Newsweek, got to his feet, and slid it back on its shelf behind him. “I already own a copy,” he said.
He bent down to gather the magazines on the floor so he could reshelve them, and as he did he glanced up at the old woman. The small television still played behind her, and for a second, Archie thought he saw Gretchen’s face on the screen. He stood there, frozen, in a sort of half squat, convinced he was seeing things, still riveted by the TV, as graphics spun onto the screen to form the words BEAUTY KILLER AT LARGE: DAY 76.
The graphics burst into flame
Archie straightened. “Turn it up,” he said.
The old woman looked at him skeptically. Then she slowly turned to glance at the TV screen, then back at him, and down to the magazines at his feet.
“Turn it up,” Archie said again. He moved forward, toward the counter and the TV.
She raised an eyebrow, paused, lifted another angel out of the box and set it on the counter, and then pulled a remote from the pocket of her polyester vest and hit a button.
A newscaster appeared in an electric-blue KGW raincoat holding a mic with PittockMansion in the background. A human head had been found on the grounds. The image cut to another newscaster in another blue KGW raincoat standing in front of a boarded-up house. A body had been found in the house. Police weren’t releasing any details.
In a wide shot, Archie caught a glimpse of Henry walking into the house.
Archie reached for the cell phone that was usually clipped to his belt, his fingers on the corduroy of his pants, finding nothing. His cell phone was locked away back at the ward.
But he had another one.
He slid his hand in his pocket and found the cell phone again. But he didn’t pull it out.
The old woman was watching the TV now, eyebrows knitted, one hand still wrapped around the feet of the statue of an angel, knelt in prayer, a wire halo stuck into the top of its head.
“Can I use your phone?” Archie asked.
She had no reason to say yes, but she reached over and lifted the receiver off a beige desktop telephone and set it in Archie’s hand. “Dial nine,” she said.
Archie dialed nine, and then Henry’s cell phone number. Henry picked up on the third ring.
“What’s going on?” Archie asked him.
“Where are you calling from?” Henry asked.
“The hospital gift store,” Archie said. “I needed a balloon.”
He could sense Henry hedge. Archie was on leave. He had no right to know anything about a police investigation. “Susan Ward got a tip and found a body in an abandoned house on North Fargo,” Henry said. “And someone dumped a head in the yard up at PittockMansion.”
They’d found one of Gretchen’s victims on the grounds at PittockMansion just months before she was caught. She’d never repeated herself before. But it couldn’t be a coincidence. “Eyes?” Archie asked.
“The head’s too decomposed to tell,” Henry said. “Robbins is looking at it now. Body in the house has eyes. He’s fresh. Killed
He bent down to gather the magazines on the floor so he could reshelve them, and as he did he glanced up at the old woman. The small television still played behind her, and for a second, Archie thought he saw Gretchen’s face on the screen. He stood there, frozen, in a sort of half squat, convinced he was seeing things, still riveted by the TV, as graphics spun onto the screen to form the words BEAUTY KILLER AT LARGE: DAY 76.
The graphics burst into flame
Archie straightened. “Turn it up,” he said.
The old woman looked at him skeptically. Then she slowly turned to glance at the TV screen, then back at him, and down to the magazines at his feet.
“Turn it up,” Archie said again. He moved forward, toward the counter and the TV.
She raised an eyebrow, paused, lifted another angel out of the box and set it on the counter, and then pulled a remote from the pocket of her polyester vest and hit a button.
A newscaster appeared in an electric-blue KGW raincoat holding a mic with PittockMansion in the background. A human head had been found on the grounds. The image cut to another newscaster in another blue KGW raincoat standing in front of a boarded-up house. A body had been found in the house. Police weren’t releasing any details.
In a wide shot, Archie caught a glimpse of Henry walking into the house.
Archie reached for the cell phone that was usually clipped to his belt, his fingers on the corduroy of his pants, finding nothing. His cell phone was locked away back at the ward.
But he had another one.
He slid his hand in his pocket and found the cell phone again. But he didn’t pull it out.
The old woman was watching the TV now, eyebrows knitted, one hand still wrapped around the feet of the statue of an angel, knelt in prayer, a wire halo stuck into the top of its head.
“Can I use your phone?” Archie asked.
She had no reason to say yes, but she reached over and lifted the receiver off a beige desktop telephone and set it in Archie’s hand. “Dial nine,” she said.
Archie dialed nine, and then Henry’s cell phone number. Henry picked up on the third ring.
“What’s going on?” Archie asked him.
“Where are you calling from?” Henry asked.
“The hospital gift store,” Archie said. “I needed a balloon.”
He could sense Henry hedge. Archie was on leave. He had no right to know anything about a police investigation. “Susan Ward got a tip and found a body in an abandoned house on North Fargo,” Henry said. “And someone dumped a head in the yard up at PittockMansion.”
They’d found one of Gretchen’s victims on the grounds at PittockMansion just months before she was caught. She’d never repeated herself before. But it couldn’t be a coincidence. “Eyes?” Archie asked.
“The head’s too decomposed to tell,” Henry said. “Robbins is looking at it now. Body in the house has eyes. He’s fresh. Killed
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