Hannah sat back. “Hey, speaking of shopping,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that tape you slipped into my shopping cart at the store the other afternoon.”
He squinted at her. “What tape?”
“The videotape of The Godfather—or at least its second half. It was in my shopping cart at the checkout line. Didn’t you put it in there?”
Craig shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hannah studied him for a moment. Craig seemed genuinely confused.
She sighed. “Never mind. I guess someone was playing a joke on me or something.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Listen, I should head back to the store.”
Craig got to his feet. “I just need to use the men’s room for a minute. Then I’ll walk back with you. Okay?”
While he headed toward the rest rooms, Hannah flagged down their waiter. She got the check, then stepped over to the cashier to cover it. By the register was a stack of discarded newspapers. The one on top caught Hannah’s eye. She saw a photograph, and a headline near the bottom of the front page:
RETIRED SEATTLE BUSINESSMAN SLAIN IN HOME
‘A Night of Terror,’ for Surviving Witness
Madronna Neighborhood on Alert as
Police Continue Their Investigation
Hannah picked up the newspaper and moved away from the register. She studied the grainy photo of the victim, then read the caption beneath it: L. Hollis Hall, 58, former Executive Vice President of Savitch, Inc., is survived by a daughter, 25.
She recognized the cold, crudely handsome older man in the picture. How could she forget the belligerent Mr. Sorority Sluts who had caused such a scene in the store last week?
Hannah glanced over at the rest-room area. She didn’t see Craig, so she started reading the article:
A retired businessman, L. Hollis Hall, 58, was shot to death, execution-style, by an intruder in his Madronna home Tuesday night.
Investigating officers are relying heavily on the testimony of a witness, Tarin Siegel, 31, who was also attacked in Hall’s house at the time of his death. Siegel sustained a mild concussion after being knocked over the head in Hall’s bathroom. Hall, who suffered from chronic back problems, had employed Siegel, a massage therapist, for the evening.
What Siegel called “a night of terror,” began at 9:30 P.M. with her arrival at Hall’s home in the quiet, affluent Seattle neighborhood….
Still standing near the restaurant door, Hannah skimmed over the rest of the newspaper story.
Apparently, the woman had been in the bathroom when she’d heard Hall talking to an intruder, then the gunshot. Someone had broken into the john and knocked her unconscious with the butt of a revolver.
Hannah slowed down to read Tarin Siegel’s account of what she found when she regained consciousness and staggered out of the bathroom: “I stepped back into the room where we were. I saw him lying on the massage table, and I saw all the blood….”
“My God,” Hannah murmured. “It’s The Godfather scene.” The newspaper began to shake in her grasp.
“There you are,” Craig said, touching her shoulder. “I was looking for you.”
Hannah recoiled.
He laughed. “Are you okay?”
She quickly folded up the newspaper, almost crumpling it. “I’m fine,” she answered. “I need to get back to the store.”
“Let me just take care of the check—”
“I got it already,” she said impatiently. “Let’s just go.” Tucking the newspaper under her arm, Hannah headed for the door.
As she walked back to the video store with him, Hannah’s mind was going in a dozen different directions. The last time she’d seen Lester Hall, Craig was throwing him out of the store and threatening him. Craig had been in the supermarket with her when that Godfather tape had made its way into her shopping cart. She didn’t care what he’d told her a few minutes ago. She didn’t trust him.
He took hold of her arm as they crossed the street. Hannah wrenched away from him. “I’m all right, thanks,” she said over the traffic noise. She started toward the door to Emerald City Video.
Craig stepped in her path, blocking the way. “Listen, Hannah, did I do anything to upset you?”
“No, I’m just—awfully late for work. I’ll call you. All right?” She moved around him and grabbed the door handle.
He braced a hand against the door. “Wait a second—”
“Please,” she said, losing her composure. “I need you to leave me alone. Just go! Okay?”
With a wounded look, Craig stared at her. Hannah hurried inside.
Scott manned the register nearest the door. He’d obviously heard the last part of her exchange with Craig. “Ouch,” he said. “That has to be one of the worst wrap-ups to a first date I’ve ever witnessed. What the hell happened? Are you all right?”
Through the front window, Hannah watched Craig slink away down the street. She moved behind the counter to her register. She was trembling. She set down the newspaper, and opened it for Scott to see. “Take a look at this. Isn’t this the Sorority Sluts guy from last week?”
Hannah logged into the customer account records: Hall, Lester.
“Holy shit,” Scott muttered.
Hannah had seen the photograph. But she needed to make certain L. Hollis Hall was indeed Lester Hall.
On the register’s computer screen, the account for Hall, Lester H. came up. Same first and middle initial, and his address was in the Madronna area. Hannah noticed the icon blinking on an “N” in the corner of the screen. It meant there was a note on his account. She pulled up the note: THIS CREEP MUST DIE!
Hannah gasped. “Oh, my God, look what somebody wrote.”
Scott came to her side. “Relax, Hannah,” he said, a hand on her shoulder. “I wrote that last week—right after he had his hissy fit in here.” Scott let out a stunned laugh. “Christ, I didn’t know it would come true.”
Hannah backed away from the register. “First that rude Cindy woman who fell out of her apartment window a couple of weeks back,” she whispered. “And now this Lester Hall is shot. Don’t you see what’s happening?”
Scott nodded. “Yeah, it means I better be nice to you from now on, otherwise I’m dead meat.”
“That’s not funny,” Hannah said. She grabbed the newspaper. “Cover for me, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Hannah hurried out of the store, then started to cross the street toward the mall. Suddenly, a car horn blared, and tires were screeching. “You moron!” someone screamed from his car. “Watch where you’re going!”
Hannah stepped back to the curb. She hadn’t realized she was crossing against the traffic signal. She caught her breath and waited for the “Walk” signal. Her face felt hot. People were staring at her.
The traffic light changed, and Hannah hurried across to the mall. At the phone stations, she dug some change out of her purse, then checked the newspaper again. At the bottom of the article was a blurb about the reporter: David Serum can be reached at [email protected] or 206/555-0405.
Hannah dialed the number, then counted two ring tones.
“This is David Serum,” he answered. Rock music from the Old Navy next door competed with him. Hannah had to cover her other ear.
“Yes, I have a question about your article today, about that murder in Madronna.”
“Can I get your name, please?”
“I just have a question,” she said. “I need to know if he was shot in the eye.”
“Um, I have to get your name, ma’am.”
“Answer my question, and I’ll tell you my name. Please, it’s important.”
She didn’t hear anything on the other end of the line.
“Are you still there?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, ma’am, but that information is not—”
“Please, tell me. Was he shot in the eye?”
“Yes, Mr. Hall was shot through the left eye. Now, if you could—”
Hannah quickly hun
g up.
She thought she was going to be sick. She wove through the crowd of shoppers in the mall, and hurried into the women’s rest room.
It was empty. Hannah ducked into the last stall. Bracing herself against the divider wall, she took several deep breaths until her stomach felt a little better.
She kept wondering why this was happening to her. These two people were murdered, and someone was telling her in advance how they would die. But why were they killed? Because they’d been rude to her?
Hannah felt another wave of nausea. Tears welled in her eyes.
Someone else stepped into the rest room. Hannah reached over and closed her stall door. She heard footsteps on the tiled floor. For a moment, she didn’t move. Hannah wiped her eyes with some toilet paper, and took a few more deep breaths. She flushed the toilet paper down the john, then opened the stall door.
The stall next to hers was empty. There was nobody by the sinks, either. She could have sworn someone was in the bathroom with her a minute ago.
Hannah glanced over toward the sinks again and noticed a small black rectangular box on the edge of the counter.
It was a videocassette.
Eight
Hannah hurried out of the women’s room with the video in her hand. Slowing down, she passed several shoppers in the mall: a pack of teenage girls, some women with their children, an elderly couple. She was searching for a man alone; maybe someone from the store or her film class, maybe a total stranger.
She knew he couldn’t be far. He’d been in the bathroom less than a minute ago. He was probably still watching her right now. She kept wondering why he was doing this to her. Did he somehow know that she couldn’t go to the police?
Hannah spotted a man with a sweatshirt, jeans, and curly gray hair. He stood near the food court entrance and stared back at her. He smirked a little, then shoved his hands in his pockets.
She froze. The familiar, almost lecherous way he grinned seemed to invite some kind of encounter—or confrontation. Hannah felt a chill pass through her.
A woman brushed by Hannah, then went to the man and gave him a hug. He kissed her. Arm in arm, they went into the food court together.
Sighing, Hannah resumed her search, scanning the crowd for the person who was playing this lethal game with her. She thought she saw a man staring at her from inside the entrance of Old Navy. But then she realized it was a mannequin. She felt so stupid. She knew her tormenter was watching her right now, amused at her silly mistakes.
She glanced at the videocassette in her hand. There was no label on the tape, probably something recorded live or off a TV. From the tape around the spools, she could see the movie had been stopped at a certain scene. Hannah knew when she put that video in a VRC and pressed “Play,” she would see another murder sequence.
She knew that her secret admirer was planning to kill again. And he wanted her to see how he would do it.
As soon as Hannah returned to the store, she ducked into the break room. She slipped the mystery video in the VCR and switched on the little television.
Audrey Hepburn came up on the screen. She was sitting in a rocking chair, with a walking cane across her lap. She wore a pink sweater. The room was awfully dark, and the poor quality of the video didn’t help matters.
As soon as Hannah saw Audrey talking to Richard Crenna, she figured out that the movie was the thriller Wait Until Dark. She hadn’t seen the film in years, and she didn’t know what came next.
Someone knocked on the break-room door; then Scott poked his head in. “You okay back here?” he asked.
Hannah quickly switched off the video. “Yeah, I was just checking this movie for a glitch,” she said. “Do you need me up front?”
“No, Britt’s handling it,” Scott replied. He stepped inside, then closed the door behind him. “Hannah, are you all right? You seem to be taking it pretty hard about this Lester guy getting shot.”
She wanted to tell him about the videos, but couldn’t. She shrugged uneasily. “It’s just—he was in the store only last week. And pretty much the same thing happened to Cindy Finkelston after she was in the store.”
“Well, it’s just a coincidence. I don’t mean to sound heartless, but I’m not shedding any tears for either of them.” Folding his arms, he leaned against the doorway frame. “So what happened over your lunch date with the dreamboat? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“Oh, he’s just really pushy. He got on my nerves.” Hannah sighed. “I’ll be a couple of more minutes back here, then I’ll come help up front. Okay?”
He nodded. “Sure thing. Take your time.”
Scott stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Biting her lip, Hannah pressed the control on the VCR again, and Wait Until Dark came back on the screen. Audrey Hepburn was still talking to Richard Crenna in that dark room; then the scene cut to a parking lot at night. A man in an overcoat was walking across the shiny, wet pavement. They didn’t show his face. Suddenly, a car’s headlights glared into the camera, and tires screeched. It was a big, sleek, metal monster of an automobile from the mid-sixties. The car peeled out of a parking spot and came careening at the man.
Hannah watched in shock as he started to run. The car hit him full force, throwing his body against a chain-link fence. Its engine grinding, the car backed up, then slammed into him once more. His prone, lifeless body bounced against the fence. Its tires squealing, the car slammed into the man again and again.
Just as suddenly as the movie had cut to that harrowing murder in the parking lot, it switched back to Audrey Hepburn in the dimly lit room. Hannah remembered now. It was Richard Crenna’s accomplice, Jack Weston, killed in that parking lot—by the main heavy, played by Alan Arkin.
But Hannah didn’t know who would be killed that way in real life. And she didn’t know the killer.
Hannah ejected the video from the VCR. She kept thinking that she should call the police. But what could she tell them? Someone will be mowed down by car in a parking lot. I don’t know when. I don’t know who it will be. But I’ve been getting videos predicting all these deaths. And oh, yeah, there’s a warrant out for my arrest. I’m wanted for kidnapping and theft.
She pulled the video out of the VRC and stared at it.
Someone knocked on the door again. This time, Britt peeked into the room. “Scott sent me back here to make sure you aren’t slashing your wrists or anything.”
Hannah let out a weak laugh. “I’m fine.”
“Honest?” Britt asked.
“No, I’m not,” Hannah admitted, shaking her head. “Something weird has been going on, and I—I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about it.” Hannah sighed. She felt herself tearing up. “Listen, Britt, can you keep a secret? I mean, you really can’t tell anyone about this….”
His head on the pillow, Guy gazed up at her with sleepy eyes.
Hannah stroked his blond hair. “If you hear somebody at the door a little later, it’s Britt. She’s spending the night.”
Guy squinted at her.
“You remember my friend Britt from work, don’t you?”
“She has a pierced ear here and here, doesn’t she?” He pointed to his eyebrow and then his nostril.
Cracking a smile, Hannah nodded. “That’s right. Now, get some sleep.”
She tucked the covers under his chin, and made the choo-choo sound. He nodded off after a few minutes. Hannah left his night-light on, then tiptoed out of his bedroom.
She took some sheets from the linen closet so she could make up the sofa for Britt.
It had been such a relief to finally unload on someone today. At least, she didn’t have to feel so alone in this nightmare. Unfortunately, Britt didn’t entirely understand the situation.
“So—somebody’s leaving these movies where you can find them?” she’d asked a couple of hours ago in the break room. “And it’s like clues to these murders you’re supposed to solve?”
“Well, not exactly,” Hannah tried to explain. “You se
e—”
“Why is this happening to you?”
“I wish I knew,” Hannah said.
“Well, why don’t you go to the cops?”
“That’s just it. I can’t. Swear you won’t tell anyone, Britt. But I’ve had some trouble with the police, and I can’t go to them without sinking into deeper trouble. It’s something totally unrelated to what’s happening now.”
“What did you do?” Britt whispered.
Frowning, Hannah shook her head. “I can’t say any more about it.”
Britt stared at her for a moment; then she shrugged. “Well, I’ve had a few run-ins with the law too, Han. You’re in good company.” She nudged her. “Hey, speaking of company, how about if I stay over tonight?”
Hannah managed a smile. “Oh, that’s not necessary, Britt. I appreciate the offer—”
“To tell you the truth,” Britt interrupted, wincing a bit. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’d be doing me a favor, Han. Y’know, like the last time when Webb was being a shit-heel, and you let me stay over? I really don’t want to go back home to him tonight. Do you mind?”
Actually, Hannah didn’t mind at all. She’d sheltered Britt a few times in the past when Webb was on the warpath. She sympathized. She’d been down that road herself. Tonight, she welcomed the company. Britt didn’t offer a lot of protection, but there was safety in numbers. Hannah had warned her friend to be careful on the way over.
She was changing a pillowcase from one of her bed pillows, when someone knocked on the front door. She wondered how Britt had gotten past the lobby’s security entrance downstairs.
Hannah checked the peephole before opening the door. She saw a man, tall with broad shoulders. She couldn’t quite make out who he was until he stepped back under the outside light.
“Scott?” She pulled the door open. “What are you doing here?”
“Britt sent me,” he said. He was holding a backpack. “Something came up with her loser-of-a-boyfriend. They were fighting, but now they’ve kissed and made up or something. She said you might need someone to spend the night. Are you going to ask me in, or what?”
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