Read Online The Twenty-Three 3 (Promise Falls) by Linwood Barclay - Free Book Online

middle of an emergency like this, someone would be at town hall fielding inquiries, even if the mayor was out of town. I wanted the name of whoever ran the water plant and I wanted it now. I might be able to find it by searching the town’s Web site if any of the computers around here connected to the Internet, and if they didn’t, I’d have to go outside and try to do it on my phone.
    It occurred to me I might have a number on my phone that would put me in touch with someone who’d know off the top of his head.
    I scrolled through recent incoming calls on my cell, found one from a couple of weeks earlier. I was pretty sure I had the right one. I entered the number into the hospital phone.
    He picked up on the third ring.
    “Hello?”
    “Randy?” I said.
    “Who’s this?”
    “Barry Duckworth.”
    “Barry!” he said loudly, almost cheerfully. He knew I hated him, and yet he greeted me like an old friend, the bastard. “What in Sam fuck is going on?”
    “Who runs the water plant?”
    “The what?”
    “I’m wondering if it would be the same person who did the job when you were mayor. Who had it then?”
    “Why don’t you tell me first why you need to know?”
    I could almost picture him smirking on the other end of the line. Randy always had an angle. Sure, I’ll help you, but you help me first.
    It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell him what was going on. The whole world would know what was going on in very short order. I just didn’t want to take the time. But it struck me that it would take less time to fill him in than argue.
    I gave him the broad strokes—that the town’s water might be deadly.
    “Goddamn,” he said. “Makes me glad I use nothing but my own springwater at home. How the hell could something like that happen?”
    “A name, Randy.”
    “Garvey Ottman. At least, he was in charge when I ran the show. I haven’t heard anything to the effect that he isn’t still.”
    “Know where I can reach him?”
    “Tell you what,” Finley said. “I’m already up and out. Heard all those sirens, wanted to find out what was going on. I’ll try to track him down for you, get back to you the moment I find him.”
    “Okay,” I said, willing, right now, to accept his assistance. “I’m heading out there in the meantime.”
    “Glad to help,” Finley said. “I call you at this number?”
    I didn’t think I would be staying here that much longer. “No,” I said. “Call my cell.” I knew he had the number already.
    “I’ll get back to you ASAP.” He ended the call.
    At that moment, I happened to glance at a bulletin board fixed to the wall above where I’d been using the phone.
    There were nurses’ schedules, hospital notices about handwashing, a photo of what looked to be several off-duty nurses grouped together at a bowling alley.
    All smiling happily.
    A promotional calendar from a local flower shop was pinned to the upper right corner, with boxes big enough that social events were scribbled on them. “Book club” and “Marta’s Bday.” For today, someone had scribbled “Bridge.”
    That was when I noticed what today’s date was.
    It was the twenty-third of May.

SEVEN
     
    JOYCE Pilgrim had been thinking seriously of quitting her security job at Thackeray College only a couple of weeks ago, and now here she was, running the department.
    Strange, the way things turned out.
    Her number one reason for quitting was her boss: Clive Duncomb.
    Where to begin?
    Even before he’d put her life at risk by using her as bait to catch a campus predator, she couldn’t stand the man. Mr. Macho. Talking about his days with the Boston PD like he was the toughest cop that city had ever seen. Which led Joyce to wonder, If you were such hot shit in Boston, what the hell are you doing running security for a small college in upstate New York? What did you do that you had to get out of Boston and disappear to a place like this?
    Joyce had had her suspicions, many of them focused on