End of Watch (Bill Hodges Trilogy #3)(38)

Written at the top of this one is a line she knows well, one that has resonated with her ever since she first heard the song on the radio: All the lonely people. He has underlined it. Beneath are names she knows.

Olivia Trelawney (Widowed)

Martine Stover (Unmarried, housekeeper called her ‘spinster’)

Janice Ellerton (Widowed)

Nancy Alderson (Widowed)

And others. Her own, of course; she is also a spinster. Pete Huntley, who’s divorced. And Hodges himself, also divorced.

Single people are twice as likely to commit suicide. Divorced people, four times as likely.

‘Brady Hartsfield enjoyed suicide,’ she murmurs. ‘It was his hobby.’

Below the names, circled, is a jotted note she doesn’t understand: Visitors list? What visitors?

She hits a random key and Bill’s computer lights up, showing his desktop screen with all his files scattered helter-skelter across it. She has scolded him about this time and again, has told him it’s like leaving the door of your house unlocked and your valuables all laid out on the dining room table with a sign on them saying PLEASE STEAL ME, and he always says he will do better, and he never does. Not that it would have changed things in Holly’s case, because she also has his password. He gave it to her himself. In case something ever happened to him, he said. Now she’s afraid something has.

One look at the screen is enough to tell her the something is no ulcer. There’s a new file folder there, one with a scary title. Holly clicks on it. The terrible gothic letters at the top are enough to confirm that the document is indeed the last will and testament of one Kermit William Hodges. She closes it at once. She has absolutely no desire to paw through his bequests. Knowing that such a document exists and that he has been reviewing it this very day is enough. Too much, actually.

She stands there clutching at her shoulders and nibbling her lips. The next step would be worse than snooping. It would be prying. It would be burglary.

You’ve come this far, so go ahead.

‘Yes, I have to,’ Holly whispers, and clicks on the postage stamp icon that opens his email, telling herself there will probably be nothing. Only there is. The most recent message likely came in while they were talking about what he found early this morning under Debbie’s Blue Umbrella. It’s from the doctor he went to see. Stamos, his name is. She opens the email and reads: Here is a copy of your most recent test results, for your files.

Holly uses the password in the email to open the attachment, sits in Bill’s chair, and leans forward, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. By the time she scrolls down to the second of the eight pages, she is crying.





5


Hodges has no more than settled in his seat at the back of the Number 5 when glass breaks in his coat pocket and the boys cheer the home run that just broke Mrs O’Leary’s living room window. A man in a business suit lowers his Wall Street Journal and looks disapprovingly at Hodges over the top of it.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Hodges says. ‘Keep meaning to change it.’

‘You should make it a priority,’ the businessman says, and raises his paper again.

The text is from his old partner. Again. Feeling a strong sense of déjà vu, Hodges calls him.

‘Pete,’ he says, ‘what’s with all the texts? It isn’t as if you don’t have my number on speed dial.’

‘Figured Holly probably programmed your phone for you and put on some crazy ringtone,’ Pete says. ‘That’d be her idea of a real knee-slapper. Also figured you’d have it turned up to max volume, you deaf sonofabitch.’

‘The text alert’s the one on max,’ Hodges says. ‘When I get a call, the phone just has a mini-orgasm against my leg.’

‘Change the alert, then.’

Hours ago he found out he has only months to live. Now he’s discussing the volume of his cell phone.

‘I’ll absolutely do that. Now tell me why you called.’

‘Got a guy in computer forensics who landed on that game gadget like a fly on shit. He loved it, called it retro. Can you believe that? Gadget was probably manufactured all of five years ago and now it’s retro.’

‘The world is speeding up.’

‘It’s sure doing something. Anyway, the Zappit is zapped. When our guy plugged in fresh batteries, it popped half a dozen bright blue flashes, then died.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘Some kind of virus is technically possible, the thing supposedly has WiFi and that’s mostly how those bugs get downloaded, but he says it’s more likely a bad chip or a fried circuit. The point is, it means nothing. Ellerton couldn’t have used it.’

‘Then why did she keep the charger cord for it plugged in right there in her daughter’s bathroom?’

That silences Pete for a moment. Then he says, ‘Okay, so maybe it worked for awhile and then the chip died. Or whatever they do.’

It worked, all right, Hodges thinks. She played solitaire on it at the kitchen table. Lots of different kinds, like Klondike and Pyramid and Picture. Which you would know, Peter my dear, if you’d talked to Nancy Alderson. That must still be on your bucket list.

‘All right,’ Hodges says. ‘Thanks for the update.’

‘It’s your final update, Kermit. I have a partner I’ve worked with quite successfully since you pulled the pin, and I’d like her to be at my retirement party instead of sitting at her desk and sulking over how I preferred you to her right to the bitter end.’