“I’ll be okay.” Heather gave him a hug. “Bye, mister.”
Marj and Rollins had a quick lunch in the Ritz cafe while Rollins filled her in on Tina’s revelations—carefully omitting the part about Schecter’s rough tactics in obtaining them. Marj went pale when he told her that his father might be actively involved. “Jesus, Rolo,” she told him, slowly shaking her head. “Your father? He’s behind all this shit?”
Rollins could barely speak. “It looks that way.”
Seeing her narrowed eyebrows and tightened lips, Rollins was afraid he was losing her. He reached for her hand. “Hang in with me, Marj, please,” Rollins begged her. “I need you.”
“Okay, Rolo. But God—”
When they returned to the room, the message light was on. “From a Mr. Schecter,” the Ritz clerk said when Rollins called down. “He says he traced the fax number. It belongs to the Holy Name Hospice, six twenty-eight Franklin Street in Watertown.”
“Hospice?” Marj asked when Rollins relayed the information. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s where people go to die,” Rollins said.
Eighteen
It was well after three when Rollins and Marj reached Watertown square, its ancient millworks by the Charles surrounded by modern office buildings and strip malls, and everything bright in the afternoon sun. Franklin was a side street a few blocks from the center of town. He spotted a parking space on Arsenal, the main thoroughfare, and he was pulling over to parallel park when he noticed the Audi behind them. A dark blue, he could see now. Not black. It was idling by the side of the road a half block back. And a slim man was driving.
“What?” Marj started to glance back behind her.
“Don’t turn around. He’s straight behind us. The Audi.”
Marj gave out a groan.
“I’m pulling out.” As soon as Rollins started to move again, he could see in the rearview that the Audi was starting up, too. “He’s following us.”
“Goddamnit!” Marj slapped her thigh. “What is wrong with them?”
Rollins clenched the wheel as he sped down Arsenal to the next light, then, with a quick glance behind to the Audi in his rearview, he pulled into the Arsenal Mall. At this hour on a weekday, the parking lot was nearly empty.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“There.” Rollins bobbed his head toward a narrow passageway between the mall’s two wide buildings. It led to a second lot behind, Rollins knew, and he made straight for it.
“Look out!” Marj pointed to an eighteen-wheeler rumbling toward the passageway ahead of them.
Rollins jammed down the accelerator and felt himself thrust back in his seat as the Nissan charged ahead. A few pedestrians turned and stared. Trailing a cloud of exhaust, the delivery truck roared on toward the passageway.
Marj grabbed the dashboard.
Rollins floored it. The needle tipped toward seventy.
“You’re not going to make it!”
The truck was just about to pull in to the passageway, leaving no room for the Nissan.
With one last burst of speed, Rollins charged forward and nipped in front of the truck, which braked and let out a furious blast from its horn as the Nissan flew past. The earth fell away as the passageway dipped underneath them, and then a terrible scraping thud as the belly of the Nissan smacked on the slight rise on the far side.
He almost didn’t see the little VW coming.
“Rolo!” Marj whipped her arms up in front of her face.
He slammed on the brakes and pulled hard to the right. There was a screech of tires under him, and he could feel the Nissan slipping sideways, out of control. The Nissan’s rear was spinning out toward the Beetle, but Rollins twisted the wheel back the other way, regaining some purchase. He braced himself for a crash—but none came. By a miracle, the Nissan slipped by, leaving another cacophony of honking behind him.
“What about the Audi?”
Marj dropped her arm from in front of her face and craned her neck around. “Gonzo. No, wait! There!” She pointed behind them.
Tina must have called Jeffries, and he was taking out his rage on the only enemy he knew. The gaunt man made no effort to conceal himself now. It was personal. Rollins could feel the hatred, rising up like the heat off the asphalt. The terror that Schecter visited upon Tina was being returned to them.
Rollins stepped on the gas, and the Nissan shot ahead to the far end of the mall. Tires screaming again, he pulled a sharp left around the building, and sped to the rear mall entrance. But the light was red and Rollins had to slow. His heart pounded, and the side of his neck throbbed.
“He’s catching up!” Marj said, her head twisted around behind. “He’s almost on us!”
The cars were streaming by in front of them, but Rollins saw a slight gap in the traffic and gunned the Nissan across the wide avenue, causing drivers from both directions to slam on the brakes and lean on their horns. On either side, Rollins could see their faces contort in fury as the sound of squealing tires rose up all around him. But, again, the Nissan slipped through unscathed.
“He still coming?”
Marj twisted back around again. “I don’t see him.”
Rollins hooked his first left, sped down two streets and then cut right. “He there?”
“No.”
Rollins pulled in behind a Dumpster and eased back into his seat. Sweat poured off him, and every pulse was racing. When he closed his eyes, he still saw cars careening toward him, but, as he sat there, breathing, the sight gave way to other flickering scenes from farther away—distant houses, shadows, and then Neely again, darting through the trees, her blond hair streaming behind her.
Catch me, catch me if you can!
Marj massaged her temples. “Now I’m going to get a migraine.”
Rollins glanced back, but his view was blocked by the Dumpster. “We lost him, right?”
“Yeah. Back at the light.” Marj unbuckled her seat belt and shifted around in her seat to face him. There was sweat on her cheeks and across her forehead. “Christ Almighty. I thought for sure we were going to get blasted.” He saw something different in her eyes when he glanced over. Before, she’d always seemed to look slightly askance, as if she were trying to make up her mind about him. But now, as she stared at him straight on, it seemed that she’d decided something. “You’re a helluva driver,” she said.
Rollins waited there, resting, trying to find the calmness that would allow him to continue. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he leaned over and planted a kiss on Marj’s hair. “Thanks.”
He started the car back up and, still watching for the Audi, wound back to Franklin Street. He pulled into a municipal garage. “I doubt he’ll look for the car in here,” Rollins said.
“Wait—you’re not still going in.”
“It’s the only way, Marj.” Schecter had been right about one thing. He couldn’t keep running forever. He took the ticket from the automatic dispenser. “We have to find whoever was sending those faxes.”
“He might be waiting for us inside. He must know why you’re coming here.”
“It’s a hospice, Marj. He can’t go after us in there. It’s too public.”
“I think we should call the police.”
“And tell them what?” He could imagine the smirking reports on the evening news—A stalker today came to the police with bewildering claims of being stalked himself. He’d be lucky if the police didn’t arrest him on the spot—if they didn’t put him in a psychiatric hospital for observation. “No, thank you.” Rollins pulled in to a space up on the second level, toward the back. He undid his seat belt and pulled back the door handle, then turned back to Marj. “Coming?”
Marj slowly undid her seat belt. “We could have gotten killed back there, you know. That VW, Rolo—did you see how close it came?”
“I did,” he said. He closed his eyes for a moment.
He climbed out of the car and went around behind to help Marj out. But she’d
already gone on ahead, her running shoes squeaking slightly on the glossy floor of the garage. He hurried after her and caught up to her just inside the doorway to the stairs. She reached for his hand, pulled him to her, and hugged him tightly. “Just hold me for a second.”
He patted her back, stroked her hair. “It’ll be all right,” he whispered. Finally, her grip eased.
“I get scared sometimes,” Marj told him. She opened her hand as if grasping for something. “I mean, Jesus. I don’t care about this dying person, Cornelia. I just want to get away from these people.”
Her eyes had reddened, and her nose had started to run. Rollins dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and he helped her blow her nose. That made her smile a little. “I was thinking of having your friend Schecter try to trace my dad for me, you know. I was going to ask him last night at dinner. But then I thought, no. I really don’t want to know. Wherever he went, he has his reasons. I don’t want to drag him back.” She looked over at him. “You’re being very brave, you know. When I said you were serious before, well, I meant it as a compliment. Most people keep their eyes closed their whole lives. They don’t look because they’re afraid of what they might see. But not you, Rolo. Your eyes are always wide open.” She raised herself up on tiptoe. She kissed his eyes. First one, then the other. Her lips were soft against his eyelids. She leaned against him. “Can’t we go back to the hotel, Rolo? I’m really scared. Let’s just forget about this whole hospice thing. I don’t care who’s there. I don’t care about the faxes.” She whispered in his ear: “I’d kind of like to be in bed with you right now.”
That stirred him. He stroked her cheek and swept some hairs off her forehead. Still, he said: “Later, all right? There’s one more thing we have to do.”
The hospice was a three-story Victorian about three blocks in from Arsenal Street. It must have been grand once. Now, the front door was patched with plywood. It was a terrible place to die. Rollins held Marj’s hand as they hurried up the sidewalk. He scanned the streets, but saw no sign of the Audi. He pulled open the door without pressing the buzzer and found himself in a small, paneled vestibule where an industrial fan moved the humid air. A nun in a black habit sat behind a desk reading a paperback.
Rollins glanced back through the window to the street behind him to check for Jeffries one last time. The nun was watching him intently when he turned back to her. “Everything all right?” she asked in that overly solicitous way that Rollins associated with the religious. Rollins assured her he was fine and explained that he was here to see someone.
“Might I ask who?” The nun pulled out a typed sheet from a manila folder.
“Cornelia Blanchard.” He could barely force out the words.
The nun glanced down at the sheet, then looked up at Rollins again. “I’m sorry. I don’t see that name here.”
“She may be here under another name,” Rollins said desperately. He tried to steal a glance at the sheet, but the nun pulled it back toward her ample bosom. “I’m sorry, but this is private information.”
“But I need to see her. It’s terribly important.”
“I’m sorry. Without a name—”
“Look, someone has been sending us strange faxes from this address,” Marj began.
The nun looked from Rollins to Marj and then back again. “I think I’ll need to speak to Monsignor Crandel.” She picked up the telephone.
“Thanks for your help.” Marj pushed through the door just to her left.
The nun put down the receiver and stood up. “Excuse me. You’re not allowed in there, miss.”
But Marj did not stop. Rollins could hear her footsteps continuing on as the door closed behind her.
“Wait here.” The nun threw out a hand and froze Rollins with a fierce look, then passed through the door after Marj, calling out for her again to stop. The moment the nun was gone, Rollins climbed the staircase to his right, beside a portrait of a cardinal. The steps were covered only with a thin rubber mat, and they creaked slightly with each step. He ascended slowly, so as not to alarm anyone.
A male nurse with a ponytail was standing by the door at the top of the stairs. “I thought I heard some sort of disturbance downstairs.”
“Oh, some girl barged in acting crazy,” Rollins said.
“Yeah, we get that here,” the nurse replied wearily.
Rollins kept on, saying he mustn’t be late because his mother was expecting him.
“And who’s that?” the nurse called after him.
But Rollins pretended not to hear. He continued briskly down the narrow hall, which opened into a common room where a few older people in bathrobes sat slumped in the chairs. Rollins thought of his mother’s retirement center in Hartford, and the ghostly pallor of its residents. It was awful to see death hovering over everyone like a black angel. Rollins approached an elderly man, unshaven, who was reading a book with enlarged type. “Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for Cornelia Blanchard. Is she here, do you know?”
The man looked up at him, his eyes glassy, his skin cinched tight about the bones of his face. “What’s that?” An ear stuffed with a hearing aid swiveled toward Rollins.
“My name is Rollins. Someone from here has been sending me faxes,” he repeated. “I believe they’re from my cousin, Cornelia Blanchard. We called her—”
“Rollins, you say?” the man asked hoarsely.
“That’s right.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
The male nurse caught up to Rollins and asked him his mother’s name. “Maybe I can help you find her.” There was an edge to his voice this time.
When a few other people turned to look, Rollins ignored the nurse and turned to them and identified himself. “I’m looking for Cornelia Blanchard. Slim, average height, brownish hair. It may have gone gray.” It was so pathetic that he didn’t even know what she looked like. “She might be here under another name. She’s been sending me faxes.” He looked from face to face, hoping to see someone he recognized. “Any of you?”
They all slowly shook their heads, obviously mystified. They might have been a herd of cows.
“Her name, sir?” the nurse demanded.
“Cornelia Blanchard!” Rollins shouted back. “We sometimes call her Neely.”
“I’m sorry, sir, there’s no one—”
Rollins turned away. Farther on down another hall, he could see a room with a lot of plants hung in the windows, and afternoon light pouring through. He moved toward the light, as toward the opening of a cave. He came to a small kitchen area, and a few younger people, not much more than fifty, were having breakfast at a table by the stove. “I’m looking for a woman who’s been sending me faxes.”
“Those went to you?” one of them interrupted. It took Rollins a moment to realize that it was a woman. Her head was bald, but she wore lipstick and stud earrings. She was sipping coffee out of a lipstick-stained mug. “Hell, I didn’t think anybody actually got those,” she said in a raspy voice.
“Did you send them?” Rollins knelt before her in her chair, looked carefully, trying to find Neely in this bald woman’s face. “It’s Rollins,” he told her. “Eddie Rollins. You remember me, don’t you?” He searched her eyes for some hint of recognition. “Cornelia, is it you? Neely?” He held her tightly, ready to hug her to him if she said yes.
Nervous laughter came up around him. “Maybe he needs the psych unit,” someone said.
“The name’s Evelyn,” the woman told him. “I didn’t send anything. Sorry—don’t know any Cornelia.” She gripped his wrists, to remove his hands from her. “I think it’s Liz you’re looking for.”
Reluctantly, Rollins released her. “Liz?”
“Yeah—you know her?” She turned to her friends at the table. “What’s Liz’s last name? I can’t even think of it now.”
No one spoke. All around him, Rollins could hear the sound of television sets at low volume, with occasional bursts of canned laughter.
“Could it be Payzen?” Rollins asked
quietly.
The woman clapped her hands together. “Yeah, that’s it. Payzen. I swear, my mind’s going along with everything else.” She knocked on the side of her head.
A shadow fell. All that was so bright about Cornelia suddenly went dark. In his mind, there was a rustling sound, as of branches closing behind someone dashing through the trees, and then nothing. Silence and stillness filled his mind. Neely was gone.
“Elizabeth Payzen,” Rollins said, trying to adjust to this truth. It had been foolish to hope differently. But he couldn’t stop now. “So she’s here?”
The woman looked downcast for a moment. “For now.”
The ponytailed nurse spoke softly: “She’s very sick. Her cancer has spread to her lungs. She’s having a lot of trouble with her breathing.”
“But she sent me a fax just yesterday.”
The woman shrugged.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the nurse. “But I’ll have to ask you to leave. Elizabeth is not receiving visitors right now.” The nurse took Rollins by the arm and started to escort him back down the corridor.
“Where’s Lizzie’s room?” Rollins called back to the bald woman.
“Over there,” the woman shouted back, pointing to a half-open door a short ways down the hall.
Rollins could see Payzen’s name on a card by number 12. He pushed past the nurse and pushed open the door. Inside, the shade was drawn halfway, dimming the light to the drowsy hue he associated with hot weather. An ashen-faced woman lay in bed under a thin blanket, her head propped up on pillows, her arms limp by her sides.
A bulky, uniformed nurse stood up from a chair in the corner when Rollins burst in the room. “Excuse me—”
“It’s Rollins,” he announced, and rushed toward the bed. “Lizzie?”
The figure on the bed stirred, her head turning in his direction. “Rollins,” she repeated hoarsely. He saw a flicker of a smile. It was definitely Elizabeth Payzen. He could tell by the eyes, which were the same piercing blue he remembered from before. But she’d lost weight; her flesh, once so taut and radiant, hung off her. She must have been in her fifties by now, but she looked twenty years older. Her hair, once a gloriously thick chestnut brown, had gone white and patchy, and her face was frighteningly pale.
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