Chapter 2

Friday, June 18, 7:40 a.m.

Following the woman to her home the night before had been a simple matter. She had driven directly there in her little blue Nissan Sentra. Her home turned out to be near the old downtown "historic" section of the tiny city, only three miles from the shopping area where he'd found her.

She lived in a large, very old two-story white colonial with one of the town's rivers at its back. He saw no sign of other occupants. The upper floor of the house was curtainless and dark. It seemed deserted -- perhaps an unrented second dwelling unit, or a permanently abandoned portion of the house. The surrounding yard featured high hedges on either side, partially extending at the front. The hedges were thin and not very well-maintained, but the yard had a healthy lawn that met two imposing trees near the street, and there were three tall live oaks situated close to the shore of the river where it bordered the spacious rear yard. The house needed painting, but not desperately. It seemed a pleasant place.

If it was her parents' home, or if she lived there with a husband and children, there was no sign of it; no other cars, no one at home when she arrived.

Phelps knew that she could be a renter. The little city was awash with houses like this one: attractive, well-located, but left over from a bygone era, not-quite-suitable to the present. No doubt this once had been among the town's wealthiest neighborhoods. Today, the rich lived near the country club far from downtown, or scattered about at choice riverfront locations -- like his own -- more distant from the slightly seedy Old Town area, with its modest business district, zealously fighting off urban blight. Even as a newcomer, Phelps could see that the old downtown now played a clear second fiddle to the modern shopping center three miles west. Only a scattering of public buildings, churches and riverfront hotels saved Old Town from the full decline experienced by so many other American cities. It was picturesque, but commercially stagnant.

On the previous evening, Phelps had waited outside the woman's house at a discreet distance until it seemed unlikely that she would reemerge.

He had taken note of the address and headed back to his hotel, only a short distance away on the opposite side of the small commercial district. Before six o'clock on Friday morning, a few minutes ahead of the sunrise, he was back. He parked across the street, several houses down, with his driver's window facing her front door. On the seat next to him, covered by yesterday's newspaper, was a long-lens camera.

The neighborhood stirred, and Phelps was just beginning to become concerned about being observed by the neighbors when the young woman at last emerged at 7:40. No casual clothes now, his quarry was dressed in a dark full skirt and a smart, brilliantly colored green blouse, buttoned to the neck. She wore hose and moderately high heels.

The girl, long black hair flying, entered the Sentra and quickly drove away. Phelps followed.

As he had expected, she was driving to work. Work turned out to be a law firm only a few blocks away, one of a row of firms housed in a series of converted residential structures along the city's main commercial street. The woman parked in a designated area alongside the law office and used a key to enter through a side door.

Driving past, Phelps parked well away and returned on foot. The firm name was announced on a sign posted in front of the imposing three-story Victorian house:

Stevens, Breckinridge and Shelton, P.C.

He spotted her, briefly, through a first-floor window. She was conversing with someone who remained out of his line of vision.

Phelps looked for a vantage point, and found the task difficult. He needed an inconspicuous place from which to watch the law firm's entrance. In front, the street, which doubled as the main highway through the town, was four lanes wide and busy, at least by Twin Rivers standards. Other law offices, also occupying large old residential buildings, flanked her building, separated only by small parking areas on either side. There was no alley way. Instead, abbreviated rear yards behind the several law firms backed up closely to a worn-looking series of two-story apartment buildings that appeared to occupy an entire quarter of the city block.