Call After Midnight by Tess Gerritsen Read Free Book Online

room, her coat looked too neat, tooclean. “Maybe I will take some time off, after the funeral. Another week. Maybe a month.”
    â€œDon’t stay away too long,” said Abby. “We do want you back.”
    Sarah glanced around one last time to make sure things were tidy. They were. “I’ll be back,” she said. “I just don’t know when.”
    * * *
    T HE COFFIN SLID down the ramp and landed with a soft thud on the platform. The sound made Nick shudder. Years of packing off dead Americans hadn’t dulled his sense of horror. But like everyone else in the consular corps, he’d found his own way to handle the pain. Later today he’d take a long walk, go home and pour himself a drink. Then he’d sit in his old leather chair, turn on the radio and read the newspaper; find out how many earthquakes there’d been, how many plane and train and bus crashes, how many bombs had been dropped. The big picture. It would make this one death seem insignificant. Almost.
    â€œMr. O’Hara? Sign here, please.”
    A man in an airline uniform held out a clipboard with the shipment papers. Nick glanced over the documents, quickly noting the deceased’s name: Geoffrey Fontaine. He scrawled his signature and handed back the clipboard. Then he turned and watched as the coffin was loaded into a waiting hearse. He didn’t want to think about its contents, but all at once an image rose up in his mind, something he’d seen in a magazine, a picture of dead Vietnamese villagers after a bombing. They had all burned to death. Is that what lay inside Geoffrey Fontaine’s coffin? A man charred beyond recognition?
    He shook off the image. Damn, he needed a drink. It was time to go home. The hearse was headed off safely to a designated mortuary; as previously arranged, SarahFontaine would take charge from there. He wondered if he should call her just one more time. But for what? More condolences, more regrets? He’d done his part. She’d already paid the bill. There was nothing else to say.
    By the time he got to his apartment, Nick had shoved the whole grisly affair out of his mind. He threw his briefcase onto the couch and went straight to the kitchen, where he poured out a generous glass of whiskey and slid a TV dinner into the oven. Good old Swanson, the bachelor’s friend. He leaned back against the counter and sipped his drink. The refrigerator began to growl, and the oven light clicked off. He thought of turning on the radio, but he couldn’t quite force himself to move. So ended another day as a public servant. And to think it was only Tuesday.
    He wondered how long it had been since he’d been happy. Months? Years? Trying to recall a different state of mind was futile. Sights and sounds were what he remembered—the blue of a sky, the smile on a face. His last distinct image of happiness was of riding a bus in London, a bus with torn seats and dirty windows. He’d just left the embassy for the day and was on his way home to Lauren….
    The apartment buzzer made him jump. Suddenly he felt starved for company, any company, even the paperboy’s. He went to the intercom. “Hello?”
    â€œHey, Nick? It’s Tim. Let me in.”
    â€œOkay. Come on up.”
    Nick released the front lock. Would Tim want supper? Dumb question. He always wanted supper. Nick poked in the freezer and was relieved to find two more TV dinners. He put one in the oven.
    He went to the front doorway and waited for the elevator to open.
    Tim bounded out. “Okay, are you ready for this? Guess what my FBI friend found out?”
    Nick sighed. “I’m afraid to ask.”
    â€œYou know that guy, Geoffrey Fontaine? Well, he’s dead all right.”
    â€œSo what’s new?”
    â€œNo, I’m talking about the real Geoffrey Fontaine.”
    â€œLook,” said Nick. “I’ve pretty much closed my file on this case. But if you want