He had to risk it.
He'd noticed a phone outside, so he paid his bill and made the call. When the hospital's menu was recited in his ear, he selected the option for patient information. Since he did not know the room number, he waited until an operator came on the line.
"I need to find out about Herbert Rowland. He's my uncle and was brought in last night."
He was told to hold a moment, then the woman came back. "We're sorry to say that Mr. Rowland died shortly after arriving."
He feigned shock. "That's horrible."
The woman offered her condolences. He thanked her, hung up, and exhaled a sigh of relief.
That was close.
He grabbed his composure, found his cell phone, and dialed a familiar number. When Ramsey answered he cheerfully said, "Three for three. Batting a thousand, as usual."
"I'm so glad you take pride in your work."
"We aim to please."
"Then please me once more. The fourth one. You have the okay. Do it."
MALONE LISTENED. SOMEBODY WAS BOTH BEHIND AND AHEAD OF him. He kept low and darted into one of the rooms that opened off the gallery, this one, he saw, with walls and a ceiling. He pressed his spine taut against the inner wall, adjacent to the doorway. Darkness exaggerated the room's shadowy corners. He was twenty feet from the church entrance.
More footsteps.
From back down the gallery, away from the church.
He gripped the gun and waited.
Whoever was there kept approaching. Had they seen him slip inside? Apparently not, as they made no effort to mask their steps through the brittle snow. He readied himself and cocked his head, using peripheral vision to watch the doorway. The footsteps were now on the opposite side of the wall against which he was pressed.
A form appeared, walking toward the church.
He pivoted and grabbed for a shoulder, swinging the gun around and whirling whoever it was into the outer wall, the gun jammed into ribs.
Shock stared back.
A man.