Mr. Murder

appetite is sated for the time being, he does not want the candy now-but the need will soon arise.
        He pays with some of the cash that belongs to the dead man in the trunk of the Buick.
        "You sure have a sweet tooth," says the attendant.
        In the Buick again, pulling out of the service station into traffic, he is afraid for his family, which remains unwittingly under the thrall of the imposter. They might be taken away to a far place where he won't be able to find them. They might be harmed. Or even killed.
        Anything can happen. He has just seen their photograph and has only begun to re-acquaint himself with them, yet he might lose them before he ever has a chance to kiss them again or tell them how much he loves them. So unfair. Cruel. His heart pounds fiercely, re-igniting some of the pain that had been recently extinguished in his steadily knitting wounds.
        Oh God, he needs his family. He needs to hold them in his arms and be held in return. He needs to comfort them and be comforted and hear them say his name. Hearing them say his name, he once and for all will be somebody.
        Accelerating through a traffic light as it turns from yellow to red, he speaks aloud to his children in a voice that quavers with emotion,
        "Charlotte, Emily, I'm coming. Be brave. Daddy's coming. Daddy's coming. Daddy. Is. Coming."
        Lieutenant Lowbock was the last cop out of the house.
        On the front stoop, as the doors of squad cars slammed in the street behind him and engines started, he turned to Paige and Marty to favor them with one more short-lived and barely perceptible smile.
        He was evidently loath to be remembered for the tightly controlled anger they had finally stirred in him. "I'll be seeing you as soon as we have the lab results."
        "Can't be too soon," Paige said. "We've had such a charming visit, we simply can't wait for the next time."
        Lowbock said, "Good evening, Mrs. Stillwater." He turned to Marty.
        "Good evening, Mr. Murder."
        Marty knew it was childish to close the door in the detective's face, but it was also satisfying.
        Sliding the security chain into place as Marty engaged the deadbolt lock, Paige said, "Mr. Murder?"
        "That's what they call me in the People article."
        "I haven't seen it yet."
        "Right in the headline. Oh, wait'll you read it. It makes me look ridiculous, spooky-old-scary-old Marty Stillwater, book hustler extraordinary. Jesus, if he happened to read that article today, I don't half blame Lowbock for thinking this was all a publicity scam of some kind." She said, "He's an idiot."
        "It is an unlikely damn story."
        "I believed it."
        "I know. And I love you for that."
        He kissed her. She clung to him but briefly.
        "How's your throat?" she asked.
        "I'll live."
        "That idiot thinks you choked yourself"
        "I didn't. But it's possible, I suppose."
        "Stop seeing his side of it. You're making me mad. What now?
        Shouldn't we get out of here?"
        "Fast as we can," he agreed. "And don't come back until we can figure out what the hell this is all about. Can you throw a couple of suitcases together, basics for all of us for a few days?"
        "Sure," she said, already heading for the stairs.
        "I'll go call Vic and Kathy, make sure everything's all right over there, then I'll come help you. And Paige the Mossberg is under the bed in our room."
        Starting up the stairs, stepping over the splintery debris, she said,
        "okay."
        "Get it out, put it on top of the bed while you pack."
        "I will," she said, already a third of the way up the stairs.
        He didn't think he had sufficiently impressed her with the need for uncommon caution. "Take it with you to the girls' room."
        "All right."
        Speaking sharply enough to halt her, pain encircling his neck when he tilted his head back to stare up at her, he said, "Damn it, I mean it, Paige."
        She looked down, surprised because he never used that tone of voice.
        "Okay. I'll keep it close."
        "Good."
        He headed for the telephone in the kitchen and made it as far as the dining room when he heard Paige cry out from the second floor.
        Heart pounding so hard he could draw only shallow staccato breaths, Marty raced back into the foyer, expecting to see her in The