Creepers by David Morrell Page B

remained straight-faced. "You said the platform was empty, that you looked and she wasn't on the tracks."
    "No, she wasn't. Still . . ." The memory filled her mind, and the terror suddenly began again. Louise clenched her hands and tried to forget, but Corelli pushed on mercilessly.
    "Are you sure the downtown platform was empty?"
    "Of course I'm sure. What do you take me for? A moron?" Her voice was suddenly sharp and defensive. She was beginning to lose control.
    "Mrs. Hill, it's been my experience that people tend to see more than they remember at first. Sometimes, after the initial shock lessens, their memory improves." Corelli felt bad about forcing the issue, but he had to. Unlike the NYPD, he had a good idea that whatever had happened to Penny Comstock and all the others had also happened to Lisa Hill. And he was determined to find out exactly what that was. "Please, try to remember any other details," he coaxed.
    "There was no one else on the platform," she repeated through clenched teeth. "I looked first onto the platform, then into the stairwell, then onto the tracks, and finally down the tunnel. . . ." She paused, stared at Corelli, then turned away and shook her head.
    "What was that? Why did you shake your head?" He fought to keep the excitement from his voice. "You remembered something, didn't you?"
    "I just remembered...No, it's nothing."
    "Let me be the judge of that." He stood up and went to the window to let her collect her thoughts without being under his scrutiny. "You looked down the tunnel and...?"
    "I thought I saw the flicker of something in the dark, something gray, fluttery . . . like newspapers that had been caught in a breeze. You know, blowing along the tunnel wall about this high." When Corelli turned around she had raised her hand about four feet from the floor.
    "Newspapers? Are you sure?" In the darkness of the tunnel, someone running low to the ground could be mistaken for almost anything--particularly by a witness in Louise Hill's state of mind.
    Louise dropped her hands into her lap. Her shoulders sagged and she sighed again, wearily, hopelessly. "Sergeant Corelli, I'm not sure of my own name anymore. My daughter's gone. I haven't slept in twenty-four hours and I'm terribly afraid . . . and lonely. I'm sorry if I can't answer your questions the way you'd like."
    Their eyes met for a moment; then Corelli looked away. He wanted to--had to--maintain the optimum of professionalism for his own sake. But Louise Hill was getting to him. Goddammit, he wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. It wasn't only her beauty that got him. It was her unashamed vulnerability. Jesus! Here he was in the home of a woman who was going through living hell, and he was getting turned on.
    But Louise Hill saw none of this as she rose from the couch. "I'm going to make a cup of coffee for myself. May I get you one, Sergeant?"
    "That's 'Detective,' Mrs. Hill," he replied softly. "And the answer is yes."
    Five minutes later the sound of shattering glass and a cry from the direction of the kitchen had Corelli running, his right hand automatically poised to reach for his gun. He didn't know what to expect, but as he reached the kitchen door he was aware that his heart was pounding in his chest and that his mouth had gone dry.
    Louise stood silently in the center of the large kitchen. Her head was bowed and her arms dangled lifelessly in front of her. At her feet were a tray and the shattered remains of a coffeepot, mugs, and a plate of homemade cookies. She looked up uncomprehendingly at Corelli as her eyes filled with tears. "Looks like I can't do anything right anymore," she managed to say before a wave of tears washed the words away.
    Corelli took a step toward her, feeling like a damned fool. Since yesterday, Louise Hill had obviously been under a great strain, and his incessant questioning had pushed her over the emotional edge. If it hadn't been for her revelation about the "something