Hit List

it.”
    “Well, what choice have I got, Keller? I have to believe it, whether I want to or not.”
    “Not necessarily.”
    “Oh?”
    “I was up most of the night,” he said. “Thinking about things. Do you remember Louisville?”
    “Do I remember Louisville? As if I could forget. The smell of bluegrass, the taste of a tall mint julep in a frosty glass. The packed stands at Churchill Downs, the horses thundering down the stretch. Keller, I’ve never been to Louisville, so what’s to remember?”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Your trip there, the other time you had a bad feeling. And a husband tracked his cheating wife to your motel and killed her and her boyfriend in your old room.”
    “Capped them with two in the head from a twenty-two.”
    “Jesus Christ. But they got the husband for it, remember?”
    “He didn’t do it.”
    “You sure?”
    “The cops are,” he told her. “His alibi held up.”
    “Do they have anybody else they like for it?”
    “I don’t think they’re looking too hard,” he said, “because they still like the husband. They think he arranged it, although he doesn’t seem like the kind of a guy who could arrange a three-car funeral. But they think he hired someone else to follow the wife and kill her in the act. Because it sure looked like a pro hit.”
    “Two in the head, di dah di dah di dah.”
    “Rings a bell, doesn’t it?”
    “Ding fucking dong. A whole carillon. Give me a minute, will you? And turn that damn thing off, I can’t hear myself think.”
    The TV had the sound off, the way she generally had it, but he knew what she meant. He hit the Power button and the screen went dark.
    After a long moment she said, “It wasn’t the client in Louisville and it’s not the client in Boston. It was somebody else who was after you personally.”
    “Only way it adds up.”
    “Only way I can see, Keller. It can’t be some avenging angel, has to even the score for Thurnauer or the guy in Louisville—“
    “Hirschhorn.”
    “Whatever. In Boston he staked the place out, waited for you to do it, then made his move. He didn’t care if Thurnauer got killed, just so he got his shot at you.”
    “And in Louisville . . .”
    “In Louisville he must have been watching Hirschhorn’s house. After you gassed the guy in his garage, he followed you back to the motel and—“
    “And?”
    “Doesn’t work, does it? He couldn’t have followed you back to the room you already checked out of twelve hours ago.”
    “Keep going, Dot.”
    “I’ll tell you, it’d be easier if I had a map and a flashlight. I’m in the dark here. If he went to the wrong room, the old room, it’s because he already knew where you were staying. He knew about the room before you did Hirschhorn.”
    “Bingo.”
    “ Definitely not the client,” she said, “because how would he know where you were staying? He didn’t even know who you were. Keller, I’m bumping into the furniture here. Help me out, will you?”
    “Remember the drunk?”
    “Looking for his friend, wasn’t he? What was the friend’s name?”
    “What difference does it make?”
    “None. Forget it.”
    “The name was Ralph, if it matters, but—“
    “How could it matter? He didn’t exist, did he? Ralph, I mean. Obviously the drunk existed, except I don’t suppose he was really drunk.”
    “Probably not.”
    “He knew where you were staying. How did he know? You didn’t make any calls from your room, did you?”
    “I don’t think so. If I used the room phone at all, it was well after he came knocking on my door.”
    “And you didn’t use your own name at the motel?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Must have tagged you from the airport, then. Or he put a homing device on your car, but the client gave you the car, and we already established that the client didn’t do this. Somebody else knew you were coming, or else, Jesus, followed you out from New York—is that possible?”
    “No.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Sure enough. Look, I think I know who it was.”
    “Who, for God’s sake?”
    “Go back to Louisville for a minute. I get off the plane and there’s a guy there to meet me.”
    “As arranged.”
    “As arranged, and there’s another guy, has a sign I can’t make out. I walk up to him until I’m almost in his face, trying to read what’s on his sign.”
    “That’s the guy?”
    “I think so.”
    “Because he can’t spell?”
    “Because he wasn’t waiting for anybody, unless you count me. Look,