might also be unlisted.

When Billy called directory a.s.sistance in Denver, he got lucky. He was overdue for some luck. They had a listing for Ozgard, Ramsey G., in the city.

It was 10:54 in Colorado, but the hour might make the call seem more urgent and therefore more credible.

A man answered on the second ring, and Billy said, "Detective Ozgard?"

"Speaking."

"Sir, this is Deputy Lanny Olsen of the Napa County Sheriff's Department, here in California. First, I want to apologize for disturbing you at this hour."

"I'm a lifelong insomniac, Deputy, and now I have like six hundred channels on the TV, so I'll be watching reruns of Gilligan' Island or some d.a.m.n thing until three in the morning. What's up?"

"Sir, I'm calling you from my home about a case you handled some years back. You might want to ring the watch commander in our north-county substation to confirm that I'm with the department, and get my home number from them for callback."

"I've got caller ID," Ozgard said. "I can see who you are good enough for now. If what you want from me seems at all sticky, then I'll do what you say. But right now let's go for it."

"Thank you, sir. There's a missing-person's case of yours that might have some pertinence to a situation here. About five and a half years ago-"

"Judith Kesselman," said Ozgard.

"You jumped right to it."

"Deputy, don't tell me you found her. At least don't tell me you found her dead."

"No, sir. Neither dead or alive."

"G.o.d help her, I don't expect alive," Ramsey said. "But it's going to be a miserable day when I know for sure she's dead. I love that girl."

Surprised, Billy said, "Sir?"

"I never met her, but I love her. Like a daughter. I've learned so much about Judi Kesselman that I know her better than a lot of people who've actually in my life."

"I see."

"She was a wonderful young woman."

"That's what I hear."

"I talked to so many of her friends and family. Not a bad word about her from anyone. The stories of things she did for others, her kindnesses... y know how sometimes a vie haunts you, how you can't be entirely objective?"

"Sure," Billy said.

"I'm haunted by this one," Ozgard said. "She was a great letter writer. Once someone entered her life, she held on to them, she didn't forget them, she stayed in touch. I read hundreds of Judi's letters, Deputy Olsen, hundreds."

"So you let her in."

"You can't help it with her, she walks right in. They were the letters of a woman who embraced people, who just gave her heart to everyone. Luminous letters."

Billy found himself staring at the bullet hole in Lanny Olsen's forehead. He looked toward the open door to the upstairs hall.

"We've got a situation here," he said. "I can't spell it out in detail at this time, because we're still working the evidence and we aren't ready to bring charges."

"I understand," Ozgard a.s.sured him.

"But there's a name I want to run by you, see if it rings three cherries with you."

"The hairs are up on the back of my neck," Ozgard said. "That's how bad I want this to be something."

"I Googled our guy, and the only thing I got was this one hit regarding the Kesselman disappearance, and even that was less than nothing."

"So Google me," said Ozgard.

"Steven Zillis."

In Denver, Ramsey Ozgard let out his pent-up breath with a hiss.

"You remember him," Billy said.

"Oh yeah."

"He was a suspect?"

"Not officially."

"But you personally felt..."

"He made me uneasy."

"Why?"

Ozgard was silent. Then: "Even a man you wouldn't want to share a beer with, wouldn't want to shake hands with-his reputation isn't to be taken lightly."

"This is background, off the record," Billy a.s.sured him. "You tell me as much as makes you comfortable and just how big a spoonful of salt I should take with it."

"The thing is, for the entire day when Judi had to have been s.n.a.t.c.hed-if she was s.n.a.t.c.hed, and I believe she was-for that entire day, for the whole twenty-four-hour window and then some, Zillis had an alibi you couldn't crack with a nuke."

"You tried."

"Believe it. But even if he hadn't had an alibi, there wasn't any evidence pointing his way."

"Then why did he make you uneasy?"

"He was too forthcoming."

Billy didn't say anything, but he was disappointed. He was in the market for certainty, and Ozgard didn't have any to sell.

Sensing that disappointment, the detective expanded on what he had said. "He came to me before he was even on my scope. Fact is, he might never have been on my scope if he hadn't come to me. He wanted so much to help. He talked and talked. He cared about her too much, like she was a beloved sister, but he had only known her a month."

"You said she was exceptional at relationships, she embraced people, they bonded with her."

"According to her best friends, she didn't even know Zillis that well. Only casually."

Reluctantly playing the devil's advocate, Billy said, "He could have felt closer to her than she did to him. I mean, if she had that kind of magnetism, that appeal..."

"You would have had to see him, the way he was with me," Ozgard said. "It's like he wanted me to wonder about him, to check him out and find the airtight alibi. And after I did, there was this smugness about him."

Remarking on the quiet revulsion in Ozgard's voice, Billy said, "You're still hot."

"I am hot. Zillis-he's coming back to me, the way he was. For a while, before he finally faded away, he kept trying to help, calling up, dropping by, offering ideas, and you had this feeling it was all mockery, he was just performing."

"Performing. I have a feeling like that, too," Billy said, "but I really need more."

"He's a p.r.i.c.k. That doesn't mean he's anything worse, but he is a self-satisfied p.r.i.c.k. The little p.r.i.c.k even started acting like we were pals, him and me. Potential suspects, they just never do that. It's not natural. h.e.l.l, you know. But he had this easy, jokey way about him."

" 'How're they hangin', Kemosabe.'"

"s.h.i.t, does he still say that?" Ozgard asked.

"He still does."

"He's a p.r.i.c.k. He covered it with this goofy charm, but he's a p.r.i.c.k, all right."

"So he was all over you, and then he just faded away."

"The whole investigation faded away. Judi was gone like she'd never existed. Zillis dropped out of school at the end of that year, his soph.o.m.ore year. I never saw him again."

"Well, he's here now," Billy said.

"I wonder where he's been in between."

"Maybe we'll find out."

"I hope you find out."

"I'll be back to you," Billy said.