Deadline by John Dunning Read Free Book Online

to go and was taking his time about it. But a second glance at the house revealed nothing new. Curtains were pulled across the windows, and it had the look of a million other houses abandoned for the day by working people. He went on down the block and around, thinking. Somewhere there were pieces missing, things he didn’t know that went beyond the mother’s unknown reasons. Who the hell was Hal Gunther? Somehow Walker hadn’t expected a father too.
    He was circling the block, taking the long way back to his car and nudging the pieces around in his mind, when he saw the car sitting in a driveway just ahead. It was the same Ford, same coloring, same license plate—and yes, a shiny oil spot under it, big as a bedpan—parked on a side street about a block from the Gunther house. Most of the houses looked alike. This one differed only in color and a few basics. Like the Gunther place, it was heavily curtained, the garage closed, and the tree out front looked like a dying friend. There was a FOR SALE sign under the tree.
    Walker turned in. He would face the elusive lady and play it by ear from there. He could always pretend to be a buyer looking at her house. He rang the bell, but no one answered. He backed away from the steps, and noticed something white through the slit in the mailbox. He opened the top and fished it out. A piece of junk mail, prepared by computer from lists that magazines so unethically sell to anyone who will buy them. The name on the envelope was Mrs. Melinda Baker. The name rang a vague bell somewhere. He had heard it, and recently. He dropped the letter back into the box and hurried around the corner to his car.
    He checked the name against his list of missing school kids, and there she was. Robin Baker, age eight, grade three, Robert F. Kennedy Grammar School, about six blocks from there. Robin Baker, daughter of Melinda Baker, who, the record insisted, had taken her daughter and moved to Bakersfield, California.
    Robin Baker’s last day of school was Tuesday, the day before the circus fire.
    In all his nationwide checking, somehow the coroner had failed to find what had been in his backyard all along. Walker drove around to Hal Gunther’s place and sat across the street, watching. Now he saw that this house too was for sale. Wind had blown the sign around, making it hard to see from the street. His eyes narrowed. He had all the answers now but the last few. Why had it happened? And who was Mrs. Baker’s neighbor, Hal Gunther, who let her have his car as if it were her own?
    Walker didn’t go to the office all day. He returned to his apartment for a few hours’ rest, then went back to the Baker house. By the time he arrived, it was dark. The car was gone from Mrs. Baker’s driveway and was now parked at Gunther’s, around the corner. Lights were on in both houses. He parked across from Mrs. Baker’s, sank down in his seat and waited.
    She came out about an hour later. She was carrying the cloth bag and wore her hair up, tied with a scarf. Her dress was casual. She walked quickly, and to Walker’s surprise she turned away from the Gunther house and headed east, toward the bus stop. At the corner she waited under a streetlight. Walker went back for his car.
    Following a crosstown bus at night was tricky, but when Melinda Baker got off in an industrial subdivision near Elizabeth, Walker was there, able to park and watch her. She crossed the street and went into a bar.
    He got out and followed her inside. She was sitting at the far end, sipping a tall drink. Her bag lay on the floor under her stool. Taking a stool near the door, he watched her in the mirror. She looked to be in her late twenties, slender and good-looking. She wore glasses, bifocals, and was having trouble with them. She took them off frequently and rubbed her eyes. She sat there through two drinks. Then a young stud came in and put the make on her.
    They left together.
    To Walker, sitting about ten stools away, their talk, and