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I screwed up. People suffered. People I care about.
Diana tells me that Graham came by around midnight. He must have figured out she was there and, not seeing my car in the garage, hoped I wasn't.
"I did open the door," she says. "But I was holding it. I only wanted to get rid of him. I had my phone out to call you if he wouldn't leav
e, and the next thing I knew, he was inside and he had my phone."
"We're calling the police. There's video this time. The lobby has surveillance. It'll show Graham coming and going, and there's going to be blood on him when he leaves. We've got him, Di. We've finally got him."
The superintendent knows I'm a cop, which is damned inconvenient most times--I'm the tenant she calls when she has a question about anything from eviction to parking enforcement. But I've been patient and polite, and it pays off now.
The security tapes show Graham arriving at 11:48 p.m. Twenty minutes later, he's walking out. Both times, he's wearing a jacket.
"He took it off," Diana says. "When I answered the door, he had it over his arm."
Of course he did. Easier to punch without a jacket restricting your swing. Also easy to put it on afterward and hide the blood.
Graham looks at the camera. He smiles. He mouths, "Hi, Casey," winks, and continues on.
"He said something," Diana whispers. "Right to the camera. Did you see that?"
I nod.
"Can you make out what he said?"
I shake my head. What would I say? I did this. I'm sorry, Di. I was trying to fix the problem. Desperately trying to fix it, and I made a mistake. All he had to do was switch hotels and lie low for a day, and I sauntered off to spend the night with Kurt, convinced I'd scared Graham away.
I hadn't spooked him. I'd only pissed him off.
I watch the video three more times, searching for even a smear of blood, but the quality is too poor, and he's too careful. He's done it again, and I've failed her. Again.
It's dawn when Diana begs me to let her look into her impossible town. For both of us. Just let me ask my contact. You don't have to do a thing. I won't tell anyone your real story. We'll make something up. I'd never put you in danger, Casey. Never. I know it's a risk, but ... Graham. And now Leo Saratori. I need to be safe, Casey. I need you to be safe, too.
I know this town isn't real. But the only way she'll accept that is to find out for herself.
I say yes.
NINE
By the next day, Diana has found a phone number to contact these people. That seems too easy--shouldn't we need to provide details, prove ourselves first?--so I insist on being the one to make contact, and she doesn't argue.
I find a pay phone and place the call. A woman picks up with "J & L Moving Services, how may I help you?" and I almost hang up. Then I process the business name. Moving services. Okay ...
"I was given this number--"
"--to discuss engaging our services to assist in your move," she says.
"Yes, but--"
"That's all we need to discuss at the moment. We run a very confidential service." In other words, stop talking. Stop talking now. "I am unable to answer any questions you might have until we agree to proceed with serious consideration of you as a client. We are very selective. Do you have access to a fax machine?"
"Uh ... yes?"
"Please fax us a copy of your passport and driver's licence along with a number where we may reach you. Thank you for your interest in--"
"There are two of us," I say.
A pause. "I'm sorry. You have been misinformed. We provide services for single individuals only. We cannot assist in the moving plans of spouses, partners, children--"
