The first puff made his head feel swimmy. He had been trying to quit for almost two years and kept almost making it. Then something would come up. That was both the curse and the blessing of police work; something always came up.

He looked up at the stars, which he usually found calming, and couldn't see many-the high-intensity lights which ringed the hospital dulled them out. He could make out the Big Dipper, Orion, and a faint reddish point that was probably Mars, but that was all.

Mars, he thought. he thought. That's it. That's undoubtedly it. The warlords of Mars landed in Castle Rock around noon, and the first people they met were Nettie and the Jerzyck b.i.t.c.h. The warlords bit them and turned them rabid. It's the only thing that fits. That's it. That's undoubtedly it. The warlords of Mars landed in Castle Rock around noon, and the first people they met were Nettie and the Jerzyck b.i.t.c.h. The warlords bit them and turned them rabid. It's the only thing that fits.

He thought about going in and telling Henry Ryan, the State of Maine's Chief Medical Examiner, It was a case of alien intervention, Doc. Case closed. It was a case of alien intervention, Doc. Case closed. He doubted if Ryan would be amused. It had been a long night for him, too. He doubted if Ryan would be amused. It had been a long night for him, too.

Alan dragged deeply on the cigarette. It tasted absolutely grand, swimmy head or no swimmy head, and he felt he could understand perfectly why smoking was now off-limits in the public areas of every hospital in America. John Calvin had been dead right: nothing that made you feel this way could possibly be good for you. In the meantime, though, hit me wid dat nicotine, boss-it feel so fine.

He thought idly of how nice it would be to buy an entire carton of these selfsame Luckies, rip off both ends, and then light up the whole G.o.ddam thing with a blowtorch. He thought how nice it would be to get drunk. This would be a very bad time to get drunk, he supposed. Another inflexible rule of life-When you really need to get drunk, you can never afford to do it. Alan wondered vaguely if maybe the alcoholics of the world weren't the only ones who really had their priorities straight. Alan wondered vaguely if maybe the alcoholics of the world weren't the only ones who really had their priorities straight.

The pencil-line of light by his feet fattened to a bar. Alan looked around and saw Norris Ridgewick. Norris stepped out and leaned against the wall next to Alan. He was still wearing his green cap, but it was askew and the tie-ribbons hung down over the back of his gown. His complexion matched his gown.

"Jesus, Alan."

"They were your first ones, weren't they?"

"No, I saw an autopsy once when I was in North Wyndham. Smoke-inhalation case. But these... Jesus, Alan."

"Yeah," he said, and exhaled smoke. "Jesus."

"You got another cigarette?"

"No-sorry. I b.u.mmed this one from the janitor." He looked at the Deputy with mild curiosity. "I didn't know you smoked, Norris."

"I don't. I thought I might start."

Alan laughed softly.

"Man, I can't wait to get out fishing tomorrow. Or are off-days on hold while we sort this mess out?"

Alan thought about it, then shook his head. It hadn't really been the warlords of Mars; this business actually looked quite simple. In a way, that was what made it so horrible. He saw no reason to cancel Norris's off-days.

"That's great," Norris said, and then added, "But I'll come in if you want, Alan. No problem."

"Shouldn't need you to, Norris," he said. "John and Clut have both been in touch with me-Clut went with the CID guys to talk with Pete Jerzyck, and John went with the team investigating Nettie's end. They've both been in touch. It's pretty clear. Nasty, but clear."

And it was... yet he was troubled about it, just the same. On some deep level, he was very troubled indeed.

"Well, what happened? I mean, the Jerzyck b.i.t.c.h has been asking for it for years, but when somebody finally called her bluff, I thought she'd end up with a black eye or a broken arm... nothing like this. this. Was it just a case of picking on the wrong person?" Was it just a case of picking on the wrong person?"

"I think that pretty well covers it," Alan said. "Wilma couldn't have picked a worse person in Castle Rock to start a feud with."

"Feud?"

"Polly gave Nettie a puppy last spring. It barked a little at first. Wilma did a lot of b.i.t.c.hing about it."

"Really? I don't remember a complaint sheet."

"She only made one official complaint. I caught it. Polly asked me if I would. She felt partly responsible, since she gave Nettie the dog in the first place. Nettie said she'd keep him inside as much as she could, and that finished it for me.

"The dog stopped the barking, but Wilma apparently went on b.i.t.c.hing to Nettie. Polly says that Nettie'd cross the street when she saw Wilma coming, even if Wilma was two blocks away. Nettie did everything but fork the sign of the evil eye at her. Then, last week, she crossed the line. She went over to the Jerzycks' while Pete and Wilma were at work, saw the sheets hanging on the line, and covered them with mud from the garden."

Norris whistled. "Did we catch that that complaint, Alan?" complaint, Alan?"

Alan shook his head. "From then until this afternoon, it was all between the ladies."

"What about Pete Jerzyck?"

"Do you know know Pete?" Pete?"

"Well..." Norris stopped. Thought about Pete. Thought about Wilma. Thought about the two of them together. Slowly nodded his head. "He was afraid Wilma would chew him up one side and down the other if he tried playing referee... so he stood aside. Is that it?"

"Sort of. He actually may have headed things off, at least for awhile. Clut says Pete told the CID guys that Wilma wanted to go over to Nettie's as soon as she got a look at her sheets. She was ready to rock and roll. She apparently called Nettie on the phone and told her she was going to rip off her head and s.h.i.t down her neck."

Norris nodded. Between the autopsy on Wilma and the autopsy on Nettie, he had called dispatch in Castle Rock and asked for a list of complaints involving each of the two women. Nettie's list was short-one item. She had snapped and killed her husband. End of story. No flare-ups before and none since, including the last few years she'd spent back in town. Wilma was a different kettle of tripe entirely. She had never killed anyone, but the list of complaints-those made by her and those made about her-was a long one, and went back to what had then been Castle Rock junior High, where she had punched a subst.i.tute teacher in the eye for giving her detention. On two occasions, worried women who'd had the ill luck or judgment to get into Wilma's bad books had requested police protection. Wilma had also been the subject of three a.s.sault complaints over the years. Ultimately all charges had been dropped, but it didn't take much study to figure out that no one in his or her right mind would have chosen Wilma Jerzyck to f.u.c.k with.

"They were bad medicine for each other," Norris murmured.

"The worst."

"Her husband talked Wilma out of going over there the first time she wanted to go?"

"He knew better than to even try. He told Clut he dropped two Xanax into a cup of tea and that lowered her thermostat. In fact, Jerzyck says he thought it was all over."

"Do you believe him, Alan?"

"Yeah-as much as I can believe anyone without actually talking to them face-to-face, that is."

"What's the stuff he dropped into her tea? Dope?"

"A tranquilizer. Jerzyck told CID he'd used it a couple of times before when she got hot, and it cooled her out pretty well. He said he thought it did this time, too."

"But it didn't."

"I think it did at first. Wilma didn't just go over and start chewing Nettie's a.s.s, at least. But I'm pretty sure she went on hara.s.sing Nettie; it's the pattern she established when it was just the dog they were fighting over. Making phone-calls. Doing drive-bys. That sort of thing. Nettie's skin was pretty thin. Stuff like that would have really gotten to her. John LaPointe and the CID team I stuck him with went to see Polly around seven o'clock. Polly said she was pretty sure that Nettie was worried about something. She was over to see Polly this morning, and let something slip then. Polly didn't understand it at the time." Alan sighed. "I guess now she wishes she'd listened a little more closely."

"How's Polly taking it, Alan?"

"Pretty well, I think." He had spoken to her twice, once from a house near the crime scene, and a second time from here at K.V.H., just after he and Norris had arrived. On both occasions her voice had been calm and controlled, but he had sensed the tears and confusion just under the carefully maintained surface. He wasn't entirely surprised during the first call to find she already knew most of what had happened; news, particularly bad news, travels fast in small towns.

"What set off the big bang?"

Alan looked at Norris, surprised, and then realized he didn't know yet. Alan had gotten a more or less complete report from John LaPointe between the autopsies, while Norris had been on another phone, talking to Sheila Brigham and compiling lists of complaints involving the two women.

"One of them decided to escalate," he said. "My guess is Wilma, but the details of the picture are still hazy. Apparently Wilma went over to Nettie's while Nettie was visiting Polly this morning. Nettie must have left without locking her door, or even latching it securely, and the wind blew it open-you know how windy it was today."

"Yeah."

"So maybe it started out to be just another drive-by to keep Nettie's water hot. Then Wilma saw the door standing open and the drive-by turned into something else. Maybe it wasn't quite quite that way, but it feels right to me." that way, but it feels right to me."

The words weren't even out of his mouth before he recognized them as a lie. It didn't didn't feel right, that was the trouble. It feel right, that was the trouble. It should should have felt right, he have felt right, he wanted wanted it to feel right, and it didn't. What was driving him crazy was that there was no it to feel right, and it didn't. What was driving him crazy was that there was no reason reason for that sense of wrongness, at least none he could put his finger on. The closest he could come was to wonder if Nettie would have been careless not only about locking her door but about shutting it tightly if she was as paranoid about Wilma Jerzyck as she had seemed... and that wasn't enough to hang a suspicion on. It wasn't enough because not all of Nettie's gear was stowed tightly, and you couldn't make any a.s.sumptions about what such a person would and wouldn't do. Still... for that sense of wrongness, at least none he could put his finger on. The closest he could come was to wonder if Nettie would have been careless not only about locking her door but about shutting it tightly if she was as paranoid about Wilma Jerzyck as she had seemed... and that wasn't enough to hang a suspicion on. It wasn't enough because not all of Nettie's gear was stowed tightly, and you couldn't make any a.s.sumptions about what such a person would and wouldn't do. Still...

"What did Wilma do?" Norris asked. "Trash the place?"

"Killed Nettie's dog."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Jesus! What a b.i.t.c.h!" b.i.t.c.h!"

"Well, but we knew that about her, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but still..."

There it was again. Even from Norris Ridgewick, who could be depended on, even after all these years, to fill out at least twenty percent of his paperwork ba.s.s-ackwards: Yeah, but still. Yeah, but still.

"She did it with a Swiss Army knife. Used the corkscrew attachment and stuck a note on it, saying it was payback for Nettie slinging mud at her sheets. So Nettie went over to Wilma's with a bunch of rocks. She wrapped notes of her own around them with rubber bands. The notes said the rocks were Wilma's last warning. She threw them through all of the Jerzycks' downstairs windows."

"Mother-a-G.o.d," Norris said, not without some admiration.

"The Jerzycks left for eleven o'clock Ma.s.s at ten-thirty or so. After Ma.s.s they had lunch with the Pulaskis. Pete Jerzyck stayed to watch the Patriots with Jake Pulaski, so there was no way he could even try try to cool Wilma out this time." to cool Wilma out this time."

"Did they meet on that corner by accident?" Norris asked.

"I doubt it. I think Wilma got home, saw the damage, and called Nettie out."

"You mean like in a duel?"

"That's what I mean."

Norris whistled, then stood quietly for a few moments, hands clasped behind his back, looking out into the darkness. "Alan, why are we supposed to attend these G.o.ddam autopsies, anyway?" he asked at last.

"Protocol, I guess," Alan said, but it was more than that... at least for him. If you were troubled about the look of a case, or the feel of it (as he was troubled by the look and feel of this one), you might see something that would knock your brain out of neutral and into one of the forward gears. You might see a hook to hang your hat on.

"Well, then, I think it's time the county hired a protocol officer," Norris grumbled, and Alan laughed.

He wasn't laughing inside, though, and not just because this was going to hit Polly so hard over the next few days. Something about the case wasn't right. Everything looked all right on top, but down in the place where instinct lived (and sometimes hid), the Martian warlords still seemed to make more sense. At least to Alan.

Hey, come on! Didn't you just lay it out for Norris, A to Z, in the length of time it takes to smoke a cigarette?

Yes, he had. That was part of the trouble. Did two women, even when one was half-nuts and the other was poison-mean, meet on a street-corner and cut each other to ribbons like a couple of hopped-up crack addicts for such simple reasons?

Alan didn't know. And because because he didn't know, he flipped the cigarette away and began to go over the whole thing again. he didn't know, he flipped the cigarette away and began to go over the whole thing again.

2.

For Alan, it began with a call from Andy Clutterbuck. Alan had just turned off the Patriots-Jets game (the Patriots were already down by a touchdown and a field goal, and the second quarter was less than three minutes old) and was putting on his coat when the phone rang. Alan had been intending to go down to Needful Things and see if Mr. Gaunt was there. It was even possible, Alan supposed, that he might meet Polly there, after all. The call from Clut had changed all that.

Eddie Warburton, Clut said, had been hanging up the phone just as he, Clut, came back from lunch. There was some sort of ruckus going on over in the "tree-street" section of town. Women fighting or something. It might be a good idea, Eddie said, if Clut were to call the Sheriff and tell him about the trouble.

"What in the blue h.e.l.l is Eddie Warburton doing answering the Sheriffs Office telephone?" Alan asked irritably.

"Well, I guess with the dispatch office empty, he thought-"

"He knows the procedure as well as anyone-when dispatch is empty, let The b.a.s.t.a.r.d route the incoming calls."

"I don't know why he answered the phone," Clut said with barely concealed impatience, "but I don't think that's the important thing. Second call on the incident came in four minutes ago, while I was talking with Eddie. An old lady. I didn't get a name-either she was too upset to give me one or she just didn't want to. Anyhow, she says there's been some sort of serious fight on the corner of Ford and Willow. Two women involved. Caller says they were using knives. She says they're still there."

"Still fighting?"

"No-down, both of them. The fight's over."

"Right." Alan's mind began clicking along faster, like an express train picking up speed. "You logged the call, Clut?"

"You bet I did."

"Good. Seaton's on this afternoon, isn't he? Get him out there right away."

"Already sent him."

"G.o.d bless you. Now call the State Police."

"Do you want CID?"

"Not yet. For the time being, just alert them to the situation. I'll meet you there, Clut."

When he got to the crime scene and saw the extent of the damage, Alan radioed the Oxford Barracks of the State Police and told them to send a Crime Investigation Unit right away... two, if they could spare them. By then Clut and Seaton Thomas were standing in front of the downed women with their arms spread, telling people to go back into their homes. Norris arrived, took a look, then got a roll of yellow tape marked CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS out of the trunk of his cruiser. There was a thick coating of dust on the tape, and Norris told Alan later that he hadn't been sure it would stick, it was so old.

It had, though. Norris strung it around the trunks of oak trees, forming a large triangle around the two women who appeared to be embracing at the foot of the stop-sign. The spectators had not returned to their houses, but did retreat to their own lawns. There were about fifty of them, and the number was growing as calls were made and neighbors hurried over to view the wreckage. Andy Clutterbuck and Seaton Thomas looked almost jumpy enough to pull their pieces and start firing warning shots. Alan sympathized with the way they felt.

In Maine, the Criminal Investigation Department of the State Police handles murder investigations, and for small-fry fuzz (which is almost all of them), the scariest time comes between the discovery of the crime and the arrival of CID. Local cops and county mounties both know perfectly well that it is the time when the so-called chain of evidence is most often broken. Most also know that what they do during that time will be closely scrutinized by Monday-morning quarterbacks-most of them from the judiciary and the Attorney General's Office-who believe that small-fry fuzz, even the County boys, are a bunch of Deputy Dawgs with ham hands and fumble fingers.

Also, those silent bunches of people standing on the lawns across the street were G.o.ddam spooky. They reminded Alan of the mall-zombies in Dawn of the Dead. Dawn of the Dead.

He got the battery-powered bullhorn out of the back seat of his cruiser and told them he wanted them to go inside, right away. They began to do it. He then reviewed the protocol in his head one more time, and radioed dispatch. Sandra McMillan had come in to handle the ch.o.r.es there. She wasn't as steady as Sheila Brigham, but beggars could not be choosers... and Alan guessed Sheila would hear what had happened and come in before much longer. If her sense of duty didn't bring her, curiosity would.

Alan told Sandy to track down Ray Van Allen. Ray was Castle County's On-Call Medical Examiner-also the county coroner-and Alan wanted him here when CID arrived, if that was possible.

"Roger, Sheriff," Sandy said self-importantly. "Base is clear."