SECRET RADIO blog

Rolande rang at 9:00 a.m.

"Look, where are you?" he asked crossly.

"Ill," Carrie lied. "I just don't think I can come in, at least not this morning."

"But I contacted our bank robber. He's willing to meet in a public place to explain the Fighting Dead to me."

She was amazed. "How did you do that?"

"By offering him money, of course. Told him I would pay him a hundred dollars."

"What did the Director say?"

Rolande's voice became airy. "Corky knows it's less expensive to bribe it out of him than for us to race back and forth for two weeks to work it out. We'll work it into the invoice for the client." Then he became concerned. "But I was counting on you and Anne being there. Let's get them together. See if there's a connection between him and her book."

"All right, Rolande. I'm sure by tonight everything will be fine."

"He picked a steakhouse in Raleigh. Can you get her there?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Well I hope you feel better." And he hung up.

She made fresh tea, let the cat back in, and then took the tea to her guest. Anne was half awake. Constable Magpie, just back from his rounds, leaped with a trill onto the bed and settled down on her, right over the thermal hot pack that Carrie had changed that morning. Anne smiled at him. She looked up at Carrie. "Is it time to get up?"

"You should do exactly as you please," Carrie said. "Sleep if you want, or get up. I brought you tea. And Dr. Rolande called."

"Do you have to go to work?"

Instead of answering, Carrie said, "He set up an appointment to meet that man from the bank robbery---"

"The man the theology student defeated," Anne said.

"Do you feel able to sit in on a conversation with him? Tonight."

Anne nodded. "I'm sure I can. If that's what you want."

"It's up to you," Carrie said. "I do think we need your expertise, but it's your decision."

Anne's eyes were heavy. "Yes, it's all right. I'll go." She settled down and in a moment was asleep again, her undernourished body exhausted from its brief, violent illness.

Carrie was surprised at how much Anne slept. At intervals of one or two hours, the young martial arts master awoke long enough to nibble a bit of toast , sip tea, and apologize for sleeping so much. And then, as Carrie would repeat that Anne should sleep as much as she liked and was perfectly welcome, Anne would drop off again. Carrie regretted the arrangement to meet Rolande that very night. Anne could have used another full day to rest and eat.

But the sickness did not return. At about four in the afternoon Anne rallied. She sat up, apparently very much refreshed, and she came into the kitchen to eat toast and white rice with a few drops of soy sauce. Constable Magpie sat on the kitchen floor and watched her, his ears up and expectant. Clearly, he was much impressed with Carrie's house guest. He'd never met anybody so warm, so quiet, and so deeply asleep for so long. He seemed to be wondering what Anne would do now that she was awake and moving.

* * * *

Rolande, oddly subdued when he met Carrie and Anne in the entrance of the steakhouse, ushered them through the dinner time crowd to a table he had selected as far in the back and as isolated as possible. Carrie saw a surly, shaven headed young man with a strip of plaster across his nose and the remains of a fine black eye still glistening on one side of his face. He was sawing through a steak the size of a platter. His battered face gave silent testimony to the Reverend Gainley's abilities.

Anne, dressed in her own frayed workout slacks and an attractive blouse and sweater borrowed from Carrie, withdrew the familiar bag of chocolate bars from her jacket.

"Anne, you should have soup, and maybe chicken in you're hungry," Carrie said gently.

Anne nodded. "Yes Carrie." Her voice was obedient. "I brought the chocolate bars for him. Maybe I can entice him to talk to me."

Rolande was amused. "Miss Thomson," he said. "He's probably a ruthless killer, no matter what sob story he told the judge."

Anne's voice was quiet. "We'll see." Carrie suddenly felt a deep tug of doubt.

But Rolande led them to the table and took his place alongside the young man. In an oddly labored way that became more embarrassing as the young man ignored him and continued eating, the scientist made introductions. Carrie and Anne sat across from him, with Carrie directly across from him and Anne directly across from Rolande.

"So you're a man of few words," Carrie said.

He glanced up: cold, dead eyes. Then his glance fell on Anne.

"You wrote that book," he said, recognizing her. "I came and saw you last year."

Her voice was flat and toneless. "I remember you."

"You demonstrated that open hand blow on the patio slab for us," he said. "I can do that now. I can break two patio blocks. And no spacers."

She did not reply to the boast, but merely gazed at him, her face unreadable but not especially troubled. The young man, perhaps needled by Anne's disregard of his claim, suddenly eyed Carrie up and down.

"Aren't you a pretty thing," he said with a sneer. "Maybe I'll have to pay you a visit, sweetie pie."

"She's interested only in understanding your point of view," Rolande said. Their guest ignored him and kept his eyes fixed on Carrie. "After I've finished with you, I'll tie your hands up behind your back and fix the loop around your neck. Have you ever tried to breathe when the weight of your own spine is strangling you? The blue comes really slow. Then you won't be so pretty."

Rolande's jaw locked, and the Carrie felt herself go white: terror and anger together. Anne tossed her precious bag onto his side of the table. "I brought these for you," she said to him. "Chocolate bars. They didn't give you chocolate in jail, did they?"

He turned his eyes to her, startled at the calm interruption. "No."

"I hope you like chocolate."

He glanced over at Rolande and then cautiously took up the bag and opened it. He shook out the chocolate bars. He considered, then shrugged. "Thanks." He eyed her as though he thought she might be crazy.

"Don't thank me. It's your last meal," she told him. "I'm going to kill you for what you've done. Here. Now. In this room."

He was startled. They were all startled. "What?" he asked.

"You're not able to fight dead. You only have success against people who are afraid of you," she said, her voice still expressionless, her eyes and face faintly preoccupied, as though she were listening to something else and merely telling him the time. "You're no fighter," she added "You're not even good at being a criminal. That's why a preacher knocked you out while your friends got away. You're an utter failure. A joke."

He suddenly lunged at her across the table, his strong hands open to grab her throat. He seized her. There was a snap, and then Carrie saw that Anne was already on her feet, retracting her open hand. He fell to the table, his eyes staring. He gasped twice, and then was dead.

Anne reached over his body and took the chocolate bars. "Do you mind if I keep these?" she asked Carrie.