Woman in the Window (22 page)

“And even then, if Bradley hadn’t described having sex with you … well, he might have gotten out of it alive. But he described it in such lovely, loving detail, that Barry couldn’t take it. … Hell, Natalie, I know the feeling of jealousy it aroused in me, something I just couldn’t help—I mean, this guy writes that he’s been intimate with you and I haven’t and a man thinks, why him? In this case, Barry thought a good deal more than
why him?
Barry read it, went off the deep end, and wound up turning Bradley’s genitals into chow mein. It’s the only explanation I can come up with for the intensity of the sexual vengeance in the murder. Make any sense to you?”

She huddled on the chair, clasping her arms around herself. “I don’t know. It sounds like we’re caught in Barry’s movie.”

“Precisely. We
are.
We’ve been locked into his movie ever since he saw you watching him throw the gun away. He’s been doing whatever he’s wanted to do for some time now—but we know we’re in the movie now, which is something. And we’ve got a pretty good idea of the rest of the plot.” He opened a folder on his desk, consulted some notes.

“What happens now?” She felt as if her entire life had passed from her hands. She was helpless. She trembled inside her coat and thought about Bradley, how he’d died.

“We’ve got to believe he’s going to come looking for you. Think of it as one hell of a scary movie. He’s living in it, he’s going to play it out, he’s got to complete the last reel. It’s not so hard to figure it out now—now that we’re finally in the movie, too. What is he bound inevitably to do? He killed Bradley with a carving knife, we’ve got him on that, we could pin Quirk to him as well, and we’re pretty sure he’s slipped over into pure fantasy Natalie, he has in essence become the carving knife, the light shining on the blade as he raises it—it’s
Psycho,
it’s a scene we’ve all watched a thousand times … and he’s going to come after you. In his mind, you betrayed him on the rug with Bradley He wants you, Natalie—look at his history—and I’d bet the farm he wants you right where his old roommate had you, on your living-room carpet … and then, it’s goodbye Natalie. …”

“The ladies’ room,” she whispered. “I’m going to be sick.”

He waited outside the door so she wouldn’t be interrupted.

A
N HOUR LATER NATALIE,
following MacPherson’s instructions, was back in her own office, having made no attempt to seek cover. “We’ve got to assume that he’s watching you all the time, even now, when you leave my office,” MacPherson had told her. “Go back to your office. We want him to see you go into that building. We want him to feel comfortable, secure, we want him to know that we’re all acting out his script. I’ll be at your office late this afternoon. Just hang on, Natalie. We’re going to get you out of this, no muss, no fuss.”

Now she waited in her office, too distracted to work, snapping at Jay because she didn’t know how much to tell him. The scenario MacPherson had laid on her had certainly worked: after being sick in the bathroom down the hall from his office, she’d emerged pale, shaky, and haunted by the images she’d heard about in his dreary office. Things hadn’t improved as the afternoon lost its light and the city came ablaze. She stood at the window listening to her own shallow breathing, waiting for MacPherson.

He finally arrived at five o’clock. He had Tony Rader with him and he commandeered her office. Danmeier appeared in the doorway wondering what was going on. MacPherson frowned, then told him to come in and close the door. He briefly filled in Danmeier and Tony on the events of the day, stressing the danger he believed was threatening Natalie.

“Now,” he said, “here’s what’s going down, as they say on all my favorite cop shows. Natalie, you’re not going home this evening. We now begin waiting for Barry Hughes to come after you. It won’t take long—he’s a crazy, anxious guy. The bloodlust is up. We had a policewoman go to your home and bring out an overnight bag of your things, toiletries, some underthings, jeans, so on. It’s all in an unmarked police car right now, a block from here—we’re taking you out through the basement, you’re coming out one block north and there’s no way in the world he can spot it. In the meantime a policewoman, Officer Grace Farraday, will be arriving here any moment. When she leaves she will be Natalie Rader—she’s your size, she’ll be wearing your black coat, she’ll have a black wig … and she’ll leave with Mr. Danmeier, just to further declare her identity. She’s going to walk home, which will make it easy for Barry to follow her, she’ll follow your kind of routine, stop at the cheese place, pick up some pasta, and arrive at your apartment. And then she’ll wait. Not alone, however. I’ll be waiting with her—I’m going in over the fence into your courtyard and in the back door. So far as the watcher goes, he’ll think she’s in there alone.” He’d been ticking off points on his fingers and looked up at last. “Everybody got that?”

“What about me?” Natalie asked.

“That’s where Tony comes in. He says he can’t think of a better place than his aunt’s house out on Staten Island. He’s staying here in town. His aunt is visiting Atlantic City with her girl friends and you’ll have the house to yourself.”

Tony laughed. “You can take care of the cats, tiger. Just make yourself at home. How does that sound?”

She nodded numbly. “God, it sounds wonderful—like a vacation.” She summoned a smile. “Really, it sounds fine. I like that house.”

“All right, then,” MacPherson said. “You can just relax and get some rest. I’ve already alerted the cops on the island. They’ll come by and check on you, make sure everything is all right.”

“How do I get there?”

“We’ll drive you out once we get you to the car.”

“Look, could I go on the ferry? I mean, would that be all right? I’d just like to be alone. …”

“It’s okay with me,” MacPherson said. He was looking at his watch. “Once Farraday is here, we’ll get her decked out as you, wait for her to get settled at your place, then get you on your way.” He was talking mostly to himself. The buzzer sounded on Natalie’s desk.

“There’s an Officer Farraday here, Natalie.”

“Have her come into my office, Lisa.”

Farraday did in fact turn out to be a reasonably good duplicate. Natalie wished her luck and the policewoman laughed. “I’m practically an arsenal,” she said. “I feel sorry for the guy who messes with me. Now, let me get into my new hairdo and get your coat.”

MacPherson followed Farraday into another office and Tony went along with Danmeier for a quick drink. Things were moving quickly but Natalie knew she couldn’t just disappear without leaving a trace. She dialed Lew’s number and got the answering machine. She started to leave a message but heard the telephone being picked up.

“Natalie? Are you there?”

“Yes. I’m so glad to hear you, Lew.”

“What’s the matter? You sound funny.”

“A lot has happened and I feel funny. MacPherson has got a line on the man with the gun. His name is Barry Hughes and he killed his roommate yesterday, a guy named Brad Nichols—”

“Sure, sure, I heard about it on television—he’s the gun thrower, this Barry?”

“Yes. They’re setting a trap for him. A policewoman posing as me is going to be at my place tonight—”

“Where are you, Nat?”

“At the office. MacPherson is here. They’re taking me out to Tony’s aunt’s house on Staten Island tonight. I’m going to stay there until it’s over—he doesn’t think it’ll be long. I can’t talk more now, but I wanted you to know where I’d be.” She gave him the telephone number on Staten Island.

“Look, do you want me to come out with you? Is there anything I can do?”

“No, really, I’ll be fine. There’s no way he could find me out there, and the police are turning my place into an armed camp.”

“Will you call me once you get settled?”

“Sure I will. And by the way, I saw Dr. Drummond today. I liked him a lot. He wants me to stay in close touch, gave me his private number.”

“Good, that’s terrific. I told you he was a good guy. Well, you’d better get going. Don’t forget—call me when you get there. Promise?”

“Sure.”

“Everything’s going to be all right, kid.”

She dug through her purse until she found the piece of notepaper Drummond had given her. She called his direct number and recognized his voice.

“It’s Natalie Rader,” she said. She was out of breath.

“Yes, Mrs. Rader. You sound upset. Is everything all right?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking. The police have decided they want me out of the way until they can catch this guy—”

“The killer of the man you told me about this morning?”

“Right. I thought you might try to get hold of me and nobody would tell you where I was. I’m going to my former husband’s aunt’s house on Staten Island. I’ll give you a call when I’m back—”

“I take it they think they’re on the killer’s trail?”

“Yes. They don’t think it will be long until it’s all over.”

“Well, I’m sure they’re right, Mrs. Rader. They know what they’re doing. Enjoy your stay on the Island.

It’s very peaceful out there. And whatever you do, don’t worry. Every nightmare comes to an end. Why don’t you give me a number and I’ll check on you tomorrow?” She gave him the number and he told her once again that he was sure the ordeal was just about over. “It’s all very exciting, isn’t it? In a bizarre way, of course.”

“As MacPherson says. It’s a movie.”

“Well, just relax. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” She hung up the telephone and sighed, sank back in her chair. The two psychiatrists had made her feel immeasurably better.

Now she had only to keep herself tightly under control. She was trying to wait patiently, and it was more of a job than she’d anticipated. When Farraday got to the apartment, the officer had thought she’d been followed. Once inside, she’d called MacPherson at the agency. Time had slowly ticked away while Natalie’s street was scanned by a plainclothesman … but it had been a false alarm. By then MacPherson was hungry and decided to send out for sandwiches for Tony, Natalie, and himself. But she hardly tasted the food, tuned out of the sparse conversation, spoke briefly with Farraday, who called in hoping to catch them, wondering where the dog food was. Finally it was time to go.

The wind coming off the water was bone chilling. Foghorns groaned and the commuters shuffled anxiously, collars turned up, backs to the cold, waiting to board the ferry. The lights of Manhattan looked warm and cheery behind them and Natalie felt like a little girl, escaping from her cares and worries across the water to the old castle. She felt slightly light-headed, not quite herself. It was the speed of events. And she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

MacPherson stomped his feet, banged his hands together. He was quiet and she knew he was thinking past Natalie to what lay ahead. It was Barry Hughes on his mind, not Natalie Rader. She felt as if she had almost faded into the past for him. She remembered the Christmas tree and D’Allessandro, wondered if MacPherson believed her about Saturday night. … Her head was beginning to ache. Snow blew like sand across the crusted surface of the water. It was time for the ferry to go. MacPherson grabbed her arm, told her once again that she shouldn’t worry, that it was all going to be fine, that she was handling it like a trooper. She nodded, not really listening, not really caring what he was saying. Everybody seemed to be saying the same thing anyway. …

She sat alone in the drafty cabin, listening to the chatter of her fellow travelers, hearing the creaking of the ferry and feeling the throb of the engines, half-dozing, letting her body rock to the movement all around her. It had been years since she’d last ridden the ferry but it might have been yesterday. The ride wasn’t one of the things that changed.

MacPherson had told her to give a cop named Patterson a call when the ferry docked and he’d run her out to the house, but when she arrived he was waiting for her. MacPherson had called ahead. Patterson carried her bag and she settled into the darkness for the quick ride. She was alone and it felt so wonderful, so incredibly unencumbered and safe. Huddled in the back of the police car, feeling the wheels search out a path in the rutted snow, she experienced one of those moments that came sporadically—one of those moments when she wondered what it would be like to kiss it all goodbye, find a little town upstate or in the Berkshires and open a bookshop and serve tea and coffee and become the town’s mysterious spinster. … Not exactly an original fantasy, but soothing and better than dreaming of being a disco queen. She was smiling tiredly when the car slushed to a halt at the foot of the long brick walk that led to the dim shape of the old house. She checked her pocket for the key Tony had given her, thanked Patterson, slung her bag over her shoulder, and pushed on up the snowy walk down which Tony had scraped a path barely as wide as the shovel. It was funny, but looking up at the house brooding in the moonlight filtering through the low, heavy cloud layer, she felt as if she were coming home.

The house really was a bit of a Victorian gingerbread monstrosity, more so inside than out. It had been in the Rader family forever, and from the looks of it none of the generations of tenants had ever thrown away anything. It was a world of doilies, antique firescreens before the fireplaces, shawls draped over rickety occasional tables, japanned boxes and bric-a-brac and sheet music from the twenties propped up on the piano, which Auntie Margaret still insisted she played to calm her nerves. Presumably when she wasn’t off appreciating John Davidson in Atlantic City. Even the television verged on the prehistoric, an Admiral with rounded corners on the screen. Padded rocking chairs, fringed carpets and lampshades. The firewood in the boot was dry and she laid a fire, built a pile of kindling beneath it, and in no time there was a warm glow radiating from the hearth.

The kitchen was huge. The vast facade of cupboard doors hid endless stacks of dishes, glasses, baking supplies. She found the tea and made a pot, toasted some bread, scrambled a couple of eggs, and finally settled herself in front of the fire. The wind whispered at the windows, and over the second cup of tea she felt the tension draining away from her neck and shoulders, felt her body and psyche letting go.