Mom.

Finally, late in the afternoon, he pushed himself to his feet, brushed his teeth, washed his hands, went to the bedroom, opened the bottom drawer, and found the little.380 semi-auto. He checked it, put the gun in his pocket. And now a pipe.

His basement was small, dark, damp; a hole, really, for the water heater and the furnace and for a few thousand spiders and crickets and ants and mice. Singleton walked carefully down the wooden steps, pulled the string on the bare overhead bulb, dug around in an old trash rack, and eventually came up with what he'd been looking for.

A lead pipe. Lead pipes were hard to find. They'd been outlawed for decades and when a guy really needed a lead pipe, you could hardly find one. If you wanted to hit somebody over the head, you were usually stuck with a copper or iron pipe, which were really too hard to do the job right. With copper or iron, you'd break the skin, while, with a properly deployed lead pipe, you got a nice deadly rap, and no blood.

He was just lucky, Singleton thought, to have one. He carried it upstairs, walked around the kitchen a few times, whacking the palm of his hand with the pipe, then stepped down the hall to the living room. "Let's go," he said.

Margery pushed herself out of the La-Z-Boy. "You better do this right, dumb shit. This is it. If this ain't right, we're gonna die."

"I know."

"So get some different shit on. You're supposed to know how all this works-but you gotta get some different shit on."

Singleton pulled out his oldest parka, a dark blue nylon job that he hadn't worn in years. He got his heaviest gloves and a pair of boots. When he bent forward to tie his shoes, the pain in his chest suddenly flared and he gasped, a high-pitched "Yiiii… "

"You goddamn baby," Margery said.

KATINA HAD SAID good-bye to Ruth, and then had gone out as usual to check on a dozen elderly women living in the small towns across the countryside-women who needed food or medicine or company. Katina did it three days a week, when she wasn't scheduled to make a run. Not only did that help build a better cover for the group, she enjoyed it, and did some good, she thought.

She was south of Armstrong by the end of the day, coming back into town a half-hour after dark. She decided to check Loren's house, on the chance that he was home and awake. She swung by, found the house dark, went to the garage and looked inside. His cars were there, and she went and knocked on the door, waited, knocked again. No answer. Huh. When he went somewhere, he usually drove-Loren was not a walker.

But he wasn't answering the door. For a moment, that felt sinister. What if this killer…

No. There were much better answers than that. She stood on her tiptoes and tried to see inside, but there was nothing to see. After a minute or so, she went back to her car. She'd call him later, she thought, as she headed back to the church.

Only two women were left at the church, in addition to Ruth and herself, and those two had apparently gone out. There were no runs scheduled, and the other two had been making country checks like she had. She turned on the lights and found a note on the kitchen table: "5:20. Gone down to the Red Red Robin for dinner. Lucy's buying. If you make it back before six, come down."

She looked at her watch. Only five-thirty. She'd missed them by ten minutes. She could use some restaurant food, she thought. She went back out to her car, noticed that Calb's had gone dark, and headed back to Armstrong.

THE LIGHTS WERE on at Calb's house, on in most of the houses up and down the short street. Singleton and his mother stayed in the dark as much as they could, without looking furtive. A couple of cars had gone by, and they'd leaned behind sidewalk trees as they passed. Singleton dug at the sole of his boot, trying to look as if he were doing something, if somebody looked out the window of one of the houses-though with the parkas pulled around their faces, there was no possibility that they'd be recognized.

The walk to Calb's house had taken ten minutes, and by the time they got there, the pain was fading again, as it had after he'd taken the first pill. On the other hand, his mind still felt a little disconnected, a little cloudy. That might be okay with Gloria Calb, but he'd have to be sharp for Gene.

As they came up to Calb's, Margery said, "Let's go around to the back door. Won't be in the porch light."

"Okay."

He was like a robot, taking directions. He couldn't imagine Gloria being suspicious of him-she knew what he did for Gene. They walked up the driveway, through the fence gate between the house and the detached garage, and around to the door. Knocked on it quietly. Knocked on it again, heard somebody walking around inside. Knocked on it a third time.

Gloria Calb came to the door and looked out the window, and he dropped the hood of the parka. When she saw his face, she pushed the door open.

"Loren, what are you doing?"

"Is Gene here yet?"

"No. I'm just making dinner."

"I was supposed to meet him here. We've got a real problem. The state police called a meeting today… Can I come in? Gene thought he'd be home by now."

She was too polite to do anything but let him in, even if she'd had a second thought. "Of course, I'm sorry, come in. Gene usually is here by now… "

He pushed the door shut behind him and she turned to lead the way through the kitchen. He had the pipe in his hand, and her head was right there, like a baseball frozen in space, and he could see the salt-and-pepper hair sweeping up past her small pink ear.

Singleton hit her behind the ear with the real, actual lead pipe.

The sound was a sharp whap, and Singleton could feel the soft pipe deform around Calb's skull. Calb said, "Uhhh" and dropped to the floor. Tried to push up, still alive.

Margery, who'd waited by the side of the house, came up, inside, and squatted next to her. "She's alive," she said. "Give me the goddamn pipe, you dumb shit."

Singleton handed her the pipe, and Margery straddled Calb, stooping, and hit her a half-dozen times on the head, hard, as though she were breaking rocks with a hammer.

The second or third blow probably killed her; the others were just to make sure. There was some blood, and Singleton pulled one of the plastic sacks out of his pocket and handed it to her and she lifted Calb's head by the hair and pulled the bag over it.

Still a little blood on the kitchen floor. Margery found some 409 all-purpose cleaner under the sink, cleaned up the blood with a couple of paper towels. The towels went in the garbage bag on top of Calb's head, and they dragged the body down a hallway and leaned it against the wall, in a slumped, seated position.

Margery was breathing hard. She wiped her hands together, as if dusting them off, and said, "All right. That's one. Give me that little gun-just in case. Gene's a big one, and you're hurt."

SINGLETON STEPPED INTO the living room, turned on a light, then turned on a hallway light that led upstairs, so there would be light coming down from an upstairs window when Calb pulled into the driveway. He wanted Calb to think that Gloria might be upstairs.

He told his mother and she shook her head as if it were all a terrible mistake. He went to turn off the lights and she said, "Nah, nah, leave it. Get in position." Then she slapped her forehead. "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"I gotta make a call… You get in your spot."

If Calb pulled straight into the garage, as he should, he'd be coming in the back door, through the kitchen. Singleton moved across the half-lit kitchen and looked out a side window toward the garage. The garage lights should come on when Calb hit his remote control. Nothing yet.

He could hear his mother muttering into the phone in the front room. What was all that about? Something at the nursing home?