Shannon’s office, his blue eyes smoldering with rage. The son of a bitch knew more than he was telling, he thought. He should have pushed it, made him talk, but he’d been cautious. He was in plenty of trouble as it was. So far he’d been lucky, but it couldn’t last. What the hell had happened? Karen didn’t drown as she was supposed to, and shows up in the hospital. Then she skips in the middle of the night, probably to the house in Cleveland. Should he call there again, or let it ride a while? Killing that old man by mistake had really torn it. That was the Thatcher woman’s fault—the stupid bitch had given him the wrong room number. Maybe he should make a little call on her. But that wouldn’t be cagey—not right now. She could identify him, if she had a chance. What was Karen up to? The damned doctor had mentioned her phone call. It must have been to Cleveland, but Maggie had said she hadn’t seen Karen, or heard from her. It must have been too soon, before Karen had called.
