“He barges in, and I feel like a suspect. What’s the matter with me? Maybe it was the woman on Saugatuck Finger, no name. Tyrene Mazursky had been named. What did that mean? Old hat? Throwaway victims? Now, they didn’t even merit a name? His breath quickened, and his eyes hurt. The walls of his office closed in on him. He paged Angela, but she didn’t answer. Tried it again — thinking a second time meant dependence and was he ready for that? Still, no answer. So tired of going it alone. The air s...haft outside his window was black, and all at once the window was wet and oily. Rain, a hard, dirty downpour, spitting at the glass. He threw on his coat, left the hospital, walked to the surly mute’s bookstore. By the time he got there, his coat was soaked through, his shoes sloshed, and his hair was plastered to his skull. No one else was out on the street. No one stupid enough. A late-model station wagon was parked in front of the store. White, that made it easy to see. The blackened windows rendered the shop nearly invisible in the gloom.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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