She fits the description, and has a kid the right age. All I have to go on is Ron Craig’s last report. You guys aren’t even positive this Hannah Doyle bitch is my estranged wife. I’ve already spent enough on this investigation. “Christ, you guys are milking me dry as it is. We could work in shifts, or split up when we had to.” “You might consider hiring another man to work with me, Mr. “And Hannah Doyle is the person you hired me to stake out.” He leaned back in his chair and sipped his club soda. “I can’t be two places at once,” Walt argued. Maybe he’s the guy who wasted your predecessor. “You could have followed this joker around. “So-you wasted the whole day waiting outside her place?” he asked, eyebrows raised. Kenneth tossed the photograph across the table at him, then sipped his martini. But she stayed inside never stepped outside the apartment.” He left her place-on foot-around ten this morning, and didn’t come back until a couple of hours ago. Setting down his martini glass, Kenneth snatched up the picture. “This guy stayed with her last night,” he said. He offered Kenneth Woodley another photograph. He was thirty-six, with straight, close-cropped black hair, a goatee, and the solid, husky build of a baseball player. “I took it last night with a telephoto lens,” explained the private detective, a man named Walt Kirkabee.
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“This damn thing is so blurry and far away, it could be a picture of my wife or the goddamn Prince of Wales for all I can tell. Kenneth tossed the photograph on the table. The Sunday-night dinner rush had already peaked, but some muted chatter among lingering customers still competed with the Ella Fitzgerald recording piped through the elegant bar. He had a late supper date in the formal dining area downstairs immediately following the meeting.
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Kenneth had heard Ray’s Boathouse was one of Seattle’s finer restaurants, so he’d arranged to meet his private detective in the bar upstairs. Twinkling lights across the bay marked the start of land again. At this time of night, the water was black with silver-white ripples.
#IS THERE A CRACK FOR OVERWATCH YET WINDOWS#
He sat at a small table by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Shillshell Bay. She trusted him with her life, and the life of her son. She still didn’t know Ben Podowski very well. Just this morning, she’d been wary of him. “If we can’t come up with a better plan, I’ll help you get away, Hannah. “When the time comes, can I count on you to help me get away?” “I can’t risk losing my son,” she cut in. “But don’t you think if we went to a lawyer and explained-” We’ll need to begin someplace else-with new identities.” “When we find out who’s behind all these killings and we’re ready to go to the police, can you go alone? I’ll need a head start to move on with Guy. Ben, I need to ask you a favor, a big favor.” Even if we find this killer, I’ll still have my problems with the police. “I haven’t really had an actual plan since all of this started. “Remember you asked me earlier tonight what I planned to do?” she asked, in a hushed tone. “You okay?”Ĭlutching the folds of her robe, Hannah stepped to the edge of the sofa. “I wasn’t really asleep,” he said softly. He sat up, and the sheets fell down past his hairy chest, and bunched around his waist. He was lying on his side, the sheets wrapped around him. She padded down the hall to the living room, then peeked around the corner at Ben. Hannah climbed out of bed, wiped her eyes, and put on a robe. Only a half hour had passed since she’d said good night to Ben. Reaching for some tissues on her nightstand, she glanced at the alarm clock: 1:20. The one night in three weeks that she had someone in the apartment to protect her, and she couldn’t drift off. Hannah went to bed, but she was too wound up to sleep. Ben touched the side of her face “Thanks for all this,” he said. They could hear Guy’s steady breathing in the next room. For a moment, neither of them said anything. They were standing so close to each other in the dim hallway. “I’ll get you another blanket,” she whispered. They stepped out of his bedroom together. She made the choo-choo sound to lull him to sleep. He stood in the doorway while she put Guy to bed. “Looks like someone’s taken a shine to you.” “Can he come tuck me in, too?” he asked, yawning.
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C’mon, we’ll make a pit stop at the bathroom first then I’ll tuck you in.” Hannah adjusted the blanket around him, then lifted him up. “I hate to be a party pooper,” she announced, rubbing Guy’s shoulder. Hannah had to remind herself once again that Ben was married.