"I reserved her a room at the Pacific Hotel. Icould meet you there, at eight, say."

"Fine."

He got up and came around the desk andshook my hand vigorously. As I was leaving the building, a small, old man in ablack hat and a greenish black cloak came sidling out of the fog. He had adyed-looking black mustache, hectic black eyes, a wine flush on his hollow cheeks.

"Dr. de Falla?"

He nodded. I held the door for him. He swept off hishat and bowed.

"Merci beaucoup."

His rubber-soled shoes made no more soundthan a spider. I had another one of my little nightmare moments. This one wasDoctor Death.

chapter16

It was a slow drive up the coast but thefog lifted before I reached the airport, leaving a thickish twilight in theair. I parked my car at the United building. It was exactly six-twenty-five,according to the ticket the girl in the parking lot handed me. I crossed theroad to the bright enormous building and found the baggage carrousel, besiegedby travelers.

A woman who looked like a dried-up olderHelen was standing on the edge of the crowd beside her suitcase. She had on ablack dress under a black coat with a ratty fur collar, black hat, and blackgloves.

Only her garish red hair was out ofkeeping with the occasion. Her eyes were swollen, and she seemed dazed, as if apart of her mind was still back in Illinois.

"Mrs. Hoffman?"

"Yes. I'm Mrs. Earl Hoffman."

"My name is Archer. Your daughter's departmenthead, Dr. Geisman, asked me to pick you up."

"That was nice of him," she said with a poorvague smile. "And nice of you."

I picked up her suitcase, which was smalland light. "Would you like something to eat, or drink? There's a prettygood restaurant here."

"Oh no thanks. I had dinner on theplane. Swiss steak. It was a very interesting ffight. I never flew in a jetbefore. But I wasn't the least bit frightened."

She didn't know what she was. She staredaround at the bright lights and the people. The muscles of her face weretensing up as if she might be getting ready to cry some more. I got hold of herthin upper arm and hustled her out of there and across the road to my car. Wecircled the parking lot and got onto the freeway.

"They didn't have this when I washere before. I'm glad you decided to meet me. I'd get lost," she said in alost voice.

"How long is it since you were herebefore?"

"Nearly twenty years. It was whenHoffman was in the Navy, he was a warrant officer in the Shore Patrol. Theyassigned him to San Diego and Helen had already run—left home, and I thought Imight as well get the benefit of the travel. We lived in San Diego for over ayear, and it was very nice." I could hear her breathing as if she wasstruggling up to the rim of the present. She said carefully: "PacificPoint is quite near San Diego, isn't it?"

"About fifty miles."

"Is that right?" After another pause, shesaid: "Are you with the college?"

"I happen to be a detective."

"Isn't that interesting? My husbandis a detective. He's been on the Bridgeton force for thirty-four years. He'sdue to retire next year. We've talked about retiring in California but thiswill probably turn him against it. He pretends not to care, but he cares. Ithink he cares just as much as I do." Her voice floated along above thehighway noises like a disembodied spirit talking to itself.

"It's too bad he couldn't fly outwith you today."

"He could have, if he'd wanted to. Hecould have taken time off. I think he was afraid he couldn't face it. And hehas his blood pressure to consider." She hesitated again. "Are youinvestigating my daughter's murder?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Geisman said on the phone thatyou have a suspect, a young girl. What would make a student shoot one of herteachers? I never heard of such a thing."

"I don't think she did, Mrs.Hoffman."

"But Dr. Geisman said it waspractically open and shut." The sorrow in her voice had changed into akind of vengeful justice.

"That may be." I had no desireto argue with a potentially valuable witness. "I'm investigating otherangles, and you may be able to help me."

"How is that?"

"Your daughter's life was threatened.She talked to me about it before she was shot. Somebody called her on thetelephone. It was a voice she didn't recognize, but she said a strange thingabout it. She said it sounded like the voice of Bridgeton."

"Bridgeton? That's where welive."

"I know that, Mrs. Hoffman. Helensaid it was Bridgeton catching up with her. Do you have any idea what shemeant?"

"She always hated Bridgeton. From thetime that she was in high school she blamed it for everything that went wrongwith her life. She couldn't wait to get out of Bridgeton."

"I understand she ran away from

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009