CHAPTER 67

Cursed, damned, reviled, and destroyed be … everyone who strives against Thy will.

Martin Luther

It was all very well to talk about working all day long, but Alan couldn’t do it. First he lost his helping hand at the keyboard because Pip Tower had a doctor’s appointment, and then by midafternoon he didn’t trust his fingers. He had been up all night, and he was exhausted. If his knife slipped, it could ruin an entire thirty-two-foot pipe.

He walked wearily back to Rosie’s apartment, picturing the comfortable sofa and its soft cushions, hoping to avoid a miserable scene with Harold Oates.

But when he opened the door he was shocked to discover that the apartment had been ransacked. Drawers had been pulled out, their contents dumped. Half the books were on the floor. Rosie’s collection of cassettes had been scattered right and left.

“Harold?” shouted Alan. There was no answer. Alan looked for him in the bedroom. He found only a bare mattress. The sheets and blankets were tumbled on the rug.

The kitchen too was a mess. Everything in the cupboards had been jumbled right and left. With a sinking heart Alan climbed on the counter and looked at the top of the cupboard. But it was all right. The precious cassette was still there. Had Oates been looking for it? Was the shouting on the end of the tape the voice of Harold Oates?

Alan left the cassette where it was and spent the next hour putting the apartment to rights. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He no longer needed a nap.