Natural Causes, page 44
This time Nikki ignored him.
“Pathology, this is Dr. Solari.”
“Nikki?”
Nikki felt her heart stop.
“Kath, where are you, honey? Are you all right?”
Kathy Wilson’s voice was that of a small child.
“Nikki, I’m so cold.… They’re after me and I’m so cold.”
There were traffic noises in the background, now a car horn. She was calling from a pay phone.
“Kathy, stay calm. I’m going to help you. You’re going to be all right.”
“Why are they trying to kill me, Nik?… Why am I so cold?”
“Hey, what gives?” Brad Cummings asked.
Nikki snapped a finger against her lips, then waved him out of the room.
“Get out,” she mouthed.
“Okay, okay. You know, you’re really very touchy today. You must be having your—”
“Out!” This time she shouted the word. Pouting theatrically Cummings left. “Kathy, listen, just tell me where you are and I’ll come right over and get you.… Kath?”
“You’re just like all the others, Nikki. You want my music to stop.… Is that why they’re after me? Because they want my music to stop?”
Her singsong voice was haunting and vague. Nikki imagined her on some street corner, huddled at a pay-phone kiosk in the pouring rain. She cast about for some way to alert the police and maybe have this call traced.
“Kathy,” she tried, “look around and tell me what you see.”
“Nikki … Nikki … Nikki. You sent them, didn’t you? You sent them to silence my music. I’ll get you for this, Nikki. I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I love you, Kathy. You’re my friend. I would never do anything to hurt you. In your heart you know that. Honey, you’re not thinking clearly right now. You’ve got to come home. Let me help you.”
“Help … me …”
There was a prolonged silence, then nothing.
“Kathy?”
Nikki waited for thirty seconds before slowly setting the receiver in its cradle. Then, making no attempt to deal with the cadaver of Roger Belanger, she burst into tears and raced from the room.
Michael Palmer, Natural Causes
