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The bundle of letters slipped from his hand and tumbled to the floor. |
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In the world beyond the rain-streaked windows; darkness had captured what was left of the day. The wind buffeted what was left of the old house, and Harry Driver felt the icy fingers of his destiny clamp down coldly on the back of his neck. |
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Several minutes later, he picked up the small brown spiral notebook and went to the phone. |
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A faint, whispery voice answered after the third ring. "Hello?" The salutation was almost too soft to record an impression. |
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There was a long, almost unbearable silence on the other end. |
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"Anna, please," Driver repeated. "I'm sorry, but I don't have a last name." |
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There was another protracted silence, until a man's gruff, impatient voice bridged the emptiness. "Who the hell is this?" the voice demanded. |
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Driver tried to explain. His housekeeper was dead. He was simply trying to contact the woman's friends. All he had to go on was the name Anna and a telephone number. |
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There was an impatient tolerance on the other end. Finally the man interrupted him. "Look, buster," he growled, "if you say the old woman is dead, let it go at that." |
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