Phantoms

the revolver, Bryce said, “I owe you one.”
    “Not at all. How’s your head?”
    “I should be so lucky to own an aspirin company.”
    “I didn’t expect him to run.”
    “Neither did I,” Bryce said. “When things get worse and worse for a man like that, he usually just gets calmer, cooler, more careful.”
    “Well, I guess this one saw the walls closing in.”
    Bob Robine was standing in the open doorway, staring out at them, shaking his head in consternation.
     
    A few minutes later, as Bryce Hammond sat at his desk, filling out the forms charging Fletcher Kale with two homicides, Bob Robine rapped on the open door.
    Bryce looked up. “Well, counselor, how’s your client?”
    “He’s okay. But he’s not my client any more.”
    “Oh? His decision or yours?”
    “Mine. I can’t handle a client who lies to me about everything . I don’t like being made a fool of.”
    “So does he want to call another-attorney tonight?”
    “No. When he’s arraigned, he’s going to ask the judge for a public defender.”
    “That’ll be the Just thing in the morning.”
    “Not wasting any time, huh?”
    “Not with this one,” Bryce said.
    Robine nodded. “Good. Re’s a very bad apple, Bryce. You know, I’ve been a lapsed Catholic for fifteen years,” Robine said softly. “I made up my mind long ago that them weren’t such things as angels, demons, miracles. I thought I was too well educated to believe that Evil—with a capital E—stalks the world on cloven hooves. But back there in the cell, Kale suddenly whirled on me and said, ‘They won’t get me. They won’t destroy me. Nobody can. I’ll walk away from this,’ When I warned him against excessive optimism, he said, ‘I’m not afraid of your kind. Besides, I didn’t commit murder; I just disposed of some garbage that was stinking up my life.’”
    “Jesus,” Bryce said.
    They were both silent. Then Robine sighed. “What about High Country Investments? How’s it provide a motive?”
    Before Bryce could explain, Tal Whitman rushed in from the hall. “Bryce, could I have a word with you?” He glanced at Robine. “Uh, this better be in private.”
    “Sure,” Robine said.
    Tal closed the door behind the lawyer. “Bryce, do you know Dr. Jennifer Paige?”
    “She set up practice in Snowfield sometime back.”
    “Yeah. But what kind of person would you say she is?”
    “I’ve never met her. I heard she’s a fine doctor, though. And folks up in those little mountain towns are glad they don’t have to drive all the way in to Santa Mira for a doctor any more.”
    “I’ve never met her either. I was just wondering if maybe you’d heard anything about… about whether she drinks. I mean… booze.”
    “No, I haven’t heard any such thing. Why? What’s going on?”
    “She called a couple of minutes ago. She says there’s been a disaster up in Snowfield.”
    “Disaster? What’s she mean?”
    “Well, she says she doesn’t know.”
    Bryce blinked. “Did she sound hysterical?”
    “Frightened, yeah. But not hysterical. She doesn’t want to say much of anything to anyone but you. She’s on line three right now.”
    Bryce reached for the phone.
    “One more thing,” Tal said, worry lines creasing his forehead.
    Bryce paused, hand on the receiver.
    Tal said, “She did tell me one thing, but it doesn’t make sense. She said…”
    “Yes?”
    “She said that everyone’s dead up there. Everyone in Snowfield. She said she and her sister are the only ones alive.”
     

Chapter 10
    Sisters and Cops
     
    Jenny and Lisa left the Oxley house the same way they had entered: through the window.
    The night was growing colder. The wind had risen once more.
    They walked back to Jenny’s house at the top of Skyline Road and got jackets to ward off the chill.
    Then they went downhill again to the sheriff’s substation. A wooden bench was bolted to the cobblestones by the curb in front of the town jail, and they sat waiting for help from Santa Mira.
    “How long will it take them to get here?” Lisa asked.
    “Well, Santa Mira is more than thirty miles away, over some pretty twisty roads. And they’ve got to take some unusual precautions.” Jenny looked at her wristwatch. “I guess they’ll be here in another forty-five minutes. An hour at most.”
    “Jeez.”
    “It’s not so long, honey.”
    The girl pulled up the collar of her fleece-lined, denim jacket. “Jenny, when the phone rang at the Oxley place and you picked it