Prologue
Afterward， long afterward， Stu Waehner could not
hear the sound of a telephone without flinching. Or
worse， remembering.
Even after he had moved to the West Coast， to
another city---a high， airy， sun- and fog-filled city where
every view from his apartment windows looked out onto
the spacious blue of the bay or the Pacific Ocean.
Even after so much time had passed that the cursory
investigation back in New York City had been closed:
the thin manila folder containing a few form sheets of
data and nothing at all in the way of substantiated
clues， passed along without comment to find a place
li among how many unsolved and unsolvable cases，
alphabetically filed and forgotten in some basement
i storeroom of Homicide.
i Stu couldn t know that. And even if he had known
it， how could ha bring himself to believe he was safe?
I Hadn t he been taught that murder would always
t out? Murder. How he hated the word! How wrong it
!~ w~. How totally wrong. But if he confessed， if he let
himself stand trial and then explain detail by detail
what actually had happened， he couldn t believe any-
one sane or rational would believe him. No， They would
i call it murder. At the least， manslaughter. And they
would take action. Murder would always out.
F
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