I have to go and get her.” He wasn’t sure whether he had said “get her” or “get her out.” He didn’t know why she was there. He didn’t think Ralph Palmerston did either. What he did think was that Ralph Palmerston was as frantic as he’d ever seen him. Whatever Mrs. Palmerston was doing there, her presence at the Albany Police Department explained why Ralph Palmerston, who hesitated to drive because of his eyesight, ventured out on the stormiest night of the year and drove down the steepest street in town. Marin Avenue led directly to the police station. I considered going back inside the Kershon house and asking to use the phone privately, but decided against it. I would have to go and get Mrs. Palmerston anyway. So I drove down, around the Marin traffic circle, which was now free of any evidence of Ralph Palmerston’s accident, except for the bent metal divider. Cars moved cautiously, lights bright, windshield wipers on high. From there down Marin Avenue to the bay it was less steep—just a normally sloping street.
