Once a Killer Read Free

urinals along the right side of the room. The place smelled like it had been used all day and needed a good clean. Looking up at the wall in front of him, he read the sign: NOW WASH YOUR HANDS. It reminded him how most people took for granted the ability to read. As he began to unzip his fly, the door behind him swung open and there were footsteps on the polished hardwood floor. One man stood immediately to Michael’s left and then another to his right. That was strange. Why stand right next to him when there were plenty of empty spaces farther along the wall?
    “You’re a hard man to find, Michael,” said the man on the left, his breathing labored.
    Michael turned his head to see who it was. His stomach tightened when he recognized them as the same two men who had pursued him two weeks ago at his mother’s funeral. What the hell were they doing here in Connecticut?
    “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are.” Michael backed away from the wall.
    The bull-necked man who’d been standing on Michael’s right grabbed his shoulder and blocked the exit.
    “What is this?” Michael said, pushing the man’s hand away.
    “We want a word with you,” said the other man, wheezing with each breath.
    Michael turned to face him. This one was a lot older—maybe in his sixties—and much thinner. While his right eye was looking directly at Michael, his left eye, partly obscured by a loose flap of skin, seemed angled away and didn’t move. It looked artificial, maybe glass.
    “But we can’t do it here.”
    “I don’t know who you think I am. You must be mistaking me for someone else.”
    Glass Eye leaned into Michael’s face, his breath reeking of tobacco. “There’s no mistake. We saw you in Chicago. Remember?”
    “Chicago? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Yeah, right.” Glass Eye thrust a scrap of paper into Michael’s hand. “We can’t talk here. Meet us there in an hour.”
    He pushed past Michael, and both men walked out of the restroom. Michael propped his back against the white tiled wall next to the hand dryers, his head spinning. Exactly what did these men know about him, and how long had they been following him? Were they police officers of some kind? They couldn’t be. If they were, they would have said so. Besides, they looked like a couple of thugs in cheap suits.
    The door swung open, and Michael recoiled.
    “Are you okay?” asked Jordy, entering the room.
    Michael nodded. “I’m fine.”
    “Are you sure? You don’t look it.”
    “Honest. I’m fine. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.” Michael patted his stomach. “I’ll see you back in the classroom.”

    Michael’s Lexus was parked in the college car park, and he sat inside, staring at the piece of paper Glass Eye had rammed into his hand an hour earlier. The restaurant name scribbled on it was a well-known pizza joint only a couple of miles away in a Westport suburb. Why should he go? He owed them nothing. He started the car, pulled out into the road, and headed toward home. He’d be there in ten minutes. With a bit of luck, his daughters would still be awake and he’d be able to read to them before they fell asleep.
    A mile down the road, he swung the vehicle around and headed in the direction of the restaurant. If the two men had managed to trace him to Chicago and now to his hometown, they must have been following him for some time. In that case, in all likelihood, they knew where he lived, and he couldn’t take the risk of them turning up there. Not when he didn’t know who they were or what they might have on him. While he didn’t like it, it made sense to meet them now on neutral ground, where he’d have more control of the situation.
    He called Caroline on the hands-free. “I’m going to be delayed a few minutes,” he said when she picked up the phone.
    “Okay. Have you eaten?”
    “No, but don’t worry about me. I’m not that hungry.”
    “I’ll make some pasta when you get