Nick asked, “What happened to Paul that he didn’t deserve?”
“Killed himself. Shot himself in the head.”
“That right?”
“Yep. Shot his wife first. Killed her and then killed himself, bang, bang, bang. Left those two kids orphans just that fast.”
“Gallagher and his sister.”
“Yep. Don’t remember her name. Started with a C like his. I think she still lives around here somewhere. Not Los Alegres, some other town.”
“Why’d Paul shoot his wife?”
“Caught her cheating on him. She was a grade-A bitch, slept around before and after she was married. Everybody knew it, she didn’t seem to give a fig. Rose, that was her name. Good-looking woman but a slut and a boozehound. Paul knew about her sleeping around, no way he couldn’t’ve known. Must’ve loved her plenty to put up with it long as he did. But a man can only take so much. One night he up and snapped. Drove up to their house at the river when he wasn’t expected, caught some fella there with her, shot her and then himself. Don’t recall why he didn’t shoot the lover, too. It’d been me, I’d have made a clean sweep.”
“House at the river, you said. What river would that be?”
“Russian River. Gallagher family had a house up there. Cam’s grandfather, first Cameron Gallagher, he’s the one who built it.”
“Cam still own the place, do you know?”
“Can’t say I do because I don’t, ha ha. Don’t see why he would after what happened there. Near Rio Nido, I think it was. No, Duncans Mills. Papers called it the House of Death, they always got to make everything sound worse than it is. But it was a pretty big deal at the time. We don’t get many murders around here.”
“When did all of that happen?”
“Oh, must’ve been better than twenty years ago. More like twenty-five. Hell of a thing for those kids. Cam in particular. Scarred him, I’ll bet. Don’t see how it couldn’t have.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Kells?”
“He was there that night, him and his mother spending the weekend at the house. Middle of winter, don’t remember exactly when. She went up there to meet her lover, took the boy along as camouflage. You know, so Paul wouldn’t figure she’d be up to anything with the kid in the house. Too bad for both of ’em he did figure it out.”
“Did Cam see it happen?” Nick asked. “The shootings?”
“Saw it or heard it. Saw the bodies, anyhow, his own father and mother. Had to’ve scarred him, he couldn’t’ve been more than nine or ten at the time.”
“What happened to him and his sister afterward?”
“Oh, Ida and her husband took ’em in and raised ’em. Ida and Frank DeLucca. Grew grapes over in the Paloma Valley, that’s how Cam got into the wine business—sort of grew up in it. Frank’s dead now, been dead four or five years. Ida still lives somewheres in the valley, far as I know.”
They were finished loading the truck. Nick filled out the receipt on his clipboard, gave it to the old guy to sign. “There you go, Mr. Kells. Thanks for the donation.”
“Sure thing,” Kells said. “Always glad to help out whenever I can. What’d you say your name was?”
“Nick.”
“How come you’re so interested in Cam Gallagher, anyway, Nick? You know him?”
“I’m getting to.”
“Well, he’s a nice enough fella, even if he does live high on the hog. I hear he drinks what he sells, but hell, you can’t blame him for that. I’d drink myself if I went through what he did. Scars. You know what I mean, young fella?”
“Sure,” Nick said. “I know just what you mean.”
24
Cam spent two days fighting off a vague hunted feeling every time he went out in public. Jenna’s paranoia feeding his paranoia and leading to half-furtive glances at people on the streets, in cars, in restaurants, on the lookout for the face of a man he’d seen exactly once in his life, at a distance in a crowded bar. Imagining menace riding in every blue Mazda.
He didn’t see the face.
He didn’t see any trailing blue car.
By Tuesday night he felt like a thorough fool. One of life’s seriocomic nutcases, like the ones who imagined they were alien abductees or the victims of ultrasecret government death-ray experiments. He told himself to cut it out, quit driving with one eye on the rearview mirror, quit staring at everybody as if they were lunatics ready to hurl themselves on him without provocation, jibbering epithets and wielding lethal weapons. Get a grip.
He wondered if he ought to have another session with Dr. Beloit. Decided the answer was no. What good would it do? He’d had enough of Beloit’s brand of psychoanalysis; the last thing he needed was a reprise of last Thursday’s fiasco. And sure as hell the good doctor would try to turn the suggestive fear of a stranger into another example of the alleged self-destructive impulses of Cameron Gallagher. He could work through this temporary kink on his own.
As for Jenna, he thought he could handle that situation, too, now. Her paranoia, like her fascist views, was a turnoff; the compulsion to sleep with her wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been. Confine his dealings with her to a business environment, and he’d be able to control the temptation. He was convinced of it.
All he had to worry about now were the nightmares, and the headaches, and the depression that always came with the long, dark days of winter….
25
County library in Santa Rosa stayed open late on weeknights. Nick found that out and drove up there. Librarian told him they had issues of both the Santa Rosa and Los Alegres papers on microfilm, going back more than twenty-five years. But they weren’t indexed, so you had to know the approximate dates of whatever you were trying to find, then scan each issue in that period.
More than twenty years, old man Kells’d said, closer to twenty-five. Middle of winter. Narrowed it down some. Start back twenty-three years, say, work up to twenty-five, keep it to the winter months, November through February. See what that bought him.
He went into a room with the librarian. She brought out the files of the Santa Rosa Press Democrat for November and December of ’75, January and February of ’76. Showed him how to work the machine, got him started, left him alone.
Slow work, even though he only looked at the front pages because Kells’d said the shootings made a big splash. Still had to crank through the rest to get to the next day. Wasn’t anything in ’75/76. And ’74/75 wasn’t the right winter, either. He got ’73/74 and started in on those—and there it was.
January ’74. January 4. Something stirred in him, cold and hard, when he saw the date. Same week of January that Gallagher’d hurt Annalisa, only four days’ difference. January 8, he’d never forget that date. Gallagher’s month and week for disasters.
MAN KILLS WIFE, SELF AT RUSSIAN RIVER.
Paul Gallagher, thirty seven, Los Alegres lawyer. Rose Adams Gallagher, thirty-five, housewife and mother. Domestic argument ends in double shooting. Alcohol involved, infidelity suspected. Only other occupant of the house at 1600 Crackerbox Road the couple’s ten-year-old son, Cameron. Boy found unharmed, hiding in attic. Second child, eight-year-old daughter, staying at the home of a friend in Los Alegres.
Nick read the article again. Read the next day’s follow-up story. Few more details there: Woman shot twice in the chest, husband blew his brains out, some guy named Halloran questioned and admitted being wife’s lover and also in the house that night—but Nick didn’t care about any of that. Wasn’t much about the kid except he was under a doctor’s care.
He asked for the January ’74 file of the Los Alegres Argus-Courier. Story in there didn’t tell him much, either. One of the boy’s teachers described him as “a sensitive child” and one of the brightest students at his school. Sensitive. Man oh man.
On the way out of Santa Rosa, Nick kept thinking about the coincidence—both tragedies, his and Gallagher’s, happening in January only four days apart. He thought about the house where the shootings had happened—1
600 Crackerbox Road near Duncans Mills. That was where Gallagher’d gone two Saturdays ago. Same house? Must be. Did he still own it? Find out.
He had ideas now. Little more information, little more planning, they’d come together and he’d know just what he was going to do.
26
Hallie said, “I called Caitlin just before you came home tonight. To invite her to Thanksgiving dinner.”
“What’d she say?”
“What she always says. She has other plans.”
“I don’t know why you bother every year.”
“She’s family, that’s why.”
“Did you tell her Aunt Ida will be here?”
“Yes. She said, ‘Cam must be happy about that. He was her favorite.’”
“That’s not true. Ida didn’t play favorites.”
“I know. She didn’t sound good, Cam.”
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, you know, upset and stressed out. There was a lot of yelling in the background.”
“Teddy?”
“No, a man’s voice. Heavy on the profanity.”
“Hal, the mechanic. Her new live-in.”
Leah asked, “What’s a live-in?”
“Never mind,” Hallie said. “Just eat your supper.”
“It means the new guy she’s sleeping with,” Shannon said.
“Thanks so much for teaching your sister what she doesn’t need to know.”
“I already know about that stuff,” Leah said.
“Anyway,” Shannon said, “I’m glad they’re not coming. Aunt Cat’s no fun, and Teddy’s a creepy dork.”
“That’s a fine way to talk.”
“Well, he is. A dork and a dickhead.”
“Shannon. Watch your mouth.”
“What’d I say?”
“You know what you said. This is the dinner table.”
“As if I didn’t know.”
Leah said, “Can I have some more broccoli?”
“Jeez. She actually likes that stuff.”
“May I have some more,” Hallie corrected.
“Okay, may I?”
“Shannon, pass the bowl to your sister. Cam?”
“Mmm?”
“You’re awfully quiet.”
“Am I? Not much to say, I guess.”
“You’ve hardly touched your food. Don’t you like the casserole?”
“It’s fine.”
“Eat some of it, then. If you don’t, after what you’ve had to drink—”
“Two martinis and a glass of wine. Big deal.”
“Cam,” she said warningly.
“Okay. Okay. Pass that broccoli over here, squirt.”
“I’m not a squirt.”
“Look like one to me. Cute little squirt.”
“Phooey,” Leah said. Then she said, “Shannon almost got run over today.”
“What!” From Hallie.
“Oh, it wasn’t any big deal,” Shannon said.
“That’s not what you told me. You said you almost got squashed like a bug.”
“Shut up, you.”
“What happened, for heaven’s sake?”
“Well, I was like coming home from school—”
Leah said, “You’re not supposed to use the word ‘like.’”
“Shut up. I was coming home from school, you know, walking my bike up the hill—on the sidewalk, not in the street—and this blue car came flying around the corner—”
Cam said, “Blue car?”
“Yeah. It came flying around the corner, real close to the curb. If I’d been in the street, it would’ve squashed me.”
“What kind of blue car?”
“I don’t know, a blue car.”
“Who was driving it?”
“A guy. I never saw him before.”
“What did he look like?”
“Jeez, Dad, it all happened so fast—”
“Was he about my age? Thin, dark hair?”
“No. A young dude. You know, from the high school. He had a girl with him, sitting real close. I’ll bet she was fooling around with him, and that’s why he—”
“Shannon!”
“Well, you wanted to know what happened, Mom.”
“Thank God you weren’t hurt. The way kids drive nowadays—” Hallie broke off and then asked him, “Cam, what was that about a dark-haired man in a blue car?”
“Nothing important. Just… an overreaction.”
“To what?”
“I had words with a man in a blue car the other day, at a stoplight downtown. One of those traffic things.”
“You don’t really think…?”
“No, of course not. There’s no reason to worry. It’s nothing at all.”
He poured himself another glass of wine.
27
Annalisa came to him in the night, the way she did sometimes. Warm, soft, sweet-smelling. He could feel her breath on his cheek, the touch of her hand, the satiny surfaces of her breasts and thighs as she snuggled against him.
“I’m cold, Nick. Make me warm.”
“Sure. You never have to be cold when I’m here.” …
“Oh God, Nickie, you made me come three times. Three times!”
“Let me rest awhile, and we’ll try for four.” …
“Would you mind if we had a baby? I mean, soon. I think I might be pregnant.”
“Mind? You know I want to have kids with you.” …
“False alarm. I took the test today, and I’m not.”
“There’s plenty of time, honey. We’ve got all the time in the world, make as many babies as we want.” …
“Oh, what a beautiful watch! Oh, Nick, it must have cost a fortune! Are you sure we can afford it?”
“Absolutely. I wanted you to have something really nice for Christmas.” …
Fingers playing in his hair. Sharp little teeth nibbling on his earlobe.
“Let’s go for a night ride, Nickie.”
“I was thinking the same thing. We’ll make it a long one, the longer the better.” …
“Another false alarm. I didn’t want to tell you until I was real sure.”
“Plenty of time, all the time in the world.” …
“Could we go out to San Diego sometime? I’d really like to see it again, where I used to live. Show it to you.”
“Sure we can. This spring. I’ve been with Miller’s long enough, I’m pretty sure they’ll let me take an early vacation.” …
“Look at that snow come down! Brrr. I’m glad we’re in here together where it’s warm.”
“How about we go to bed and get even warmer.”…
“Nick, Nick, Nick, oh God Nickie you feel so good inside me.”
“I love you, Annalisa, I never loved anybody the way I love you.” …
“We’re out of coffee, hon. I’m going down to the store and get some.”
“Maybe I better go instead. Snowing pretty hard out there now.”
“No, you stay here and read the paper, you worked hard all day. We need a few other things, too.”
“Okay, but go to the Addison Grocery instead of the supermarket. It’s closer.”
“I will.”
“And be careful. Streets are icy as hell.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”
Lips brushing his cheek, hand waving. Gone.
And gone from beside him—
—and he was alone someplace else, standing beside another bed looking down at her, hospital smells, hospital white, oh God her face, so pale, all those bruises, and the bandage around her head …
“Annalisa! Say something, talk to me!”
“She can’t hear you, Mr. Hendryx.”
“Will she be all right? She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”
“We’re doing everything we can, but she suffered a severe head trauma from the collision with the telephone pole.”
Head trauma. Telephone pole. Annalisa …
“What happened, officer? Tel
l me what happened.”
“Her car stalled about a block from the Addison Grocery. She was walking there to call for help, call you, probably. Car came barreling out of the market lot, too fast for the conditions, skidded on a patch of ice, and sideswiped her, knocked her into that pole.”
“Driver didn’t stop to help her?”
“Didn’t even slow down. Hit-and-run. Woman who was pulling into the lot saw the whole thing. The man was in the store right before it happened, buying aspirin. Clerk said he looked drunk or sick. Caught a glimpse of the car he was driving and thinks it had a rental sticker. He gave us a good description of the man. If necessary we’ll have a police artist do a sketch. Don’t worry, Mr. Hendryx. We’ll find him.”
Don’t worry don’t worry. Find him find him find him …
“Why can’t you find him?”
“I don’t have an answer for you. I wish to God I did. The sketch we had made has been in the papers, on TV, and the clerk swears it’s a good likeness. We’ve had a few calls, but—”
“What about the rental car?”
“We’ve checked all the agencies in the Denver area. Boulder, Fort Collins, the Springs. It’s possible the car was rented out of state, if it was rented at all.”
“But there must’ve been damage …”
“All the auto body shops in the state have been alerted. The truth is, there might not’ve been much damage. He didn’t hit your wife head-on, he sideswiped her, just enough impact to throw her into that pole. No broken glass or paint samples at the scene. Small dents or bumper scrapes, maybe, but that’s the kind of minor damage that goes unnoticed on rentals.”
“You’re telling me he’s going to get away with it. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No, sir. We haven’t given up. We’ll keep doing everything we can until we find him.”
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