for the bottle of aspirin. To hell with the ulcer. His head hurt. And when it came to headaches, there was nothing like Mom's time-tested remedy.
He was in the midst of gulping down three tablets when the news about Victor Holland flashed on the screen.
"...New evidence links the suspect to the murder of fellow Viratek researcher, Dr. Gerald Martinique...."
Sam sat up straight in bed. "What the hell?" he growled at the TV.
Then he grabbed the telephone.
It took six rings for his supervisor to answer. "Dafoe?" Sam said. "This is Polowski."
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Have you seen the late-night news?"
"I happen to be in bed."
"There's a story on Viratek."
A pause. "Yeah, I know. I cleared it."
"What's with this crap about industrial espionage? They're making Holland out to be a—"
"Polowski, drop it."
"Since when did he become a murder suspect?"
"Look, just consider it a cover story. I want him brought in. For his own good."
"So you sic him with a bunch of trigger-happy cops?"
"I said drop it"
"But—"
"You're off the case." Dafoe hung up.
Sam stared in disbelief at the receiver, then at the television, then back at the receiver.
Pull me off the case? He slammed the receiver down so hard the bottle of aspirin tumbled off the nightstand.
That's what you think.
* * *
"I think I've heard about enough," said Jack, rising to his feet. "I want this man out of my house. And I want him out now."
"Jack, please!" said Cathy. "Give him a chance—"
"You're buying this ridiculous tale?"
"I believe him."
"Why?"
She looked at Victor and saw the clear fire of honesty burning in his eyes. "Because he saved my life."
"You're a fool, babycakes." Jack reached for the phone. "You yourself saw the TV. He's wanted for murder. If you don't call the police, I will."
But as Jack picked up the receiver, Victor grabbed his arm. "No," he said. Though his voice was quiet, it held the unmistakable note of authority.
The two men stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
"This is more than just a case of murder," said Victor. "This is deadly research. The manufacture of illegal weapons. This could reach all the way to Washington."
"Who in Washington?"
"Someone in control. Someone with the federal funds to authorize that research."
"I see. Some lofty public servant is out knocking off scientists. With the help of the FBI."
"Jerry wasn't just any scientist. He had a conscience. He was a whistleblower who would've taken this to the press to stop that research. The political fallout would've been disastrous, for the whole administration."
"Wait. Are we talking Pennsylvania Avenue?"
"Maybe."
Jack snorted. "Holland, I make Grade B horror films. I don't live them."
"This isn't a film. This is real. Real bullets, real bodies."
"Then that's all the more reason I want nothing to do with it." Jack turned to Cathy. "Sorry, sweetcakes. It's nothing personal, but I detest the company you keep."
"Jack," she said. "You have to help us!"
"You, I'll help. Him—no way. I draw the line at lunatics and felons."
"You heard what he said! It's a frame-up!"
"You are so gullible."
"Only about you."
"Cathy, it's all right," said Victor. He was standing very still, very calm. "I'll leave."
"No, you won't." Cathy shot to her feet and stalked over to her ex-husband. She stared him straight in the eye, a gaze so direct, so accusing, he seemed to wilt right down into a chair. "You owe it to me, Jack. You owe me for all the years we were married. All the years I put into your career, your company, your idiotic flicks. I haven't asked for anything. You have the house. The Jaguar. The bank account. I never asked because I didn't want to take a damn thing from this marriage except my own soul. But now I'm asking. This man saved my life tonight. If you ever cared about me, if you ever loved me, even a little, then you'll do me this favor."
"Harbor a criminal?"
"Only until we figure out what to do next."
"And how long might that
He was in the midst of gulping down three tablets when the news about Victor Holland flashed on the screen.
"...New evidence links the suspect to the murder of fellow Viratek researcher, Dr. Gerald Martinique...."
Sam sat up straight in bed. "What the hell?" he growled at the TV.
Then he grabbed the telephone.
It took six rings for his supervisor to answer. "Dafoe?" Sam said. "This is Polowski."
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Have you seen the late-night news?"
"I happen to be in bed."
"There's a story on Viratek."
A pause. "Yeah, I know. I cleared it."
"What's with this crap about industrial espionage? They're making Holland out to be a—"
"Polowski, drop it."
"Since when did he become a murder suspect?"
"Look, just consider it a cover story. I want him brought in. For his own good."
"So you sic him with a bunch of trigger-happy cops?"
"I said drop it"
"But—"
"You're off the case." Dafoe hung up.
Sam stared in disbelief at the receiver, then at the television, then back at the receiver.
Pull me off the case? He slammed the receiver down so hard the bottle of aspirin tumbled off the nightstand.
That's what you think.
* * *
"I think I've heard about enough," said Jack, rising to his feet. "I want this man out of my house. And I want him out now."
"Jack, please!" said Cathy. "Give him a chance—"
"You're buying this ridiculous tale?"
"I believe him."
"Why?"
She looked at Victor and saw the clear fire of honesty burning in his eyes. "Because he saved my life."
"You're a fool, babycakes." Jack reached for the phone. "You yourself saw the TV. He's wanted for murder. If you don't call the police, I will."
But as Jack picked up the receiver, Victor grabbed his arm. "No," he said. Though his voice was quiet, it held the unmistakable note of authority.
The two men stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
"This is more than just a case of murder," said Victor. "This is deadly research. The manufacture of illegal weapons. This could reach all the way to Washington."
"Who in Washington?"
"Someone in control. Someone with the federal funds to authorize that research."
"I see. Some lofty public servant is out knocking off scientists. With the help of the FBI."
"Jerry wasn't just any scientist. He had a conscience. He was a whistleblower who would've taken this to the press to stop that research. The political fallout would've been disastrous, for the whole administration."
"Wait. Are we talking Pennsylvania Avenue?"
"Maybe."
Jack snorted. "Holland, I make Grade B horror films. I don't live them."
"This isn't a film. This is real. Real bullets, real bodies."
"Then that's all the more reason I want nothing to do with it." Jack turned to Cathy. "Sorry, sweetcakes. It's nothing personal, but I detest the company you keep."
"Jack," she said. "You have to help us!"
"You, I'll help. Him—no way. I draw the line at lunatics and felons."
"You heard what he said! It's a frame-up!"
"You are so gullible."
"Only about you."
"Cathy, it's all right," said Victor. He was standing very still, very calm. "I'll leave."
"No, you won't." Cathy shot to her feet and stalked over to her ex-husband. She stared him straight in the eye, a gaze so direct, so accusing, he seemed to wilt right down into a chair. "You owe it to me, Jack. You owe me for all the years we were married. All the years I put into your career, your company, your idiotic flicks. I haven't asked for anything. You have the house. The Jaguar. The bank account. I never asked because I didn't want to take a damn thing from this marriage except my own soul. But now I'm asking. This man saved my life tonight. If you ever cared about me, if you ever loved me, even a little, then you'll do me this favor."
"Harbor a criminal?"
"Only until we figure out what to do next."
"And how long might that
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