Frank waited until business hours before calling Barbara McGuire's office. He questioned the wisdom of calling so soon after Grenfelds murder, mainly because he didnt want to be the first one to tell her about it if she didnt already know. God only knew how much he didnt want to be the one. But there was a possibility that he had seen the man who did it and he needed to ask her about that. Did she know any of Grenfelds friends who may have worn a brown sports coat and fit the very skimpy description that he was able to put together? White male, late thirties, average height, brown sports coat. Not much of a description, but a skimpy description was better than no description. The call to Barbara McGuires number was answered by a male voice with a flat mid-western twang. The voice was cautious, hesitant. May I ask who's calling, sir? My name is Frank Taylor. Tell her Im the guy from Moshe's Deli, she'll remember. Shell remember? The woman was a neurotic wreck. He wondered if she could remember her own name at this point. Uhsir The voice stammered slightly, then wavered uneasily. Miss McGuire is no longer with us, sir. Really? I just spoke with her a few days ago. Yes, I understand, sir. But shes no longer with us, sir. That's too bad. He wasnt surprised. He didn't think she could hold down a job very long at the rate she was going. The woman looked like a psychiatrists delight. Any idea where I can reach her? It's pretty important. Uh...I'm sorry, sir. She's no longer. I cant hear you, buddy, Frank said with mild annoyance. Can you speak a little louder? A breathless pause on the other end, then in a sudden hushed rush of words, Theres been an accident.... There was silence first, then the long fading hiss of breath like steam escaping from a kettle, then dying into silence. The voice on the other end said, Miss McGuire is dead, sir. Last night. She was murdered, sir. Frank sat there holding the phone stunned, motionless. We just found out a little while ago, sir. Someone saw it on the television, on the news. Were trying to get in touch with her family to find out more. Frank remained quiet not knowing what to say. The person on the other end of the line sniffled, but remained composed. As you might imagine, sir, were all pretty disturbed by this here. Frank hung up the phone. He stood there staring at it for a long time before he realized he was staring and standing and doing nothing. He went to the closet and grabbed his jacket. He had no idea where he was going, but he had to go somewhere. He had no idea what to do and he hated that feeling because it was the most truly humbling emotion that anyone could experience; this realization that ultimately we have no control over the arbitrary consequences presented by fate. If that was what it was. Fate. He stopped at the door and went back to the phone. He picked it up and made the call before he had a chance to think about it or possibly change his mind.
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