books?” she said.
“I’ve been reading The Secret History,” I said.
“Suddenly, that title takes on a whole new significance.”
I laughed. “It does, I suppose.”
“Any new insights?”
“From the books?”
“From anything.”
“Can I tell you something that you won’t share unless you have to?”
“I’m not even supposed to be here talking with you, so, yeah, I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” I said. “It’s just a name that came up. I won’t say how. But if anything does happen to me, maybe take a look at someone named Nicholas Pruitt.”
She repeated the name back to me, and I spelled it for her.
“Who is he?”
“He’s an English professor. It’s probably nothing, but …”
“Okay,” she said. “Hopefully you’ll be fine, and I won’t have to look into his name.”
We said good-bye, neither of us offering a handshake or a hug. Then I walked back to my apartment, thinking about everything we’d just said to each other.
I’d been home for twenty minutes, wide awake, when I considered leaving again, driving to New Essex, and confronting Nick Pruitt that night. I had gotten his address online from searching the online version of the white pages, then found his house on Zillow, a place that posted real estate transactions. He lived in a single-family home on the outskirts of New Essex, in a neighborhood near the university. I could just show up at his door and knock on it. If Nick was Charlie, and I felt almost positive that he was, then he’d know me on sight. Maybe I could just talk with him, find out what he wanted, ask him to stop. But if I went to his house that night, who knew how he would act. Who knew if he’d even be alone.
I decided to drive to New Essex early the next morning, stake out his house, watch him for a while. It might give me an advantage.
CHAPTER 21
Early the next morning, before driving to New Essex, I went to Old Devils. Nero came up through his cat door from the basement to greet me, walking with purpose, his head up. I picked him up and cradled him in my arms, scratching under his chin. I’d asked myself before whether it had been worth it to save him, and I believe it had. I don’t know if there really is a way to rate an animal’s happiness, but I believe he loves his life in the book-store. I put him down, picking one of his hairs off my wool coat. Would they have collected his hairs from Norman Chaney’s house in Tickhill during the investigation of his murder? Would they have considered them important or irrelevant? I didn’t really know.
I left a note, with a list of things to do, for Emily and Brandon, then went back out into the cold morning.
I was in New Essex a little over an hour later, idling along the curb across from where Nick Pruitt lived, a small square house with a mansard roof. It was eight in the morning, and I felt conspicuous. Corning Street was almost entirely residential, and all the houses had driveways. Mine was the only car parked along the curb. There was a corner store back about a hundred yards. I U-turned and parked in front of it, turned off my engine. I still had a view of Pruitt’s house, and if anyone questioned why I was sitting in my car, I could say I was about to go into the store.
The car began to steam up, and I cleared a small patch on the bottom right of the windshield so that I could still watch the house while slumped in my seat. I took small sips from my thermos of coffee. There was a car parked in his driveway—something sporty that might be a Porsche—but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was still home. He worked at the university, only a few blocks away. If he was teaching a morning class, he could easily walk there.
While waiting, I went over my list of books in my mind, connecting them with the murders. Unless Gwen Mulvey hadn’t spotted one of them, then Charlie had committed murders described in four of the eight books on my list, possibly five. The first one, of course, was done with me. Eric Atwell and Norman Chaney. The swapped murders from Strangers on a Train. Then Charlie had re-created the plot from The A.B.C. Murders, substituting people with birds in their names. Bill Manso had been killed using the idea from Double