Fear the Night Read Online Free Page A

up in the window and go to sleep.
    If she were a cat, he’d pamper her.
     
     
    The next morning, after Lora had left to meet her client, Repetto walked to the Bonaire Diner on Fourteenth Street and had eggs and a grilled corn muffin for breakfast. He liked the Bonaire for more than its food. It was brightly decorated, with red-vinyl-upholstered booths and stools, and a dark counter made out of the kind of granite that sparked silver when the light hit it just right. A lot of the customers were from the neighborhood, or were people who worked nearby. Regulars. Business drones, artists, tradesmen, along with tourists, and mothers with their kids.
    Carrie the waitress cleared away the dishes, then poured Repetto a second cup of coffee.
    He settled in to scan the Times.
    There was another favorable review of Left Bank . Nothing about a sniper shooting last night. Apparently Melbourne’s serial killer was still between murders.
    Why am I even thinking about this?
    He turned to the sports section and read about the latest Yankees acquisition, an expensive free agent pitcher who was almost a guarantee that the team would make the playoffs. Repetto read on about the pitcher and felt himself relax. When he was on the job, he’d always found solace in this part of the paper. The only murderers’ row in the sports section was the ’27 Yankees.
    The breakfast rush was falling off, so there was space at the counter and empty booths. Repetto took his time with the paper, then left Carrie the usual tip and paid the cashier on the way out.
    It was a great morning. The sky was clear and the air had been cleansed by last night’s rain. Repetto decided to stroll around for a while before returning to the house. Then he’d . . .
    What?
    What would he do?
    How would he occupy his time?
    He felt suddenly alone. Lost and without purpose. He noticed that his mouth was dry and he felt slightly unsteady.
    Some kind of retirement panic, he told himself. Not to worry. There was plenty to do that was unconnected to police work. He grinned to reassure himself. Other people retired and found ways to spend their time. So could he.
    So would he.
     
     
    Melbourne was about to leave his office when his assistant, Lieutenant Mike Mathers, knocked twice, then opened the door. There was excitement on his flushed, Irish face.
    “For you on line two, sir. It’s him.”
    Melbourne didn’t have to ask who. He sat back down behind his desk, taking as much time as he dared before picking up the receiver. Not that it would help; this killer was aware that the police were tracing his call and knew exactly how long it was safe to stay on the line.
    When it was time, Melbourne lifted the receiver and identified himself.
    “You know who this is?” came the answering voice. Neutral, sexless, perhaps filtered through something that might disguise it.
    “I know. What do you want this fine morning?”
    “What did he say?”
    “He?”
    “Don’t play tricks to try keeping me on the line. That might cost somebody their life, and that would be on your conscience.”
    “He said no.”
    A laugh, as cold and neutral as the voice. “He’ll change his mind. I know him. Know about him. Captain Vincent Repetto. Hero and legend. Know him as well as I know myself.”
    “I’d say there’s a lot of difference between you two.”
    “Only the twists and turns of fate.”
    “Hardly. I know Vin Repetto.”
    “But you don’t know me.”
    “So tell me about yourself.”
    “I’ll tell you what I want, who I want, and that’s Captain Vincent Repetto. The only worthy opponent in your entire incompetent bureaucracy.”
    “He’s no longer part of the bureaucracy.”
    “He can be again.”
    “I told you, I asked him. He said no.”
    “Then ask him again. Be persuasive. Give him the third degree. I’ll accept no one other than Repetto.”
    “The choice isn’t yours to make.”
    “But it is, and I’ve made it.”
    “Listen—”
    “Better think of some way to