All Night Long

possibly remember every word of the conversation, and several of her therapists had warned her about the danger of inventing memories of that night. Still, some of the truth was there.
    Think like a good reporter, not a frightened teen.
    The low-voiced, one-sided discussion she had overheard never seemed important before. But in ligh f what had happened in the past few days, it took on new meaning. For the first time she tried to reconstruct it as accurately as possible.
    “.. . Yes, sir, she’s with us. Pretty much what you’d expect, sir. She’s in shock.
    Hasn’t said hardly a
    word. ...No,I asked her that, and it’s clear that she got home too late to see any of
[_it, thank God. _]
    Judging from the condition of the bodies, I’d say it went down at least a couple of
[_hours or more _]
    before the poor kid walked in the back door.”
    There had been a long pause, during which Thornhill listened to the person on the other end o he phone.
    “Not much doubt about it. Hugh Stenson went crazy, shot Elizabeth and then
[_turned the gun on himself. Terrible, terrible thing.” _]
    Another pause.
    “Yes, sir,”
Thornhill said.
“I called the aunt. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
    There had been a few more soft-spoken words, and then Thornhill hung up and made his way bac own the hall to his dying wife.
    [_”Who was that?” Gladys Thornhill mumbled. _]

    “Webb.”
    [_”What did he want?” _]
    “He was worried about the girl. Called to see how she was getting on.”
    [_”At four-thirty in the morning?” Gladys asked. _]
    “He said he had just heard the news.”
    [_”What did he want, Bob?” _]
    “I told you, he was concerned about the Stenson girl. Asked if there was anything
[_he could do.” _]
    “I know him.” Bitter resignation laced Gladys’s words. “Sooner or later, he always
wants something. Someday he’ll make you pay for what he’s doing for me, mark
my words.”
    “Try to get some sleep.”
    Irene shuddered. In light of what she now knew, it was obvious that Webb had called Bob Thornhill that night to make sure the daughter of his victims had not seen or heard anything that might implicate him as the killer. Perhaps Thornhill had unwittingly saved her life when he assured Webb she had not come home for at least two hours after the deaths and that she was in a state of complete shock.
    She let herself out the kitchen door and made her way to the edge of the lake.
    Stepping onto the old wooden dock, she went to stand at the far end. She studied the surface of the lake the way her fathe ad done when he wanted to think things over.
    “I know him. Sooner or later, he always wants something. Someday he’ll make you
[_pay for what he’s doing for me, mark my words.” _]
    There had been a disturbing intimacy about the way Gladys spoke, she thought.
    True, she had lived in Dunsley all her life. She certainly knew Ryland Webb. But Ryland had been many years younger than Gladys Thornhill, a different generation altogether. It was odd that she had spoken of him in such a resentful, knowing way.
    “I know him.”
    A cold thrill of comprehension whispered through Irene.

    In her shocked and dazed condition on the night of the murders, she had assumed that Ryland wa he one who called the Thornhills that night. He was the father of her best friend that summer. It ha eemed natural that he would call to check on her. But what if it had been Victor Webb who phoned?
    Gladys and Victor Webb had been contemporaries. The two had no doubt gone to school togethe efore Victor left Dunsley to make his fortune. Everyone in town knew that Victor Webb had paid Gladys’s medical bills during the last year of her life.
    The dots were connecting so quickly now that she could barely keep up with them.
    Her cell phone rang, jarring her out of the trance of concentration into which she had plunged. She jumped a little and then quickly opened her handbag, half turning.
    She saw him then. He had come from the shadows at the side of the house. He had a gun in his hand.
    “Don’t answer that,” Victor Webb said. “Take the phone out very slowly and drop it into the water.”
    Her first, disoriented reaction was that he looked so normal. He was dressed in a black-and-tan gol hirt, a khaki wind-breaker and a pair of light-colored golf slacks. He looked as though he had jus ome off a fairway.
    Somewhere in the back of her mind was the knowledge that she ought to be terrified, but all she could feel in that moment was