Fear the Night Read Free Page B

was partly to blame for his mother’s death. He couldn’t get the image of all that blood, her blood, out of his mind.
    He remembered the word it had brought to his lips. Not Mother or Mommy or an expression of rage. Simply, Blood.
    Almost a year passed before he again spoke that or any other word. His father had died in a robbery shoot-out only a month after the death of his mother. For the young Repetto it was like being struck by speeding trains coming and going, and being left to die alone.
    Two of his aunts took him in and brought him back to being human again, raised him with kindness and love, saved him. Mar and Mol, short for Marilyn and Molly. Mol had died ten years ago. Mar was still alive, and would be in town for Repetto and Lora’s daughter Amelia’s twenty-first birthday next week.
    Mar and Mol, the blood ... So long ago and still so vivid.
    Repetto swallowed. He thought he’d gotten past this kind of reaction, the thing that had made him stalk serial killers in a way that was legendary in the NYPD. The reason why Melbourne was sitting across from him now.
    “Jesus, Lou!” Repetto said. “So this guy doesn’t get what he wants. He’ll get over his disappointment.”
    “He’s not gonna quit, Vin. Not this one.”
    “I didn’t say he was gonna quit. Delmore can shut him down.”
    Melbourne seemed about to say something more, then plunked his cigar back in his mouth as if it might prevent him from speaking imprudently.
    “Sure you don’t want a drink, Lou?”
    Melbourne stood up. “No, thanks. This excellent Cuban cigar’s more’n enough.” He moved close to the desk and looked down at Repetto. “Listen, you’re probably right. You deserve a rest. Have a good retirement. Food, shows, booze, travel. Enjoy, old friend. I mean that.” He offered his hand.
    Repetto shook with him, standing up to show him out. He propped his cigar in an ashtray and walked around the desk.
    “Still raining,” Repetto said, when he opened the door to the street. “Take an umbrella. You can keep it as long as you want.”
    “No, thanks. Listen, I sincerely gotta advise you, if you don’t want a troubled conscience, better avoid reading the papers or watching TV news. This sicko’s deeply dedicated to his calling.”
    “Forget the umbrella offer,” Repetto said.
    “Kidding,” Melbourne said with a smile. “Don’t rot.” At the base of the steps, the rain already spotting his jacket, he looked back and up at Repetto. “Really. Don’t rot.”
    “That didn’t sound at all sincere,” Repetto said.
    He stood at the open door, watching Melbourne until he’d crossed the street and lowered himself into his car.
    Then he remembered the open den door, sniffed the air, and went back to extinguish his cigar propped in the ashtray.

3
    “You said no?” Lora asked, after Repetto told her about Melbourne’s visit.
    “Sure I did.”
    She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, then, after sniffing his breath, looked up at him with mock seriousness. Well, not completely mock. “Cigar?”
    “Half of one. With Melbourne. Being a good host.”
    “Ah.” She walked over to the window and stared outside. Repetto studied her. The beige dress she was wearing complemented her long, honey-blond hair. Lora was trim not from exercise, other than her daily walks, but from genetic good fortune.
    He thought she might say something else about Melbourne’s visit, but when she turned around to face him she smiled. It was what had first attracted Repetto, that smile. It changed her cool, blue-eyed impassive features into a warm and engaging signal to the world: I’m approachable and up for adventure. Repetto had learned it wasn’t a sexual invitation, but occasionally men took it for such. Lora was used to that response and knew how to fend them off without making enemies.
    “It’s still raining,” she said. “How ’bout I make us some tea?”
    “Fine.” The Melbourne matter was closed. If a maniac was