The Night Crew

something?’’
    ‘‘What?’’ The sudden, apparent intimacy took him by surprise.
    ‘‘Don’t ever, ever, ever try to explain to me what golf is really about.’’
    This time he grinned and she thought: Mmm. Harrison Ford. At her house, he took a flashlight out of the trunk and walked once around the outside, checked the bushes, said, ‘‘Ouch, what the hell is that?’’ and a couple minutes later, ‘‘Good.’’
    Inside, he looked at the windows, including the boardedup back window, and said, ‘‘Leave the board for the time being,’’ and, ‘‘You need to get some empty beer cans or pop cans. Before you go to sleep at night, stack them up inside the door. If anybody tries to come through, it’ll sound like the end of the world.’’
    ‘‘Okay.’’
    ‘‘Your bushes scratched the heck out of me.’’
    ‘‘That’s what they’re for.’’
    ‘‘Okay. You got a gun?’’ he asked.
    ‘‘Yeah.’’
    ‘‘Let’s get it.’’
    He followed her upstairs to the bedroom, and she took the gun from its clip behind the bed’s headboard.
    ‘‘Smith and Wesson,’’ she said, handing him the chromed revolver.
    ‘‘Good old six-forty,’’ he said. He checked the ammo: ‘‘With three-fifty-seven wadcutters. You’re in good shape. Do you know how to shoot it?’’
    ‘‘I went through a combat class when that was the fad,’’ she said. ‘‘I go up behind Malibu every year or so and shoot up a gully, like they showed us. Ten feet.’’
    ‘‘So keep it handy,’’ he said. He handed the gun back, glanced at the quilt on the bed, said, ‘‘Old-fashioned girl, huh?’’
    She opened her mouth to say something when the doorbell rang. They both looked at the head of the stairs: ‘‘Uh-oh.’’
    ‘‘Probably not Aunt Pansy with a fruit pie,’’ Harper said, glancing at his watch.
    ‘‘You think a killer is gonna ring the doorbell at’’—she glanced at her watch, too—‘‘five-oh-five in the morning?’’
    ‘‘Probably not,’’ he said. ‘‘Let’s go see . . . you go first.’’
    ‘‘Why me?’’
    ‘‘ ’Cause you’ve got the gun.’’
    That seemed practical, if not particularly chivalrous. She led the way down, feeling slightly silly, gun in her hand, paused in the hallway, then whispered back, ‘‘Now what?’’
    ‘‘Get away from the door and yell,’’ Harper suggested.
    The doorbell rang again as they stepped into the kitchen and Anna shouted, ‘‘Who is it?’’
    ‘‘Me. Creek.’’ Creek’s voice, all right.
    ‘‘Oh, boy,’’ Anna said. She went to the door, slipped the chain and pulled it open. Creek slouched on the porch, and his eyes stopped briefly on Anna and then flicked back to Harper.
    ‘‘Just thought I’d check,’’ Creek said. To Harper, ‘‘You all done?’’
    ‘‘Yeah, I’m done . . . I need to talk to Anna for a minute, alone. Then I’ll be out of here.’’
    Creek nodded and stepped back on the porch, and pulled the door shut.
    ‘‘Sorry about that,’’ Anna said. And she was thinking that Creek showed up at fairly inconvenient times.
    ‘‘Yeah, no problem.’’ Harper took a slender leather wallet out of his jacket pocket, took out a thin gold pen, found a card and scribbled on it. ‘‘My home phone. The office phone is on the front. Call me if anything comes up.’’
    ‘‘And you’ve got my card,’’ Anna said dryly. He must’ve taken it from her purse.
    ‘‘Yup.’’ Unembarrassed.
    ‘‘I think we should let the police . . .’’
    She was talking over him, and only caught the last part: ‘‘. . . boyfriend stay over, it’d be another layer.’’
    She stopped: ‘‘What?’’
    ‘‘Maybe you oughta have your boyfriend stay over,’’ he repeated. ‘‘He’d be another layer between you and the killer. He’s a big guy . . .’’
    ‘‘He’s not my boyfriend. Creek’s a friend.’’
    ‘‘Yeah? But you can trust him?’’
    100 john sandford
    ‘‘With my life.’’
    Harper bobbed his head, and said, ‘‘Then you might think about it, even if he drives you nuts. I’ll tell you what: This guy isn’t gonna go away. This nut. He’s thinking about you all the time. Sooner or later—he’ll turn up.’’

nine

    The two-faced man sat in the dirt, a hedge brushing his right ear, a fender a foot from his left. The spot was guarded, out of sight, and had the feel of a den. He was comfortable in it; he put the pistol barrel beside his nose, drew a breath