The Anniversary Man Read Online Free

away toward the hospital room window as if something silent demanded attention.
    ′We know of four victims . . . two couples. Perhaps there′s more, we don′t know. You′re the only one—′ He smiled understandingly. ′You′re the only one who′s survived.′
    ′That you know of,′ John said.
    Frank Gorman took a notebook from his jacket pocket, a pen also, and he leafed through page after page to find some space in which to write.
    ′He attacks couples . . . we presume couples who are out together, you know . . . doing things that couples do when they′re together . . .′ His voice trailed away into silence.
    ′I feel like I can′t remember anything.′
    ′I know, John, I know, but I′m here to help you try.′
     
    ′First loves are the most important,′ Erskine Costello told his son.
    Seated in the back kitchen, there across a table, a meal finished, a glass of beer on the side.
    ′Have to tell you, your mother was not my first love.′
    ′You sound like you′re apologizing for something.′
    ′Wouldn′t want you to be disappointed.′
    ′Disappointed? Why would I be disappointed?′
    Erskine shrugged his broad shoulders. Raised his hand and ran it through coal-black hair.
    ′That Nadia McGowan . . . she′s a beautiful girl.′
    ′She is.′
    ′Her parents know you′re courting?′
    ′Courting?′ John said. ′Who says courting? It′s 1984. I think people stopped courting in 1945.′
    ′Okay, John, okay, so let′s be blunt like a fist, eh? Do her good Catholic God-fearing parents know their daughter is having sex with a sixteen-year-old whose father is a drunk who hasn′t stepped inside a church for thirty years or more? That blunt enough for you, lad?′
    John nodded. ′It is. And no, they don′t know.′
    ′And if they found out?′
    ′There′d be trouble I′m sure.′ He looked up at his father, expected the Riot Act, but Erskine Costello, the sharp edges of his mind and tongue worn smooth by the gentle insistence of good Irish whiskey, merely said, ′So be careful you don′t get caught, eh?′
    ′I′ll be careful,′ John Costello said, and knew that if his mother were alive there′d be a storm.
     
    ′How can I remember what I don′t remember?′
    Frank Gorman, Jersey City homicide detective, didn′t answer the question. He merely smiled as if he knew something of which the world remained ignorant, and once again looked away toward the window.
    ′Can you go back through it for me?′ he said.
    John opened his mouth to speak, to tell him that he′d gone over this time and again in his mind, but whenever he looked there was nothing.
    ′I know you′ve gone through this for yourself,′ Gorman said, ′but not with me . . . not with me here listening, and I need you to do this.′
    John looked at him, at the way he smiled - like a child who′d made a mistake, and just wanted you to be patient with him, to be understanding, sympathetic.
    ′Please . . .′ he said quietly. ′Just lean back, close your eyes, and walk me right through it from the beginning to the end. Start with the morning of that day, and tell me about the first thing you can remember . . .′
    John Costello looked at Frank Gorman for a moment longer, and then he moved the pillow behind his neck and leaned back. He closed his eyes as Frank had asked, and he tried to recall how he′d felt that morning.
    ′It was cold,′ he said . . .
     
    And John Costello turned sideways and lay for a while beneath the covers of his bed. It was six days after the night he′d stayed over with Nadia.
    He glanced at the clock beside his bed: four minutes to five. Any moment his father would hammer on the door and shout his name. Beneath the covers he was warm, but when he edged his foot out from beneath the blanket, he felt the chill of the room. He relished those few minutes before the day began, lying there aware that life had changed more than ever he could have imagined.
    Three minutes past five and he rose and