The Night Caller by John Lutz Page A

inside, the click of the lock still in her mind, Georgianna would glance about, wary and vaguely aware. But there were places in the apartment where she wouldn’t look before lowering her guard even more, places where she didn’t really want to look. She would instead occupy herself in the way of women living alone, preparing a snack, taking a shower, reading, getting ready for bed. Thinking she was alone, protected by doors and locks and odds. Aware that no one could enter the building without the knowledge and approval of the doorman, or enter the underground garage without punching in a code on a residents’ keypad that would raise a gate. The code was also needed to use the elevator from the garage level. Very tight security in this building.
    But hardly tight enough.
    When all of his senses told him it was time, the Night Caller would approach Georgianna gradually but surely, closing the distance between survival and death until he was one with her.
    Like the others, she wouldn’t hear a thing until it was too late.
    It was his game, moving silently as time.
    And he was on his game.

Chapter Nine
    Coop awakened rather late—he could tell by the brightness of the room—and found that he didn’t feel like getting up. It had been a tiring day yesterday in New Jersey, and traffic delays had made the drive home twice as long as it should have been.
    He thought about breakfast. His recommended: grapefruit juice, Special-K with a banana, skim milk. Coffee, black. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he wasn’t turned off by the thought of food.
    Good sign. According to Dr. Gregory, anyway.
    He lifted a heavy arm, threw back the covers. Then he pulled himself upright and swung his legs to the floor. His head felt woolly, but that wasn’t unusual first thing in the morning. The transition from sleep to wakefulness seemed to be getting more difficult. He’d just sit on the edge of the bed for a while.
    The Maltese Kitten was resting on his nightstand. He picked it up and thumbed through the first few pages. The publisher’s Web site was listed, but not their phone number. He opened the drawer and took out the Manhattan phone directory. Already his arms felt stronger, and his head was clearing.
    He found the number, then picked up the bedside phone and punched it out on the keypad.
    A recorded voice gave him his options and corresponding numbers to press. None of the options quite fit trying to get in touch with the author. Maybe that was on purpose.
    Coop hung up the phone, flipped open the novel’s cover, and read the first few pages.
    Nothing like Hammett.
    As he was closing the book he noticed the lettering on the dedication page: This Cozy Cat adventure is for the purrfect editor, Alicia Benham.
    Coop lifted the receiver and hit REDIAL to get the office of Whippet Books again. This time he managed to talk to a live person and asked to speak to Alicia Benham. “I’m calling in regard to one of her authors, Deni Green,” he said.
    “Oh!” said the woman on the other end of the line. “Are you with Smurger and Bold?”
    Coop didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I am.”
    “We asked you not to call here again,” the woman said, and hung up.
    Coop wondered if it was even possible to get in touch with an author.
    The phone rang a second after he’d hung up.
    He lifted the receiver and said hello.
    A woman’s voice: “Mr. Cooper?”
    He said that he was. “Is this the Mr. Cooper who’s the father of Bette Cooper?”
    “Who is this?” Coop asked.
    “My name’s Deni Green, Mr. Cooper. I tried to catch up with you in Haverton but kept just missing you. I think we need to talk. I might have some information about your daughter.”
    “What kind of information?”
    “The papers said you were an ex-cop.”
    “That doesn’t answer my question.”
    “It’s the kind of information a cop would be interested in.”
    “That was the right answer,” Coop said. “When and where?”
    “How about the Sapphire Coffee Shop on